* * *
“HI, sweetheart.”
Taylor’s phone had been silent that morning. So far. Still, he woke early and made his sojourn to the cemetery where Anna rested along with his parents. The daisies, bright and cheerful, wouldn’t last long, but they were her favorite. She’d get nothing else from him.
Sitting by her monument, he stared down at the ground.
He’d spent too many days like this. Holding vigil at the foot of the marble angel and wondering. Wondering, yet dreading what would happen if he ever found out. Would it break him, knowing what happened?
She was gone, he knew. He knew it in his soul.
Maybe that was why he’d never brought anybody out here. Wasn’t like he couldn’t. Wasn’t like he didn’t have the resources. Hell, he had somebody here now…
His gut wrenched. No. Just—no.
Still, with a hand that shook, he reached into his pocket and pulled out that golden chain. Stared at it.
There was a reason Dez was here. Why she was still here—in this town. Deep inside, in a place he didn’t want to look at, he was starting to suspect those connections were a lot more complicated than he wanted to think about.
But he wasn’t going to look at any of that just yet. Not today. Definitely not today.
* * *
“WHERE in the hell are all the kids coming from?” Dez stared grouchily at the crowded Denny’s and wished she’d thought to stock up on coffee for the house. Although she wasn’t quite sure where to buy groceries. Would she be here long enough?
“No school today.” The waitress smiled, but it looked strained. “Fall break. They were off Friday and today. Plus”—she grimaced—
“they’ll be off tomorrow, too, it looks like. The school board thought it would be good to have a day off, but offer counseling for those who needed it.” She sighed and glanced around, her eyes lingering on one table where a couple of teenage girls leaned against each other. “They’ve had a rough few months, these kids. Rough few months.”
Dez was silent as the lady wandered off. Bending over her coffee, she brooded. Canceling school—was that the smartest thing? Letting those responsible for this out for more trouble, it seemed like. At least in her opinion.
But maybe they’d be smart, maybe they’d realize how obvious they were getting. Maybe they’d stop and nobody else would get hurt. And maybe pigs would fly, she thought. Too much arrogance here. Arrogant people rarely thought they’d get caught.
Which meant she had more work to do—she had to do whatever she needed to do to make all of this stop. She had to do it for Tristan. For Ivy. And now for Mark, as well.
* * *
“HAVE another drink, man.” It was finally getting late enough to make this work. All fucking day, Brendan had waited. At least out here they didn’t have to worry about trick-or-treaters. Nobody lived on this stretch of road but Beau and his folks.
Careful to keep the other guy from touching him, he pushed the bottle into Beau’s hand. The gloves were as thin and close to flesh-colored as he could find, but they didn’t feel like skin.
“Shit, already gonna be sick,” Beau grumbled. “What the fuck went wrong, man?” He grabbed the bottle and lifted it to his lips, missed, and spilled half of it down the front of his shirt, adding to the stink in the car.
They were in the garage with the door closed, the engine off, although it wouldn’t stay that way, not if Brendan got Beau drunk enough. The bastard was just too fucking erratic. You couldn’t trust somebody who went and did that kind of crazy shit. Hell, if Mark died, they were all screwed. All of them, because everybody who knew Mark would be looked at closely.
That was why Brendan was taking steps now. Kyle would back him up, he knew. And Kyle could lie with the best of them, could do it under stress, too. He’d head over to Kyle’s in a little while, crash there. He already had the groundwork laid. His eye throbbed like a bitch and Beau’s right fist was swollen. It had taken some doing to get the drunken idiot pissed off enough to take a swing, but he’d managed. They’d had a good day, though, hanging out in town, messing with each other, flirting—Brendan knew how to make sure Beau stayed in a good mood, and that was what he’d done.
Right up until it was time to get Beau in a bad mood, in a scared one—a worried one. The kind of mood that would make the boy want to grab a bottle.
And that was just what he was doing now.
When he was asked, Brendan would say Beau had been in one of his moods—they’d both been worried about Mark and, besides, they’d gotten into fights before. He’d say he’d gotten out halfway between their houses and hoofed it over to Kyle’s. Nobody would ever know.
Everything would be cool. Whether Mark died or not. Because Beau wasn’t going to be around to screw things up. And even if Mark lived—once he realized the shit he could be in, he’d straighten the hell up. Otherwise, Brendan would find a way to finish the job Beau had fucking failed to.
“Who the fuck is that crazy bitch, anyway?” Beau asked, his voice slurred and heavy. He looked at Brendan, his eyes glazed. “How’d she fucking know? She did know, right? How did she know?”
“Beats me.” Brendan studied the bottle of Jack Daniel’s he held—it was only about a little over a third empty and he hadn’t had much more than a mouthful. Beau was a big guy, though, and he liked to party. He could drink. All Brendan needed was for him to drink himself unconscious, though. That was all he needed. “Hey. Quit bitching and just have a drink. We’re supposed to be forgetting about all this shit, right?” He pretended to take a swig and passed the bottle back to Beau yet again, watched as Beau eyed the bottle and sighed morosely.
“Maybe somebody told her…”
Narrowing his eyes, Brendan shrugged mentally. “Maybe so. Shit, then we’re fucked. What in the hell is going to happen? Man, you…your scholarship. Could you lose it?”
Beau’s face paled and he upended the bottle, drinking long and hard. “Fuck that pansy Mark—had to be him. Should have just ran his ass clear over.”
“Yeah. You know it was him.”
Another drink. And this time, if Brendan hadn’t caught the bottle, Beau would have dropped it.
“Fuck. What do we do, man? Don’t wanna go t’jail,” Beau mumbled. Then he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest. “Shoulda listened to Tristan, y’know. Shoulda. He said this was fuckin’ nuts. Was right…”
As Beau slipped into unconsciousness, Brendan narrowed his eyes, resisted the urge to brain the bastard with the bottle. Fucking Tristan—all these assholes, still talking about him.
But he didn’t do what he wanted—he just watched. He just waited.
And once he was certain Beau wasn’t going to wake up, he lodged the bottle between Beau’s legs then turned the keys in the ignition, left the window cracked. He hadn’t been the one to swipe the bottle earlier—that had been Beau’s handiwork. It had come from Beau’s daddy’s liquor cabinet and he’d even probably admit that…later.
He didn’t wipe the car down, either. Didn’t want it too clean. The rest of them thought he didn’t pay attention, but he did. He was in and out of Beau’s Mustang too often and knew if it was too clean, well, that would look weird, right?
So he left it. And he took his clothes. He’d slip out the back. Shutting the door tight, with the Mustang running, he left the house. Beau’s folks were out—they’d be out at the casino partying for hours. Or out with their “friends.” Shit. Friends. Beau’s parents were into swinging—everybody knew it, they just pretended not to.
By the time they got home, Beau would be dead. Carbon monoxide poisoning—it was a bitch, and classic cars still weren’t quite as good at eliminating that carbon monoxide—a handy little fact Brendan had researched a while back. It would all look like an accident. Wasn’t like Beau hadn’t gotten in trouble for drinking before. He’d even passed out in his car before. A fact that was known by more than a few people, since he�
��d done it in the school parking lot—fucking moron.
He could already hear all the crap. Everybody would talk about what a shame it was, such a terrible waste, a horrible accident. And if only his folks had been home. Brendan smirked, pleased with himself. He’d wait about fifteen minutes, make sure.
Out on the side, in the shadows, of course. Beau, like Brendan, lived outside of town on one of the bigger pieces of land. There was some privacy out here, so he could hide himself just fine. Well enough to make sure nobody showed up in time to save Beau.
* * *
TIFFANY Haler didn’t know why in the hell she was there. Wasn’t like she gave a fucking crap about Beau Donnelly.
Fucking asshole. Maybe that was why she was here. She’d heard about what happened to Mark Danvers and it made her belly hurt. She liked Mark, even if he did hang around with these losers. She’d always liked him. She wouldn’t be surprised at all if Beau had something to do with what happened to Mark. He was mean enough. Mean as a snake. Mean as a dog who’d been trained to do nothing but rip out another dog’s throat.
Nibbling on her nail, leaning against her moped, she tried to decide if she wanted to go to the door of the house. Big, brightly lit, so pretty in the night. Not like her house…not anymore. Her mom stayed in her room and either cried or read. Her dad locked himself in his garage. And they both forgot about her. It was always dark, always cold.
At her house, the lights were rarely on.
Her mom rarely spoke. Her dad looked like he’d aged twenty years. Everybody was sad. Everybody was broken. All because of…
Unable to look at that brightly lit house, a place that looked like it screamed welcome, she looked away, staring into the darkness.
Something shifted in the dark. If she hadn’t been staring just there, she never would have seen it. Never. But she was looking, and she saw the boy walking away—saw him stop and wait in the darkness. Like her. Staring at the house.
Just like her.
She reached for her phone, not daring to do anything until she saw the shadowy figure turn away and disappear into the night. Each minute seemed to be a lifetime, but she figured it was probably only five or ten minutes. She should wait longer, make sure he didn’t come back.
But somehow, she didn’t think she could. Somehow, she suspected there wasn’t any more time to wait.
Swallowing, she fished out the card Desiree Lincoln had given her and punched in the number as she started across the street. As she drew closer, she thought she heard a faint roar. Faint…but pretty damn familiar, and as she got closer, she knew exactly what that sound was.
“Oh, shit…” Her gut clenched. Curled.
As a sleepy voice came on the line, she started to run.
* * *
PLEASED with himself, Brendan cut across Meyer’s Field.
There wasn’t a Meyer around, hadn’t been for years. But the field was still called Meyer’s Field. He kept to the fence, along the line of the side where the trees ran thick, not wanting to risk being seen, although shit, who the fuck was out—
He saw the outline of somebody out there, then. If the moon hadn’t been full, shining down in just the right way, he might not have seen it. It was a person, right? He didn’t think there was a scarecrow or anything out there. What the hell? Standing so still, staring down. Staring at what?
No. It was a person.
In the middle of the field, so fucking late—
What the hell?
Hissing out a breath, Brendan went still and continued to stare, creeping along, barely daring to move, barely daring to breathe. He was quiet—couldn’t be seen now.
Damn it, what the hell was it with people fucking up his plans?
* * *
“IF the boy interrupts us, I’ll be so unhappy.”
There was just the faintest crunch of twigs breaking. Fainter, getting fainter. Leaving them, the boy was leaving. Good.
Their time together shouldn’t be interrupted.
“We don’t have much time together, do we? My pretty little angel.” The flowers were already spread out, an offering. “I hope you like them. It wasn’t as easy to get them as I’d hoped. Not the perfect ones I wanted for you, at least.”
Perfect, everything for the angel must be perfect. Perfect for their day together. The only time they had together, every year. The day was almost done and then it would be a year—no.
It shouldn’t have happened this way. “My angel…my one and only. Damn it.”
There was a sob, harsh and ugly. She’d threatened to tell. Why had she done that? Didn’t she know? Hadn’t she understood?
It shouldn’t have happened this way. It hadn’t been meant to happen this way. Anger, guilt, grief, and longing—they were a poisonous mix. “You were so sweet and lovely. I want you back.”
Tears fell and were ignored.
“I miss my angel.”
* * *
DEZ jerked on her wrinkled clothes, the phone wedged against her shoulder. It rang and rang—four rings for Taylor Jones was a hell of a lot of rings. When he finally answered, he sounded a lot more awake than she felt.
“We need to get out to Beau Donnelly’s house. And I’ve no clue where it is. Can you come get me?” she said.
“Yes. Why?”
“Weird phone call. Hell, everything about this town is weird. Is there something in the water, or what? I don’t know if it’s anything, but my gut says something’s wrong.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Dez was dressed in another minute and spent the next five minutes curled over a cup of nuked instant coffee, shuddering at the taste of it. Spying the cabinet, she opened it and saw granola bars and cereal. Yeah, Taylor had stocked it with basics. Healthy basics. Typical. But she wasn’t going to be picky. She grabbed a granola bar and tore it open, eating half of it in one huge bite. She shoved another one in her pocket. She couldn’t keep going on steam and nothing else. Well, steam and caffeine.
She saw the flare of headlights and headed toward the front door, coffee in hand. Whatever they had to deal with, she’d need more caffeine to do it. She was outside, shivering in the cold night air, by the time he’d stopped in her driveway. Climbing into Taylor’s car, she shot him a narrow look. “You look ridiculously awake for one in the morning,” she muttered.
“You rely on caffeine too much,” he replied. “What’s with this phone call?”
“I don’t know.” She glanced down at her phone as if it would tell her more than it already had. “We’re going to Asher Road. I did a Google search.”
“I know where it is. Tell me about the call.”
“You know where it is,” she echoed, rubbing her brow. “Of course you know where it is. It was Tristan’s sister. I met her the other day. Talked to her briefly. Gave her my card. I didn’t really expect her to call me and then she does, roughly fifteen minutes ago, and she’s babbling about some shadow she saw and how this boy Beau is in trouble.”
“Did she call the cops?”
“I told her to.” Dez rubbed her temple. “But she hung up on me.”
“Did you call them?”
Dez shot him a sour look. “I did better. I called the FBI.”
Taylor sighed and grabbed his phone from the console. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the back of the seat and hoped she hadn’t made a mistake in not calling the police right away.
It took only five minutes to get to the house, but those five minutes were an eternity.
THE second Dez promised she was on her way, Tiffany disconnected, ignoring anything else the woman had to say. All she could think about, all she could hear was the rumble of Beau’s Mustang. That gleaming, vintage Mustang. Inside the garage. The closed garage.
A moan lodged in her throat as she peered through the filmy curtain and stared inside. She was pretty sure she could see Beau in there, inside the car. Unmoving.
Tiffany’s dad tinker
ed with cars. He liked them. A lot. Once upon a time, Tiffany had even worked with him on some of the cars he’d bought to restore and sell. Older cars, they didn’t have that nifty exhaust system that eliminated most of the carbon monoxide. Plus, she knew that even newer cars could eventually put off enough of the noxious gas to kill a person—it had happened in California back around Christmastime a year or two earlier.
He was sitting in there, in that silent, deadly poison. Swallowing, she slipped her bag off her shoulder and then checked the ground. There were flowerbeds and she’d have to trample the flowers. But if she could bust through wood at karate class, she could break glass, right?
She did a practice kick first, felt the glass give a little under the heavy, weighted toe of her boot. Damn, she was glad those things went almost all the way to her knees. Then she whispered, “This is something you’d do, Tristan. Asshole or not.” Gritting her teeth, she set her stance and then struck, driving into the window with all the force she had.
Glass shattered.
She used her bag to knock as much of it out of the way as she could before she climbed in. Pulling the neck of her shirt up over her mouth, refusing to breathe, she ran to the door and hit the button to lift the garage door. As it started to lift, she saw the lights pull into the drive.
She wanted to cry in relief. But she could see Beau. And he wasn’t moving.
* * *
“IS he going to make it?” Dez asked quietly, gripping Tiffany’s hand. Her mother sat next to her, her face pale, dazed. But there was a glint of pride in her eyes as she stroked a hand down her daughter’s hair. Pride. Love.
Taylor stood in the door, his face troubled. He glanced backward and then at her. “I don’t know. The carbon monoxide levels must have been pretty high. Any chance he has, it’s because he was rescued when he was.” He looked at Tiffany and gave her a rare smile. “Any chance he has is because of you, Miss Haler.”
The Departed Page 16
