“I’m holding you to it, you know,” Greta was saying. “Friday. Ice cream, maybe some trashy TV, and your actual face in my actual living room. I miss your face.”
“I miss yours more,” Naomi said, already anticipating the onslaught of hugs and the way Greta could read her better than any profiler. “It’s a date, but let’s do it here instead.”
A pause.
“You really okay, Nomi? Because I can come over right now. You just say the word.”
It was tempting. Greta was the kind of person who took up all the space in a room with her light and laughter, and she would be the perfect distraction.
“No,” Naomi said, managing a smile even though Greta couldn’t see it. “I’m tired. I’m heading to bed as soon as we hang up.”
“Liar,” Greta shot back. “But fine, I’ll wait until Friday. But you better believe I’m dragging the truth out of you. You want reality TV, you’re about to get a full-on emotional intervention. Or at least a lot of crying at the end of a bad movie.”
Naomi snorted. “Good night, Greta.”
“Don’t think you can get rid of me that easy. I’m a persistent little shit. Friday! And you better have chocolate fudge swirl or whatever that stupid flavor is called. The one you used to eat in high school when you were sad. We’re going to pack it away like calories aren’t a thing.”
Her heart twisted. “Copy that. See you.”
She hung up before Greta could call her out for sounding like a robot. The silence crashed back in, thick and heavy, swallowing up her whole kitchen.
God, she was tired.
The one-bedroom, one-bathroom rental was smaller than her apartment in Missoula had been, and the boxes occupied a lot of the free space. She probably should’ve rented something bigger, but she’d been operating on autopilot when she’d driven into town three days ago.
The decision to come back to Solace hadn’t been rational. It had been pure instinct, the kind that sent wounded animals crawling back to familiar territory to lick their wounds.
She should unpack, but as she stared at the boxes, the idea of it was too daunting.
Tomorrow.
She would get her life back on track tomorrow.
The whiskey burned as she finished it, but the warmth didn’t chase away the chill that had settled in her bones. She needed sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw Leila Padilla’sface staring back at her from the flyer. Another girl gone. Another family torn apart. Another case where law enforcement seemed more concerned with managing public perception than finding answers.
Just like Mary-Rose.
A pang shot through her, just as it always did when she thought of her cousin. She exhaled hard, trying to ease the growing knot in her throat, and set down the mug a little too hard. Good thing it was only plastic, or it would’ve broken.
Bed.
Definitely time to go to bed before she wandered any farther down memory lane.
Naomi dragged herself up the narrow stairs to the loft bedroom, each step heavier than the last. The bedroom was barely larger than the queen-sized bed it contained, with sloped ceilings that made her feel like the space was closing in. She hadn’t bothered unpacking her clothes yet, just lived out of the duffel bag she’d tossed on the floor three days ago.
She stripped off her jeans and T-shirt, trading them for an oversized FBI Academy shirt that had seen better days.
She scrubbed her face with both hands. Wished she could rub away the memory of Ghost’s gaze pinning her in that parking lot, cold and steady and… God, what was it? Judgment? Curiosity? Or something else she didn’t dare name?
It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.
She flopped onto the bed, letting gravity do most of the work. The mattress squeaked. She barely felt it beneath the dead weight of her own exhaustion. She lay there, one arm flung over her eyes, willing her brain to shut up for five freaking minutes.
No such luck.
four
Six a.m. came stupid early.
