6. Phae
Phae
“T his look right to you?” Emmy asked.
We’d arrived on Malati—Emmy’s team and our team, minus Storm and Sin.
When Jez realised we were running over an hour behind the Blackwood crew, she’d tossed me a parachute, and we’d saved time by jumping out of our specially modified jet with Priest on our heels.
The rushing wind had drowned out his words, but I just knew he was bitching all the way down.
Priest loved to fly, but he hated jumping out of a perfectly good aircraft.
Storm had flown on to West Papua with Sin.
Sin planned to hit up her network, meagre though it was in this part of the world, while Storm would refuel the jet and get some rest while awaiting further instructions. At the moment, I had no idea what form those instructions might take.
The sun rose in a blaze of orange over the palm trees behind us as we took in the destruction on the beach. Scattered equipment, a jumble of footprints, a spilled first-aid kit. Picture-perfect white sand and the gentle shush of waves. Traces of blood above the tide mark. Heaven versus hell.
Emmy flipped me something she’d picked out of the sand, and I caught it one-handed.
A cartridge case.
And not just any cartridge case.
The crimping at the business end told me…it was a blank?
What the fuck?
“Guess that explains the lack of holes,” Emmy said. “I mean, there are holes, but not as many as we’d expect based on the eyewitness accounts.”
“Why would they be firing blanks?”
“We’re back to the PR-stunt angle.”
“We already ruled that out.”
“Not entirely, and if the background actors were involved… Look, I trust Heath’s judgment on Serena, but nobody seems to know Marc all that well. And his career’s been backsliding recently.”
“No, it has not.”
“Well, he only shot two movies last year, and one of them barely made it into theatres.”
“What, aren’t actors allowed to take on passion projects anymore?”
“Sure they are, but Marc’s always been Mr. Box Office.
And when I spoke with him at some charity shindig a couple of months ago, he said he was dialling back to spend more time with his family.
What family? By all accounts, he’s single, and he has no close living relatives.
Mack ran a background check on him—he was raised by a grandma after his mom passed in an accident when he was a teenager, and the grandma died almost twelve years ago. ”
Right after I joined the Army, so other than flying home for the funeral, I hadn’t even been able to comfort him. And okay, even though the “spending time with family” part sounded like bullshit, did Emmy have to be so judgmental?
She was a bitch.
But so was I.
“I heard on the grapevine you tried to cosy up to him, and he knocked you back.”
She waved a hand in my face, two rings glinting in the morning sun. “I’m married.”
“By all accounts”—I echoed her words back to her—“that’s never stopped you before.”
I got ready to duck, but to my surprise, she just laughed.
“All in the past, sweetie. I’m a confirmed monogamist now.”
“How does that even work?” I blurted before I could stop myself.
“Monogamy? Well, you just don’t fuck other people.”
“Such as a Navy SEAL, a French diplomat, an FBI agent, and a computer geek who went on to marry one of your best friends?”
Another laugh. “Hey, you forgot the President of the United States,” she said sarcastically. “My twenties were wild, but congrats on doing your homework.”
“Unlike you.”
“Not to sound up myself, but you haven’t exactly been on my radar until now.”
“Liar.”
Everyone was on Emmy Black’s radar. Priest said she stored her kompromat in a vault.
But I’d kept my relationship with Marc—Marc Gregory, as he’d been in those days—quiet enough that it didn’t make his Wikipedia page, and he’d never spoken about me publicly either.
I’d always been camera shy, so there weren’t many photos of teenage me floating around, and folks in Abundance were protective of us after what happened with Dad.
Everyone there had known Rex Roebuck was a tyrant, but nobody had stood up to him.
Hell, half the men threw admiring glances in his direction even as they feared him, the cowards.
Uh-oh, why were Emmy’s eyes gleaming like that?
“Fuck me, you hooked up with Marc di Gregorio?”
Inside, I tensed as my mask slammed back into place.
“How do you get that from this conversation?”
“You’ve defended him twice now, plus there’s all that deflection, projection, whatever you want to call it. And did you deny it? No.”
“Well, that’s a giant leap to a dumb conclusion.”
“Oh, please. He’s a red-blooded male, and you’re pretty in a girl-next-door way—exactly his type,” she said, peering closer. “Is that your real eye colour?”
“Of course it is,” I snapped. My green eyes and chocolate-brown hair both came from my mom. “How would you even know what Marc’s type is, other than the fact that it clearly isn’t you?”
“A little birdie told me that he propositioned Serena and she passed.”
“Are you serious?” A chill ran through me because I could see him making that kind of move. And I hated it. “Who told you that?”
“I never divulge my sources. Maybe I should have been a reporter?”
“I’m gonna feed her to a fuckin’ shark,” I said. It just popped out. What the hell was wrong with my mouth today?
“Ah, there she is.” Emmy grinned. “Everyone thinks you’re the sane, reasonable one in the Choir, but you’re really not, are you?”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s my husband’s job now, honey. We already had that discussion.
So, you and Marc, huh? I did think it was a bit weird when my darling hubby called Priest to ask if he had any contacts in Indonesia, and he said he’d hop on a plane right away with a team.
But that all makes so much more sense now. ”
“It’s over. It’s been over for years.”
“And that’s why you decided to literally drop by? Damn, he dumped you and you never got over it. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Do you want to die?”
“Not really, not today anyway.”
“Then shut the fuck up.”
“I do love a nice bit of highly classified gossip.”
“I’m carrying three knives and two guns.”
“Only two guns? Slacker.”
“What do you expect me to do with the third one? Shoot bullets from my vagina like a hentai Bond girl?”
“Kegels are important.”
I was about to strangle Emmy Black with my bare hands when Priest made an appearance.
“How’s it going, ladies?”
Emmy smiled brightly. “Great.”
“Do we have any spare body bags?” I asked.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Emmy, leave it. Dusk has been under a lot of pressure lately.”
“Right, you mean the Marc thing.”
“She told you about that?”
“Practically.”
“Well, you need to keep it quiet. Dusk’s past relationship isn’t common knowledge, and we’d like to keep it that way.”
“A relationship? I figured it was a hookup.”
“They went to high school together.”
“Aw, that’s so cute.”
“Her teenage years weren’t the easiest.”
“I’m right here,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m part of this conversation. Stop dishing the dirt on my personal life.”
Jez appeared at my elbow. “What personal life?”
I rapidly calculated how many rounds of ammo I was carrying. Enough.
“Don’t you start.”
Emmy chuckled. “So, Dusk and Marc were high-school sweethearts. He dumped her, she never got over it, and now she’s sweeping in to play the hero.”
“No, she dumped him.”
“Shut up,” I growled, but everyone ignored me.
“Was she crazy?” Emmy asked Jez.
“Yes, and she still is. I think she’s also angling to shoot you, so you might want to bear that in mind.”
“Can we please get on with this fucking investigation?” I asked, and damn, that “please” really hurt.
Emmy shrugged. “Sure, let’s go chat with the rest of the witnesses. Before we go, what are the odds of Dusk and Marc getting back together? Is anyone running a pool?”
This time, I did raise a hand to slap her, but it connected with empty air. People in DC called Emmy the ice queen, but she flitted out of the way like a dancing flame while I burned up inside.