Chapter 26 Emery
How’s the patient?” Annie says through the line.
“Miraculous as ever.” Reaching for my laptop, I open the file where I’ve been transcribing my notes.
Normally I’d be thrilled to talk about work right now, grateful for the distraction, but all I can think about is Luca being out there alone, just like he was that night.
Trying to refocus, I scroll down to my last entry.
“Vitals are Olympic athlete–worthy. I’ll draw some blood tonight and run a full panel tomorrow.
His memory seems the same, but no weakness in limbs, altered gait, or coordination issues.
In fact, we were out all day, and he still felt up to a walk tonight. ”
“Ooh, like a date?”
“Not a date but not not a date?” Standing, I walk across the house to look out the front window. No sign of him yet. I turn away and start pacing, willing myself to relax. “I took him to the beach where we had our first date. We talked. Really talked. I can’t remember the last time we did that.”
“I told you this would happen! Oh my God, Em, I’m so happy for you guys.”
“Okay, calm down.” I bite back a smile as I pivot back toward the front of the house. “It’s just a start.”
“But it’s something!”
I’m listening, but my attention has been lured out the window and to the police car pulling into my driveway. My stomach plummets, my palms turning slick. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
The doorbell rings. No no no no no.
“Annie, the police are here. I gotta go.”
“What?”
“I’ll call you back—”
“The fucking police?”
“Luca’s not home yet. I just—” Without finishing my sentence, I end the call and run to the front door.
Pulse hammering, I throw it open and am faced with two uniformed officers. “Hi,” I say and then immediately, “What happened?”
“Are you Emery Martín?” the one on the left asks. He’s got a baby face and a mustache that looks like a sticker.
I nod frantically. “Yes, yes.” Looking past them at the street, I search for signs of an accident. My thoughts vacillate wildly between thinking something has happened to Luca, and that someone has reported what we’ve done.
Annie is right: I’m not cut out for prison. I’m not cut out for any of this.
Even so, I’d do it all over again.
“I’m Officer Dowd and this is Officer Stone,” Mustache says. “We’re with the San Diego Sheriff’s Department.”
I notice that Stone—an older, stoic officer—has split his attention between my face and over my shoulder, trying to get a look inside the house. His left arm is at his side, the palm of his hand resting on the butt of his holstered gun.
I’ve been trained to mislead people, to stay cool and calm and—most importantly—appear confident in the face of suspicion, but right now they could probably ask me my birthday and I’m not sure I could give a convincing answer. “Has something happened?”
“We’re looking for Luca Martín,” Officer Dowd says. “Is he home?”
“Can you tell me what’s going on? I’m his wife.”
“Is Mr. Martín here, ma’am?” Stone asks, a flash of impatience in his expression.
“No,” I say, frowning. “He went for a walk.”
“How long ago was this?”
“About a half hour. I was expecting him back any minute.”
The two men share a quick look before Stone turns his head and says something unintelligible into the radio strapped to his shoulder.
Dowd’s attention is back on me. “But he was here today?”
“Yes. Now are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Ma’am,” Officer Dowd says, “would you mind if we came in and waited for your husband?”
It would look deeply suspicious, but I could say no.
When I was first hired at BioNEX this was made very clear.
Should a situation arise where a member of any police entity requests entry into our residence without a warrant, we should refuse and immediately call a secure BioNEX number.
Given what I’ve done, contacting my employer is the last thing I should do.
But I don’t want them inside, either! My mind reels comically forward to the moment they come in and Mustache mysteriously finds the bloody dress I thought I’d thrown away.
Suddenly there’s a whole hazmat team in my house, spraying luminol on every surface.
They check my car and find even more. I’m led out in handcuffs while cameras flash.
The judge bangs a gavel, the prison door slams. I eat unrecognizable slop on a tray for the rest of my life and read the same David Baldacci book over and over, it being the only thing I can find in the prison library.
“Ma’am?” Dowd prompts.
With a resigned sigh I step back and hold open the door for them, watching them walk in and take a look around.
I try to see the house from their perspective; it’s tidy but there’s the expected detritus of people who have spent a lot of time inside lately.
A half-full water glass on the coffee table, a crumpled paper towel from when Luca ate some toast and then fell asleep on the couch, one of my socks.
Several coffee cups. A book splayed open over the arm of a chair. Dog toys scattered around the floor.
But there’s also the mess I hope they can’t see, and it takes monumental effort to not let my eyes drift down the hallway where tens of thousands of dollars of possibly stolen medical equipment is still set up in my bedroom.
“Is there anyone else in the home with you?” Stone asks, eyes searching every corner of the room.
“It’s just me here right now.” I feel dread sinking in my gut like a lead weight. “Sorry—am I in trouble or something?”
“Not at the moment,” Dowd says, admittedly not my favorite answer, and I watch as Stone leans in to examine our framed wedding photo on the mantel.
“This him?” he asks.
“Yes?” I stare at the back of his head, feeling irrationally irritated. The fact that it’s Luca should be obvious, no? Given that I’m standing next to him in a wedding dress? Who else would it be!
We all turn at the sound of the front door opening. Luca’s panicked gaze sweeps across the room, immediately softening in relief when it lands on me.
He moves straight to me, and my brain is on autopilot, my arms going around his waist in a way they haven’t done since before the accident. I hold him tight, my face pressed to his chest, closing my eyes as I can finally breathe. The words thank you thank you thank you on a loop in my head.
I feel him relax, his arms winding around me, too.
“Are you okay?” he asks into my hair, and I nod against him.
“When I saw the police car pull into the driveway, I panicked,” I tell him.
“I know,” he whispers. “I know. Me, too.”
Reluctantly, I pull away and look down at Honey, who is delighted that we have company. She’s wagging her tail so hard her entire butt sweeps from side to side. Luca lets her go say hi to the officers, and Stone seems to be unable to resist reaching down to scratch her chin.
I swallow a thick lump of anxiety. “These officers would like to talk to you,” I tell Luca.
He turns, keeping a protective arm around my waist. “Okay?”
Officer Dowd steps forward. “Are you Luca Martín?”
“I am. What’s going on?”
Officer Dowd opens a small spiral notebook. “Nine-one-one received a call earlier from a neighbor reporting a missing person and potential homicide.”
Luca looks down at me, his eyes glimmering with a sardonic smirk. We both know who called. “Let me guess,” he says. “I’m the victim?”
“That’s what the caller suspected,” Dowd confirms.
“And where did this happen?”
Dowd checks his notes. “She told the operator she saw it happen at the end of the street.”
“Well, as you can see, I am not dead,” my husband says with a smile. “I don’t know what she thinks she saw, but it wasn’t me.”
The officer gives a small laugh. “Obviously we’re happy to hear that. Do you have any idea why someone would think a homicide had taken place?”
“I had an accident at work.” Luca motions to his leg. “It was a few days before I could get around. The person I’m guessing called you is used to seeing me every day. She likes to keep tabs on what’s going on in the neighborhood. I’m guessing she noticed I haven’t been around and got worried.”
“Were you seen at a hospital for this injury?” Dowd asks.
“My wife is a doctor,” Luca says smoothly. “She was able to patch me up without a giant ER bill to show for it.”
An eternal beat of silence passes between the men before they both laugh, their postures visibly relaxing. So does mine once Stone finally takes his hand off his gun.
“Now, that would be nice,” Dowd says, closing his notebook.
“Dislocated my shoulder playing baseball and it cost me a small fortune.” He tucks the notebook into his shirt pocket.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Martín, Dr. Martín. It’s our job to ensure that you’re safe, so we have to follow up on calls like this. ”
“Of course, officers,” Luca says. “Thank you for checking.”
“Sorry about the intrusion,” Stone says with a small wave. “We’ll check out the area at the end of the street and let you know if we find anything. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”