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'I guess it'sserious,' Ripley said. 'It's been a long time since I had a man at home.'
‘Serious is good,’Ella replied, forcing a half-smile. ‘It suits you.’
‘Never thought I'dhear Miss Dark endorsing anything but the job,’ Ripley teased. ‘You might havepneumonia.’
‘Just tired from thecase.’
'Jumping in freezingwater will take its toll on you, yeah.'
'You never done a coldplunge before?' Ella asked. 'When you jump into a really cold bath?'
'I have not. Why wouldsomeone do that?'
'Good for the skin,apparently,' Ella said. She shifted in her seat, pretending to survey thepatchwork of clouds through the small oval window. Then she pointed to theempty tumblers on their table. ‘Another one?' Ella asked.
'I think I'll pass onanymore,' she replied.
Ella arched her brow.‘Since when do you turn down free whiskey?’
‘Since life gave mesomething better to savor.’
Ella nodded, but herfingers tightened around the armrest. Ripley's words stung sharper than therecycled air scratching at her throat. She could almost taste the tang ofwhiskey that had once been their shared vice—now, it seemed, Ripley had found asweeter elixir in Martin's company.
‘Things change,’Ripley continued. ‘You'll find your something, too. Or do what I said and tellBen you're not letting him go.’
‘Never been much of aseeker,’ Ella muttered, shifting her gaze back to the clouds, which nowappeared ominously dense from her viewpoint.
‘Maybe that's yourproblem,’ Ripley suggested. ‘You're used to chasing shadows, not what's rightin front of you.’
‘Shadows don't tend toleave,’ Ella said, her tone laced with bitterness that surprised even herself.
‘Neither do goodpartners,’ Ripley countered, her hand reaching out to give Ella's shoulder areassuring squeeze. It was a gesture meant to bridge the widening gap betweenthem, but to Ella, the touch felt like an echo from a time already slippingaway.
‘Let's just focus ongetting home,’ Ella deflected, her eyes stony and her jaw set. She could feelthe familiar coil of solitude wrapping its tendrils around her. For years, sheand Ripley had been two sides of the same coin—weathered by the same storms,scarred by the same battles. But now, as Ripley basked in the light of newlove, Ella found herself alone in the shadow, clinging to a partnership that nolonger provided the solace it once did.
‘Home,’ Ripleymurmured. ‘Yeah, let's get home.’
The word lingeredbetween them, fraught with meanings that Ella couldn't fully grasp. Home—asanctuary for some, a solitary cage for others. And as the plane began itsdescent, Ella realized that, for her, home had become little more than aquestion mark hanging over an uncharted abyss.
EPILOGUE
Ella was alone in herapartment with only the cold hum of technology as her companion. She wassitting at her laptop, and the death of Randall Carter had woven itself intothe fabric of her reality, pulling her into its orbit with the gravitationalforce of unanswered questions.
The file on hisunexplained death had been updated only a few hours ago. Ella dug into the newinformation and text filled the screen, clinical and detached, detailing thecold facts of a life ended too abruptly.
Time of death, caliberof weapon, location of the body. But it was the new data that ensnared herfocus—a 9mm PMC Bronze one-fifteen grain bullet had claimed the former FBIdirector's existence. Next, her gaze shifted as she opened an attached file, avideo named with a string of numbers and letters that meant nothing to her butheld the potential to unravel the mystery before her. It was a public file,viewable by all agents with her level of access. Maybe Byford hadn’t set it tothe right privacy levels.
The footage thatappeared was blurred, a voyeuristic glimpse through the electronic eyes of aCCTV camera perched on a neighboring house. It watched, unblinking, as tragedyunfolded in grainy shades of gray.
A figure materializedfrom the static, a specter in black that moved with purposeful stealth. It washunched slightly, a silhouette that suggested a burden carried on itsshoulders—whether physical or psychological, Ella couldn't discern. The hooddrawn over its head obscured any hope of identification, leaving only theoutline of a slim frame that offered no clues, no revelation to the watcherseeking answers.
Ella leaned closer,willing the shadows on the screen to peel back and reveal the face of theenigma who had taken Carter's life. But the darkness held fast, jealouslyguarding its secret. She could feel the frustration mounting, a tightness inher chest that mirrored the finality of the shot that had pierced RandallCarter's.
The cursor blinkedexpectantly as Ella paused, her thoughts momentarily adrift in the sea ofpotential leads and dead ends. Who was this cloaked executioner? A hired gun? Apersonal vendetta made manifest? Or something even more sinister, a threadwoven into the fabric of her own past?
She replayed the clip,dissecting each frame for a clue, any sign that might betray the identity ofthe figure retreating back into the night from whence it came. But theresolution refused to yield clarity, and Ella was left with the naggingcertainty that the answer lay just beyond her grasp. She had seen too muchdeath to let it claim more space in her thoughts than necessary, but RandallCarter's murder nipped at her resolve. The idea that she could be connected tothis brutal act, even peripherally, felt like a splinter lodged in herconsciousness.
‘Guardian angel,’ shemuttered under her breath, the words twisting with irony as they fell into thequiet of her apartment. Mia Ripley's theory seemed almost laughable now, theproduct of an overactive imagination, perhaps. Ella shook her head. It was preposterousto think that someone out there was balancing the scales on her behalf.
