The storm returned in the dead of night. My sleepy subconscious registered a thundering boom, which woke me. Was that glass I heard breaking? Another angry crash froze me in place. That wasn’t a storm. The smoke detector shrieked to life, jarring me. I jumped out of bed and crossed to the open door. My mind couldn’t make sense of the flames that ran along the floorboards chasing a stream of liquid. Another explosion of glass preceded a missile that scudded off the living room wall.
I slammed my bedroom door closed and watched in a stupor as the bedroom’s patio door dissolved into a crackled wave of glass. An arc of blue flame streaked across the bed where moments ago, I’d been sleeping. The curtains billowed then flapped madly against the broken glass. I watched in stunned silence as the dancing fabric roared up in flames. Dense, acrid smoke rolled across the ceiling. Flames licked at the top of the nightstand and comprehension finally broke through my daze. I lunged for my father’s photograph, squeezed my crystal and rushed the broken glass, ghosting out of there to escape the flames that whooshed behind me.
But I wasn’t prepared for the wind. A stiff onshore breeze swirled me around, pushing me over the top of the cottage and into the branches of the fir tree at the edge of the property. I was caught up, unable to move. The wind tugged at bits of my ghosted form while I helplessly watched the horror unfold before me. Bright orange and yellow flames, some tinged with blue and green, licked out of the cottage windows. The smell of smoke was thick on the air. Bursts of breaking glass punctuated the growing roar of the fire.
Sirens cut through the air, still blocks away. A gust of wind caught me and pushed me straight through the big fir tree. I tumbled across the road and became lodged in the foot of the berm of thick vegetation that grew alongside the park. The view from this vantage point was no less horrific. A large fire truck screamed into my driveway and firemen crawled out of it like ants. They dragged thick udon noodle hoses across the lawn. A second truck parked in front of me, blocking my line of sight. Fortunately, it also blocked the wind and I was able to gather myself together.
I drifted up over the top of the truck, where the wind caught me again and blew me through the trees, deeper into the park. I felt powerless. I couldn’t help and now I couldn’t even see what was happening. But I could hear. The sirens multiplied but as loud as they were, they didn’t drown out the roar and the unsettling crackle of the fire. I screamed my frustration to the wind.
Desperation worked against me. I needed to re-form and was completely incapable of forcing it. The one thing abundantly clear was that I needed to stay out of the wind. Here in the forest was safest. I settled at the foot of a big cedar and waited for sanity to return. The bellowing sirens were too much. I tucked my head down and tightly covered my ears with my forearms. It didn’t help. Maybe this was just a horrible nightmare. Maybe if I went back to sleep it would be gone when I woke up. I curled into a ball clutching my father’s photo and let exhaustion take me away.
The sky was black when I woke, the smell of smoke hung thick in the air. I knew without opening my eyes that the nightmare was real. At least I had re-formed. I sat up and looked down at my ivory nightshirt, now streaked black and grey. Thank god my father’s photograph was still intact. I brushed the debris from the frame.
Muted voices drifted through the trees. I didn’t want to go out there, but I had to. My eyes needed to confirm what I knew in my heart. I stood and straightened my nightshirt then smoothed my hair. It had been singed. The pungent stench of it reached up to my nostrils. I squared my shoulders and compelled myself to place one foot in front of the other. As I approached the edge of the forest, the trees thinned enough to let in the pale, pre-dawn light.
I scanned the property from the cover of the park. An odd calm enveloped me, and ringing in my ears dampened ambient sound. I walked out of the forest and into a waking dream.
Police cars were parked where they shouldn’t be. An ambulance had veered off the driveway into the soft green lawn, leaving deep ruts. That would have to be patched, I thought. One fire truck remained, its hose snaked along the ground underneath the magnolia tree. Strangers milled about the lawn.
I skirted the cars in the driveway and walked up the side lawn to the left, where the garage stood. I stepped onto the apron in front and panned right. The scene before me made no sense. A cloudy sky loomed where the cottage should be. A yellow-clad firefighter stood between me and a smouldering mound of blackened rubble, watering it like a garden. On some level of consciousness, I knew that the rubble was what was left of the cottage, but I felt compelled to keep going, to find the familiar front door and through it, my home, my sanctuary.
The firefighter in the yellow slicker turned toward me, gesturing wildly. Was he pointing at my feet? They were dirty, I knew that, but I’d scrub them before I went to bed.
A tall man stepped in front of me. I looked up. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He let me push him aside and I continued to the front door. Where was it?
The tall man came back and draped a blanket around my shoulders. I stared down at the dark grey fabric. It looked scratchy, but I was sure it was clean. I wiped my father’s frame, polished the glass then smiled my thanks to the man and stepped around him. I was searching for something—what was it? I paused and the tall man stepped into my path and scooped me up in his arms. That felt nice. I rolled my head against his chest and had a flash of recognition of his worn jacket. I reached my hand to the lapel. It was soft. I closed my eyes and melted away.
I came to in the ambulance. It was either the wail of its siren or the fact that I was freezing cold that brought me around. The oxygen mask was suffocating, but I couldn’t move to dislodge it. The woman who sat beside me saw my panic and lifted the mask away. I inhaled deeply and glanced down at my mummified body. “It’s all right, Emelynn. You’re going to be fine. We’re taking you to the hospital. You just rest.”
Despite the blankets they’d piled on top of me, I couldn’t stop shivering. The siren cut off and moments later the back doors opened wide, letting in blinding light and a wall of noise. The gurney I lay on was quickly extracted and wheeled indoors.
“Female, 22, BP’s improving—eighty-eight over fifty, name’s Emelynn Taylor,” said the young woman from the ambulance to someone I couldn’t see.
“Bay three,” another voice sang out and my gurney was on the roll again. The smooth ride came to an abrupt stop and a dozen hands started unravelling the mountain of blankets. After the last layer was removed, I understood why I couldn’t move; I’d been strapped to the gurney. The straps came off and the grey blanket was peeled away. I was left in my nightshirt, shaking uncontrollably, and then heaven descended in the form of a heated flannel blanket. Another one was piled on top of that and some angel tucked it in all around me. Ever so briefly, I closed my eyes.
“Emelynn, we’re going to transfer you now.” Had I fallen asleep? The oxygen mask was back in place and an oxygen sensor dangled from my index finger. Hands reached beneath me and on the count of three, I landed on another heaven-sent warm blanket.
Hurried footsteps approached and I heard Emery’s voice. “Emelynn?” He rushed around into my line of sight. A nurse called out what I knew were my vitals, but all I saw was Emery’s smiling face looking more relieved by the second. “I am so happy to see you.” He stroked my head. “You’re going to be all right, Emelynn, just fine.”
He pulled the mask away when I started to speak. “It’s gone, Emery. The cottage is gone.”
“I know, sweetie. I’m so sorry. It’s been a terrible shock.” His hand was soothing, comforting. “But you made it out and that’s all that’s important.”
“I had to ghost, Emery. The fire was everywhere. I had no choice …”
“Shh,” Emery said, cutting me off, shaking his head. “Let’s not talk about that right now. We’re going to put you on an IV for a few hours to help get your blood pressure back up. You okay with that?” I nodded. He pressed his forefinger to his lips then leaned in and whispered, “Shh.”
Yes, that was right. I nodded, remembering now. We mustn’t talk about that.
He straightened up. “Go ahead,” he said to the nurse. “I’ve got to make some calls but I’ll be right back.”
The nurse pricked the back of my hand, taped the needle in place and started the IV bag of clear fluids flowing.
Emery came back and pulled up a chair beside me. “You already look better. How are you feeling?”
“Numb,” I said, unable to process the enormity of what had happened.
“I’m so sorry about the cottage, Emelynn.” A tear rolled down my cheek and Emery rubbed it away. He smiled my favourite crooked smile. “You really can’t be doing that when we’re trying to rehydrate you.”
I bit my upper lip and laughed, despite the weight on my chest.
“I told them you’d made it out, but they wouldn’t take my word for it. They combed through the place for hours expecting to find you on the well-done side.”
“Stop trying to make me laugh,” I admonished and another tear escaped.
“You saved a photo of your dad.”
“Yeah. It’s all that’s left. The cottage is gone.”
“I know. I’m sorry. And I won’t tell you that it’s only a house, because I know it was more than that to you. But I am glad you’re not hurt. We could have lost you along with it.”
“Dr. Coulter,” a nurse called, pulling the curtain apart. “There’s a Mr. Aucoin here to see you.”
“Thanks, Joan.” Emery jumped up and returned a minute later with Gabe in tow.
Gabe Aucoin stood shorter than Emery, but was in the same fifty-plus age bracket. He was a lawyer and a member of our covey. Gabe came around to the head of the bed and squeezed my shoulder. “How are you holding up, Emelynn?”
I replied automatically. “I’m fine,” I said, which I was anything but. I was, however, thinking clearly enough to wonder why he was here. Did I need a lawyer?
“She’ll be okay in a few hours,” Emery clarified. “It’s nothing serious.”
“Emery, what’s going on? Am I in trouble?” I asked.
“Not at all. Do you know what happened last night?” Emery pulled up a chair beside me and motioning for Gabe to take the one on the other side of the bed. Gabe pulled off his black cap and smoothed his grey hair.
I thought back to last night and remembered the flames running along the wood planking, as if it were happening before my eyes. I saw the bedroom curtains blow out the window in a whoosh of orange fire, and broken glass all around me.
“I think someone set fire to my house.”
“Did you see anyone?” Gabe asked.
“No.” Last night was still a bit of a blur. “Something woke me up. I thought it was thunder, but then the alarm went off. I saw something heavy hit the living room wall. Another missile came in through the bedroom window.”
Gabe exchanged concerned glances with Emery. “Maybe it’s the best place for her, Emery.”
“What are you talking about?” Their expressions alarmed me. “What’s the best place for me?”
“The police want you to go with them,” Emery said.
“Why? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Emery rested his hand on my shoulder. “Emelynn, I don’t want to frighten you any more than you already are, but someone tried to kill you last night. They nearly succeeded. The police want you under their protection.”
My eyes darted from Emery to Gabe then back to Emery. They couldn’t be serious. “Let me go home with you, Emery.” I’d lost everything. I couldn’t lose him too.
“Emery can’t keep you as safe as the police can, Emelynn.” Gabe looked apologetic saying it.
“Emery, please. Not tonight … or today,” I pleaded. “I couldn’t stand it.”
Emery looked to Gabe.
“It’s up to you,” Gabe said. “For now at least.” He turned to me. “Give it some thought, Emelynn. The police can protect you.”
“Thanks, Gabe, I’ll think about it tomorrow, okay? Just not right now.” I turned to Emery. “Please?” He nodded and I heaved a sigh of relief. “When can we leave?”
“As soon as your blood pressure is back within normal range. A few hours.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The second hand on Emery’s wall clock crawled past noon. Emery placed a steaming bowl of chunky tomato soup on the kitchen table in front of me. The hospital had let me wear a set of scrubs home. Home—the thought was out of my head before the word resonated. Home was gone. The smell of smoke, a bitter reminder, clung to me like I’d bathed in it.
“This is good, Emery, thanks.”
“It’s one of my better efforts,” he said, swallowing his own spoonful. “Victoria’s coming by with some clothes for you.”
The enormous extent of my loss hadn’t yet sunk in. There was nothing left. No clothes, no toiletries, no shoes. “Ah, damn it,” I said, thinking of yet another thing.
“What?”
“My GPS! Again. I’ve already replaced two of them. And my computer. Oh hell, I haven’t even got a phone anymore. I have no credit cards, no passport … no ID of any kind, so no way to get cash any time soon, either.” A bureaucratic nightmare of epic proportions loomed on my immediate horizon. It felt overwhelming.
I’d been on the phone with my mother for a half-hour while Emery warmed the soup. Emery had called her from the hospital so she’d known I was okay even before she’d heard about the fire. I hadn’t told her it was arson. That fact was an unnecessary long-distance worry and it hadn’t been officially confirmed yet. Luckily, she was able to give me the contact info for the insurance company. Gabe had warned me that arson complicated things from an insurance perspective. The insurer would likely hold any potential payout pending their own and the official investigation.
“Your car’s still there,” Emery said, offering me something positive to latch onto.
“It is. You’re right—the garage wasn’t touched, was it?” My eyes welled up at the thought of my father’s little red MGB tucked safely inside the garage. “But the keys are gone,” I said, deflating again.
“I’ll bet Cheney can look after that small detail for you.”
“You’re right. I’m sure he can.” I settled back down.
“Emelynn, your emotions are going to be all over the map for a few days. Don’t let it throw you. It takes time to adjust to a loss as big as this.”
“I do feel a bit like a yo-yo. Would you mind if I went to lie down? I’m beat.”
“Go ahead. You need the rest,” he said, clearing our bowls.
I took the stairs to the second floor and flopped onto the queen bed in the room with the soft butter-yellow walls, the same room I’d recovered in after the shooting. The heavy damask drapes were already closed, giving the room a twilight feel. I should have showered but I was too tired. I crawled between the sheets cried some more then fell fast asleep.
I knew it had been more than a nap by how groggy I felt waking up. My night vision had kicked in; the blue hue gave it away without even opening the drapes. I slid my toes into the hospital flip-flops and used the bathroom before seeking out Emery downstairs.
Hushed conversation wafted down the hall from the kitchen. I pushed open the door and the conversation came to an immediate halt. I’d never seen so many people in Emery’s kitchen. At a glance, I knew most of the covey was here. Unexpected relief swamped me. One by one, they turned their solemn faces in my direction. Emery stood at the island sink. Sydney leaned against the counter behind him and the others sat around the table, which was covered with a motley collection of teacups and beer bottles. My smile cracked as emotions overwhelmed me.
Eden jumped from her chair and rushed at me, clinging like a burr. She was pixie-sized at barely five foot two, with a shock of short red hair spiked to perfection. Alex was right behind her, folding us both into his embrace. His strong arms were a comfort as he held us tight. Eden Effrome was the sister I never had. She flew with the grace of a prima ballerina. Her live-in love, Alex Klause, was an equally impressive Flier with his agility and strength. Eden and I immediately started crying and no amount of shushing from Alex stopped the waterworks.
Eventually, Eden let go, and Victoria and Danny pulled me to the table and sat me down. Danny Thornton’s springy dreads bounced when he plunked a Kleenex box in front of me with a roll of his eyes. It made me laugh and cry at the same time, which made my runny nose worse. Danny moved behind me, standing with his back to the French doors. He was a skilled fighter with martial arts training. I felt safe with him at my back.
“Deidra and Kate came by to see you too, but they had to get home to their kids,” said Sydney, offering an apology that wasn’t necessary. Deidra Lewis and Kate Dennison were elementary school teachers. Sydney Davenport’s shiny jet-black hair flowed like silk, in a precision razor cut. Her mixed Asian heritage gave her an exotic edge. She was as beautiful as Victoria Lang, who now stood in Emery’s arms. Victoria’s long blonde hair was loose today, but she would look elegant without a hair on her head.
“You all came,” I said. Tears welled once again.
“Jesus, Em. Of course we came,” Alex said, sounding a bit offended.
“I’m sorry, Alex, it’s just … god, it’s good to see you guys.” I looked around the room. This covey really was my family. I’d never felt it as acutely as I did right then. Not a bad collection of stalwart friends for an only child, I thought, grateful and happy and feeling truly blessed.
They wanted to know what had happened. I filled them in as best I could. Emery filled in some other details, such as the fact that it was Detective Jordan who’d called him, which led to Emery putting the covey on alert.
Eventually, Danny tackled the elephant in the room. “Who could have done this?” he asked. I was thankful that he hadn’t directed the question at me. It became our problem, not mine alone.
“Carson Manse,” Eden offered immediately. It was the same answer I would have given. Carson and Rupert had threatened Eden when I was kidnapped. She had a fierce hate-on for him. I happily jumped all over that bandwagon.
“It wasn’t him,” Emery said. “His was the very first name I suggested, but Detective Jordan says Manse is still tucked into his bed at St. Matthew’s. He hasn’t moved.”
“It must be one of the other Redeemers, then,” Sydney said. “Maybe that guy who got away?”
“If the Redeemers know that Emelynn learned of their plan, any one of them could be responsible.” As soon as the words were out of Victoria’s mouth, she looked at me with apology. “I’m sorry, Emelynn, it’s just a thought.”
I shook my head dismissing her guilt. “I know.” It wasn’t as if all of these thoughts hadn’t spent quality time in my own head over the past few hours.
Emery piped up again. “Detective Jordan thinks this was personal. He thinks it’s someone who has a particular grievance with her.”
“You’re absolutely certain that Rupert is dead?” I asked.
“Yes,” Emery said without hesitation. I’d asked that particular question before, in fact, on more than one occasion.
While we mulled over the possibilities, I saw a red dot flash across Victoria’s sweater and smiled. It was perfect timing for comic relief. Who wasn’t in the room, I wondered? The red dot disappeared then rested momentarily behind Victoria on Emery’s shirt before disappearing again. Someone was having fun with one of our laser guns. “Where’s Steve?” I asked, quickly scanning the room. Steve Elliott had features so ordinary he could hide in a crowd. “Or is that Gabe outside with the laser?” I asked, twisting around in my seat. I poked my head around Danny’s torso to look outside. A pane of glass in the French door tinkled to the floor and a loud crack drew our attention to the far wall where a hole appeared in one of the kitchen cupboards.
There was a second of silence before the room erupted into madness. Danny tackled me from behind, shoving me roughly to the floor. I landed hard in a tangle with the chair and saw the heavy oak table tip up, its load of bottles and china sliding to the floor in an avalanche of crashing glass. A series of soft thwacks accompanied the noise of more broken window panes, and splinters of wood spewed from the table top and cupboards across the room. I struggled free of the chair and slithered on my back, away from the door. Danny clenched a hand firmly over my mouth. “Shh,” he whispered in my ear. I hadn’t realized I’d been screaming. He covered me with his body and shuffled us back farther behind cover of the wall.
A gunshot rang out and I flinched. This shot was different from the others. Danny shifted to look out the bottom corner of the French door. I looked around for Eden and Emery. The floor was littered with broken bits of chair and china. The smell of dust hung heavily in the air. Eden and Alex were crouched down against the wall on the other side of the French doors. I couldn’t see Emery or Victoria. Hopefully, they and Sydney were safe behind the kitchen island.
Outside, another gunshot echoed and that was followed by a series of cracks and rustling that sounded like tree limbs breaking. The last sounds I heard were a muffled thud, followed by a rush of heavy boots.
As if by some silent mutual agreement, no one said a word. We hunkered down, still as the dead.
“Police,” a male voice shouted. “Don’t move, we’re coming in,” he warned loudly before turning the knob on the French door and pushing it into Danny’s shoulder. Danny shifted out of the way, pulling me along with him. How had the police gotten here so fast? Bright lights flooded the back garden accompanied by shouting and rushing footfalls.
“Does anyone need medical assistance?” the constable asked, scanning the wreckage that used to be Emery’s kitchen. There was a general straightening up and brushing off but, thankfully, no one was hurt.
At the officer’s urging, Emery shuffled us all into his study. As soon as the constable retreated, Emery opened the drapes so we could see into the back garden. A figure, male from the look and bulk of his clothing, laid face down on the grass. Half a dozen people, some in uniform, some with thick body armour stencilled on the back with “Police,” searched the garden. Waves of them seemed to come and go. I recognized Detective Jordan the moment he strode into the yard. He spoke at length with another man who wore a shoulder holster over a rugby shirt, probably another detective. The two of them crouched over the prone figure.
Flashing red and white lights beamed through from the front of the house and reflected off the study’s walls. We waited like the condemned at the gallows. Outside, the scream of a siren silenced abruptly. We watched paramedics swarm the body on the lawn. We could see them turn him over, but their efforts ended without success a few minutes later and a sheet was pulled over the man’s face.
Detective Jordan crunched through the glass on the kitchen floor and appeared at the door of Emery’s study. His eyes scanned the room and stopped when they landed on me. “Ms. Taylor, will you please come with me?” I sighed and stood up. This was all on me, wasn’t it?
“Emelynn, you’re bleeding,” Danny said, stopping me with a hand on my shoulder. I checked my arms and looked down my torso but couldn’t see anything amiss. “Your back,” he said. I hadn’t felt the injury.
“Just a minute, Detective,” Emery called, bolting into action. Emery pulled me into the ground-floor bathroom and lifted the back of the scrub to get a better look. “It’s glass,” he said, poking at some spots below my shoulder blades near my spine. “Victoria,” he called out the door. “Will you get my bag?”
A moment later, a black bag was thrust through the door. Emery removed the offending shards with tweezers, irrigated the small wounds with saline and sprayed me with enough antibacterial wash to sterilize a small country. “You don’t need stitches,” he said, applying gauze and tape. He repositioned my now torn and bloodied scrubs and forcefully turned me around to face him.
“You need to take the police protection, Emelynn.” His eyes radiated concern. “Whoever has you in their sights is off-the-charts crazy. I can’t protect you or anyone else from this madness.”
“You’re right, Emery. I’m so sorry. I should never have come here.” I’d put them all in danger for the sake of a few hours of comfort. If something had happened to one of them … the morbid thought trailed off in a wash of self-loathing.
He gave me a hard shake and pegged me with a stern glare. “This is not your fault, Emelynn. None of this is. Blame Carson Manse or the Redeemers or the goddamn Tribunal if it suits you, but you are not to blame.”
I stiffened my spine. I knew that—on some level—but seeing the terrified look on his face and the horrible mess in his kitchen would not be easy to reconcile with this not being my fault.
Emery surrendered me to Detective Jordan who walked me into the back garden. I avoided eye contact with everyone else. I couldn’t bear to see the fear in their faces.
“Are you okay?” the detective asked, positioning me at the head of the sheet-clad body. I nodded. “I’m going to show you this moron’s face. You tell me if you recognize him. Okay?”
He stepped between me and the body. “Okay?” he repeated.
The detective was half a foot taller than me. I tilted my head. That jacket, I thought and reached out to touch the soft fabric. He was the one—the tall man at the fire—who carried me to the ambulance. I looked into his face. “Okay,” I said.
He nodded and bent to pull the sheet away from the man’s face.
“I don’t know him,” I said, taking in a middle-aged face with a thick nose.
“Look closely, Emelynn.” I leaned over the body, taking in the greying stubble, the slack jowls. He’d be snoring, I thought, if he was breathing.
“I’m sorry, Detective. I don’t know him.”
“Okay,” he said. He jerked the sheet back over the man’s face and straightened up. “I know you’d prefer to stay here with your friends,” he said, starting into a very un-Jordan-like pitch. “I understand that, but—”
“Save your breath, Detective,” I said, cutting him off. “I’ll come with you.”
He cleared his throat. “Good. That’s good.” He frowned, momentarily confused. It wouldn’t last. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.” He went back inside. I lost track of time, but I was sure it was more than a minute later when he reappeared with a Burberry suitcase in hand.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Your friends collected some clothes for you.”
“That was nice,” I mumbled, not daring to look at them through the window. If I started crying now, I’d never stop. “Let’s go,” I said, walking briskly toward the side garden gate. Detective Jordan ran to catch up and unlatched the gate before I got to it.
He tucked me into the back seat of his brown, unmarked cruiser and pushed the suitcase in beside me. “Buckle up,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat. I didn’t bother.
When my father died, I got very good at deflecting sympathy. Most of it was contrived anyway, disingenuous. I developed a buffer. It was like a jacket that I pulled on to protect myself. Without it, the pain and tears would have devoured me. I hadn’t used it in a very long time, but it was still there. I pulled it on, checked the fit and settled calmly into the back seat. Then I set my block firmly in place. Detective Jordan anxiously checked my face in the rear-view mirror. I turned my gaze to the side window.
He spoke briefly over his radio, but I wasn’t listening. He drove into Vancouver, exited off the Cambie Street Bridge and pulled into an unmarked underground parking garage. Two security checks later, he stopped the car and got out. He opened the back door and offered me his hand. I shoved the suitcase toward him. He grabbed it by the handle then stood waiting for me. I emerged without his assistance and straightened my now filthy scrubs like they were a pantsuit befitting the Burberry bag.
We were buzzed through a door into an underground corridor and walked down the hall to an elevator. He punched the call button and shifted anxiously from one foot to the other. I stared at his feet, my calm re-enforced by my protective jacket. He saw me watching him and stopped the fidgeting. “Thank you,” I said as the elevator doors opened and I stepped inside. He followed and punched the number seven, then waved a security card by a reader that beeped its approval.
The woman who greeted us at the elevator wore a badge on the waistband of her slacks. “Emelynn,” she said, catching my eye. “I’m glad you decided to come in. My name’s Roberta.” I gave her my standard smile. “Can I get you something to eat? A coffee, perhaps?” She was shorter than me and older, perhaps in her mid-thirties. Her hair was cut close to her head and neat.
“No, thank you. I’m fine,” I said.
Her gaze darted to Detective Jordan, who shrugged. “All right then,” she said. “Let’s get you into some decent clothes.” She took the suitcase from the detective and hustled me down a long corridor. “In here,” she said, swiping her security card through a reader that beeped. The door clicked open. “No one can get in here without one of these.” She held up her little white card like it was a magic pass to an exclusive club.
We stood in a large, rectangular room. On the far side, a bank of windows overlooked False Creek. They were darkened in the way that suggested they were probably mirrored on the outside. I could see the lights of boats twinkling in the distance.
An oval conference table and six chairs dominated the right-hand side of the room. The furniture was bare bones, steel and black vinyl. A scuffed-up whiteboard hung on the wall behind the table with a handful of markers and a dirty felt eraser lying in its aluminum chalk rail. To the left of the door was a sitting area. A black vinyl three-seater sofa sat against the wall. Separating it and two club chairs was a glass and steel coffee table.
“There’s a bathroom with a shower through there,” Roberta said, pointing to a door to the left of the sofa. She swung the Burberry suitcase onto the conference table. “Why don’t you have a shower and get cleaned up. I’ll come back in an hour or so. Okay?”
“Thank you,” I said, and gave her another deflecting smile.
She backed out of the room and the heavy door clanged shut behind her. Had she locked me in here? I walked to the door and pushed down hard on the lever, shoving my shoulder into it. Damn it! She had. I reached for the light switch on the wall beside the door and flipped it off. The dark felt comforting; I had the advantage in the dark. I searched the room and quickly spotted a red blinking light from the surveillance camera in the corner. They hadn’t even bothered to hide it. I pulled the bathroom door open and the blink of another camera flashed from behind the mirror. Jesus, a camera in the bathroom? Was that even legal?
Have a shower, she’d said—yeah, sure. I walked to the windows and watched the boats for a while, then lay down on the sofa and closed my eyes. They couldn’t keep me here against my will. In fact, there was no restraint—no handcuff, no cage—nothing, that they or anyone else could use on me that would ever hold me against my will again. That fact calmed me. I didn’t sleep, but I rested. It was still dark out when the knock came.
“Come in,” I called, unamused by the charade.
The click of the lock gave away the card-carrying status of the entrant. I didn’t bother to get up.
It was Detective Jordan. “Emelynn?” Light from the hall flooded the room.
I sat up. “Detective.”
He flipped on the light. “You haven’t changed.” He said it like it was an accusation.
“Are you aware there’s a security camera in the bathroom? I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not have my naked ass all over the Internet.”
He smiled despite himself. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll have it turned off and then you’ll have thirty minutes before they’re turned on again. The task force is assembling and we need to debrief you.”
“Me?” I asked.
“Thirty minutes,” he said. “Max.” Then he stepped out the door.
He could be thirty days for all I cared; I wasn’t showering any place with a hidden camera. I flipped the light switch off again and went to the window to watch the boats bob in the distance.