Killer Swell

42

Carter’s words stung me.

I didn’t think I was doing this to make amends for Kate, but maybe I was fooling myself. The police and the government didn’t want it solved. In all likelihood, even if Kate’s murder was solved, it was going to be done quietly. They would prefer that Costilla did it because it gave them one more thing to hang on him. I still wasn’t convinced, and I kept turning everything over in my mind until I pulled up to Emily’s.

I wasn’t quite sure why I’d gone to her place. I tried telling myself that it was because I wanted to ask her more about her sister and Randall and also to see if she knew anything about the piece of paper Liz had given me. But, somewhere, in the recesses of my brain, I knew it was because I needed to settle whatever had happened between us.

I parked my car in front of her garage and walked up the stairs. I was getting used to the stiffness and soreness that permeated my body. I tried to pretend it was from a really difficult workout. And if that workout had included being used as a heavy bag, maybe my body would’ve bought it.

I pressed the illuminated button next to her door. After a moment, I heard her muffled voice, then footsteps. The door opened, and she stuck her head out. “Noah.”

“Hey.”

She opened the door enough for her to step into the opening. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“I didn’t either. I was just at the hospital and thought I’d come by.”

She tried to smile, but it came off as more nervous. Her hair was tousled and her cheeks flushed. She blinked several times. “Oh, um, how’s Carter?”

I became keenly aware that she was not inviting me in. “He’s okay. Better anyway.”

She almost glanced over her shoulder, then caught herself, the look on her face telling me what I had already guessed.

“Bad timing,” I said.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, laughing quickly. “You could say that.” She paused. “I’m sorry.”

I held up my hand. “Nothing to be sorry about. I should’ve called.”

“No,” she said. “It’s just…I don’t know. I’m not getting this out.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, backing up. “I’m on my way.”

She opened the door wider. I could see she was wearing a man’s dress shirt over a pair of khaki shorts. She must’ve noticed me looking at her clothes because she looked at herself and blushed.

“Noah,” she said, then stopped. “It’s my ex. The almost husband.”

“Em, you don’t owe me an explanation,” I said, feeling the warmth in my cheeks now.

She started to say something, then looked harder at me. “What happened to your face?”

I waved a hand. “Nothing. I’ll tell you later.”

She looked like she wanted to say something else, then stopped. “Okay. I’ll call you.”

I hustled down the stairs and waved at her over my shoulder so she couldn’t see the rising tide of embarrassment on my face.