The Breadcrumb Game

THE BREADCRUMB GAME

Copyright © 2024 by Lauren Kristen Roberts

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by

LKR Books

PO Box 561

Dulles, VA 20146

www.laurenkristenroberts.com

Cover Design: GetCovers.com

Editor: Michelle Hazen, Sanctuary Editorial

ISBN: 979-8-9892085-0-0 (ebook)

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

For Jean-Leon Bouchenoire (1941-2023) with love.

Also by Lauren Kristen Roberts

Gemini Divided

Chapter 1

Ella

Wednesday

Ella’s house was full of ghosts.

Not the ghosts from campfire stories or haunted houses, or the ones that sent messages from beyond the grave. Other people would’ve called the ghosts memories, but Ella disagreed. Memories could be forgotten, but try as she might, Ella could not forget. Years ago, she’d lived in this house with three other people, but most days, that felt like another lifetime.

She knew she would’ve been better off in therapy, but she didn’t like to confide in anyone. Most people in her shoes probably would’ve moved out of the two-story house she’d lived in all her life, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go of her past, painful as it was.

Each morning, she got up before the sun and drank her coffee while listening to the news anchors drone on about war, disease, and social unrest. Hearing about everyone else’s struggles put her own First World problems in perspective. Compared to them, she was fine. She had food, shelter, and a good job.

After an hour of the news, her interior design business swallowed up the hours from morning until night. Every project for every client was like a puzzle to solve – what designs would fit best with a particular client’s needs and wants? Today, she was preparing options for a seven-year-old girl’s bedroom—the front runners were giant fuchsia polka dots or abstract shapes with a light pink shimmer. Glancing at the samples, she smiled, knowing that her seven-year-old self would’ve chosen the polka dots.

Next up, she would select furniture for another client’s Cape Cod style living room. Her clients sent her their lists of likes and dislikes, and she used those to select pieces they would like that worked in their space. With every job, she had a new challenge. When her mind was busy, her ghosts retreated to the shadows, and she did everything she could to keep them there.

Since she concentrated best without music or noise while she worked, on nice days like today she left her windows open, and her daily soundtrack was the comings and goings of her neighbors. She was deep in thought when a familiar metallic screech broke her concentration. Without looking up, she knew it was the worn-out brakes on her neighborhood postal carrier’s delivery truck. Sheila had been delivering her mail since Ella was a kid, and almost always passed by within the same ten-minute window.

The pale-yellow walls of her sunny kitchen re-materialized around her and she took a sip of the iced tea on the table beside her and stood, stretching her tense muscles. Today’s mail might just hold something she’d been waiting for, so she padded to the front door and slipped on her shoes. Pulling the door closed behind her, she squinted into the sunshine, waving to Sheila as the square vehicle pulled away from the curb.

In the mailbox she found a wad of advertisements, several bills, and on top, a small, padded envelope. Her stomach turned over at the sight of the innocent-looking package. That was not what she’d been hoping to see, but she knew what it was. The messy scrawl was the same as always, and there was a cluster of colorful stamps in the top right corner. The ink stamped over them had smeared enough to be illegible, and there were no other clues about the sender. Every time one arrived, she told herself she wouldn’t open it, but curiosity always got the better of her.

Back inside, she dropped the other mail on the hall table and slowly tore open the padded envelope. These parcels containing tiny clues arrived every few months, and while they never had a note with them, she knew they were from Mal. They hadn’t spoken since their last fight, twenty years before. The trinkets started arriving after ten years of radio silence. She knew what Mal was doing, she just didn’t know why.

She tilted the envelope, and into her hand dropped two lime green dice, the kind used by serious gamers. Unlike regular dice, these had more than six sides.

Ella had loved solving logic puzzles since she was a child, but this one required no effort to figure out. Her mind bounced backwards through time, dragging her back to blinding sunshine and scorching heat outside a convention center.

People in strange costumes streamed around her toward the entrance. One of them bumped her shoulder, turning back to scowl at her.

Her father was there, laughter dancing in his eyes. Do you want to go check it out, girls?

Mal was there, too, her expression mocking. If Ella’s not too scared, she said, and Ella gave her a dirty look.

After pushing their way through the crowded entryway, the two young teens and their father gazed with awe out over the sea of costumed humanity. The memory of the fan convention (or nerd convention, as Mal had called it) floated hazily behind her eyelids. That family trip to Arizona had been the last time she’d seen the style of dice that now sat in her palm.

Come find me! An even younger, less moody version of Mal shrieked with delight inside Ella’s head, and Ella shivered. From the time she’d been old enough for hide-and-seek, Mal had insisted they play the game her way, and she’d left clues to where she was hiding. For the past ten years, Ella had received trinkets like this in the mail, and she’d thrown away every single one. She had no idea why Mal had started sending them, but she wished she would stop.

So you’re in Arizona, she thought as she tossed the dice and the envelope into the recycling bin. Good for you. Why won’t you leave me alone?

Chapter 2

Ella

Friday

It was a day like all the others. Ella woke up early and listened to the evils of the world dissected on the news while getting ready for her day, ate her Chocolate Cheerios, then turned her thoughts to work. The morning flew by, as it usually did; she would’ve worked through lunch again, but for once, her stomach rumbled a reminder. She reheated the leftover Chinese food from the night before and ate it in front of her laptop. Work-life balance wasn’t really her thing, but that was okay with her. She loved her job.

She was in the middle of a phone call with an important client when the doorbell rang several times in a row. Eager to make the noise stop, she rushed to the door as her client barreled on, undeterred. A man in a reflective vest and hard hat stood on her doorstep, saying something about a water main break and pointing at her back yard. Nodding, she waved him toward the gate on the side of the house, turning her attention back to her call.

A distant screech broke her concentration mid-afternoon, as it so often did, letting her know she’d been absorbed in her work for hours. Sheila was nearly ten minutes off schedule with the mail that day, but that was still within her normal window. Ella pushed her chair back and stood. Two birds chirped greetings to each other outside her kitchen window, alternating their songs as if in conversation. The wind chimes that had been a souvenir from a trip to Hawaii filled the air with gentle music.

Today she was expecting a large check from an eccentric client who insisted on sending her payment through the mail rather than via electronic transfer, so she was eager for the mail to come. Once that money arrived, she’d start planning a trip to Bermuda for next Christmas.

Sheila was gone by the time Ella walked out the front door. She picked up a small box from her doorstep with a printed label addressed to her, but no return address or postage. She knew who it was from, so she didn’t bother to open it yet. Her next-door neighbor’s black and white cat threaded herself between Ella’s ankles, circling her leg and purring. She bent down to pet the soft ball of fur, speaking softly. Hey Domino, Ella cooed to the cat, who was rubbing herself against Ella’s legs. How’re you doing today? How’s my favorite cat in the world?

Ella continued to the mailbox with the small box in her hand and Domino at her heels, waving to her elderly neighbor, Miss Rosa, and her daughter, Celeste, in the driveway across the street. Ella stopped to watch Celeste and Miss Rosa hugging goodbye, a pain in her chest hitting her without warning. What she wouldn’t give for her own mother to still be around for her to hug.

She watched as Domino took off at a run towards Celeste, who scratched the cat’s head and then got into her car. As Celeste turned the corner at the end of the block and Miss Rosa disappeared back inside her house, Domino scampered along the curb across the street. Ella scanned the otherwise quiet, tree-lined street fondly. Except for the four years she’d lived in a college dorm, this house had been her home all her life—thirty-five out of thirty-nine years.

Imperfect as her life was, there was nowhere she would rather live.

She smiled to herself as she tugged the mailbox door open and was surprised to find it empty.

That’s weird… I know I heard the mail truck.

She reached in to see if Sheila had pushed the mail to the back, out of view. Her hand had not yet reached the back of the mailbox when the ground rumbled as a blast of hot, smoky air flung her backwards like a rag doll and slammed her against the pavement.

Momentarily blinded by the explosion, she lay still in the eerie silence, coughing and struggling to breathe amid a cloud of dust and debris. Panic zinged through her veins.

Once she caught her breath, she focused on what her brain insisted she’d just seen. She recalled a flash, but couldn’t reconstruct what had caused it.

The shifting wind cleared the air little by little, and a few minutes later, when she could finally see across her yard, she choked on a mix of despair and lingering particulates. Her house was now nothing but a pile of mangled siding, broken glass, and smoking embers. A foul taste coated her tongue and in seconds, the edges of her vision went fuzzy. Light-headed, she watched her surroundings tunnel to a prick of light as the darkness swallowed her.

When her eyes blinked open again, she was sprawled in the middle of her street, her limbs heavy. She sat up slowly and inspected her hands, which were raw and scraped. Domino was nuzzling her head against Ella’s arm. She could feel the vibration of the cat’s purr, but heard nothing. She noted that fact but, being completely overstimulated, simply filed it away for future analysis.

She brushed her palms together, and the tiny pebbles that had embedded themselves in her skin when she’d hit the ground fell away, revealing pinpricks of blood. Somehow, she didn’t feel them.

A fine layer of gray powder floated down, covering her and everything else like newly fallen snow. Spots of red showed on her arms where her skin had been broken. Swiping a finger across a small area above her wrist, she exposed a strip of bare skin, but whatever was falling through the air quickly covered it again.

Raising her eyes, she held up a hand to catch the weightless powder. The mysterious substance’s slow-motion descent was beautiful—until it hit her that this was ash made from the remains of her house and all her belongings. Bile rose in her throat, and she brushed her hands together, trying in vain to clean them. She closed her eyes to shut it out, but the explosion replayed behind her eyelids.

Ella took another deep breath, sucking in a mouthful of ash and doubling over coughing. She imagined her possessions burning one by one. The teddy bear she’d had since birth. The vividly colored landscape paintings that had been her mother’s specialty. The long letter her father had written to her the day before he died. The delicate fan she’d brought back from a family trip to Japan. The lavender blanket she’d knitted amid her grief years ago. And maybe worst of all, every single one of her family photos. She’d grown up before digital pictures, and hadn’t scanned most of hers, so they were irreplaceable. With every item she envisioned on fire, the imaginary knife twisted tighter in her chest.

She opened her eyes and turned away from the pile of rubble where her house had been. Miss Rosa was standing on her porch across the street, gaping at the scene. The older woman’s lips moved, but Ella heard nothing.

Sirens wailed in the distance, the first sound to pierce the silence in her head since the explosion.

Whoa, Miss Ella, are you okay? Let me help you out of the street.

The voice was faint and wobbly, as if it came from underwater. She raised her head to find Mason, a high school senior who lived a few houses down, towering over her. The faces of several other neighbors bobbed behind him, concern etched in their frowns. Mason helped her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her back to help her limp to the curb in front of Miss Rosa’s house. After lowering her to the ground, he kneeled in front of her, his face creased with worry.

What happened?

Her ears still weren’t working right, and the murmurs of her neighbors wavered like a videoconference with a faulty microphone. When she replied, too loudly, her own voice sounded strange to her. I don’t know.

Domino appeared out of nowhere, pressing herself against Ella’s side until she unconsciously stroked her soft fur.

Mason looked around, bewildered. I just got home from school and heard the explosion. His gaze moved from her face to her temple.

Inside her head, the blast played on repeat. If he said anything else, she didn’t hear him.

She spoke haltingly, her voice still too loud. I reached into my mailbox, and… my house… blew up. She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath, this time getting clearer air. Beside her, Domino mewed.

When she opened her eyes, Mason was staring over his shoulder at what had been her house. The mob of spectators had grown, their focus split between her and the wreckage.

Mason turned back to Ella, frowning at her temple. Looks like something got you pretty good there. Does it hurt?

What? She touched her forehead, pulling her hand back when she felt wetness. The sight of her own blood on her fingertips made her inhale sharply.

Mason repeated himself, louder this time. Does it hurt?

Ella stared at her fingers in confusion, then wiped them on her jeans. No. Not at all.

While she was not in physical pain, an intense ache radiated through her. She’d experienced heartbreak many times before, but never like this.

The sirens had been a distant hum a moment before, but now they screamed, announcing their arrival and drowning out everything else. Domino ducked out from under her hand, fleeing down the sidewalk, away from the noise.

She folded her arms across her knees, let her forehead drop against her arms, and tuned out everything and everyone around her. But this wasn’t better, because in her mind, all she saw was a never-ending loop of her house blowing up.

When she raised her head, she noticed the stain her wounded forehead had left on her sleeve, and the pounding inside her came louder and faster.

Emergency vehicles’ flashing lights and radio chatter from their drivers’ walkie talkies had replaced the screaming sirens. Several police cars were now parked down the street, and a fire truck had mercifully pulled up to block the sight of her property. Sadly, there wasn’t much for the firefighters to do but douse water on the smoldering mess.

If there’s anything left that the explosion didn’t destroy, the water is ruining it.

An ambulance came to a stop along the curb, and the sea of neighbors parted to allow the EMTs to get to her. Mason stood up and joined the mass of spectators.

Ma’am, are you alright? She peered up at a young man with close cropped hair and a freckled, redheaded woman closer to her own age.

Let’s get you checked out, the man said soothingly when Ella didn’t respond. She told her muscles to nod, but they didn’t comply.

Was anyone in the house? the woman asked.

No, she said weakly.

Crime scene tape now marked the perimeter of her yard, and the flashing lights of the many first responders’ vehicles combined into a blinding kaleidoscope. Police vans, unmarked cars, black SUVs and various emergency vehicles blocked the road and part of the sidewalk.

A middle-aged police officer approached and looked squarely at Ella. Ma’am, are you the owner of this house? He gestured toward the pile of rubble.

She gave him her statement, and he took her cell phone number and promised to be in touch. As he walked away, she realized her number was no longer connected to a phone, but didn’t have the energy to call him back.

Let’s get you to the hospital, the younger EMT said, snapping her back to reality. Head injuries are nothing to take lightly.

The ambulance doors slammed, limiting her view of the outside world. It was a relief to be inside this compact vehicle, where the flashing lights were much dimmer and the commotion was muted. She watched the familiar streets of her neighborhood out the back window of the ambulance as she waited to wake up from the nightmare that refused to end.

Chapter 3

Ella

Friday

Almost an hour later, Ella had made it through the waiting area and triage room, and now lay in a double room on the third floor in a short-sleeved hospital gown. She was being kept overnight for observation, which was fine because it wasn’t as though she had anywhere else to go. Apparently not only did she have a head injury, but she had symptoms of shock.

The other occupant of the narrow space snored softly behind the curtain a few feet away. Under normal circumstances, Ella hated needles, but when a nurse came in and put an IV in her arm, she didn’t even flinch.

Closing her eyes, she begged to wake up in her own house.

The volume on the TV on the wall was low, playing some outdoorsy reality show. She welcomed the show’s mindless distraction, because noise happening outside her head was exactly what she needed to distract her from the noise inside her head.

Before leaving the room, the nurse pointed to the phone beside the bed, telling her how to reach an outside line, then showed her the buzzer behind her head to call the nurses’ station.

Sure, I could call someone. If all their numbers weren’t stored in my phone. If Mal hadn’t stopped speaking to me twenty years ago—not that I’ve ever had her phone number. If Mom and Dad were still around. If I wanted a thousand-question inquiry from any of my neighbors. If Caitlyn hadn’t just left for two weeks in Greece and wasn’t too busy to talk to me even when she’s here.

With a heavy sigh, she reminded herself that she was perfectly okay on her own, and she had been for a long time. Still, it would be nice to have someone who cared that I was here.

After a visit from another serious-faced police officer, she leaned back against her pillow, too exhausted to feel anything. She turned onto her side and dropped into a fitful sleep.

Less than two hours later, she woke to a rustling at her bedside.

Good morning. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, said a nurse in light blue scrubs. This was not the same woman who’d asked her to rate her pain and given her ibuprofen two hours before. Ella smiled, already drifting off again when the nurse’s voice pulled her attention back from the brink of sleep.

I want you to have this, the woman whispered. She closed a simple, silver bracelet with a flower charm around Ella’s wrist. I just lost my daughter. She was about your age, and you look so much like her. I bought this for her, but… The woman sniffled, forcing a watery smile.

Oh no, I couldn’t take that. Ella shook her head.

Please, said the woman, who was growing fuzzier by the second as Ella drifted back to sleep. It would mean a lot to me.

Not having the energy to argue, Ella gave in tiredly. Okay. Thank you.

As the nurse opened the door, Ella heard her say to someone, She’s awake. You can talk to her now. But please make it quick.

Ella opened her eyes again and looked up as a man in navy pants and a white button-down shirt stepped inside her hospital room and closed the door. The tailored fit of his clothes went in direct opposition to the state of his hair, which stuck up at odd angles, as if he’d recently woken up from a nap. It was too dark to call blonde, but too light to call brown.

His blue eyes fixed on her with an intensity that forbade her from looking away. For a few seconds, she forgot her inner turmoil, her surroundings fading into the background. Even though he wasn’t smiling, his focused attention on her made her heart beat a little harder. A voice in her head exclaimed, That man has good face karma! A pang of sadness hit her squarely in her chest then, because that had been one of her mother’s favorite ways to say that someone was attractive.

Ella guessed that he was in his early forties, though the bags under his eyes could have skewed her estimate. Looking at him, it was clear that he was long overdue for a good night’s sleep. He walked right up to the edge of the bed, unblinking, and she was annoyed to realize that based on the heat in her cheeks, she was probably blushing.

Get a hold of yourself! He’s probably from the insurance company. A claims adjuster or something. He’s not here to flirt with you.

Annabella Madson?

His voice was deeper than she’d expected, and she chastised herself for liking the way he said her name with a growl. This was not at all who she was. Whose personality had she suddenly stolen?

Yes. Call me Ella, please.

She was trying to psych herself up to discuss the loss of every piece of her personal property and not to focus on the fact that he was standing unapologetically inside her personal space, but she was finding it hard to focus on anything when he smelled so good. Like cedar and sandalwood and some kind of sweet fruit.

He took out what looked like a black leather wallet and flipped it open. I’m Sam Donnelly, with the FBI. The Bureau has taken over the investigation of the explosion at your house because of potential connections with another case, which has national security implications. I have some questions for you.

She stiffened. FBI? National security implications?

Where were you on Wednesday morning between 4:30 and 5:30 am?

For half a second, she couldn’t remember, even though the answer would’ve been the same no matter what day it was. Um, I was at home, asleep. Like I am every day at that time.

Can anyone verify that?

What? she asked, taken aback. Verify that I was sleeping in my own bed? No. I live alone. No one else was there… Not that that’s any of your business. She took deep breaths to calm the emotional whiplash of switching from attraction to anger within seconds.

He watched her without blinking, as if she might bolt the moment he looked away. Just before 5:00 on Wednesday morning, there was a break-in at a data security firm in Reston, Virginia. They have large contracts with several government agencies. A team of three people broke in, killed a security guard, and hacked into the system. They stole over ten million dollars. Do you know anything about this?

What? No, of course not! Why would I know anything about that?

He crossed his arms over his chest, looking smug. Maybe you were a part of it, and someone wanted to get back at you.

She stared at him open-mouthed, eyes catching on his muscular forearms before narrowing her eyes at his stupid, skeptical, and annoyingly attractive face. What are you talking about? Why would you think I’d do something like that? The heat in her cheeks now was caused by annoyance. Mostly.

You’re a match for the woman we captured on CCTV footage near the scene of the crime. I don’t suppose you can explain that?

What? No. I can’t be. I was…

Oh.

It had been so long since Mal had caused her trouble, she’d forgotten what it felt like.

She sighed heavily, indignation draining out of her. Not this again. When she continued, she sounded tired.

I have a younger sister, Mallory. We’re not twins, but people always thought we were. Because she could pass for me, one of her favorite hobbies was making my life miserable. She was the poster child for juvenile delinquents. By the time she graduated from high school, her criminal record was a mile long. Breaking and entering, DUI, assault and battery, drugs… Probably more. I’m surprised the FBI has never come to ask me about her before. I guess she hasn’t changed.

Ella checked the bedside table for her phone out of habit, forgetting briefly that it was gone. If I had my phone, I’d show you a picture of how alike we were, but… it was blown up with everything else. Slumping back against the pillow behind her, she deflated.

Agent Donnelly’s expression was unreadable, but his accusatory glare softened.

Annoyingly, it made him even more handsome. I see, he said.

For several long seconds, she stared at this man whose features seemed to be made of stone. It was a shame that his good looks were wasted on someone so grumpy. Then again, wasn’t that always the way it was? The hot ones were always moody, at best.

Her name is Mallory? Last name Madson? he asked, making notes on a small pad of paper.

Yes. The accusation in his voice had faded, and his stare was making her blush again.

What else can you tell me about her?

Her hair was always a little straighter than mine. Her eyes were lighter brown. She liked it when I was mistaken for her, because it bothered me, so she went out of her way to copy my hairstyle so she’d look as much like me as possible. That way, she could claim she wasn’t the guilty one if someone spotted her.

He let out a long sigh. Is there any chance you could tell me anything useful? She stared in surprise at his sudden rudeness. Taking his tone down only a fraction, he added, Did you ever take advantage of your resemblance in the same way?

Ella scoffed. No! When he raised an eyebrow, she added softly, Looking like her wasn’t an advantage for me.

Is there a reason you’re talking about her in the past tense? Is she dead?

Not that I know of. But we don’t talk anymore.

Why not?

Does she sound like someone you’d want to keep in touch with? she snapped, immediately regretting it. Antagonizing him wasn’t going to help her, no matter how annoying he was.

She focused on her lap, but his stare bored into her.

He cleared his throat. So, as you stated, you cannot account for your whereabouts between 4:30 and 5:30 am on Wednesday. Is that correct?

No! I can tell you exactly where I was. At home. Asleep. By myself. Because I live alone. Is that a crime now?

And your sister… do you think she did it?

Ella sighed. Don’t get me wrong, she was horrible as a kid. I don’t know if she’d go so far as to blow up my house. At least, she wanted to believe that Mal wouldn’t go that far.

She was a juvenile delinquent. It was a statement, not a question. And by your own admission, you don’t know her as an adult.

That’s true. Despite their painful history, she hated the feeling that she was betraying Mal all over again. She’d done it once before, years ago, and she still blamed herself for Mal’s downward spiral afterwards.

Glaring up at him, she said, I don’t know what you want me to tell you. She stared into his annoyingly chiseled features, searching for a hint of humanity. He’d shown only faint glimmers of it so far, but enough for her to see that it might be in there somewhere. Deep, deep down.

He frowned and patted his pockets, his face creasing in annoyance, appearing to have lost something. Finally he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and tapped the screen, typing for several seconds before turning it off again. "I’m going to check into this sister