Page 6 of Curse

If he is in charge like he says he is, I need him to tell mewhat he knows about what happened and not the other way around.

“Do you happen to know if there was anyone else on the plane with her?” He pulls his sunglasses off his face, fixing me with a hard glare.

I’m confused by the aggression he’s leveling at me. Is he under the impression I had something to do with this? If not, why the fuck isheaskingmequestions? I just got here.

“What did you say your name was?” I stare back at him. He is gorgeous, with a bristly growth of a beard like a 5 o’clock shadow, though it can’t be past 10 in the morning, tan skin, and dark navy blue eyes.

His suit hugs his body, barely containing his broad chest and thick arms. It’s a buttery soft charcoal gray that pops against the white linen shirt beneath the lapel with a silk tie the color of darkly ripe plums. He looks a little older than I am, probably late-thirties, and there is something about him that seems too… expensive, too dark for this area.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk as he faces me again. “Matti. Matti Dragovari. And you are?”

I frown, unable to decipher the expression on his face. What does he think my intention is? Does he think I’m trying to fuck him? I mean, sure, he’s hot as fuck, so it likely happens to him with strange women a lot. But the arrogance. Especially in this situation. Gross.

“Okay,Matti, has anyone found anything? Anyone? Do they have any idea how this happened?” I ask, ignoring his question.

The smirk disappears, and he turns back toward the lake like I no longer interest him. “No. Go home. You’ll be contacted when we have more information.”

Desperation and anger flare in me as I find myself face to face with his back. Fuck this guy. If he won’t give me answers, someone else will.

“Thanks so much for your help,” I sneer. “Invaluable. Really.”

A man at the end of the dock wearing a uniform under a clear rain poncho stands up, picks up a bin full of items, and walks toward me and Matti. As he passes by, I glance in the bin and see a collection of clear bags tossed haphazardly, each marked and tagged and full of bits and pieces from the crash. The sight of brightly colored fabric makes my heart jump into my throat.

“Wait!” I reach into the bin and pull out the bag containing the fabric. It’s my sister’s scarf. I’d recognize it anywhere.

The man carrying the bin looks confused and drops it, reaching for the bag in my hands.

“Ma’am,” he says with a deep Southern accent. “That’s evidence, ma’am. You can’t mess with that.”

“The hell I can’t! This belongs to my sister.”

At first, I am over the top excited because I’ve finally found something related to Emily, but immediately, my stomach lurches, realizing what this means.

That scarf means Emily was definitely on that plane, and as he snatches the bag out of my hand, it’s like she’s being pulled away from me yet again.

The man’s name tag says Clifton.

“Detective Clifton, have you found any survivors? Any sign of anyone?”

“That’s ‘officer,’ ma’am. I’m not a detective. And… no.” Giving me a disdainful look, he drops the bagged scarf back in the bin and moves past me.

He heads toward the parking lot where one of the truckbeds is being filled with more bins, similarly full of bagged and tagged evidence from the crash.

Matti moves closer to me, his expression hardening, as we both watch the officer walk away.

My breath catches in my throat, the words strangling me as I fight to hold it together. “I was just talking to her. I can’t believe…”

Matti looks down at me, his voice steely. “You talked to your sister? When? After or… before?”

I’m jolted back to reality. This Matti guy is too much. Not only is he on the attack, but I still don’t get who he is or why he’s talking to me. I want to scream at him, take out my fear and frustration over Emily on him, and at the same time I refuse to let him see that he’s gotten to me—that anything can get to me.

Matti narrows his eyes at me menacingly, his voice low. “I asked you a question. Don’t make me ask you again.”

“I don’t know who the fuck you are, but if you really have anything to do with investigating this case, then you need to direct your questions to someone who knows something. Not the person who just got here ten minutes ago,” I snarl at him, my attention on Clifton and the truck.

Matti turns to follow my gaze.

My throat feels like it’s closing up as Clifton drops the bin into the truck bed with a thud that echoes across the water.

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