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She was the one.
They wereat the breakfast table and though there were mysteries to solve still, Raul was feelinggreat.He hadn’t slept long but what sleep he’d got had been like a coma. Good sex would do that. It was a sunny morning and would be a beautiful day. Emma was sitting right next to him eating a cheese muffin and he was eating toast and an amazing raspberry jam she’d made. Sunlight was pouring in, turning her hair to flames and her eyes ocean blue. All was right with the world, except shadowy people were messing with the country’s financial system.
The doorbell rang. Raul met Emma’s startled eyes. “Are you expecting someone?”
She shook her head, frowning. “Absolutely not. I can’t imagine who it could be, particularly this early in the morning. It can’t be Mike, the porter. He’d call up.” The bell rang again, and again, impatiently.
She moved toward the door. Raul shot out an arm. “Wait.”
Her eyes rounded when she saw that he came out of the bedroom with his Glock 19 in his hand. Not taking chances.
“You have a gun?”
“Always.”
“It—it might be a neighbor.”
Raul nodded. “Still.” He wasn’t putting his weapon down until he knew who it was.
She pressed the button for the intercom. “Who is it?”
The intercom showed the face of a man outside the door. Clean-shaven, short dark hair, regular features. Mr. Nobody. Suddenly the face disappeared and a badge showed. “Inspector Ferguson, SFPD, ma’am. We have a few questions about a colleague of yours, Toby Jackson.”
Emma snatched the door open before Raul could stop her. She ushered him into the living room. “Come in, Detective. Do you have any news about his –” she stopped. Behind the detective’s back, Raul was shaking his head violently, mimicking a throat slash. She caught on immediately, though she was frowning. “Please, have a seat.”
She led the detective to an armchair and sat on the couch. Raul sat right next to her, real close. Put his arm around her just so the detective could see that she wasn’t alone.
Emma had understood that she shouldn’t give anything away. So, she sat patiently and waited for the detective to say something.
He brought out a notebook and clicked a pen. He had on a sharp stylish suit and combat boots. The boots were fine, most cops wore them now. But the suit was way too expensive for a mid-level cop.
“Ms. Holland,” he began, looking as the notebook, “you are probably aware that your co-worker, Toby Jackson, is missing and has been missing for –" He lifted his eyes to her.
Emma, bless her, didn’t take the bait. She sat quietly. Shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not too sure. I don’t think he has been in the office all week. But I’m not certain because we work in different offices. I’m just reporting what our colleagues in his office said. It’s been a busy week.”
He nodded, writing down something in a precise small script. “Do you remember the last time you saw him?”
She didn’t answer right away. Pretended to think about it. “I think – I think Friday before last. But I couldn’t swear to it in court.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why do you say that? Do you think it will come to a trial?”
“No, not at all.” Again, she kept her cool. “It’s just an expression, Detective.”
“Inspector.”
“Inspector.”
He stared at her for a moment, then looked back down at his notebook. “Ok. So, the last time you are certain you saw Mr. Jackson was Friday before last. And not over the weekend?”
“No.” She didn’t elaborate.
She was doing fine, not giving anything away. Because Raul wasn’t too sure about Inspector Ferguson. Something wasn’t tracking.
“Do you have any idea –”
“Can I see your badge?” Raul interrupted deliberately, and not politely.
“My badge?”
