The Last Echo

Krystal looked at Violet now and tapped the headset she wore, the one that made her look more like she belonged onstage at a pop concert than as part of a high-tech tactical response team, especially with her heavily kohl-lined eyes, bright purple tights, and Harley-Davidson boots. “Someone’s gotta be in charge of Comm. Sara’s”—she waved her hand in Sara’s general direction, where Sara was just closing the file she was holding and shaking hands with the detective—“doing whatever it is Sara does. Liaising and whatnot. And it’s not like Rafe’s gonna do it. In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s not much of a talker.” She cast wide, innocent brown eyes at Rafe when he turned to glare at her. “Well, I’m not lying, am I?”

He just shrugged, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Whatever.”

Sara joined the three of them near the edge of the parking lot, where they’d been trying to stay out of the way of the police who swarmed the building. “Good job, Krystal,” she said, interrupting them. And then she shot a meaningful glance in Violet’s direction, her eyebrows rising slightly, and it wasn’t hard to tell she was annoyed. “Rafe, Violet, would you two mind staying behind for a minute? I’d like a word.”

Krystal pursed purple lips that were the exact same shade as her tights, her eyes widening. “Ooh, sounds like someone’s in trouble. . . .” The I-told-you-so in her voice was obvious. “Should’ve answered me when I asked where you were.”

“Whatever,” Violet whispered back to Krystal as discreetly as she could. “We found her, didn’t we? Neither of us did anything wrong.”

But Krystal just snorted, as if Violet was being ridiculous. “Except you broke contact with your team. And Rafe was supposed to keep track of you.” As she stripped off her headset, her collection of necklaces—long chains strung with healing crystals, stones, and charms—clattered noisily together. “Later, losers. Hope you don’t have to stay in detention for too long.”

Violet shook her head as Sara walked with Krystal across the blacktop, toward the car Krystal had affectionately dubbed “Roxy,” her heavy black boots looking oversized for her scrawny legs. A crowd had already gathered, probably people who worked in the area, those who’d heard the sirens and wanted to know what was going on. Violet knew it wouldn’t be long before the news crews arrived too, and started asking questions.

She waited until Sara and Krystal were out of earshot, then turned to Rafe. “What did Krystal mean?” she insisted. “Did Sara ask you to watch me?”

Rafe just shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Um, yeah, it sorta does. I’m a big girl. . . . I don’t need you babysitting me.”

Rafe’s blue eyes glittered mischievously, but before he could respond, Sara was already coming back.

She crossed her arms, looking first at Rafe, and then to Violet, her gaze serious. “What happened back there, Violet? I thought we talked about this? You said you were ready.”

Violet let out a gusty sigh, stalling as she tried to decide whether to defend her actions, or to outright lie to Sara. Looking at the woman standing in front of her, always starched and no-nonsense, Violet finally lifted her shoulders, settling on the truth. “I honestly don’t know. I thought I could handle it, but then I was there . . . and I could feel it. . . .” She glanced uneasily at Rafe, who stood beside her, no longer holding her hand but making her just as uncomfortable. “Her . . . I could feel her pulling me to find her and suddenly nothing else mattered.” Her shoulders sagged again, defeatedly. She knew she’d let Sara—and her team—down. “I’m sorry.”

Violet waited for the reprimand about leaving the safety of the team, especially after how often they’d talked about that very thing.

But it was Rafe who Sara turned to, her blue eyes narrowing. “I asked you not to let her out of your sight, didn’t I?”

Rafe just shrugged again, in his usual Rafe-ish way, like he didn’t really care what anyone else thought. “I told you she needed more time,” he retorted, his quiet voice never rising.

Violet’s cheeks grew hot as she stood there listening while they talked about her . . . as if she were completely invisible.

She winced when Sara continued, “It wasn’t your decision, Rafe. When we’re out in the field, you need to follow orders, just like everyone else.”

Rafe’s shoulders squared, his jaw flexing almost imperceptibly. “It’s hard to follow orders when they don’t make sense.” And then his eyes shifted, only slightly, to Violet, who watched them in chagrined silence. “Besides, I didn’t mean to lose her. I only turned my head for a second, and when I looked back . . .”

Now they were both staring at her, and Violet felt the heat in her cheeks creeping down her neck, coiling into an angry ball in the pit of her stomach. She shook her head, not sure what more she could say.

“Part of being on the team means we look out for each other. Especially in high-danger situations. We had no idea if the tip was legitimate, or if the killer was setting a trap—baiting us so he could ambush us when we got there.”

Sara was right. Of course she was right. And, more importantly, she was in charge. Violet had known she was breaking the rules when she’d wandered off. Besides, she’d only barely been allowed to be there at all, and only because Sara had pulled some strings and promised to keep “her people” in line.