Page 80 of We Are All Guilty Here

“He was gonna die anyway.”

Emmy didn’t realize how furious she was until it was too late. Rage shot adrenaline into every cell in her body. Her vision sharpened. She could taste blood in her mouth. She didn’t punch him, but she slapped him so hard that he fell back into a chair. Then she slapped him again, and again, screaming, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

He shoved her away. His lip was bleeding. “You fucking bitch.”

She saw his hand clench into a fist. “Please hit me. I dare you.”

“You wish I would.”

“You wanna know what I wish?” she yelled. “I wish I could dig up your father and tell him the only reason you’ve got that fucking dive bar is because I gave it to you. It was my hard work that paid for that bass guitar you don’t know how to play, and my life savings that got you into that traveling band that kicked you to the curb the minute the money ran out.”

“That ain’t how it fucking happened!” Jonah bolted out of the chair and stomped across the lobby. He swung open the door so hard that it popped back on the hinges. “Fucking bitch.”

“Cocksucker!” Emmy screamed after him. The sight of him jumping into the truck that she’d paid for made her phosphorescent with rage. She shoved her hand in her pocket, grippedher phone. She should call a patrol unit to search his car. Ticket him for the joints she knew would be in his console. The open bottle in his cup holder. Send his ass to jail overnight.

Emmy forced her hand to release the phone. She couldn’t do that to Cole. Neither could she get the rage to dissipate. She started pacing back and forth across the lobby. Took in deep breaths, shushed out the air between her teeth. At some level, she knew her anger was misdirected. Not that Jonah didn’t deserve to have his ass kicked, but her body was forcing out the grief through the only emotion Emmy knew how to express right now.

“Hi.”

Emmy swung around. An older woman was standing in the entrance to the chapel. She was wearing a black leather jacket, dark jeans, and lace-up motorcycle boots. A suede purse was slung across her shoulder. Smokey eyeliner. Shaggy, shoulder-length brown hair. It was almost three in the morning, and she looked like she was about to go on stage with Courtney Love.

Emmy struggled to compose herself. She was still in uniform. The best she could manage was to pretend the woman hadn’t seen her lunge at Jonah like a rabid dog. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“I’m Special Agent in Charge Jude Archer. Well—not so special anymore.” She gave a quick smile. “That’s a longer story.”

Emmy almost laughed. “You don’t look like an FBI agent.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Your people are back at the station.” Emmy would let Seth Alexander deal with this imposter. Right now, her jaw was so tight she felt like it was going to lock up. “That’s three blocks down on the left. I’ll join you there when I’m finished.”

“Actually, I’d like to speak with you privately.” Jude indicated the chapel. “Why don’t we sit down in here?”

If she was stupid enough to think Emmy was going to sit in a church pew and pour out her heart, she had more issues than impersonating an FBI agent. “Listen, lady, I don’t want to talk to you. I want you to turn around, go back to wherever you came from, and leave me alone.”

“Okay.”

Emmy waited for her to leave, but she didn’t move. She stood there like she hadn’t saidokayin agreement, but to acknowledge that she’d heard a request had been made. The cadence, the lilt at the end, was so familiar that it was almost like Gerald had gotten up off the table in the embalming room and was standing in the chapel doorway.

Emmy’s nerves started to go haywire, sending a pulsing electricity from the top of her head into her toes. The tickle. The bad feeling. TheDon’t Feel Right. She knew who the woman was. She was far from a stranger.

“Please don’t do this,” Emmy begged. “Not now.”

“Ah,” Jude said. “They told you.”

The glass door opened before Emmy could respond. Tommy walked into the lobby. He was looking down, trying to work the zipper on his jacket. He glanced up, then did a double take. The shock on his face was almost comical. He was momentarily dumbstruck.

He whispered, “Martha?”

Jude smiled at her brother. “Hey, Tommy.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jude watched as Emmy’s mouth opened, then closed, then she wordlessly exited the building through the glass doors. Tommy said nothing. Did nothing. Then he let out a long sigh that bypassed the last forty-plus years. They could’ve been crammed in beside Henry under the hatchback of Myrna’s Chevy Vega waiting for Gerald to finally stumble out of the bar.

But they weren’t kids anymore. Henry was long dead. Tommy had the rounded posture of a man who’d spent too much time behind a desk. Dark circles were under his eyes. He hadn’t shaved. He was completely bald.

Jude asked, “You’re not going to go after her?”

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