Chapter Eleven
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Emma sat in the cold case room, the heat from the mug barely making it through her fingers. She wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but someone, maybe Hallie, had shoved it into her hands the second they got back, and now she clung to it like it might hold her together.
The scent of mint and chamomile filled the air, subtle and clean, but it didn’t settle the sharp knot low in her stomach.
Across the room, Ryker stood with his back to her, phone to his ear, talking to Hayes. His voice was low but tense, clipped in a way that told her the call wasn’t going the way he wanted it to.
Earlier, after they’d radioed in the explosion, Hallie had dispatched a cruiser to pick them up.
Jesse and Hayes had cleared the area, and the bomb squad was already en route by the time backup arrived.
But the damage had been done. Their cruiser was gone.
Nothing but twisted, smoldering wreckage left behind.
And Emma knew, knew, if Ryker hadn’t spotted those tracks circling the vehicle, they’d both be dead.
Blown apart.
She lifted the cup and took a small sip, trying not to let her hands shake.
The thing that rattled her most wasn’t the blast. It was the precision. The timing. Whoever had planted that explosive knew they’d come back that way. Knew exactly how long they’d be gone.
It was deliberate. Personal. And they’d missed dying by mere seconds.
Ryker ended the call and slid his phone into his jacket pocket. He didn’t speak right away, just rubbed the back of his neck like the weight of everything was settling there.
Then he looked at her. “They got an ID on the body,” he said. “Name’s Marcus Harlan. Homeless vet. Used to live in a shelter outside San Antonio.”
Emma blinked, her fingers tightening around the mug.
“The ME says it was a single gunshot wound to the head,” Ryker added. “Quick. Precise.”
Her stomach turned, the tea suddenly tasting bitter in her mouth. Marcus Harlan. A man who’d survived war, survived the streets… only to be executed and dressed up like Ryker. Used like a pawn in this killer’s twisted game.
“He wasn’t even a target,” she muttered. “He was bait. A way to lure us there. To make sure we saw that phone, those messages. And then…” Her eyes met Ryker’s. “Then the man in the woods. The distraction. Just long enough for someone to double back and rig the cruiser.”
Ryker nodded once. “They had it all planned out. Right down to the minute.”
Emma set the mug aside, unable to stomach another sip. Marcus Harlan hadn’t been a part of this. He’d just been available. Disposable, in the eyes of whoever was orchestrating this.
It sickened her.
Ryker crossed the room in two strides and set a hand on her arm, the other sliding to the small of her back as he gently pulled her to her feet. Before Emma could say a word, he wrapped his arms around her. And he kissed her.
Not rushed. Not uncertain. Just steady and sure, like he knew exactly what she needed even before she did.
When he pulled back, his voice was low, a flicker of heat beneath the humor. “You didn’t apologize, but I figured a kiss was called for.”
Emma’s breath caught, and for the first time in what felt like hours, something other than dread surged through her. She managed a smile. “You figured right.”
She kissed him then, no hesitation.
It started soft, but quickly deepened, the weight of everything they’d been through pouring into it.
His hand cupped the back of her neck, hers fisted in his shirt.
The warmth of him, the scent of smoke still clinging faintly to his jacket, the scrape of stubble against her skin, it all grounded her, stripped away the lingering edge of fear.
But it also sparked something else.
The kiss turned hotter, breathier, neither of them pulling back. Her body pressed to his, tension unraveling into heat so sharp it made her knees weak. For a few dizzy seconds, she forgot they were still in the cold case room, still on the clock, still in the middle of a manhunt.
When they finally parted, her lips tingled, her pulse pounded.
Ryker looked at her, eyes dark, voice just above a whisper. “Definitely too hot for a cold case room.”
Emma gave a shaky laugh. “Then we’d better get back to work.”
But as she stepped away, the truth hit hard and fast. That kiss hadn’t just taken the edge off, it had scorched right through her.
Too hot, period.
It had steadied her nerves, sure, but in the next breath, it had shaken her in a whole new way. She was falling for Ryker. Fast. Hard. And considering everything that was happening, that was a really bad thing.
Feelings could muddy judgment. Complicate instincts. And her mind was already fraying at the edges from the pressure, the fear, the constant circling threat.
She was a good cop. She knew how to run an investigation, how to stay sharp under fire.
But this case wasn’t just about bodies and clues.
It was about killing her. And killing him.
And the deeper her heart got tangled up in Ryker Caldwell… The harder that truth was going to hit.
Emma stepped away from Ryker just as voices echoed from the hallway, raised, tense.
She turned and crossed the cold case room, opening the door just as Dr. Colvin tried to push her way past Deputy Jemma Salvetti, who had planted herself firmly in the threshold like a steel door with a badge.
“I need to speak with them,” Dr. Colvin insisted, eyes wide and voice too tight to be casual.
She looked relieved the second she saw Emma and Ryker, like her whole body let out a breath.
Emma didn’t buy it. Not completely.
That expression, it could’ve been relief. But it could also be performance. Especially if Colvin had something to do with the explosive. Especially if she’d come to see if the job had finished them off.
Emma kept her expression neutral and glanced at Jemma. “It’s okay. We’ll talk to her.”
Jemma stepped aside without a word, though she gave the doctor a long look as she passed.
Dr. Colvin stepped inside quickly, clutching her phone like it was something fragile. She held it out to Emma and Ryker.
“I got this,” she said. “I’m sure it’s from Ethan.”
Emma took the phone, Ryker moving in beside her as they both looked at the screen. She read the message once, then again, the words digging in deeper the second time.
I always knew you’d come back to me. But you’re talking to them. That hurts. You know how this ends, Maris, just you and me, clean slate. Like we planned. Watch your six, angel.
A chill slid down her spine. Beside her, Ryker muttered a curse under his breath. His jaw tightened as he read it, but his focus was razor-sharp.
Dr. Colvin’s voice broke the silence. “That’s how Ethan used to end every message he sent me. Watch your six, angel.” Her eyes lifted to Emma’s. “It has to be him.”
Emma didn’t answer right away. She scrolled back on the phone, checking the number. Unknown. No contact saved. Just like the others.
“Unknown sender,” she said aloud, already thinking ahead to digital forensics, data pings, tower hits.
Dr. Colvin gripped the strap of her purse tighter. “You believe me now, don’t you? He’s alive.”
Emma didn’t answer.
She kept her expression neutral, eyes still on the message. Because yes, it was possible Ethan was alive. The phrasing, the sign-off, it was convincing.
But it was just as possible Ethan was dead, and someone else was using his words, his style, even his contacts, to keep the game going.
Maybe someone who’d loved him. Maybe someone who still did. Maybe someone standing in this room.
Emma finally looked up at the doctor, unreadable. “We’ll have the lab work on tracing the number.”
Because right now, she didn’t trust anything. Not even this woman’s fear.
Dr. Colvin’s fingers fidgeted with the strap of her purse, her voice suddenly softer, almost eager.
“It’s obvious he wants to communicate with me,” she said. “He reached out. That means he still trusts me on some level.”
Emma kept her arms folded, watching every flicker of expression on the woman’s face.
“I want him to know I haven’t betrayed him,” the doctor continued, glancing between Emma and Ryker. “That I’m not the enemy. Maybe I can get him to meet. Maybe if he sees me, alone, he’ll come forward.”
Emma’s pulse ticked up. “You’re suggesting we use you as bait,” she said, flatly.
Dr. Colvin nodded, her eyes lit with something that made Emma’s stomach tighten. Devotion. Guilt. Obsession, maybe. “I can do it. I want to do it. He’ll come to me.”
Or Ethan would kill her to shut her up.
Emma didn’t even hesitate. “No,” she said firmly. “Absolutely not.”
Ryker echoed her without missing a beat. “It’s too risky. If Ethan’s watching, he’ll know we’re setting a trap. And if he’s not the one behind this, if it’s someone else, you’ll be walking straight into a target zone.”
Dr. Colvin’s shoulders tensed. “But he reached out to me. I can—”
Emma held up a hand. “No. You’re not bait. End of discussion.”
The doctor opened her mouth again, clearly ready to argue, but Emma’s phone rang, slicing through the room with a sharp burst of sound. She glanced at the screen.
Charlotte.
“Emma,” Charlotte said the moment she answered, her voice tight, breath fast. “I’m at the old house. The one Ethan and I inherited. The rental.”
Emma’s pulse jumped. “Why?”
Charlotte’s voice wavered. “I… I don’t know. I’ve been having these dreams. Seeing things. It’s like something pulled me here. I needed to know if he’d been back.”
Emma moved toward the center of the room, blocking everything else out. “And?”
“The back door was unlocked,” Charlotte said. “There were footprints in the dust. Something’s been moved. The hallway runner, it’s shifted. And there’s a photo missing.”
“What photo?” Emma gripped the phone tighter.
“The one of you and Ethan. From the academy graduation party. It used to be in the hall. It’s just… gone.”
Ryker had already crossed the room to stand beside her, picking up enough of Charlotte’s side of the call to stiffen.
Then Charlotte made a sound, sharp, choked.
Emma’s heart slammed into her ribs. “Charlotte?”
“There’s someone upstairs.” The words were a whisper and filled with terror.
Then silence.
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