Page 4 of Girl, Reborn

‘Five minutes,’ Mia said flatly.

Ella opened her mouth, ready to launchinto the spiel she'd been rehearsing the whole drive over – but the wordsevaporated as she took in the glass door still firmly shut between them.

‘Seriously? You're gonna make me grovelthrough glass?’

Mia just crossed her arms. Take it orleave it, the posture said. And Ella was in no position to be picky.

‘Alright. Fine.’ She scrubbed a hand overher face, suddenly feeling like she’d aged twenty years since she pulled up. ‘I'msorry, Mia. For...all of it. I was out of line, jumping to conclusions likethat. I should have come to you first or considered that you knew Martin betterthan I ever could. I screwed up.’

Mia's jaw twitched, but she said nothing.Ella soldiered on.

‘It's just – it fit. The deaths, thetiming, the things I’d seen. It wasn't just a shot in the dark. But I know howit sounded. How it looked. I accused your boyfriend of being a murderer.’

Mia flinched like she'd been slapped. ‘Accused?’The word dripped venom, sizzled where it landed. ‘Pretty sure you did more thanaccuse, Dark.’

The comment hit like a punch to the gut.Fair, but it stung all the same.

‘I know, I know. And I'm sorry. More sorrythan I can say. But Mia...I'm begging you. Just tell me I'm crazy. Tell methere's nothing to it, that Martin's not guilty.’

Mia's silence stretched like taffy. Ellawatched her partner's face, looking for a tell. A twitch, a flicker. Anythingto betray the thoughts churning behind that stony mask. But Mia had a hell of apoker face. Always had. It's what made her such a damn good agent – and such aninfuriating friend.

Friend. Is that what they’d still be,after all this? After the accusations, the radio silence? She wasn't so sure.And yet – something niggled at the base of her skull. A persistent itch shecouldn't quite scratch. Because for all Mia's stony silence, for all herrighteous fury, there was something else lurking in those bloodshot eyes.Something that looked a hell of a lot like fear.

The realization hit Ella like a bat to theskull.

She straightened up and rested her palmson the glass.

‘You found him, didn’t you?’

A muscle jumped in Mia's jaw. For asecond, Ella thought she'd crack. Spill the secret festering between them. Butthen those shutters slammed down, and Mia's eyes went flat. Dead.

‘I think you should go,’ Mia said. Fourwords, toneless. A verbal kick to the teeth.

Ella’s stomach plummeted. She backed awayfrom the glass, all the while trying to read beyond Mia’s mask of whatever thehell she was trying to portray.

Ella asked, ‘Martin. When you looked athim, what did you see?’

But there was nothing. Just the cold, hardwall Ella had been flinging herself against for days. She searched thatimpassive expression, looking for a crack, just as Mia herself had taught herto do. Desperately seeking a glimmer of the wisecracking, ball-busting broadshe'd trusted with her life. With her darkest secrets.

But there was only a stranger staringback. A woman carved from ice.

Ella's throat closed. Tears burned thebacks of her eyes. She blinked them back with practiced ease.

‘Okay,’ she said. She stepped back, handscurling into fists. Forced herself to meet that flat, flinty gaze. ‘I’ll go.Please be careful.’

Mia's stare drilled into Ella like ajackhammer. The seconds ticked by. What was probably five seconds felt like aneternity. Her gut churned, firing up questions Ella didn’t want to answer. Hadshe just torched more than a partnership? A friendship forged in the fires ofshared blood, sweat, and tears?

Mia was mere months from hanging up herholster. From trading in her Glock for a piña coladas and sandy beaches. Aneasy life, hard-earned. And Ella had just kicked that sandcastle all to hell.

Maybe she should've kept her trap shut.Let sleeping dogs lie, let the chips fall. But then, that had never been herstyle. Not when lives were on the line. Not when Mia's life was on theline.

The door slammed shut like a coffin lid,and Ella stood there, vision blurring as tears threatened to stage a coup. Sheblinked them back and choked down the glass in her throat.

This might be it. This could be the lastshe ever saw of Mia Ripley, the woman who’d taught her how to read the creasesof a person’s forehead, how to slip into an empty house without breakingprotocol, how to uncover a person’s life story from their thumb. The womanwho’d plucked her from behind a desk and given her a job that teenaged Ellawould never have believed was possible. Mia had been more than a mentor, morethan a partner. She'd been the big sister Ella never had, the voice of reasonin a world gone mad. They'd seen each other through hell and back, stitched upeach other's wounds, and chased away each other's demons with cheap whiskey andcheaper humor. Mia had been there for Ella when no one else was, had believedin her when she couldn't believe in herself. Had dragged her out of moremetaphorical gutters than she could count.

And now, with a few ill-chosen words, Ellamight have torched it all. Reduced a bond forged in blood and bullets to ashesin the wind.

Ella turned around and stumbled back toher car, legs heavy as lead. She slid behind the wheel and fished her phonefrom her pocket with numb fingers. The screen blurred and danced, but shemanaged to tap out a message.

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