Chapter 28
TOM
For a beat, we just stare at each other, two strangers on a half-lit street with car engines ticking as they cool.
“You’ve been following me,” I say. It comes out sharper than I mean.
“Yes,” she admits instantly, like ripping off a plaster.
“I’m sorry. Well… not sorry exactly. More like embarrassed I got caught.
” Her hands go up halfway, defensive, but her mouth quirks in something almost like a smile.
“Once, I followed a man for three hours across London because I thought he’d stolen my brother’s bike.
Turned out it was his bike, and I’d basically stalked a stranger into a Pret.
He bought me a coffee. Anyway — point is, my Miss Marple skills are ropey. ”
My pulse is still thudding, but there’s something in her voice — tired, brittle, like she’s been running on fumes — that makes me hesitate.
“Why?” I ask, softer this time.
Emma exhales hard, like she’s been holding her breath all day. “Because I’m looking for my brother. Chris.”
I swallow. I almost say, I know, but it feels wrong to say it out loud.
She steps closer, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Up close, she’s well-dressed but frayed at the edges—creased blouse, mascara smudged just slightly under one eye. Like she’s been crying and then putting herself back together with duct tape and credit cards. A city girl gone feral.
“I’m sorry if I scared you,” she says. “I just… I had to see for myself. Who you are. If you’re another one of James’s friends.”
“I wouldn’t call myself a friend of James,” I say dryly, and something flickers in her expression — relief, maybe.
“Or Pete? You know Pete? I’ve seen you at his place.”
I nod. “Yes, I know Pete. So, you’ve been following me a while?”
She sighs. “Look, I’m just trying to find my brother, Chris. He’s disappeared.” She clumsily fiddles with her phone, before she shows me his picture on his screen.
Chris’s handsome face smiles back at me, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Do you recognise him?”
I shake my head. “No, sorry, I don’t know him.”
Emma’s face sinks.
“But I know of him, Pete has mentioned him.”
Her eyes come to life. “What did he say? Did he say where he went? I need to know he’s alright.” Her voice edges to desperation.
“Sorry, no,” I reply, trying to stay calm. “I don’t know anything, just that he disappeared.
She falters.
“What do you think happened?”
Her voice cracks slightly as she speaks.
“Before he vanished, I’d been getting some strange messages from him, saying he was sorry and had to leave.
Then I never properly heard from him again.
I’ll get a message from him randomly saying he’s safe, and then months will go by with nothing.
When I call him, it always just goes straight to voicemail.
Pete told me he had no idea where he’d gone.
He was devastated. But then I found out about James being in the picture.
I didn’t know about him before. And then they were living together in this house. ”
The night feels heavier now, like the air has thickened.
Her shoulders drop just slightly. “All I want is to find him. To know he’s safe.”
I hesitate, then gesture toward my car. “Look, this isn’t the best place to talk. Let’s go back to mine. Have coffee. We can figure this out properly.”
She blinks at me, surprised, then nods. “Yes, that would be nice.”
As we get back into our cars, my heart is hammering again, but this time not from fear—this time from the feeling that I’ve just stepped further into something I won’t be able to step back out of.
Buster is waiting at the door when we get back, glaring like I’ve ruined his life.
“Don’t worry,” I mutter, stepping aside for Emma. “He’s harmless. Just judgmental.”
Emma crouches briefly, offering Buster her hand like she’s greeting royalty. “He’s gorgeous,” she says softly.
“He’s a tyrant,” I reply, heading to the kitchen. “Tea? Coffee? Wine?”
“Coffee. No, Wine. No, coffee. Do you do an espresso martini?” she says erratically. “No coffee. I need a clear head.”
Fair. I put the kettle on. She perches on the edge of the sofa, hands folded tightly in her lap. Up close she’s even more of a contradiction: expensive coat, tired eyes, a jittery energy under her stillness.
“I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “For following you. When I saw you with Pete, I just had to know who you were. Whether you were someone I could trust.”
“You can,” I say, maybe too quickly.
She gives me a wary, questioning look.
“I’m not exactly James’s biggest fan,” I add. “And I care about Pete. I don’t know what’s going on in that house either.”
Her shoulders relax a fraction. “Chris adored Pete,” she says quietly. “They were good together. It wasn’t perfect — Chris could be intense, always falling too hard, too fast — but he loved Pete. And Pete loved him. I don’t think he would’ve just walked away.”
The idea of Pete and Chris being in love lands hard in my chest, but this isn’t the time to entertain these thoughts, so I just nod.
“And what was he like?” I ask.
She glances around as if the houses might be listening. “We grew up in Chelsea. He was successful — business consultant, travelled a lot. Meanwhile I was getting banned from casinos in Brighton for counting cards badly.”
I blink a few times, not knowing how to respond.
“Anyway,” she continues, “Chris was always the golden boy; I was the family liability. When he met Pete, he was happy. The happiest I’d ever seen him, actually. And then…”
She hesitates.
“And then he just vanished.”
Emma’s fingers tighten on her mug. “But that’s not Chris though. He wouldn’t do that to me. Something happened.”
She glances at me, searching my face. “But I know he’s alive. I know it.”
“How?” I ask.
She hesitates, then leans forward, lowering her voice.
“At first, I had a few messages from him saying he was leaving, it was safer to not be in contact with him. He still messages me occasionally, but he won’t tell me where he is or what happened, just to stop looking for him.
The police said he made a large withdrawal of money just before he disappeared, perhaps he went abroad. ”
A shiver runs down my spine. “And the police haven’t been helpful?”
“No, they think he ran of his own accord.”
“Why?” I ask
“It’s a long story, but two years ago, his firm got embroiled in a financial investigation — big one, government-level.
” She lowers her voice. “Chris wasn’t some criminal mastermind, but he was directly involved.
Or adjacent. Or complicit. I’m not sure, but the blame was landing firmly on him. I’m sure he was the scapegoat.”
My stomach tightens.
“He didn’t tell me everything,” Emma says, “but he told me enough. He was going to lose everything — his job, his career, his reputation, his money. He was facing some serious charges. He said he needed time to figure things out. Then… he vanished.”
Her voice cracks, but she presses on.
“At first, he sent messages saying he was safe, that disappearing was the only way to protect himself. Then they got less frequent. Months between them. Always vague. Always from different numbers.” She takes a shaky breath.
“The police just assumed he ran. They said people like him — rich, stressed, facing public humiliation — disappear all the time. New country, new bank account, new name.”
“And you think that’s not true?”
“No,” she says firmly. “Chris wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t a coward. You don’t disappear off the face of the Earth because of a tax investigation. There’s something else.”
She leans closer, eyes dark and shining.
“I think he found something out about James. And Pete knows more than he’s letting on.”
I swallow. Hard. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, something bad. And I think he went into hiding. Pete… he as good as told me to stop digging. Told me I’d get myself hurt. But how can I stop? He’s my brother.”
“And what did the police say?” I ask.
There’s a beat of silence, and then she shakes her head, almost laughing bitterly.
“The police, they were useless. Too much evidence that he left voluntarily. No foul play. Case closed. They think I’m obsessed.
Which, okay, fair, but they also believed me when I said I was just sleepwalking when I was found breaking into my neighbour’s garage in my twenties.
Long story. Point is: they don’t exactly scream thorough to me. ”
“Okay,” I say quickly, because I can hear the edge of hysteria in her voice and I know exactly how that feels.
“So maybe he got involved in something and then had to escape from it?”
She shakes her head. “No, no. I’ve been through this in my head. I talk to Pete sometimes, when he will listen. He always alludes to it being about James, not explicitly. But I can see the fear in his eyes. He knows something.”
I nod. I’ve seen that look of fear.
“But the point is: I know Chris is out there. He’s hiding. And he’s scared.”
She sits back, staring into her coffee. “All I want is to find him. Even if it means following strangers in my car. Even if it means looking crazy. Honestly, looking crazy is my strong suit. I’ve had exes call me ‘chaotic neutral with a driving licence.’”
Emma’s words are erratic, but I still swallow hard as they sit heavy in the air. Suddenly the missing man isn’t a neat story or a Facebook post; he’s a ghost sending warnings from the shadows.
“I know enough to know James isn’t a good person. Pete needs to escape from him and I want to be able to help him do that.”
“Maybe if he’s not with James, he’ll be more open about where Chris went?”
“Then we work together,” I say, surprising myself.
Emma blinks at me, then nods slowly. “Okay.”
Buster jumps up onto the sofa arm, tail flicking like a metronome of disapproval. But I feel something lock into place inside me.
Whatever is happening in that house, whatever secrets James and Pete are keeping, I’m not walking away now.