Jake
Emma had been staring at the photograph of her sister for nearly five minutes.
I wanted to take the phone away, smash it against the wall, and ride straight to Derek Blackwell’s house.
Instead, I sat beside her.
Sometimes being a better man was a pain in the ass.
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“Rachel.”
Emma’s voice sounded small.
“She’s older than me. Three years.”
I looked at the photograph again. Rachel stood outside Derek’s front door, her expression difficult to read. She wasn’t tied up or visibly injured, but that didn’t mean she was there willingly.
“When did you last speak to her?”
Emma swallowed.
“The night I tried leaving Derek the first time.”
Nash leaned against the table. “You went to her house?”
Emma nodded.
“I called her from a gas station. Told her I neede
