The Speed of Light: A Novel(36)

Seconds tick by as Hayley stares over her shoulder; then she turns back to me, drawing a shuddering breath. “No,” she whispers. “Let’s go find her. Together.”

I nod, and without another word we walk toward the office I share with Nikki. Christmas music wafts faintly out the open door, the sugary-sweet notes chilling in this macabre scene. But the song changes as we reach the doorway, the melancholy notes of “Silent Night” now guiding us forward, and all does feel calm—eerily so.

I can see the entire expanse of our joint office, but my eyes are drawn to Nikki’s chair, pushed way back from her desk, empty. She must’ve jumped up when she heard the first gunshot. Must’ve rushed toward the door. Must’ve clung to the string of white Christmas lights that line my bookshelf when the bullet took her down.

Because those lights are tangled in her outstretched hand.

Nikki is lying motionless on the floor.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

January 11, eleven months before

Outside my apartment door, my brother is standing before me. Then, behind him, a creak—Mrs. Wallace’s door edges open, her small face peeks out, eyebrows raised. Oh God, that’s all I need—my neighbor thinking I’m entertaining two young men. I wave, a smile plastered on my face. “Sorry for the noise—my brother is visiting.”

My face is stern when I turn to Emmett. “Get in here, will you?” He shuffles in, and I shut the door behind him. “Okay, what the hell is going on?”

He holds up his hands. “Like I said, don’t be mad, but . . .”

I raise my eyebrows. “But . . . ?”

He swallows. “But I kind of used your address for something.”

My eyes narrow. “For what?”

“To . . . uh . . . to buy something.”

“But why couldn’t you just ship it home?”

He rubs his neck. “Because Mom and Dad wouldn’t approve.”

My hands fly to my mouth. “Oh God, Emmett, are you buying drugs?”

He rolls his eyes. “Ease up, sis. It’s a snowmobile.”

I blink. “You had a snowmobile shipped to my apartment?”

He laughs. “Nah, someone’s meeting me here, in your parking lot, to drop it off.”

“Someone who? Like a guy from a dealership or something?”

“Not exactly.”

I cross my arms, leveling him with my fed-up-big-sister glare.

He sighs and slinks down onto the arm of the couch. “I bought it from a guy off Craigslist.”

An alarm bell rings in my head, but I’m still busy figuring out the logistics of his plan. “How are you going to get a snowmobile back to Aberdeen?”

He looks down. “I . . . uh . . . I sort of borrowed Dad’s truck.”

I lean back against the entryway wall. “Holy shit, Em. Do you realize how much trouble you’re in?” I bolt back upright before he can answer. “Oh God, you said you texted Mom and Dad from Watertown. Did they text back?”

“Yeah, like, a few times.”

“I can’t believe they haven’t called me—”

My phone rings in my hand before I complete the thought. Emmett tries to laugh, but my glare cuts him off. I grimace as I bring the phone to my ear. “Hi, Mom.”

“Simone, have you heard from Emmett?”

I ache at the fear in her voice, and my frown deepens at my brother until he drops his eyes. “He’s standing right in front of me, Mom. He’s at my place.”

“Oh, thank God—Bob, he’s with Simone.” I can’t understand my dad’s reply, but his tone is biting. “Mone, can I talk to him?”

I hold the phone out to him, but he shakes his head. “Emmett,” I whisper, but when he looks up, his eyes are pleading, and suddenly my little brother is five years old again, scared on his first day of kindergarten. Needing my protection. I sigh. “Mom, he’s not up for talking right now. But he’s okay—he’s safe with me.” It’s true, but of course I’ve omitted the snowmobile purchase he’s making from some rando. “I’ll have him give you a call a little later?”

There’s a muffled voice, some shuffling, then my dad booms into the phone, “You tell your brother it’s fine if he doesn’t want to talk to us now, but he is sure as hell going to talk to us when we get there.”

I swallow. “You’re coming here? Now?”

“Of course we are!” he roars. “He’s already grounded until he’s thirty, but if he doesn’t have a damn good explanation for taking my truck, I’m going to call the police and report it stolen.” Emmett is close enough to hear my dad over the phone, and his face pales. “Tell your brother he has about three hours until Judgment Day.”

I say goodbye, then turn to Emmett. “They’ll be here in three hours. I have so many questions for you, but right now I need to know two things. One, when is this snowmobile guy getting here?”

“In about forty-five minutes. He’s going to text me when he’s in the parking lot.” He meets my eyes. “What’s your other question?”

I stare at my brother as if noticing for the first time the sag in his shoulders, the droop of his eyelids, the way he’s beaten down, too weathered for his young soul—the last leaf on a bare tree, ready to fall at any moment. “Are you okay?” I whisper.