The Girl in Cabin 13 (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery, #1)

by A.J. Rivers

“Special Agent Emma Griffin, FBI?” I’m not sure how much longer this is going to go and how many more pieces of identifying information he’s going to tack onto the end of the title, so I try to flash-forward to the end. “That’s me. What’s this all about?” He finally looks at me. “So, you’re not Brittany, also known as Sugar, street runner, and gang member?”

“Until further notice, you’re out of the field. Turn in your gun and find a cushion. You’re riding the desk from now on.”

Greg would never have ridden a motorcycle. I cringe at the thought. I'm thinking of him in past tense again. I can't do that. He's out there somewhere. I have to tell myself that and really believe it. There's a reason he went missing. Just like there's a reason our last conversation, just three weeks before he disappeared, was a breakup that came out of nowhere.

“Well, that's the news. I'm tired of having these guys look at me like I'm not good enough or that they're better agents than me. Even worse are the ones who are treating me like glass since Greg.”

This is my chance to get back into the Bureau's good graces, and it really is a fascinating case. I'm looking forward to trying to unravel it.

My heart wedges in my throat. Scrawled across the paper, in heavy writing, is my name.

She couldn't get her mother. Her mother wasn't there anymore and was never going to be again. She wasn't a little child, but she felt like one.

There was no permanence. There was nothing she could hold onto long enough for it to really feel like hers.

“Now that is an entrance,” he says. I hold my glass up toward his and bow my head slightly. “Thank you. I try my best.”

No one should have to live in fear all the time and not be able to just live their lives.”

There's a darkness over this town. Secrets it’s holding onto. If I don't bring an end to them, it will only get worse.

Whoever did this, made a serious mistake with those few feet. They brought me here.

Photo albums are to be looked at, right? If people don't look at them and share the memories, maybe they don't exist at all.”

“Better to have your good memories than someone around who doesn't want to make any more of them.”

“Cole Barnes was my father's best friend from way back. They were just kids together.

Finding out origins provides structure and context. That one detail can give a glimpse into a person's culture and life experiences. It helps make the other person real.

Cristela Jordan came from the next town over and was well-known in town. She was up at Jake's bar most weekends. Ron Murdock is a stranger. They have nothing to do with each other.”

“That is the fucking Field of Dreams,”

My father always used to tell me that dreams are our brain’s way of entertaining ourselves during the long hours of sleep. While our bodies go about the work of repairing themselves and preparing for the next day, all our thoughts and impulses come together to create little stories to tell us.

Maybe everything going on with my father and with Greg took something out of me.

When you really want something, don't let something like where you came from stop you. This is all just a steppingstone. Make it happen.”

The less I know about him, the better. It's easier to destroy the trust of someone you don't know well. Easier to walk away from the potential of something you haven't explored far.

Sometimes we tell stories to make things seem better than they really are.

Better to have your good memories than someone around who doesn't want to make any more of them.