Page 1 of The Wrong Brother

Chapter 1

Emma

The August heatradiating off the asphalt at noon eases a little out on Stearns Wharf.

Way out at the end, where I'm sitting and staring back toward the city, a light ocean breeze ruffles my hair.

I close my eyes, brush the unruly strands from my face, and try to tamp down the gnawing sense of failure.

Being two glasses of wine deep doesn’t help.

It’s technically sangria, a delicious red with plums and strawberries and some fruit I don’t recognize bobbing around in a sweating glass.

You’re right,I text my big sister, an obligatory once-a-day check-in since this vacation wasn’t sanctioned.California isn’t so bad.

Matilda came out here for college years ago and got a law degree. Now, she’s in New York City and well on her way to a partner position… according to our gloating parents.

And me? I’m out of a job, out of luck.

Recently out of love, too.

My boyfriend, Andrei, broke up with me three months ago.

I’m down to the last couple of grand in my bank account.

And I’m out in California for one last hurrah.

As if this will fix anything.

Great place to find a waitressing gig.

Her text back is like a punch in the gut. With a grimace, I down half of what’s left of the wine and shuffle out of the way of a family finishing up lunch.

Maybe waitressing wouldn’t be so bad,a little voice of betrayal whispers.Disappear to California…start over…get a tan…

In California, being an ex-FBI agent sounds scandalous in agoodway.

I pull up my banking app again, even though I already know what it’s going to say. Like staring at it long enough will somehow change the numbers.

$5,184.22

My stomach twists.

Five thousand dollars used to sound like a lot of money. Now it feels horrifyingly temporary. One-medical-emergency temporary…which isn’t far off, considering the way I teeter for a second as I put the glass down and hop off the barstool.

Considering my track record lately, bad decisions are my specialty.

Two years ago, I thought my life meant something.

I was FBI.

Not the glamorous version people see in movies. It’s mostly paperwork, exhaustion, stale coffee, and trying to pretend the darkness you see every day doesn’t follow you home at night. But it mattered. I mattered.

Then Miami happened.

Hinto Moreno happened.

I still don’t fully know when the line blurred. Maybe it was gradual. Maybe it was the moment I realized criminals could be kinder than the people supposedly on the right side of the law. Or at least, they couldappearkinder.