by Mary Stone
He nodded. “Yeah. I have one buddy who went home, had a family and a high-paying job on Wall Street. He was the model for getting back into the swing of things after the war. People looked at him and said, ‘See, it can be done.’ Then he started having nightmares and blew his brains out ten years later.”
She swallowed. Okay, nix on the feeling better. “Seriously?” Now she felt kind of sick. “Um, so…there are services around for people?”
“If they want it. That’s the big hurdle, most of the time. Wanting it. Most of us guys deal with it in other, probably less effective ways. Self-medicating, you know.”
She bobbed her head in agreement. Wanting it definitely was a big hurdle in Linc’s case.
He tilted his head as he studied her. “Let me guess? That dreamy boyfriend of yours?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. And no. I was just curious,” she lied, reaching into her bag and pulling out the envelope with the list of people she needed to interview for the embezzlement case. She pointed at the paper. “I have work to do. Conversation over.”
“Uh-huh,” Greg muttered. He didn’t believe her, obviously, since she never willingly ended a conversation. Whatever, dude.
Since Emma had a doctor’s appointment that day, Kylie had decided to work from the office, saving the remainder of the inventory evaluation for another day.
Kylie opened up the envelope Emma had given her and started going through it, making notes. Emma Jennings had neat script, like a schoolteacher’s, though her hand was shaky. She went down the list, slowly, her mind flashing to the crazed look in Linc’s eyes that night when they’d been in bed together, his big hand clasped so hard around her arm she thought he might break it. Then she thought of the way she’d laid into his father and those asshole brothers of his and shuddered a little in embarrassment.
She’d really called them all bloodsuckers.
Oh, yes, Kylie, you sure know how to win friends and influence people.
They’d deserved it. She was like her mother in that way. Sweet as pie, but if someone played the asshole card? She sure as hell was going to call them out for it. It was only fair.
And they were bona fide assholes. How could they treat one of their own like that? It was hard to believe that a guy like Linc could come from that stable of self-absorbed douches.
Of course, Kylie knew a little bit about fathers who treated their family like crap. Her own father, for one. She was actually blessed that he’d gotten out of her life when she was young, before she could form an attachment to him. If she had, maybe she’d be spending her life feeling guilty for not being able to keep him from leaving. Kylie wondered if part of Linc’s problem was that he never could live up to his father’s unrealistic expectations.
Then she realized she wasn’t concentrating on the case.
Case, Kylie. Concentrate on the case. Forget Linc for one freaking second, can’t you?
She made a few more notes as her eyes drifted down the page, thinking she’d probably have better luck contacting these people in the evening, when they were home from their jobs. As she was deciding to order in Chinese and do that, her eyes hit upon the name of Emma Jennings’s lawyer, the one she had been concerned might be embezzling her funds.
Oh, for all that was good and holy.
It said, Jonathan Coulter.
Jonathan bloodsucker Coulter.
So, basically, Kylie was in the process of investigating an embezzlement accusation involving the lead vampire.
Linc’s father.
She buried her face in her hands. As she did, she thought of their house. Of all that expensive and exclusive artwork. Of course he was Emma Jennings’s lawyer. Linc had said his father was one of the most respected and well-known lawyers in the state. Of course, she’d have to be dealing with him.
This would make her investigation just peachy. Kylie couldn’t wait to deal with the elder Coulter again. She could almost already feel his love and open-mindedness.
And what would Linc say when he found out she was investigating his dad? What if Linc’s dad was embezzling funds, and she uncovered it? That could completely rip apart his family…and wouldn’t exactly make her feel welcome at future family dinners.
Crap.
Well, she simply couldn’t tell Linc that now. He had enough on his mind. Besides, there was no reason to worry until his father gave her something to worry about. Sure, money was missing. But it could’ve gone anywhere. She may have thought Linc’s dad was a bloodsucker, but it didn’t mean he was a thief too.
Kylie decided that her first course of action, since it was easiest, would be to research the names of the people on the list. She did so, starting first with Nate Jennings, the dear grandson that Emma was trying to set her up with. When she typed in his name, she wasn’t prepared for all the juiciness that appeared.
Nate Jennings was twenty-nine years old and had graduated from Wake Forest just a few years ago. Of course, she couldn’t fault him for that. Kylie herself had been taking a tiny bit longer than the normal four years to get all her studies in.
But she wouldn’t think about that.
From what she could tell, Emma’s “dear grandson” had an arrest record for petty theft. There’d been an article in the paper a few years back that had him stealing a number of items from a fraternity house. She found a Facebook page that wasn’t set to private, and as she scrolled through it, she didn’t really find a lot that made her think she’d have a love connection with the guy.
In fact, he seemed like a bigger douche than Linc’s dad.
He was big on flaunting his money. There were at least three selfies of him wearing expensive-looking sunglasses. He was posed with a fan of hundred-dollar bills, looking like a pimp. He had a hot red Porsche, a different girl on his arm every two days, and he got around the party scene. He also appeared stoned or strung out in most of the pictures. Acne-faced, skinny, and kind of gross, “handsome” wasn’t the word she’d use to describe him. Kylie had to wonder if Emma Jennings was losing her mind.
He had a record, lived beyond his means, and his grandmother had said he’d been “helping” her around the house. Emma Jennings thought he could do no wrong, so she probably gave him a lot of liberties. Plus, he just looked like a thug.
He could be her man.
Well, it was definitely an easier line of inquiry than going after Jonathan Coulter, big-deal lawyer.
Maybe she’d find out Nate was behind it, all along, and wouldn’t have to bother with the lawyer.
Yes. That was the plan.
Please please please, Nate…be responsible for stealing from your sweet old grandma. And confess it to me the second you’re interviewed so I don’t have to dig any deeper into this case.
Because…wow. What a way to make her first official case about a thousand times less exciting. In fact, as she glumly stared at Jonathan Coulter’s name on the paper for the thousandth time, willing it to change to any other name on the face of the earth, she realized she’d probably rather be typing those reports from hell.
Kylie jabbed in the number for Nate that Emma Jennings had given her. It went right to voicemail. “Hi, Nate? This is Kylie Hatfield, and I’m working with your grandmother. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions for me. Please call me back.” She rattled off the number.
Hanging up, she wondered if he’d even call. He didn’t look like the most responsible guy on earth. Of course, his last Facebook post was a number of years ago. People changed.
She got to work on the other names, finding very little, until she entered in the name Jonathan Coulter.
She clicked on pictures of a much younger man—almost like the spitting image of Linc, though he was dressed in a suit. She scrolled through hundreds of articles about cases he’d tried and won. All of his awards came up. All of his philanthropic activities. Yes, he may have been a lawyer, but he had done good around the city. So, he wasn’t a total bloodsucking scumbag.
Was he an emb
ezzler too?
God. She didn’t want to touch that with a thousand-foot pole.
But something told her she might have to.
17
He dreamed of fire. Of death and burning buildings. Of people screaming.
But nothing made any sense.
In the pre-dawn hours of morning, Linc woke, sweating and breathing hard. He was surprised to find himself in his own bed.
He got out and stumbled downstairs, then went to go feed the dogs. After he did, he checked his phone. He had one message from Caryn, Dr. Evans’ vet assistant: “Hello, Linc. I have the bill for the little beagle that was brought in with possible hypothermia the other day. It’s two-hundred and ten dollars even. If you’d like to put this on your credit—”
Linc deleted the message and made a mental note to contact them later. He was sure he probably had a bunch of other bills to settle with them since he was there almost every week.
Deciding the best thing for him was to stay busy, he got to work, doing everything he needed to do to winterize the house. He changed out all the screens to storm windows. Checked to make sure the radiators were working. And planted bulbs for the following year in his grandma’s garden.
Every time a thought of Syria threatened to invade, he pushed it away, repeating, I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy over and over again in his head until he felt crazy.
How had he forgotten that Austin had died? That they all had? Every single one of his brothers? Why hadn’t he ever wondered why they never called him to catch up? Had he learned all this, and just blocked it out?
Thinking hard, he remembered riding home on the plane to Asheville after months in the hospital. Men and women in the airport thanked him for his service, and a little kid handed him a homemade card. He remembered his mother and father welcoming him at the gate.
But he remembered nothing else about his brothers. Nothing about them coming home with him. Had they come home in boxes?
Linc was sure, though, that the woman he kept remembering was from that day. The day of the suicide bombing he couldn’t remember. All he could remember was Austin, looking up at him with that crooked grin as he kicked about the soccer ball.
Then the little boys, scuffling for the ball.
Then one of them, shouting happily about his sister.
The sister, cowering in fear.
And then…
And then…
“You’re busy, huh?”
Linc jumped nearly out of his skin, falling back on his ass with the garden trowel in his hand.
Jacob crouched down in front of him. “Jesus. What the hell, man? Didn’t you see me coming? Storm and the other dogs have been barking their heads off. I thought you saw me.”
Twice. This had happened to him twice now.
Linc shook his head. “I was thinking of something.”
“Of…what, man?”
He pulled off his gloves and scrubbed his hands over his face, sitting there in the dirt. “Nothing. Don’t tell me there’s another rescue.”
“Nah. I just came to see how you were. You looked a little…weird the other night?”
Linc couldn’t even remember back to when that was. Oh, right. When he’d been pissed that Kylie and his best friend were getting too close. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he acting like such an asshole these days?
“I’m good. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure, because—”
“Yes!” he snarled. “Dammit, yes. I’m fine. Now, just leave it.”
Jacob stepped back, his face filled with concern. He lifted his hands in a “meant no harm” gesture. “Whoa. I was just…I guess I caught you at a bad time. I’ll just…” He started to walk back to his truck.
Linc pushed himself to his feet. “Hey. Wait. I didn’t mean that.” He ran both hands through his hair. “Come on in and have a beer.”
Still looking wary, Jacob agreed, and they went out onto the back porch, popping the tops off two beers Linc retrieved from the kitchen.
Jacob took control of the conversation. “Little Bethany Akers is doing great, and so is the pup.” That got a smile out of Linc. The topics turned to where they always did…sports, bars, women. Before he could stop his thoughts, Linc wondered if Jacob compared every girl he met to Kylie.
After a while, though, Linc felt tired. Empty. Beat to shit. The nights alternating between sleeplessness and nightmares were starting to pile up on one another.
Jacob acted like his usual jovial self, but Linc’d known him since kindergarten. They used to talk about all kinds of crazy shit, no holds barred, and rib each other incessantly. Today, it was almost like he was being too nice. Linc could tell Jacob was on edge, almost walking on eggshells. He didn’t want that.
He wanted…normal.
Whatever that was.
And if anyone could understand, it was Jacob. He’d been in the Marines, one tour in Afghanistan, right out of high school.
“Have you…ever had nightmares?” Linc ventured when they’d fallen to silence, staring out at the thick woods behind his house. The dogs were at their feet, and as they rocked in the rocking chairs, Linc felt another headache coming on. “About your time? Overseas?”
Jacob gave him a surprised look, then shook his head. “I didn’t see the action a lot of guys did though.” He took a swig of his beer. “Not like you. Why? Is that what this is about?”
Linc looked up at the eave overhead and rocked back on the chair. “Yeah. No.” He laughed, the sound as exhausted as he felt. “I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell is going on in my head anymore.”
Jacob was quiet for a moment. “If you’re having problems, go to the VA. That’s what they’re there for. They have medication. Therapy.”
That all sounded like a bunch of new-age shit that wouldn’t work. Besides, this was mind over matter. It was just a matter of showing his brain who was boss. He was strong. He should’ve been able to handle this himself.
“Nah. It’s not bad. Just a few dreams.” Linc shrugged and laughed, playing it off. “I just don’t know why the hell I’m having them now when I haven’t been in Syria in over two years.”
Jacob snorted. “Maybe it’s because you’ve been forced to save your girlfriend’s pretty ass a couple times lately.” He sobered, turned to look at Linc more directly. “You witnessed some pretty intense shit a few weeks ago, Linc. That would mess with anyone’s mind.”
Linc didn’t close his eyes because, if he did, he would see damned Sophia DuBois holding a gun to Kylie’s head. That was one thing he hadn’t forgotten. Nor had he forgotten how loud that gun had been when it went off. He also hadn’t forgotten the fear. The blood. The moments that ticked by before he knew Kylie hadn’t been fatally injured.
“You should get it checked out, though, if it gets worse,” Jacob advised. “The brain works in really weird ways.”
No, shit.
Jacob stayed for close to another hour, still keeping up most of the conversation. They shared another beer, but Jacob turned down a third on account that he was driving. When Jacob finally pushed to his feet, Linc followed him to the truck, both relieved and sad to see him go in equal degrees.
He wanted to apologize for acting like an asshole, but he couldn’t think of how to form the words. He wanted to tell Jacob he’d been an idiot for thinking he’d screw around with Kylie behind his back, but he didn’t want the detective to know how paranoid and out of control he’d become. So Linc told him that he’d see him later, and that was the end of that.
They were best friends. Always would be.
Well, if Linc didn’t push him away too.
18
Kylie sighed and threw herself over her desk, wanting to bang her head on the wood repeatedly, her frustration was so great.
Greg walked in and found her there. He didn’t say anything for about ten minutes, which was when he came over, kicked her foot, and said, “Are you dead? Because I don’t pay the deceased.”
&
nbsp; “Just about,” she muttered into her arm. With all the energy she could muster, she sat up.
He pointed to her arm. “You in pain?”
Kylie frowned down at her shoulder and shook her head before sighing deeply.
“Okay.” Greg scratched at his chin. “That sigh means something is wrong.”
Oh, there were plenty of things that were wrong. Linc hadn’t been in touch with her since the disastrous dinner at his parents’ house. She wasn’t sad about that—she was damn near irate—but was determined to stick to her guns and not call or text him at all. As someone who texted just as often as she spoke, it was damn near impossible.
So, Linc? Top of her shit list. The very top. In her estimation, the Spotlight Killer ranked lower.
Then, to top it all off, she’d gotten nowhere in the Emma Jennings case. Nate never called her back, nor had any of the other people on the list. Kylie felt like she was running up against a brick wall. She kept looking at Linc’s dad’s name, wondering if she should bite the bullet, call him, tell him he’s not just a bloodsucker, he’s an embezzler, plus he raised a son with absolutely no manners, and shame on him.
She didn’t think Greg would want to hear her love-life rantings, since god knew she’d terrorized him with those enough, so she stuck to the professional stuff.
“I’ll have you know that I’ve been very thorough, trying to research everyone on this godforsaken list Emma gave me for the embezzlement case,” she said, stabbing it with her pen. “But no one is getting back to me. I think they all think I have cooties. Do I have cooties, Greg?”
“You may,” he said, still rubbing his scraggly jaw. “Which is why I keep you on the other side of the office. Have you called everyone?”
She nodded, hoping he wouldn’t see the lie on her face.
“What have you been telling them? Sometimes people won’t call back because they think you’re a telemarketer. You have to get creative.”
