Two weeks passed filled with dead ends and misinformation. Emily had described in detail every moment of the abduction—the men in the van, the facility, the guards, the doctor. She had also told them everything she could recall of her childhood kidnapping—the trip to the ice cream shop, the man with the mermaid tattoos who had taken her from the nanny, the house in Baltimore, the evil man with the hand tattoo and the smooth voice. The facility where Emily had recently been held had been vacated. The new landscaping crew that had been hired by the property management company knew nothing. The one maid they had managed to track down was just as helpful. The maids assumed the men were the new owners, and they wanted to keep the easy job, so they cleaned quickly and thoroughly and didn’t ask questions. There were hundreds of scattered fingerprints; if any of them belonged to the perps, it would take months to sort them.
Nathan was attached to Emily like a burr. While that was great in the bedroom—and the kitchen and the dining room, and on the balcony and in the shower, and on the desk in Nathan’s office, and once in Central Park—it was agitating in her daily life. While pulling away from him made her feel like a piece of iron leaving a magnetic field, she was a woman used to being alone. Nathan knew that he couldn’t be by her side every moment of the day, and she was oddly thankful for the work crisis that divided his attention.
Emily had also gotten to know the people in Nathan’s life. Alex had been transferred, thankfully. Her call to Nathan had spared her from a worse fate. Chat was her favorite, although the guy almost never spoke. Emily had immediately picked up on an intuition that bordered on psychic. She enjoyed wheedling him into reluctant conversations. If it was possible, Tox was even harder to talk to, not because he was reticent, but because he was always eating. His six-foot, five-inch, 280-pound frame needed constant refueling. And when he wasn’t eating, he was drinking, or fucking. Emily wondered if he slept. The dark circles under his eyes and the haunted look hidden behind a carefree mask gave her the answer.
Twitch, on the other hand, was like a fairy. She seemed so comfortable in her own skin and genuinely happy. She hunted down the worst kinds of people and saw so much horror, yet she had an unquenchable optimism that came with knowing she was doing her part. As far as Emily could see, nothing ruffled her. Ren was the most puzzling of the group. He really did seem to know everything about everything. He’d start off an explanation with a qualifier like, “Well, cuneiform isn’t my area of expertise but...” or “I’m not well versed in neuroscience but...” then proceed to deliver a professorial-level response to whatever question had been posed. Emily was vexed by the breadth of his knowledge, always trying to stump him with random trivia, from the B-side of rock albums to obscure world geography. Ren always seemed to have the answer. Emily loved her new life so far. She was getting to know people, a novel concept in her world, and she had the very good fortune to be surrounded by some very interesting friends.
Caroline’s trip to LA had been extended and she was uncharacteristically vague as to the reason. Emily didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, though, and simply enjoyed her infrequent alone time in the apartment. Her state-of-the-art security had been deemed “adequate” by Nathan, but JT did note the lurking Bishop Security SUV that seemed to appear whenever Emily was in residence.
She continued to work on “The Bishop Chronicles,” although she was fairly certain no self-respecting news publication would run a series of articles about a controversial businessman written by the woman who was in love with him. Nevertheless, she persevered. As was her wont, Emily used her focus on Nathan to prevent her own self-reflection. Farrell had waited a decent amount of time since her “outing,” three weeks, no doubt waiting for the more aggressive hyenas to tire the lion out. When he called her into his office, he was solicitous and relaxed—relaxed like an Olympic swimmer on the starting block. Emily put him out of his misery immediately.
“My name is Emily Webster, and when I was eight, I was abducted.”
Farrell stood, walked around his desk, and hugged her. He hugged her for the story she was about to give him. He hugged her for the ordeal she had survived. But most of all, he hugged her because deep down, Farrell had sensed a well of discontent in Emma Porter. A feeling he seemed to understand. Emily was not a hugger, but she hugged Farrell that day for a good long time.
They hammered out the details and agreed that her colleague Calliope Garland would conduct the interview. Emily didn’t know Calliope well, because she didn’t know anyone well, but what she knew she liked. The daughter of a Greek poet and novelist, hence her given name, and a Swiss banker, Calliope had moved to New York to, in her words, “find some normalcy.” If that weren’t an indication of the craziness of her life, Emily didn’t know what was. They had their first meeting at a nail salon on Elizabeth Street. Emily thought it was an odd choice, but Calliope insisted that getting a pedicure, with the added twenty-minute massage, was exactly what they both needed. With her ebony hair and ice-blue eyes, Calliope was easy to spot, and for an hour they sat side by side in the big cushioned chairs and talked. When they emerged, both with sky blue toes, Emily was surprised to see Tox standing outside, holding the leash of the scariest looking Rottweiler she had ever seen.
“Ladies,” Tox nodded as the dog strained the leash.
“Um, Tox?” Emily pointed to the eighty pounds of fur and teeth.
“This,” Tox sighed heavily, “is Fraidy.”
“Fraidy?” Calliope queried.
“Fraidy,” Tox confirmed.
“Oh, and this is Tox. Tox, Calliope Garland.”
“Pleasure.” Tox tipped his Yankees cap.
“Can you tighten your hold on that beast?”
“Relax, Emily. Fraidy is short for Fraidy Cat. A buddy of mine got her for security at a warehouse he owns in Jersey. Kids were graffitiing the corrugated metal walls. He thought a Rottweiler would take care of the problem. Turns out she’s so friendly the kids breaking in graffitied her too. My buddy came into work the next day and she was all pink and red, wagging her little stub like she thought she looked great.”
Emily smiled and held out her hand. Fraidy’s entire backside started shaking side to side. Calliope laughed and rubbed behind her ears.
“I need to find her a home. Frank, that’s my buddy, he was going to take her to a shelter. I told him I’d take her, but I’m gone all the time.”
“Aw, Tox, you’re a softy.”
“Only with dogs. Humans, not so much.”
“I’ll take her.”
Emily and Tox looked over to see Calliope was still petting the dog.
“My place is big and empty. I live near a small park. My schedule is pretty consistent, and she clearly loves me.”
“She loves everybody. Don’t you want to think it over?” And with Tox’s comment and tug on her leash, Fraidy did the first aggressive thing she had ever done; she turned to Tox and growled. “When should I drop her off?” Tox asked flatly.
“I’ll take her now. I’m headed home. I think I can request an Uber that will take dogs.” Calliope took the leash and was already fiddling with her phone and walking toward a two-way cross street to make it easier for the car to find her, with Fraidy trotting along beside her. And just like that, Fraidy had a home. Tox looked at Emily.
“That was easy.”
“When you know, you know.”
“What’s her deal?”
“No idea. What’s your deal?”
Tox didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I live nearby, and Fraidy needed a walk, so I told Nathan I’d see you back to your place.”
“Sounds simple enough.”
“It was until about ten minutes ago. Nathan texted to bring you, and my ass, but that’s neither here nor there, to his office. There’ve been some developments.