Page 40 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 4

“We’ll verify that. In the meantime, your flight to Tamaulipas leaves two days from now. If you fail to make it, consider yourself terminated.”

“I won’t make it.”

“Then you’ll die.”

Shaking my head, I turn my gaze on him. “If you had any love for my mother, you’ll see to it that doesn’t happen.”

His frown flickers, and I catch one fleeting moment of mercy in the lift of his brows. “How do you expect me to do that?”

“We didn’t have this conversation. In two days time, I’ll disappear and you’ll never hear from me again. As far as the Agency needs to know, I’m dead. If you fail to comply, the next life I take will be yours.” I push to my feet and stare down at him. “Forgive me. Father.”

22

Dylan

I stand beside the cab that’s parked in the empty lot of Emily’s clothing warehouse. “You don’t have to wait,” I say to the driver, handing him fifty of the cash I’d have used to adopt Charlie back.

I tell myself I don’t know why I’m here, but I do. Since nothing else in my life makes sense right now, I figure I may as well search for answers and the best place to start is standing before me. I’d already scoped the place for any sign of Ripley. There’s no sign of Emily either, as the lot seems more abandoned than the last time I was here with sprigs of grass sticking up from the cracks in the concrete.

I’m certain Ripley thinks I’m dead. I doubt his cleaners searched for dental records and evidence from the wreckage.

As the cab drives away, I stroll up to the front of the warehouse and when I enter, tolling the bell, I release the handle, immediately regretting the idea.

If I do this, there’s no going back to being invisible. Emily will surely tell Rip that she saw me.

Seconds later, Emily walks through the curtain and comes to a halt, brows pleated, as she stares back at me from inside.

Leave.

I spin around on my heel and head for the road as the rattle of the bell from behind skates along my nerve.

“Dylan! Wait! Please.” Emily’s voice trails after me, and though I want to run, I don’t. The yearning for answers brings me to a halt. “Gabriel said you were dead.”

“Surprise!” I say, swinging around to meet her eyes brimming with tears, and something sick twists in my gut at the sight of her.

“He’s not well, Dylan. I’ve never seen him like this. Not even when our mother died.”

My blood freezes inside my veins, dead fucking cold, and I’m the one frowning now. “What did you say?”

“C’mon inside.” Her voice sounds different from the first time I met her. More confident, less mousy, as if that was for show and this is for real.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She sets her hands on her hips. “Okay. Then I’ll tell him you were here.”

The second she spins around, I lurch toward her, reaching out to grab her arm. The butterfly tattoo on her wrist catches my attention, but she doesn’t freak out or try to squirm from my grip, in spite of the clenching of her jaw.

I release her arm and give a nod. “Okay.”

Trailing her steps, I glance around one more time for Ripley’s car, and we enter the shop.

She leads me through the curtain that opens to a moderately sized loft, and as if I’ve stepped into another world, it has a totally different feel from the front of the warehouse. Works of art hang from the walls, mostly abstract pictures of naked women. Alongside the paintings are a series of black and white images of butterflies. Some sitting on flowers, one inside a clear Mason jar, one with its wings stretched out against a vibrant blue wall—all of them Monarchs.

The space is open with a small kitchenette off to the side, an equally small living room area with a television and one couch. Beside a window is a sewing machine with fabrics and patterns strewn about.

“Gabriel bought the building. Fixed it up. This used to be a break room back in the day. They knocked out the wall and added a living room. Not that I use it much. I rarely watch television these days.”

“He’s your brother. Why didn’t you tell me? That day.”