Page 5 of Deathtoll
“Circumstances were.”
Resentment hardened Emma’s eyes all over again. “You have no idea how weird it is that you had this whole life I know almost nothing about, while we were all thinking you were dead in the cemetery. We freaking visited your grave. Brought flowers. I talked to you in heaven!”
“I explained why it had to happen that way. I was an eyewitness to murder. The only person who could identify the hitman. He tracked me down and fricking shot at me. I crashed my car.”
“And you decided to let everyone think you died.” Emma’s tone held a chill that put the weather outside to shame.
“The FBI decided. Just until they caught Asael.”
“You agreed.”
“What if, next time, you were in the car with me? What if, next time, it was a firebomb at the house, with Mom and Dad inside?”
Emma said nothing, just stared at the road ahead.
Kate sighed. “Being on the run, hiding, was no fun. By the time I came to Broslin, I’d lived under half a dozen false identities, in all different places. Then the hitman’s partner tracked me down anyway.”
“That Mordocai guy? What I still don’t get is, why didn’t he tell Asael he found you?”
“The FBI said Mordocai wanted to make me a surprise gift.” The thought sent a chill down Kate’s spine, as if a ghost was tracing her vertebrae with an icicle.
“You should have told us you were alive. At least after Murph took out Mordocai.”
“Asael was still out there. I had to keep on the run.”
“Murph left everything to go with you, to protect you. You realize he would have spent the rest of his life in hiding with you, keeping you safe?”
“But can’t you see how unfair that would have been to him?”
“So now that Asael is finally gone, explosion,bam, pink mist, you just dump Murph because you don’t need him anymore?”
“It’s not like that.”
“I really thought you two were in love.”
“Me too, but …” Kate turned to look out the side window for a moment, at the houses that whooshed by. “I can’t tell if what we have is a healthy relationship or some weird codependent mess. When we left Ohio, I didn’t even consider going back to LA.”Ah, dammit.She shouldn’t have said that. She pressed on. “I came with Murph to his home, to Broslin. We started Hope Hill. At least in Ohio, I had a separate job. Here, we’ve been living togetherandworking together, in each other’s pockets twenty-four-seven. I need some distance. I need to at least have my own place. If we get married, it’s forever. So, I want to make sure we’re both really choosing it.”
“You have some serious attachment issues, you know that, right? You doubt your feelings too much.”
“That’s what being bounced around in foster care does to kids. I’m working through it, all right?”
Emma drove in silence for several seconds. “I’m sorry you got such a bum deal. I feel like I skated off scot-free.” She glanced at Kate before returning her attention to the road. “I wish I could remember more.”
“Nothing there worth remembering.” Just endless hunger and endless beatings. Kate pointed at the large silver-and-turquoise turtle on Emma’s finger and asked, “Is that a new ring?” to change the subject.
“I went up to the Yurok Reservation a couple of weeks ago.”
Kate’s heart clenched as she waited for more.
“I didn’t expect to find him,” Emma said. “I guess I was looking for a part of myself.” She flexed her finger, and the silver caught the morning sun. “Turtles represent protection because they have a shell. They represent a lot of things: Mother Earth, a long life, patience.” She glanced at Kate for a second. “It was interesting to drive through that land, think about what it meant to have ancestors.”
“Did you feel a connection?”
Emma shook her head. “Maybe becausehewould be my connection, so that link is missing in the chain.”
When Emma had turned eighteen, she’d asked to see her adoption papers, curious about her biological father. The paperwork offered little help.Identity: Unknown. Race: Native American (Yurok)/African American,the only bit of informationthe woman who’d given them birth had provided to Social Services.
Kate had even less information in her paperwork, all the fields underFatherleft blank, but she remembered the woman referring to him a time or two asThat Irish Bastardwho wouldn’t give her money for an abortion. Kate never cared, never wanted to find her father, but Emma did, so Kate felt bad for Emma that it wasn’t likely to ever happen.
