3. Emma #3
Bee races across the living room as though she hasn’t seen another person all day. She winds around his legs, rubbing against his trousers and nearly tripping him.
“Bee, stop that.”
She ignores me.
Alex bends and picks her up. When he straightens, his eyes find mine.
I’m sitting on the floor beside the sofa, sorting the laundry for tomorrow’s pickup. One of his shirts is spread between my hands.
His gaze drops to it, then returns to my face. Slower this time. It catches on my mouth.
The shirt is soft and smells like him.
With him watching me, the scent goes straight through me. Heat gathers low in my stomach, and I tighten my grip on the fabric.
Alex looks away first.
He carries Bee into the kitchen, pours himself a glass of water and disappears into his study with her still tucked against his chest.
The door closes behind them.
“Fine. Go live with him,” I mutter.
Bee has been acting more like his cat than mine lately.
Later, I’m carrying towels to the guest bathroom when Alex steps out of his study.
The hallway is too narrow for both of us.
I move right as he shifts left. We correct at the same time and block each other again.
His hand hits the wall beside my head, stopping him before his chest meets mine.
For a second, neither of us moves.
His cologne fills the space between us. My nipples tighten beneath my blouse, and my thighs press together before I can stop them. I clutch the towels harder.
I catch my lower lip between my teeth.
Alex’s eyes drop to my mouth.
I release it.
His jaw tightens.
Then he pushes away from the wall and takes the long way around through the living room without saying a word.
By early evening, soup simmers on the stove.
I’m reaching into the pantry when Alex comes into the kitchen behind me. His steps stop.
There’s enough room for him to pass, but he waits until I move away from the shelves.
As he walks past, his hand closes into a fist at his side.
Avoiding me shouldn’t take this much effort.
For either of us.
My phone buzzes later that night while I’m putting away Alex’s fresh shirts.
The laundry service delivered them this morning, freshly pressed and wrapped in brown paper. They probably charge more for one shirt than I used to spend on groceries in a week.
I know the schedule now. Laundry goes out Thursday and comes back Friday. Dry cleaning on Monday. Groceries on Wednesday.
Alex likes everything done a certain way, at a certain time. After six weeks here, I’ve stopped needing to check the list.
The screen lights again.
Diego Moralez.
I stare at his name.
Diego never calls. He sends pictures of himself and Liam at practice, complains on text about Sofia’s cooking and jokes about his mother trying to find Carlos a wife.
But he doesn’t call.
My stomach tightens before I answer.
A call means something is wrong.
My thumb hovers over the screen.
One tap to decline. One to answer.
Diego is another Moralez brother. After what Alex did to Luis, I can’t risk giving him another person to punish simply for caring about me.
But Diego never calls.
And this could be about Liam.
The phone rings again.
Alex’s study door is closed down the hall, but it isn’t locked. He could come out at any moment, see Diego’s name on my screen and start asking questions.
I answer on the fourth ring.
“Hey Miss C. A pause that runs half a beat long. “Hey, so. Probably nothing.”
“Diego.” I keep my voice level. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s genuinely probably nothing. I didn’t even want to — okay. There’s been a guy. Outside the dorm and then at practice.”
“What guy?”
“I don’t know. A guy. Parked across from us, down toward the corner.
I saw him Tuesday when I got back from conditioning, and then yesterday morning he was there again.
Same car. He doesn’t do anything. He sits on his phone, or he pretends to sit on his phone.
The neighbor thought maybe he’s somebody’s dad, but nobody’s dad sits there for two hours. ”
“What kind of car?”
“Black sedan. Newer. I didn’t get close enough for the plate. Should I get close?”
“No.” It comes out too fast and too flat, and I soften it a half-step late. “No. Don’t. Does Liam know?”
“I said, hey, weird guy, and he said, Cool, weird guy. You know Liam,” guilt tips his voice younger. “I wasn’t going to call you. It felt like narcing on a parked car. But it also felt like a thing you’d want to know.”
“It is. You did right. If he’s there again, take a picture of the plate from a distance and send it to me.”
“Got it. But here’s the thing. I came by to see Liam, but he’s not in his dorm. His phone’s dead too. He probably forgot to charge it again.”
My stomach knots. “Is he okay?”
“I’m sure he is. Ate half of my mom’s care package and went to the gym like a traitor. But that’s not why I called.”
I sit down on the edge of the bed, one of Alex’s shirts still spread across my lap.
“What happened?”
“Some guy showed up asking about Liam Clarke. He said he was doing a background check for scholarship verification.”
Diego sounds rushed. Uneasy. Nothing like the boy who spends Sunday dinner trying to make everyone choke on their food from laughing.
The room seems to narrow around me.
Diego keeps talking.
“My buddy Jake was with me. He’s on scholarship too, and nobody has ever come around asking questions about him. The whole thing felt off.”
“It could be routine.” The answer comes too quickly. “I’m Liam’s legal guardian. Maybe they’re checking family income to make sure he still qualifies.”
Even I can hear how thin it sounds.
“Maybe,” Diego says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Except the questions weren’t about money though, you know.”
The phone presses painfully against my ear.
“What did he ask?”
“Where Liam lived before Austin. Where his family came from. How long you’ve been in Pinehaven.” He hesitates. “Who Emma Clarke is.”
Cold spreads down my arms.
“He already knew most of it,” Diego adds. “He wasn’t really asking. He was checking whether the answers matched.”
My fingers close around the shirt in my lap, crushing the pressed cotton.
“Jake’s roommate works part-time with campus security,” he continues. “He happened to walk past and asked the guy for credentials. The man couldn’t show him anything, so security made him leave. But get this, he got into the same car I’v been seeing around.”
I force air into my lungs. “Are you sure?.”
“Pretty sure it was the same model and color. He didn’t look embarrassed or worried when they stopped him. Jake said he looked like he’d already gotten what he came for.”
My chest empties.
The sedan outside the penthouse.
The feeling of being watched on Fourth Street.
Now a stranger is asking about Emma Clarke at Liam’s campus.
“What did he look like?”
“White guy. Maybe forty. Business clothes.” Diego pauses. “He left in a black sedan. Texas plates.”
The phone slips against my palm. I catch it before it falls.
In through my nose.
One, two, three, four.
The count does nothing.
This is how it starts. Someone watches the building. Someone else goes to Liam’s campus and confirms names, addresses, and family connections.
They know Emma Clarke exists.
All they have to do now is follow her backwards until they find Belle Mitchell.
And once Accord finds us, there won’t be another relocation. No new names. No second chance.
They will kill us.
“Emma?”
Diego’s voice drags me back.
“I’m here.”
“Should I tell Carlos? He’ll know what to do if it’s someone being creepy?—”
“No.”
The word comes out too sharp.
Silence follows.
I loosen my grip on the phone. “There’s no reason to involve Carlos. It was probably a recruiter who didn’t understand the proper process.”
“Recruiters don’t usually ask for information on a player’s sister.”
“I had scouts come by the house in Pinehaven too,” I lie. “They asked strange questions then. Where we lived, what our family situation was. It’s probably the same thing.”
I’ve lied so often that the words arrive without effort.
That should frighten me more than it does.
“You’re sure?” Diego asks.
“Positive. Or maybe he was one of those social media pod people.”
Diego’s laugh booms through the speaker. “You mean a podcaster?”
“Yeah. One of those.”
“Could be. My boy’s been getting a lot of attention lately. They’re already talking about naming him Rookie of the Year.”
Pride warms every word, and despite everything, my mood lifts with it.
“Don’t mention this to Liam when you find him,” I add.
“Why not?”
“You know how he is. He’ll spend the next week worrying about me instead of concentrating on classes and practice.”
“That’s probably true.”
“He already has enough pressure. I don’t want this in his head before a game.”
Diego exhales. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
Another lie.
I can’t tell Diego that the danger I spent ten years running from may have found me, anyway.
“Listen, I’m in the middle of something,” I say. “I need to go.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Thank you for calling me. I mean it.”
“Of course.”
I start to pull the phone away, but Diego speaks again.
“When are you coming back to Pinehaven?”
The question catches beneath my ribs.
Pinehaven already feels far away. Maria’s kitchen before the morning rush. Sofia laughing loud enough to be heard from the parking lot. Sunday dinners where I didn’t have to check every window before sitting down.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Soon, maybe.”
“You better. Liam misses you like crazy.”
My throat tightens.
“If you can’t come home, I’ll bring him to Dallas,” Diego continues. “It’s not that far. We can drive down for a weekend.”
“No,” I blurt out, but soften it before he notices. “I mean, not yet. My boss’s schedule is unpredictable, and I’m still settling into the job.”
“Right. Just let me know. I’ll get him there whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you.”
“Take care of yourself, Emma.”
“You too.”
I end the call before my breathing gives me away.
The phone rests in my lap. I press both palms flat against my thighs.
Someone is asking about Emma Clarke at Liam’s campus.
A black sedan has been sitting outside this building.