Free Seconds Away by Harlan Coben Page B

too early in their investigation to speculate.”
    So they knew nothing, I thought.
    There were many things that were bothering me about the investigation. For one thing, I had been at Rachel’s house the day before the shooting. She told me that her parents were divorced, that she lived with her father, who was mostly absent (traveling around with Trophy Wife #3), and that her mother lived in Florida. How come she didn’t mention that her mother was up visiting and presumably staying in her ex-husband’s house?
    Did that make sense?
    Had Rachel just thought that it wasn’t important to tell me her mom was visiting—or was there something else there?
    I didn’t know. But something didn’t sit right.
    On top of that, what was up with Chief Taylor’s weird hospital visit? I assumed that he must know Rachel via his son, Troy—I was trying not to grit my teeth as I thought about this—but what was up with him not wanting Rachel to talk to Homicide Investigator Dunleavy until she talked to him first? Was he afraid of what she’d say—or, more likely, was Chief Taylor just being a tool who wanted to know everything first?
    I climbed into bed, thinking about the fact that both Rachel and I had lost a parent. It made you feel like you were always standing on shaky ground, like the earth could give way at any time and that you could fall and no one would be able to grab you.
    I thought about Ema and the rumors. I wondered where she was right this very second, whether she was okay. I picked up my phone and texted her: Just wanted to say good night.
    Two minutes later, Ema replied: u can be such a big girl sometimes.
    I smiled and texted back: OK. Good night.
    Ema: I got some info on your Nazi paramedic.
    Me: What?
    Ema: let’s meet before school bell Monday. I can show u then.

CHAPTER 17
    Ema was waiting in the back corner of the student parking lot when I arrived. These spaces were coveted, and I guess there was a time when students started throwing punches over them. Now the school wisely raised money by selling them. If you wanted a prime space for the school year, it cost a grand. What was most amazing to me was not only did the spots sell out in record time, but there was a waiting list.
    I was carrying a gym bag with my basketball stuff in it. Today was the first day of tryouts. Despite all the other things that were going on in my life, I still had butterflies in my stomach over that.
    I walked to school. So, I guessed, did Ema. I mean, I had never seen a parent drop her off. She usually just came out of the woods behind the field. As I approached, I couldn’t help but notice that Ema looked somehow . . . different. I couldn’t put my finger on it. She was still dressed in all black without a hint of color. The skin was still pallid, her lipstick choice today a slightly more venomous shade of red.
    “What?” Ema said.
    I shrugged. “You look different.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “Different how?”
    I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was definitely something—something maybe about the tattoo on her arm . . . Whatever. Now was not the time. “Doesn’t matter. You said you learned something about the Butcher of Lodz?”
    Ema suddenly looked wary.
    “What?” I said.
    “You have to promise you won’t ask about my sources.”
    I frowned. “You’re kidding, right?”
    “Yeah, right, because what joke could be funnier than that?” She bit down on her lower lip. “You have to promise me. You won’t ask.”
    “I don’t get it.”
    “Just promise, okay?”
    “I don’t even understand what I’m promising,” I said, “but okay, I won’t ask about your sources or whatever.”
    Ema hesitated, studying my face to make sure that my promise was legit. Then she said, “I did some Photoshopping with your picture of the Butcher. If I sent someone a picture of a guy in a Nazi uniform and asked if he worked as a paramedic, they’d think I was nuts.”
    I nodded. That made sense.
    “So I used