12. Siena
Siena
W hen I step off the elevator in the parking garage and first spot my car, I stop short. The doors are open, the trunk is open, and Emily’s scarf is dangling out of the backseat.
As I move closer, I realize that all the tires are slashed as well, each one ripped open enough to demonstrate that they hold nothing inside.
Of course. While that asshole was busy groping me, his goons were tearing apart my car looking for that fucking flash drive.
I sprint the rest of the way across the parking lot to the car and peer into the backseat, where the bags I’d taken from the crash site had been stashed.
All of them are open, their contents scattered everywhere. The seats are slashed, foam padding spilling out in messy clumps. The dashboard is cracked, the glove compartment yanked apart.
My breath catches as I pick up a stray lip gloss, a makeup brush, a handful of hair ties. They feel like remnants of Emily, fragments of a life she’ll never return to.
I drop to my knees, crawling across the floor to gather everything shoved under the front seat.
That’s when I see it: the flash drive.
It’s jammed into the floorboard next to the console, barely visible beneath the mat. Unbelievable. They destroyed everything, and still, they didn’t find it. Yet, it’s right fucking there.
I pry the flash drive out from under the seat, holding it delicately between my thumb and forefinger.
My heart pounds in relief and anger. I don’t know why Matti wants the video and blueprints on this drive, but if this is why he—or his mysterious “third party”—killed Emily, I will make sure that he never gets it.
Shame shudders through me as I remember how Matti’s hands felt on my skin, how my body betrayed me by responding so easily to his touch.
I don’t know if it was exhaustion, some fucked up grief response after losing Emily, or the fact that I haven’t gotten laid since my ex threw me out of our house two years ago, but it didn’t feel like a choice. It felt like a necessary escape.
Looking at the flash drive, I almost laugh as the thought strikes me that I should in fact wrap it back up in the plastic I found it in and shove it up my cunt as he suggested I might have done.
For a murderer, he seems to have a weird consent hang-up, and he’d never find it if I told him ‘no.’ But then the unbidden image of him doing it anyway, pushing and probing his fingers inside me, sends a jolt of heat through me.
I have to almost physically shove the thought aside and force my attention back to the disaster zone that is my car. Jesus, my head is a mess, but there is no time for that shit right now. My life is only about Emily. Finding out what happened to her. Bringing her killer to justice.
My car is fucked. It’s going to cost a fortune to fix, a fortune I definitely don’t have.
I sort through the mess to salvage what I can, fitting as many of Emily’s things as possible into the largest bags, still holding the flash drive in one hand.
Matti made it clear that possession of the flash drive put a target on my back.
But if he’s the one who caused Emily’s death, then the target isn’t on me.
It’s on him. Because I’m going to figure out how to use this thing to prove that the plane crash was no accident, and the person or people who did it were after this stupid piece of plastic.
But how?
I shake my head, trying to clear the storm of thoughts. It doesn’t help. My head is a fucking mess. My brain and body are empty vessels, and I can barely complete a thought before another unrelated one comes barreling through.
Fumbling, I try to salvage what I can of the car, piecing together the wreckage like a puzzle missing half its pieces. It’s not working. The driver’s seat is shredded, the steering column ripped apart, wires dangling like exposed nerves.
Maybe, if I can get someone out here to replace the tires, I could get it home? No, the steering wheel isn’t even attached to the dashboard. The car is beyond repair, just like everything else in my life.
I slump back into the seat, staring up at the ceiling, which has been slashed, the fabric hanging from it in jagged sheets.
I’m starving, exhausted, and sore in every way possible.
My body is wracked with tension and aching from being in the car for so long, and then there’s the different kind of ache that Matti left me with. I just want to go home.
As I rub my temples, I spot a note tucked under the windshield wiper. I step out and snatch it up, unfolding it to reveal a business card inside a blank piece of paper. The business card reads “Jacob Bennett, Attorney at Law.”
I snort, the sound bitter and sharp in the garage. The last person I’m taking this flash drive to is anyone associated with Matti and his asshole friend.
Still, the idea of a lawyer isn’t bad. There are dozens of law offices nearby, and I could use someone on my side. But the arrogance that makes him think he can manipulate me this easily is infuriating. Either Matti is stupid, or he thinks I am.
Or he has reason to be confident in his power to force my hand, and I should be terrified.
I shiver, remembering his hard glare and the way his words cut through me. “I’ve killed men for less than this.”
The memory sends a rush of heat through me, and not the good kind. His words almost sound like a challenge. I sit up taller and straighten my shoulders, trying to quell the slight tremor making its way through my body. No way I’m backing down where Emily is concerned.
I pull my phone out of my bag and order an Uber. I’ll deal with getting this pile of shit car towed later. To fix it would cost more than it’s worth, I’m sure. Not like I have the money to replace it anymore than I have the money to fix it.
Rage at Matti for his part in destroying my car and leaving me stranded flashes through me, adding to my list of grievances against him. I see his face in my mind, those piercing blue eyes, the scruff along his jaw, the intensity that he brings to every word he says, every look .
He’s the spawn of Satan.
As I wait for my Uber to arrive, I close up the car the best I can and pile up Emily’s belongings so I can take them home with me. When I get to the makeup case, I almost break. My breath stabs me in the throat, grief wracking my chest and making my head throb as I clutch the little bag tightly.
My sister. My best friend. Gone.
I tamp it down hard, shoving it as deep as I can, using it to fuel the rage that returns to take its place.
FUCK them. Those bastards took Emily from me. They’ve tried to destroy everything I have left. But they won’t win. I won’t let them.
I pull up the browser on my phone and search for criminal lawyers. I scroll through the names until one catches my eye. Alexandra Hayes. Smart, relentless, and someone I worked with years ago on a case at work. She’s the one. Tomorrow, I’ll go see her.
The Uber arrives, and I load Emily’s things into the trunk before sliding into the backseat. I slump down, drained but resolute. I might be shattered now, but tomorrow, after I’ve had a shower, some food, and a chance to sleep, I’ll start piecing things together. For Emily. For justice.