Page 18 of Splintered Memories (Ember Hollow Romance #2)

Emersyn

A mos let out a low whistle as his eyes scanned my studio.

“Wow,” he said, beaming and placing his hands on his hips. “You’ve really built something for yourself, haven’t you?”

A smile pulled at the side of my mouth, taking in my little slice of peace and comfort. The place that had been a refuge for so many years.

Amos approached the file cabinets on the opposite side of my filming set. I was collecting them, it seemed, though that hadn’t been the plan when I’d first started. My uncle tilted his head, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

I joined him, scanning the small white labels that had the names of different cases written on them.

“I make a lot of hard copies while I’m researching a case,” I explained.

“I know it would probably be easier and more ethical to keep everything digital, but…I just need paper.” I pressed a palm against a black cabinet.

“I like feeling it in my hands. It helps me work better. ”

Amos raised his brows, his attention going to those white labels. Some of the cases took up multiple drawers. The Shadow Stalker was currently taking up a whole cabinet by itself.

“Why not recycle the paper when you’re finished?”

I’d thought about that. I’d planned to do that in the beginning, but I’d quickly changed my mind.

“You never know when something won’t be there anymore.

” I turned to Amos. “Everyone says the internet is forever, and maybe that’s partly true, but sometimes information gets deleted and you can never get it back.

I also have copies of police reports that may or may not be in the public record.

” I gave him a sheepish look. I’d gotten friendly with the local police department years ago.

Brandon Whize—Detective Whize now—had long been a friend of mine.

He trusted me with certain information. “I decided I wanted to keep all my notes and documents on the cases I’ve covered.

” I shrugged. “Maybe I’m a bit paranoid. ”

Amos chuckled. “Maybe.” His eyes bounced to the file cabinets. “This is really impressive.”

“Not really.” I waved a hand.

He gave me a hard stare, like he knew I was being stubborn. “It is. Accept the compliment. I’m proud of you, Emy.”

My heart swelled to the point I feared it would burst. I didn’t know whether Amos understood how much those simple words meant to me, but I hoped he did. I’d never heard them from anyone else.

I turned on my heel before that emotion threatening to clog my throat got any farther. “Anyway,” I cleared my throat and crossed to the cardboard boxes sitting in a neat row near the door, “I’ve already loaded the shade tent, but I need help carrying these.”

Amos nodded, and we got right to work .

I’d recovered fully from that awful stomach virus within a few days.

The rest of the week and a half was spent finishing preparing for the Emberlight Festival.

Amos graciously offered to help me transport all my supplies and assist me in setting up before he had to go back to the cafe, which was always busy on festival day.

It was early, but August had already left to prepare his team for the day, which was another reason why Amos was here: to make sure I got to the festival safely.

I hadn’t realized exactly how much went into the logistics of managing the safety of one person at such a public and crowded event. Since I’d gotten sick, and seen the toll this whole situation was taking on my brother, I’d decided to take my safety more seriously.

Which meant I was willing to work with August, instead of ignoring and resenting him. I’d let him give me small, short lessons on self-defense and how to be on alert for danger when out in public. I started carrying a small canister of mace with me whenever I left the house.

I’d considered canceling my booth today.

August had been right; it was dangerous and unnecessary.

Yet, the thought of not doing it had something inside me withering.

I loved connecting with the people who made my job possible.

I loved giving back to those who watched my podcast and helped spread the word about lesser-known cases.

In the end, it had been August who’d convinced me to continue running my booth. He had spent so much time making plans for ensuring my safety today. I’d had to admit, the way he’d assembled a whole team and coordinated with the event staff to make sure they could keep everyone safe was impressive .

Luckily—and maybe it had less to do with luck and more to do with all that hard work and planning—but the festival started out perfectly smooth.

Amos and I had gotten my booth set up, and when he’d left to manage the cafe, Lark showed up to help me with the merchandise while I spoke with the people who stopped by.

August was close by, too. He wasn’t standing under the tent with Lark and me, but rather outside of it, arms folded across his chest as his eyes scanned the space, on alert for anything suspicious.

It was strange seeing him like that. I’d gotten so used to his casual demeanor that seeing him look like an actual bodyguard was slightly unsettling.

Or maybe it was the way my stomach reacted to those strong muscles straining against the tight shirt he wore…

“You’re staring again,” Lark muttered in my ear. A sly smile curled her lips.

I jumped and pulled my gaze away from August. “I’m not staring at anything,” I bit back, returning my focus to the line of people who had come to support me.

I wasn’t sure what had changed the last couple of weeks, but the strong dislike I’d forced upon August was slowly ebbing away.

As much as I found him infuriating at times, he had given something the day he’d taken care of me when I was sick.

He had given me a kindness that I didn’t take for granted.

Whenever I looked at August now, I saw more and more good things.

What was really good about him, in particular, was that he was extremely nice to look at. I might’ve been indulging in a few more stolen glances than I should’ve been lately. If August had noticed, he hadn’t said a word .

“Are you sure you don’t mind helping me out the whole time?” I asked Lark as I returned from my line to steal a few gulps of water from my water bottle.

Lark waved a dismissive hand. “Of course. Mom and Jojo are totally fine running the Flutter Nook booth.”

Lark’s mother owned a local consignment shop, and she’d been helping run the business’s marketing since last fall.

I gave her a wide smile as I returned to the two girls waiting at the front of the line. “Thank you for offering to do all this. I owe you.”

Lark winked. “I’m more than happy to help.”

After a few hours, there was a lull in the people surrounding my booth. I tried to busy myself with taking stock of the inventory, when Lark pressed herself up against my side.

“So, things have been going well with you and August, huh?” she asked, her brows raising.

Lark and I spoke almost every day, but we’d both been unusually busy since we’d picked out her wedding dress.

She was swamped with finishing up last-minute wedding planning and working for her mom’s shop.

I had been sick and preparing for the festival.

I’d been vague about August when I spoke to her, but this was the first time she was seeing the two of us together since the bridal shop.

I forced a stiff shrug. “He’s not the worst, I suppose.”

Her brown eyes lit up. “If it means anything to you, I absolutely love August.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m willing to tolerate him, Lark. I’m not jumping into bed with him.”

“Would it be the end of the world if you did?” She wiggled her eyebrows .

I was about to give her a good swat on the arm and vehemently agree that it would be the end of the world, or the end of my world, at least, when a voice distracted us.

“Well, aren’t you a popular one, huh?”

My head snapped forward, meeting a pair of familiar dark eyes.

“Detective Whize,” I said, surprised. I hadn’t been expecting to see him.

The last time we talked, it was after I recovered from my stomach bug.

August had encouraged me to make a report about the attack in the alley when I’d felt better.

He gave me a broad smile, but his brow crinkled. “Since when do you call me Detective?”

I walked to the long table loaded with merch that needed restocking. “Since you interviewed me with an FBI agent, I suppose.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Just call me by my name, please.”

I gave a small smile in return. “What are you up to, Brandon?” He was in street clothes, looking like he was off duty and enjoying the festivities.

Brandon glanced at my table, eyes running over the items before he plucked up a black T-shirt that said “True Crime Junkie” in white text with my podcast’s logo underneath.

“Doing some local shopping.” He unfolded the shirt and held it up against his chest. “What do you think?”

I laughed softly. “I think it suits you.”

He nodded and handed the shirt back to me. “Sign it for me?”

I raised a brow. Brandon and I had been friends for at least the last few years and he’d never asked me to sign anything for him. “Oh, I’ll sign it for you.” I picked up one of the metallic silver Sharpie pens I’d brought. “If you update me about how the case is going.”

We both knew what case I was referring to. Brandon’s grin dimmed but didn’t fade completely. “I can’t, Emersyn. You know that.”

I did, but I didn’t care. “That’s never stopped you before,” I reminded him, taking the T-shirt and signing it anyway.

“I’m a detective now. I’m not working this alone, either. I have the FBI here…I can’t be giving out information.”

I grimaced. Although I was glad that the Shadow Stalker case was finally getting the attention it deserved, I didn’t exactly trust government institutions. The government was all politics, and I hated politics.

“I’m well aware of who’s working with you,” I said, and then sighed. “It would just be nice if we had any information about who might be trying to kill me.”

Brandon flinched. His eyes cut to August, who hadn’t moved from his post next to my booth. He was obviously security with the way he stood and the earpiece in his ear that he used to communicate with the rest of his team stationed around the festival.

“I thought you’ve been doing well,” he eventually said, his gaze returning to me.

“I am. I can take care of myself.”

Brandon nodded. He paused, eyes darting around us before he leaned in toward me.

“Look,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t tell you much, but I can assure you that Agent Hoffner is doing his job well.

We’ve gotten some interesting results back from ballistics about those shell casings found on the roof.

Be patient. We’re working on it. When there’s something concrete to tell you, I’ll make sure the information gets to you. ”

When he pulled back, he took the shirt I’d signed and slung it over his shoulder. “How much do I owe you?”

I waved him off. “Nothing.” I shook my head. “But I expect you to pay me back with information when you have it.” I gave him a knowing stare.

He smiled, taking a step away and giving me a mock salute. “You can count on me, boss.” After a quick wink, he was gone, disappearing into the throng of people milling around Center Street.

I stole a glance at August. His eyes were on me, his brow raised.

“What?” I asked. We hadn’t spoken the whole festival. I hadn’t wanted to distract him, but he was looking at me with blatant curiosity.

“Nothing.” He looked away. “I didn’t know you were so friendly with the local detectives.”

I tilted my head, eyes narrowing. I could be wrong, but there was an undertone of annoyance to his words. And maybe, if I didn’t know any better, there was some jealousy in his tone, too.

I shouldn’t have liked the way my heart fluttered at that possibility, but it definitely did.

I was vaguely aware that Lark started to restock the merchandise on the tables. I hadn’t realized how late it was getting, we probably didn’t need to put much more out, but I didn’t tell her that as I took a step toward the far corner of the booth, closest to where August stood outside of it.

“He’s a friend,” I said, nonchalantly. “I thought it might be useful to have friends in the police department. You know, to keep me in the loop on certain things.”

“Hmm.” He made a noise between tight lips, nodding as if he understood but wasn’t exactly happy about it .

I was about to ask him what the sour face was for, when someone tugged on my arm. Turning, I expected to meet the eyes of Lark, but Jake stood before my booth, mouth in a tight line.

Jake had been difficult to manage after everything that had happened.

I knew he was only worried about me, but he needed to focus on himself and his own life, not mine.

The past week had gotten better; he hadn’t called or visited as much.

He was starting to seem more like himself, but the look on his face had my stomach sinking.

“Heads up, Emy,” he said in a low whisper. “Our father’s coming to visit your booth.”