Page 51 of Coming Home

"I'm already turning the car around. I'll sweep the Sunset motels. You take the grid down by Broadway."

I couldn't drive my own truck. Admitting my hands weren't steady enough to navigate the afternoon traffic cost me more than the cab fare, but I shoved myself into the backseat of a yellow taxi anyway, my fingers flying across the screen as I fired text after text into her dark phone.

Ralph

Emma, come back to the house.

Whatever we broke today, we'll fix it. Together.

Please don't do this. Don't vanish on me.

Nothing. Every single bubble delivered, but the read receipts remained stubbornly blank.

I was standing outside the Broadway station, when a flash of familiar movement caught my eye across the street. It wasn't Emma.

It was Nadia.

She was stepping out of the local broadcasting building, her sneakers squeaking on the concrete as her eyes remained glued to her phone. I recognized her from the afternoon I'd spent in the studio lobby while Emma recorded her voiceover work.

I cleared the street in four strides, my shadow falling over her screen. "Nadia."

Her head jerked up. Her eyes widened before narrowing into two slits of pure, protective hostility. It was impressive how fast she geared up for war. "What did you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything. Her brother intercepted us at the facility, things went sideways, and she bolted before anyone could stop her."

"Bolted where, Ralph?"

"That's exactly why I'm here. I need to know where she is, Nadia. Where is she?"

Nadia studied my face. The internal calculation played out across her features—absolute loyalty to Emma's privacy versus absolute concern for Emma's survival, two equal forces tearing her in opposite directions.

"She will literally skin me alive for this," Nadia muttered, rubbing her temples.

"She has to be present to skin you," I said, my voice dead serious. "Give me the address."

Nadia let out a long breath and gave me the name of a dingy motel off the highway and the room number. I was already turning toward the curb before she could even finish the digits.

"Hey!" her voice sliced through the traffic, pulling me back. I turned around. Nadia was standing under the awning, her face incredibly solemn. "Do not screw this up, Brandt. She has spent every single one of her second chances on men who treated her like a footnote. You better be worth the final one."

I scrambled into another cab, my fingers flying as I alerted Theo.

Ralph

Found her. Sunrise Motel, Room 14.

His response flashed back within three seconds.

Theo

Go. She won't let me within a mile of that door right now. She might actually listen to you. Fix it.

The rain started halfway through the ride—a sudden, uncharacteristic California drizzle that smeared the cab's windshield and turned the taillights ahead into long, bleeding ribbons of red. By the time the driver pulled into the gravel lot of the motel, the drizzle had graduated into a heavy, relentless downpour.

The Sunrise Motel was precisely as tragic as the typography on the sign suggested. A low-slung, single-story concrete L-shape, its faded turquoise paint peeling off the stucco like dead skin. The neon vacancy sign was buzzing like a dying insect, missing its first letter. I threw a handful of cash at the driver and sprinted through the sheet of rain toward room fourteen, my charcoal shirt soaked through to the skin before my boots even hit the concrete walkway.

I didn't hesitate. I hit the hollow wood door with three sharp, heavy raps.

The lock turned. The door swung inward.