Emily Locke 01 - Final Approach

Chapter One
    Jeannie found me in the ladies room, standing in mountain pose, trying to breathe like my yoga teacher.
    “Jesus, Emily. Look at you.” She smelled floral and cheerful but sounded grim.
    I didn’t have to look in the mirror to know why. My mascara had been wiped away and I knew my eyes would still be pink and glassy. I closed them and took another three-part breath.
    “Richard’s in the lobby,” I said. “Don’t make me talk about it.”
    “He can’t see you like this.”
    Inhale. “Then fix me, please.”
    Exhale. “And bring me some of that perfume.”
    I opened my eyes in time to see her give what was meant to be a reassuring smile and pull open the door.
    “Be right back,” she said.
    As her Guccis tapped down the hallway, I realized what her smile actually said: “Sucks to be you.”
    I checked my eyes in the mirror, first straight-on, then from the sides. They’d begun to whiten up and were less puffy. When Jeannie was finished, there’d be no evidence of my breakdown.
    She was back right away with an already-unzipped handbag from which she produced concealer, lipstick, mascara, and eye shadow in a single swipe.
    “Close your eyes.”
    I did what she said and she tugged, brushed, and blotted. Her work was gentle, but fast.
    “Relax your jaw. Like you’re dead.”
    I watched her eyes while she dabbed lipstick around the corners of my mouth. There were fine lines in her porcelain skin, but nothing I’d have spotted if I weren’t inches from her face. Jeannie could conceal anything; she was like a cosmetics wizard.
    She snapped the lid onto her lipstick and suddenly, it seemed, we were enveloped in a cloud of perfume.
    “Walk through this,” she said, spritzing the air between us again.
    “There.” She opened the door. With her free hand she pulled me by the wrist and shoved me into the corridor. “See him now, before you think.”
    “But—” I never even got a look in the mirror.
    “Go.”
    Through the closing door, I saw her turn to the counter to collect her things. There was nothing left to do but what she’d said, and I knew as soon as I rounded the corner to the lobby that four years hadn’t been long enough.
    The receptionist looked up from her monitor and nodded when I passed. Richard was the only other person there, absorbed in some article in
The Plain Dealer
. A cheap Styrofoam coffee cup looked small in his hand and I watched him take a sip before I let him know I was there. There were gray streaks near his temples that I didn’t remember, and his shirt was wrinkled. It was easier to look at his clothes than his face, and I didn’t like that.
    “Sorry, Richard. I was with someone.”
    He stood and dropped the paper into his chair. “I’m so glad you still work here.”
    When he extended his hand, I considered snubbing him, but couldn’t. So I shook it.
    I focused on three-part breathing but tried to be inconspicuous about it. Richard lived in Texas. I couldn’t imagine what he wanted or why he’d come fourteen-hundred miles to get it in person.
    “You might have started with a call.”
    “But I thought I’d have better luck in person. Forgive me for being this direct, but I’m here because I could use your help with a case.”
    He was being direct to skip the awkward small talk and avoid what could become a possibly volatile tangent.
    “You think one of our nerdy chemists snuffed his wife for the insurance? Want me to do a little inside fact-checking for you?” I crossed my arms and gave my best “Duh” look.
    “Not quite. I don’t need an insider
here
. I need help from a skydiver and you’re the only one I know.”
    I couldn’t remember ever talking hobbies with Richard, so his request was not only insulting, but creepy.
    “You’re working a case in Cleveland?”
    He turned around, to a briefcase I hadn’t noticed, and produced a plane ticket. “Houston.”
    I shook my head. “Sorry, no. Try USPA.”
    “US-what?”
    “United States Parachute Association. This isn’t for me.”
    Richard tapped the ticket in his hand and stared at me until it became uncomfortable. I hated being bullied so I stared right back and added a little squint for good measure.
    “Sure,” he finally said. “I could find other skydivers. How many will care as much as you?”
    “There’s your problem. I don’t care.”
    “It’s a missing kid! Focus on a terrified little boy…Imagine his mom, wondering if he’s alive. Tell me I’ll find another