Chapter One

Johnny “Juice” Duncan scratched an itch on his bare scalp as he walked, thinking about whether he should report directly in or stop at home first. This was his first major score and the biggest for his gang. The Skulls would be making bank now, running coke around the block.

He’d never seen so much money in one place before. Definitely not in his own damn pocket.

The boss, Seven-Oh, told him to make the score and get gone.

“Get there early, scout it out. See if you notice any cops or suspicious people showing up and hanging around. The buyer might try to roll on you and take his money back, so be ready.”

Juice had been ready all right, carrying the ounces in his pocket and his gun tucked down the back of his pants. He had to wait three hours for the buyer to show, and Juice was twitchy and scared the whole time. But it all went down fine, money for blow, easy as pie.

Only, now that fat roll of cash weighed him down like a gold bar.

His fingers itched as he touched the bills in his pocket. Maybe he should stop at home first, skim off the top so he and his sister could eat better this month. He’d promised Trisha doing these deals wouldn’t be bad for them in the long run. Her response was to give him shit about being in the gang, saying he was putting them both in danger.

But she’d never earned real money in her life. Since they moved to D.C., all she’d done was take night classes and talk about being a nurse someday. Maybe she’d make it. She’d have it easier if he could bring home more money, though. If they could eat real food and not dollar-store crap.

Taking a bit off the roll, before Seven-Oh saw it…shit, he could probably take half, and that dude and his partner wouldn’t know the difference.

Seven-Oh spent more time being drunk than doing anything else. His second-in-command, some dude everyone called “the Hippie,” smoked so much weed, his eyes were permanently glazed and red. Juice figured the Skulls had a few months left before another gang straight-up steamrolled Seven-Oh and his stoner friend.

Idiots with more money than brains didn’t stay on top for long in this world.

Especially now we’re running coke. The Serpents, maybe what’s left of the Drivers or Powders, gonna sit up and take notice.

Heck, maybe Seven-Oh would drink himself to death and somebody else in the Skulls would end up in charge. If that happened, Juice knew he’d be answering to a higher authority, and not the kind that got high before giving orders.

The Hippie’s only around because him and Seven-Oh grew up together.

Juice paused to light a cigarette, taking a few puffs before he got going again.

Probably gonna be someone hard who takes over after Seven-Oh. Somebody who’s done time. No chance of skimming with a dude like that calling the shots. It’s now or never, Juice. Now or never.

He picked up his pace and took a left onto Chestnut Street, aiming homeward. He patted his pants pocket just to reassure himself the money was still there. Was he being stupid for thinking about stealing from the gang?

Seven-Oh would kill him if he found out, but that’d mean Seven-Oh was awake and alert enough to notice. The Hippie’d just nod and laugh.

Juice broke into a jog, just wanting to get home. Stuff some cash into the couch until he got back. Then he’d show his sister, and she’d stop riding him about getting into “dangerous shit” with the gang.

He turned a corner, relieved to find no one lurking in front of his apartment building.

Almost there. I’ll just take a few hundred, maybe five. Seven-Oh won’t miss that much.

Puffing on his smoke, Juice slowed to a trot before returning to a steady walking pace as he followed a path through the empty lot behind his building.

A strange sound—like a soda can opening—came from beyond the chain-link fence. An instant later, a sudden burning in his gut shoved him back a step. He dropped his smoke and stumbled against the fence before dropping to his knees. Juice stared at his stomach.

Something hurt real bad, like an explosion inside him.

The moon didn’t give much light, but enough to watch a dark stain bloom across his white shirt beneath his jacket. Pain like nothing he’d ever felt radiated from his guts, and his brain went numb with the sight.

I just got shot. Somebody shot me.

Unable to control his body, he fell sideways, landing in the dirt. Wrapping a hand over the bullet hole, he tried to hold in his life, but blood, thick and sticky, poured from between his fingers, and every breath was agony.

His other hand found the bundle of cash in his pants pocket. Still there.

“Help.” His voice was breathy. Too weak to make it far into the night. Nobody answered his plea. A whimper bled out of his throat, and he tried to sit up. Feebly, he reached around his hip, trying to get under his jacket to pull out his gun in case whoever shot him was coming to finish the job.

If he was going down, he’d take them down with him.

Juice got up on his side, grunting against the pain as his fingertips found the cold metal of the gun. But before he could grasp the grip, a kick landed in the middle of his back and sent him sprawling on his stomach. He caught himself, barely, but the gunshot wound scraped against the ground, and he cried out.

Fire raced through his midsection, worse than anything he’d ever felt. He tried to slide his hand down to put pressure on the wound, but his attacker’s foot held him down. Above him, the guy yanked his gun from the back of his pants.

“What do you—”

“Shut up!” Another kick slammed him to the ground.

Juice’s brain rattled. The dude he did the coke deal with must’ve followed him to get the money back, so he’d have the drugs and the cash. Juice rolled over to kick back, or to at least look his killer in the face when the final moment came.

The figure above him was a black shadow looming against the night—and not the guy who’d passed him the cash for the coke. This man was taller, stockier, and had both guns aimed at him.

The one with the silencer on it and Juice’s little pocket Ruger Max-9 tracked up and down his body. “Show me your gang tattoo.” Dressed all in black, the man was barely visible, though a shock of hair fuzzed the outline of his head against the night. “Where is it? Show me your damn tat.”

“My what? I’ll show you my foot in your ass.”

The man’s foot shot out, catching Juice in the face and smashing his nose. Blood gushed from his mouth as he fell backward.

Juice blinked tears from his eyes and scooted backward, knowing any minute the man might shoot him. But he had to at least try to get away.

His attacker stomped a boot down on Juice’s ankle. “Filthy cockroach, trying to crawl back out of the light.”

The man put the gun with the silencer in a shoulder holster under his jacket. Juice’s Ruger went into his front pants pocket.

But instead of leaving as Juice had hoped, the man drew a knife from his belt. The blade glinted in the moonlight. “Show me your tattoo, or I make that bullet hole a lot bigger.”

“Shit, man. Just finish what you started? I’m bleeding out. You gut shot me, asshole.” Juice panted, each breath a stab of agony. “Skulls’ll get you for this.”

He groaned against the pain flaring in his stomach. Every breath was torture as more warm blood seeped from the wound.

Losing too much blood. Guy’s gonna let me die like this, slow and painful.

“Why the hell you doing this?”

“You earned it.” The man leaned forward and grabbed Juice’s right arm, pulling it up. He slid the knife blade inside the jacket sleeve, drawing it up to slice the fabric open. The blade came down flat against the Skulls tattoo Juice had done two months ago, when he officially joined the gang—the same day Seven-Oh gave him the Ruger. “See, you’re stained just like all the roaches scurrying around, making a mess of this city.”

Juice swallowed hard, forcing his mouth to work against the pain as he spoke through gritted teeth. “Just take the money, man. Take it and let me go, all right?”

The man paused, his knife held above Juice’s arm. “Money? What money?”

“In my pocket. Three grand. Go on and take it.”

The man knelt and aimed his knife at Juice’s right eye. “Don’t fucking move.” He felt around for the wad of money in Juice’s pocket, pulled it out, and held it up in the sliver of moonlight. “Nice. Three thousand dollars’ll go a long way, but it’s barely enough to pay for what you’ve done.”

“I ain’t done shit, man. This is my first run. I ain’t been in the Skulls that long and ain’t done—”

Juice screamed as the knife sliced into his skin. With his other hand, the man shoved the wad of money into Juice’s mouth. He tried to spit it out, work his tongue around it, but the guy forced the cash in deep.

Taking Juice’s arm by the wrist, the man returned to his work, carving away the skin that held the Skulls tattoo.

Juice bit down hard on the roll of money, choking on a grunt of pain as his attacker continued slicing. He thrashed beneath the knife, trying to twist away. But the pain in his gut held him pinned to the ground.

There was no hope for escape.

His vision wavered as the blade finally left his flesh, only to be replaced by an agonizing, fiery pain as the last bit of flesh keeping his tattoo connected to his arm was peeled away like skin off an orange.

The inked portion of Juice’s skin hung in the air above his face. Puke rose in his throat, and he heaved against the wad of cash pressing against his soft palate. Some vomit sputtered out around the money, but he swallowed most of the bile back down.

Juice choked and sobbed, unable to even gasp his last breath as the man drove the tip of the knife into his chest.

Chapter Two

The last time Special Agent Emma Last saw her colleague and friend Denae Monroe, she’d appeared to Emma as a ghost in the Other, hovering between life and death. Emma and Leo had been in Boston, helping a shorthanded field office with a case, when Denae’s family called him, urging him to come back as soon as possible. Denae had revived from the coma she’d slipped into after being shot in the side under her arm.

And she’s coming back to work now, Emma girl. The world may not be perfect, but good things can still happen.

As she entered the familiar confines of the D.C. conference room, coffee in hand, she couldn’t stop the smile that crossed her face when she found Denae sitting with their supervisory special agent, Jacinda Hollingsworth. She was beyond thrilled. “Denae—”

“Please sit down, Agent Last.” Jacinda’s voice was sharper than usual. “We need to sort something out.”

Emma glanced from Jacinda to Denae. Jacinda sat at the head of the conference table, with Denae to her right. As Emma took a seat to Jacinda’s left, opposite Denae, her smile died away. Their faces were both very serious. Across from them, Emma felt like she was in the principal’s office. Her stomach swooped.

Denae lifted her chin. “It’s about the ghosts.”

“Agent Last, Agent Monroe requested this meeting.” Jacinda had always been incredibly professional, even in the worst of times. And while Emma had been on the receiving end of her reprimands before, this was different. “She’s given me permission to share that she’s undergone a mental health evaluation to determine her fitness to return to duty.”

“That’s good, right? That means you can—”

“Agent Monroe failed that evaluation.”

Emma bit her lips shut. Across the table, Denae’s cheeks darkened in clear embarrassment.

Jacinda focused her gaze on Emma. “The evaluation will be conducted again in three months, to allow Agent Monroe the opportunity to rest and recover.” She cut a sharp look over to Denae, then directed her attention back to Emma, who sat straighter. “In the meantime, Agent Monroe has stated that you can corroborate her claims.”

Oh, shit.

Emma squirmed in her chair. Had her secret come out? If so, Denae would never be taken seriously again.

And neither would she.

Denae turned to Emma. “I need you to tell Jacinda the truth.” Her voice was so scratchy, like she hadn’t had a drink of water in days.

Emma held her breath, glancing from Jacinda to Denae and back, before the SSA jumped in.

“Denae believes she saw you in some kind of afterlife when she was in a coma.”

Denae clenched her hands in her lap. “Please, don’t talk about me like I’m a child who had a bad dream, Jacinda.”

For a moment, the two women talked to each other like Emma wasn’t even in the room. Emma ping-ponged her gaze back and forth between the two of them.

“I’m explaining the situation to your colleague, who has no idea what she’s walked into. And I need you, as a prized member of my team, to give yourself the time and space to recover from this traumatic event. People often experience vivid dreams or hallucinations or—”

“That’s not what this was.” Denae sounded like she’d tried to explain the situation a million times before and no one would listen and simply branded her unfit for law enforcement.

Her whole career was on the line, and Denae, truthful and honest, couldn’t bring herself to lie about such a profound experience as dying.

“I didn’t dream it up.”

Once again, she turned to Emma, who could read the silent plea in her expression. Denae wanted her to confess. Her colleague wanted to know, for herself, that she wasn’t crazy.

Emma bit her lip again, debating what to do. If she agreed with her colleague, her mental health would need evaluating as well. She could lose her job.

But so could Denae.

And Denae could lose even more. Her sense of self. Her confidence. She’d been through so much, and what she claimed was true. Emma Last could see ghosts.

So it was either lie and call Denae crazy—or tell the truth and be called crazy herself.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to continue this conversation.” Jacinda shifted in her chair, ready to stand up.

“Wait.” The word was out of Emma’s mouth before she could stop herself. As Jacinda settled back down, Emma exhaled a long, deep breath before taking another one in and looking the SSA right in the eyes. “I can see ghosts, Jacinda. And sometimes talk with them. That’s the ‘other world’ Denae mentioned.”

The SSA stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“I can see ghosts.”

A moment of silence descended as Supervisory Special Agent Jacinda Hollingsworth looked from Denae to Emma and back again.

Jacinda’s going to have to fire us both, I guess.

Apparently sensing Jacinda was willing to listen closer now, Denae tried again. “I coded twice on the way to the hospital, and at least one more time during the open-heart surgery. Each time, I was technically dead, and I saw Emma. I was in this place that was all mist and fog, and we were surrounded by a bunch of other people with white eyes who were definitely dead.”

Jacinda laced her fingers in front of her. It was the same position she took when interrogating suspects. “How did you know they were dead?”

Emma pressed her hands against her coffee cup, trying desperately to warm her suddenly frozen fingers.

“Some of them had bullet holes in their heads. Others were missing arms or legs. I could see blood coming out of them, and they didn’t say anything. I’ve never seen a ghost before, but if I had to guess—”

“That’s exactly what you were seeing.” Emma couldn’t let her friend continue to flounder or doubt herself a second longer. “Those were ghosts, and you were one too. I’ve been able to see them and talk with them for a while now.” She met Jacinda’s gaze full on. “When Denae was shot, I saw her. And each time she coded. That was when Leo and I were in Boston.”

“Stop.” Jacinda held her hand up. “I don’t know if you’re both punking me for some reason, but with your confirmation, Emma, I’m getting another set of eyes and ears in here.” The SSA stood and went to the door.

Emma wondered if Leo and Mia would back her up if their jobs were on the line.

They definitely would, Emma girl.

Emma looked through the glass enclosing the conference area. Leo and Mia hadn’t arrived yet.

Vance was just setting his bag down at his desk. The cast on his arm had been removed the day before, and he’d been cleared for full duty.

Great, the one person on the team who doesn’t know.

“Jacinda, can we just keep this between the three of us? Leo and Mia already know too. I’m not sure Vance will—”

“Vance will act as a witness to this conversation, because I foresee a lot of long phone calls and meetings with HR. I need to protect myself as well as both of you, especially after Salem.” Jacinda’s mouth set in a hard line. “I’m sure you understand.”

Jacinda had been handling the fallout from their last case, fielding phone calls from multiple internal affairs inquiries with aplomb.

Opening the conference room door, Jacinda called Vance into the meeting.

“Hey, Denae! Great to see you.” He entered and walked around the table to his usual seat, facing the door. “We having a briefing without the rest of the team? What’s up?”

Denae offered him a weak smile. It was clear she didn’t want the others involved either. But at least she didn’t look so unsure of herself anymore. That was important to Emma. At least Denae didn’t have to doubt her own mental capabilities.

Emma reached over to lightly touch Denae’s arm as she remembered the moment her friend nearly died. “Each time I saw you in that other world…you said to ‘tell Scruffy.’”

“I did.” Denae’s dark eyes grew glassy with unshed tears. But her relief was palpable. “You heard me.”

Vance sat up straighter and cleared his throat. “Somebody want to clue me in? What…‘other world’ are we talking about? Jacinda?” He turned to her.

Jacinda lifted a hand toward Emma. “I believe you had an answer for us.”

“Hi, Vance.” Emma twisted to face him. “I…have this ability. It’s going to sound pretty out there, but I need you to hear me out.” She searched his face for a moment before continuing. “I can see ghosts. When Denae died a few times after being shot, I saw her ghost. We talked in a place called the Other.”

Vance’s eyes widened so far, Emma thought they would pop out of his head. He didn’t speak, so Emma pressed on, her words tumbling over each other.

She described how the ghost at the Ruby Red Spectacle Circus gave her the clues to talk down their perpetrator. She told them how the ghosts appeared at random, about the riddles they spoke in, and about the temperature changes. There were too many incidents to list in one meeting.

“A woman who used to live in my building…her ghost comes into my kitchen every morning and tells me to find a boyfriend. Oren…he comes to me. He helped us in Salem. When Denae was shot last month, her ghost came to me too.”

Vance let out a jittery laugh, looking between her and Denae. “Emma, maybe the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet. It’s still early, but Denae’s right there, at the other end of the table. She’s alive, unless you’re telling me I can see ghosts too.”

“She’s not lying.” Denae leaned forward in her chair, her hands pressed tight on her knees.

“Leo will back me up.”

I hope.

“Of course. He’d do anything for Denae. Come on…you really expect me to buy this crap?” Vance’s mocking look turned to pity.

Emma wanted to smack the expression off his face. “Mia knows too.”

Vance slammed his mouth shut, his eyes darkening.

Standing up, Jacinda got everyone’s attention with a clap of her hands. “Enough. Let’s make this a team meeting. Confidential. Off the record. Leo and Mia just got in, and according to Emma, they can corroborate her story. Let’s hear it.”

The fact that Jacinda wasn’t immediately dismissing them gave Emma a ray of hope. But Jacinda was an investigator, an agent trained to detect bullshit. She’d hear all sides and weigh all evidence before taking any action. Even when Emma had been reprimanded in the past, Jacinda had been fair.

Emma watched as her colleagues entered the conference room and settled around the table. Leo and Mia both sat straighter than normal. They were probably reading the seriousness on everyone’s faces. She prepared herself to recount her story once more.

But Vance beat her to the punch. “You guys are just in time for story hour. Emma’s starting, but I want to go next. I have a few good ghost stories saved up from campfire nights when I was a kid.”

Leo steepled his fingers in front of him. “If this meeting is about what I think it’s about, maybe try for a bit less derision and a bit more compassion.”

Vance reared back as if he’d been slapped by the words. “Excuse me?”

“Free your mind, man.”

Shaking his head, Vance laughed. “Fine, but I get to be Scully. Mia, you can be Mulder. I don’t know about the rest of the team, but I’m sure we can figure something out.” His gaze darted around to each of them. “Good one, guys. You got me.”

“Vance!” Mia smacked her palm on the table.

Jacinda inclined her head toward Emma. “I’d appreciate it if everyone in this room could show everyone else some respect.”

Disgust flashed across Vance’s face, and Emma’s stomach flipped over the omelet she’d forced down that morning. If even one of her colleagues thought her insane or reported her for being unstable, that could be the end of her career.

Emma looked at Mia and Leo, her throat drying as she searched for words. Mia’s face had gone white with annoyance, but Leo was eyeing Vance like the other man had suddenly become a suspect.

“Hey, man, you might not have been in those woods outside Salem, but if not for Emma’s dead friends, I’d have been one of them.”

“Oh, really? Ghosty McGhostface popped out of the trees waving a sign that said ‘Danger’ or some shit?” Vance crossed his arms, his face pinched. “C’mon. It was funny for a second. Now I’m irked.”

Mia reached across the table and grabbed his wrist, holding it until he met her eyes. “Give us a little credit? We were running through those woods. Even a trained survivalist couldn’t have seen those traps in time to keep us out of them. Not with how fast we were running and how well camouflaged they were.”

“And you’re the expert?” Vance yanked his hand from Mia and faced Emma.

Jacinda held her hand up to stop him. “You weren’t there, Vance. Neither of us was. And that wasn’t the only case where things have…come up.” The SSA frowned, then closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. “I knew something was off months ago. I didn’t guess it was this.”

Emma gnawed at her lip. It sounded like Jacinda…believed her?

“If not for Emma,” Mia spoke quietly, offering her a nod, “Ned’s killers would still be out there. He came to Emma in the Other, and that’s how we knew he’d been murdered to begin with.”

Vance jerked in his seat. “Does Sloan know too? Who the hell else is in on this carnival attraction?”

Emma flinched, his words stabbing through her. But the sharp glare that Jacinda sent Vance’s way softened the blow.

“No.” Emma tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Sloan doesn’t know. Just the people in this room, and…a consultant on the Other I found. And the fortune teller from our first case.”

As Vance drew in air to retort or spit another joke her way, Emma barreled forward. She spilled everything, starting with the time the fortune teller pulled her aside after her first case and warned her about a wolf and innocent blood.

She wanted to rest a hand on Vance’s arm, to soften the blow of this new truth. She didn’t. He was still staring at her as if she’d sprouted two heads. “I’ve had a wolf’s howl haunting me these past few months. And Leo. We’ve both heard it.”

Nobody, not even Vance, said a word, so Emma kept going. She filled in all the details about Salem that she, Leo, and Mia had left out of their reports.

“What happened in Salem had nothing to do with contaminated water. It was the work of Celeste Foss, who could also move through the Other and interact with ghosts. We stopped her, but she told me someone else would finish what she started.”

Vance snorted, the sound full of derision. “Right. Can’t have a wicked witch without a few flying monkeys to do her dirty work.”

Emma pounded both her fists on the table. “I get that you think I’m joking. That we’re all joking. But I’m telling the truth.”

Denae clapped her hands together, drawing everyone’s attention. She stared at Vance. “It might mean people think I’m crazy, but I know what I saw and what I told Emma when I died.”

“What did you tell her?” Vance challenged, leaning forward onto his elbows.

“I told her to—”

“Tell Scruffy you’d keep the wolf quiet for a while.” Emma finished the statement, repeating the words Denae had spoken each time her ghost appeared.

Leo looked from Emma to Vance. “That’s why I believed Emma. There’s no way she could’ve known Denae called me Scruffy. Or that I was having nightmares about howling wolves.”

Vance waved a hand in the air, dismissing Leo’s words and sinking back into his seat.

With a sigh, Leo turned to the SSA. “Jacinda, we’ve known each other a long time. I’m telling you, without Emma’s…special type of help, we wouldn’t have closed all those cases. We might not even be alive.”

“I hear you, Leo.” The SSA brushed her hair back, then turned to Vance as if daring him to speak, but he remained quiet. Jacinda’s eyes met Emma’s. “As I said, I’ve seen strange things. For right now, you and Denae have given us a lot to think about. And what you’ve both said will stay in this room, among our team, until I say otherwise…which I don’t plan to do anytime soon.”

Vance huffed a loud breath. The man was red-faced and all but vibrating in his chair with annoyance.

“Do you understand me? What was said here stays between us. I want your word.” Jacinda looked at Vance, waiting for a response.

“Right. Between us and the ghosts. I get it.” He sneered. “Are they here now, or are they on a doughnut run?”

“Did you hear me, Vance?” Jacinda’s voice went harder than it did with suspects.

Vance pressed his lips into a thin line. “Fine.”

“Good.” Jacinda sighed and stood up, stretching her arms above her head in a way that suggested she’d been just as tense as Emma. “Because while I admit I’ve never believed in ghosts, I don’t have any better explanations. And if Emma’s concerned there’s still some danger looming from the parties responsible for the disaster that unfolded in Salem, we all need to be on the same page.” She gave Vance a stony look. “Understand?”

It took several seconds, but Vance finally nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

The SSA checked the time. “I need to bring this meeting to a close. We’ve used up all the free time Denae has to offer.”

Rising gently and favoring her left arm, Denae pushed her chair in and stepped to the door. She turned to face the room, meeting Emma’s eyes. “Thank you. I’ll see you all again soon, I’m sure.”

As she left, the rest of the team all glanced around at each other, speechless and curious. Leo, in particular, seemed unable to grasp her quick departure. “Jacinda, is she…?”

“I’m not able to comment yet. I’m sorry.”

The admin assistant for the floor stepped into the doorway, filling the space Denae had vacated. “SSA Hollingsworth?”

“What is it, Ray?”

He pointed to the conference phone on the table. “Sorry to interrupt. I know you’d asked me to take messages, but there’s an urgent call. Line three.”

She waved him off, and he left, closing the door behind him. Already reaching for the conference phone in the middle of the table, Jacinda gave Emma a quick glance. “We’ll leave the conversation as it is for now. If this is important enough to interrupt us, I’m guessing it involves the whole team. Everyone stay here.” She picked up the line. “SSA Hollingsworth. My team is with me. Who am I speaking to?”

“Agent Conrad Wurth, with Safe Streets Task Force. I have a body out here I think you should see.”

Jacinda frowned. “Out here? As in, you’re outside the Bureau right now?”

“Right across the street, in the alley next to the coffee shop. I didn’t even bother to drive. Body’s been mutilated and has apparent gang ties.”

“Please tell me this has nothing to do with either the Powders or the Drivers.”

“No, thankfully. The deceased seems to have angered a smaller gang that’s been getting into the coke trade lately. Thought you’d want to see it, considering proximity and the violence involved.” The line crackled. “Certainly fits the ‘violent’ part of your team’s purview, and MPD has never seen a body dropped like this before.”

Jacinda had her tablet out and used a stylus to take notes as the conversation continued.

Emma took notes along with her. She closed her eyes briefly, recentering herself. Another case was a good thing. Though given the subject matter, she wasn’t sorry Denae had left the room. Her brother’s involvement in their gang case two months ago had brought the dangers of the job far too close to home.

The phone conversation came to a close, and Jacinda signed off. Looking around the table, she pointed to each of them in turn. “What I said before still stands. Nothing that was discussed prior to this phone call is to leave this room.”

Each of them had nodded their agreement.

After a long pause in which she seemed to weigh their commitment to her command, Jacinda then gave them their assignments. “Give Agent Wurth your undivided attention and see if you can help him process the scene.”

Mia stood up as if she’d been spring-loaded into her seat. “You want us to take over?”

“Sounds like Wurth is either asking or offering.” Jacinda’s gaze lingered on the phone. “Use your discretion, but feel free to say we’ll take lead if Safe Streets and MPD want the help.”

Emma nodded along with her colleagues but lingered behind as the others filed out. She turned back to Jacinda, searching for words, but the other woman waved her off.

“Your story about a contaminant fouling the water in Salem still sounds easier to believe than anything to do with ghosts, but I’m going to keep an open mind.” She gave Emma the shadow of a smile.

The SSA sounded so genuine, relief flooded Emma’s system. She couldn’t have dared to hope the meeting would end this way. “Thanks, Jacinda.”

On that note, Jacinda followed the rest of the team out the door, leaving Emma alone for the moment.

As Emma stood there, in the silence of the empty room, her thoughts spiraled back to the events in Salem, where she’d come face-to-face with the reality of her family history.

She turned to consider the conference table, the center of almost every meeting she’d had with the team since Jacinda, Leo, and Mia had come on board in January. The people who’d just been sitting there were the closest to family she’d ever had.

And you might lose them, because you’re not like them. You’re the black sheep.