Chapter 27
Mia had run, and I hadn’t gone after her.
At the time, it had felt like the right decision. After learning the truth about Jeremy, she needed space, distance from everything that had just come crashing down around her. But now, as I drove home, the decision not to follow her felt like a mistake.
I pulled into a gas station, and while I filled the tank, I reached for my phone, giving her a call. She didn’t answer.
Given everything that had happened between the break-in, the near attack, Jeremy’s betrayal, and the realization that the killer had been targeting her all along, the idea of Mia being alone right now nagged at me. Even with a patrol car stationed outside her house.
I sent Giovanni a quick text message to let him know I’d be a bit late, and then I headed to Mia’s house.
Several minutes later, I turned onto her street, slowing down as her house came into view.
I pulled up to the curb and stepped out of the car, the cool evening air brushing against my skin as I made my way to her front door.
I knocked.
There was no answer.
I knocked again, louder this time.
“Mia,” I said. “It’s Georgiana. Can we talk?”
Still nothing.
I stepped back, noting the light I’d seen when I arrived was coming from the kitchen.
And that’s when I saw her. Mia’s back was half-turned toward me. She had one hand wrapped around the neck of a wine bottle and the other resting on the counter, like she needed the support to stay upright.
I moved closer to the side window, tapped on the glass, and she turned. I smiled and raised a hand. Her expression was one of annoyance maybe, or exhaustion. It was hard to tell.
She lifted her hand and gave a small dismissive wave, as if to say, “Go away.”
“I’m not leaving,” I said through the glass. “Not until we talk.”
“Suit yourself.”
She left the room, leaving me standing outside, questioning whether staying was the right thing to do. Maybe I needed to give her space to process all that was piling up on her.
If she had close friends to lean on, I would have gone home. But I got the impression she didn’t, none close enough to step in when she needed support, at least.
More time went by, and she returned to the kitchen, staring out the window to see if I was still there.
“I’m just going to stand here for a while,” I said. “I’m worried about you. Is that okay?”
“If I say it isn’t, will you leave?”
“No.”
We locked eyes, and she shook her head.
Then she cracked a smile.
It was just enough for me to feel like staying had been the right decision.
She set the wine bottle down and walked out of the kitchen.
A moment later, the front door opened.
“What were you planning on doing, standing out there all night if I didn’t let you in?” she asked.
“It didn’t feel right to go home without checking on you first.”
Before she could reconsider, I stepped through the doorway.
A heavy scent of alcohol lingered in the air, and it went well beyond wine.
She turned, and I followed her to the kitchen.
An empty wine bottle lay on its side near the sink, and a second bottle stood open on the counter, half gone.
Beside it was a bottle of tequila and a shot glass.
Mia snatched the bottle and tipped it to her lips, taking a long drink.
I thought about saying something, but I didn’t.
“Don’t judge me,” she said.
“Oh, I’m not. After what you’ve been going through, I get it.”
And I did.
“I figured I’d better let you into the house since you’re so … what’s the word I’m looking for?” she muttered. “Irritatingly persistent.”
I shrugged. “It’s part of the job.”
“Funny,” she said, though there was no humor in her tone.
She leaned back against the counter, staring down at the bottle in her hand, and I waited, giving her the time she needed to talk or to say nothing at all, if she chose. What mattered most in this moment was me being there.
“I liked him,” she said. “Simon or Jeremy, or whatever the hell name he goes by. I liked him a lot more than I care to admit.” She took another drink.
“I thought I meant something to him. For a minute, it was like I wasn’t the woman whose sister had just been murdered or the woman who might be murdered next, but someone … desirable.”
There was something raw and unguarded in her expression now. Perhaps it was the alcohol, giving her the courage to say things she otherwise wouldn’t.
“The hardest part is that none of it was even real,” she said.
“It was real to you.”
“Yeah, but where does that leave me?” She shook her head, biting down on her lower lip. “I’ve always been a terrible judge of character.”
“You had no way of knowing Jeremy was lying to you.”
“I bet there were signs, and I just missed them.”
She set the bottle down and grabbed the tequila, pouring herself a shot.
I did nothing to stop her.
“I dated Christian,” she went on. “You know how that ended. Then I meet his brother, and somehow I managed to fall for him too.”
She downed the shot and winced.
“You didn’t know Jeremy was Christian’s brother.”
“Maybe it’s me,” she said. “Maybe I’m the problem, because if I’m not, why is this happening? Why would someone want me dead? What have I done to deserve that?”
I wasn’t sure what to say.
There was a chance her taste in men had contributed to some of her problems, but even if it was the case, it wasn’t my place to say or to pass judgment.
“It’s obvious I don’t even know the people in my life, because right now, I can’t even see what’s right in front of me,” she said.
“Sometimes we see what we want to see and miss what we need to see.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve convinced myself I was making the right choice because I wanted it to be true.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. You seem to have it all figured out now.”
“Getting to this point wasn’t easy. It took me a long time to figure out who I am and what I want from life.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.”
“Oh, yeah? I bet it’s not as bad as you think.”
Given how much she’d had to drink, it wasn’t the time to share my biggest regret, not that I would have anyway. Instead, I searched for something we might have in common.
“I met my husband, Giovanni, in college,” I said.
“It wasn’t long before I realized he was the love of my life.
The problem was, I wasn’t sure he returned my feelings, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him.
Then one day he told me he was engaged to someone else, and I had no one to blame but myself. ”
“What happened?”
“He married the other woman, and we lost contact for over two decades. Then something tragic happened in my life, something I won’t go into now. That tragedy forced me to take a hard look at my life, at the choices I’d made, the good ones, the bad ones, and the truths I’d spent years avoiding.”
“How did the two of you reconnect?”
“I found a book he’d given me when we were young,” I said.
“His phone number was still tucked inside, a landline, if you can believe that. I figured I had nothing to lose, so I called, convinced no one would answer. But someone did, and they put me in touch with Giovanni. When we spoke, I learned he was single, and he invited me to come see him. That was six years ago. We’ve been together ever since. ”
For a moment, I allowed myself to feel like I’d gotten through to her in some small way, until she frowned and clapped her hands, saying, “Bravo. Good for you. You got what you deserved. Maybe I’m getting what I deserve too.”
“No,” I said. “You’re not.”
She pushed off the counter, a reckless look settling across her face.
It worried me.
“You know what I was thinking about doing before you got here,” she said. “I was thinking about going outside, walking right out onto the front lawn and standing there.”
“Mia—”
“I’m being serious. I’d stand there and shout, ‘I’m right here. You want me? Come and get me.’”
I reached out, placing my hand on her shoulder. “I know how hard things are right now, but you will get through it.”
“If I was dead, at least I wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of losing my sister, or thinking that what happened to her is my fault. At least then it would be over.”
“Come on, that’s not what you want. You might be thinking it right now, but that’s the alcohol talking.”
“What I want is to reverse time, for Wren to be alive.” She turned away, her shoulders sagging. “I don’t know what my life looks like without her in it. Wren was the one person who always understood me. Now she’s gone, and I can’t make sense of any of it.”
“I know it feels impossible right now, but you’re not alone.”
“It sure feels like I am.”
We stood there in silence for a moment, the weight of everything settling between us. Then I said, “Why don’t you come stay with us tonight? You’ve had a lot to drink, and I don’t want you making any choices you’ll regret in the morning.”
“You think I’m going to go stand on the lawn and invite a killer to shoot me?” She tossed her head back and laughed. “I’ll be fine. The cops are out there, watching my house. They’ll protect me. Right?”
Maybe so, but unless I had eyes on her, I knew I wouldn’t get any sleep tonight. “I’d feel better knowing you weren’t spending the night here by yourself. You can even bring Coco.”
As I searched for something else I could say to convince her, she surprised me.
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not,” I said. “We have a big house with plenty of guest rooms. You’d get to meet Luka too, my Samoyed. He’d be thrilled to have another dog around.”
The comment earned the hint of a smile.
“Plus,” I added, “if you wake up in the middle of the night and everything feels overwhelming, you won’t have to face it alone.”
“I don’t know.”
A long moment passed between us.
Then she said, “Okay, I’ll come.”
For the first time since I arrived, I felt a sense of relief.
She glanced back at the counter, at the bottles lined up like evidence of the horrible day she’d had. “Give me a minute. I need to grab a few things.”
“Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”
She disappeared down the hallway, leaving me alone in the kitchen.
I gathered up the bottles, placing one in the recycling bin and the other in the refrigerator. Then I rinsed the shot glass and set it aside. Not because it mattered, the empties, the dirty shot glass. I wanted to help in any way I could, even in small ways.
A few minutes later, Mia returned with a small bag slung over her shoulder and Coco at her side on a leash. “I’m ready.”
We stepped out of the house together, the cool night air wrapping around us as she locked the door behind her. As we walked to the car, I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight had shifted something.
Somewhere in all of this, beneath the lies, the grief, and the fear, there was a truth waiting to surface.
And I was getting closer to it.