Guilty as Sin

by Jami Alden

  As though reading her mind, Tommy said, “It’s not like that. While I provide both physical and cybersecurity for my clients, I also help them manage the flow of information and help them identify leaks in cases of corporate espionage. I met Jackson years ago in the Army, and he’s been a friend as well as a client since I started my business. I’m currently consulting for him on a new company he’s starting.”

  Tommy joined the Army, she mused to herself, tucking away that information as she pasted on a smile that was as genuine as Pamela Anderson’s breasts. “I see. Well, I’m sure Mr. Fuller appreciates your support, and of course we appreciate any help that we can get from volunteers, but right now if you could excuse me so I can talk with him and the sheriff in private—”

  “I want him to stay,” Fuller said gruffly. “Tommy’s the best in his field—”

  Kate felt the skin on her upper back and neck prickle. “I’m sure that’s true, but I’m not sure how much value he’ll add right now in the information-gathering phase—”

  “I’m staying,” Tommy said curtly, folding his arms across his chest in a way that made him look as formidable as one of the granite peaks jutting into the sky around them. He gave Fuller’s shoulder a squeeze with his big hand. “After everything he’s been through in the past months, I’m not leaving him to deal with this alone. Not even if it means leaving him in the hands of one of the country’s foremost experts on missing children.”

  Was it just her, or did she hear a tinge of derision as he uttered the word “expert”? Or was she just paranoid, imagining criticism whenever people spoke of her? Well-deserved criticism, a soft inner voice hissed. Kate swallowed back a surge of guilt and grief and resolved herself to spending at least several moments in Tommy’s overwhelming presence.

  “Fine,” she said. She perched on the edge of an armchair positioned on the other side of the desk—more leather—and took out her iPad and pulled up the notes she already had about the case. “Now tell me everything about the night your daughter disappeared.”

  Chapter 2

  Kate listened intently as Jackson recounted the events leading up to Tricia’s disappearance approximately thirty-six hours before. Most of what he told her she already knew from the police report CJ had sent to her and from broadcast media coverage.

  Kate had sucked up every bit of information—scant though it was—after receiving a phone call from a producer at CNN asking if she would comment on the case of fourteen-year-old Tricia Fuller who’d gone missing in Sandpoint, Idaho. Revisiting Sandpoint and everything that had happened here was the last thing on earth Kate wanted to do, but she knew she couldn’t say no.

  Her own notoriety and the fact that the media had connected her to Tricia’s case meant that Tricia and her family would receive more coverage than 99.9 percent of any of the other hundreds of thousands of kids currently missing in the United States.

  It was horribly unfair, Kate knew, that some children were headline fodder for weeks, even months, rallying the public around the families and galvanizing the search.

  The reality of it gnawed at her conscience for the families and kids who were ignored, whose faces she wasn’t helping to keep on the TV screen or the front pages of the news. But she couldn’t let that keep her from seizing on the tragic connection she had with this case and this town and the media’s desire to exploit it, not if it could help get Tricia home safely.

  “Brooke, her sister, had gone out,” Jackson said, “some party on the lake. I’d gone to bed early, around nine,” he continued. “At that point Tricia was watching a movie on the great room TV.”

  He reached up and scrubbed a big, blunt-fingered hand across his face. “Goddamn pills. I didn’t hear a goddamn thing when she left, I was so out of it.”

  Kate gave CJ and Tommy puzzled looks. She hadn’t heard anything about Jackson being under the influence. “Pills?”

  “Goddamn sleeping pills,” Jackson clarified. “My doctor prescribed them because I haven’t been sleeping more than an hour or two at night, ever since Suzanne…” He broke off, pressed against his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

  Kate’s heart squeezed in sympathy as Jackson took a shuddering breath and tried to compose himself. Shortly after the New Year, Suzanne Fuller, his wife of twenty-five years, had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Despite attempts at treatment, she’d died within six weeks.

  “I keep thinking, if only I hadn’t taken it, I would have heard her sneaking out. I would have been able to stop her.”

  She couldn’t imagine the man’s pain, first losing his wife, then having to deal with the horror of having his young daughter disappear.

  “She followed her sister to the party?”

  Jackson nodded. “More to spite Brooke, I think, than because she really wanted to go. They haven’t been getting along well lately. When Tommy suggested we come out here, I was hoping that a change of scenery…” His voice trailed off as he gazed out the windows across the lake.

  Tommy shifted on his feet and his eyes met hers. There was no missing the guilt that flashed across his face.

  “Brooke was the last one to see her,” CJ offered.

  “What time was that again?” That bit of information was already seared into Kate’s memory banks, but she wanted to make sure everyone was sharing the same information. Inconsistencies led to mistakes, false leads, and confusion when keen focus on the details was essential.

  “A little before eleven, Brooke said,” CJ replied. “It’s in the police report I sent you. She indicated they argued, and she told Tricia to ride her bike back to the house.”

  But when Brooke arrived home a little after midnight, Kate knew, Tricia was nowhere to be found.

  “Can I speak to Brooke?”

  CJ and Jackson exchanged glances. “She’s not up to talking to anyone,” Jackson said tightly. “As you may imagine, she’s struggling with all of this.”

  She could so easily imagine. Again her gaze was drawn to Tommy as though by a tractor beam, as her own guilt and grief formed a tight knot in her chest, threatening to cut off her breath. “Maybe later. At some point, it would be good if we could get her in front of the cameras.”

  “Jesus, that’s cold,” Tommy interjected. “That’s all you can think about?”

  Kate felt her hackles rise at the notion of having to defend herself, especially to him. “She may be able to relay other information that didn’t come across in a written police report—no offense, CJ,” she said, and he held up his hands to indicate none was taken. “Not to mention, there’s always the chance that if someone took her and sees her grieving sister—”

  “What do you mean, if?” Jackson asked in a low voice.

  Kate knew to tread carefully. “I’m sure you know that there is some speculation that Tricia might have left on her own accord—”

  “Tricia would never do that! She’s a straight A student, played on the varsity tennis team as a freshman. No matter how difficult the last year has been, she would never run away. Brooke, on the other hand…” His voice trailed off, his mouth compressing into a thin line.

  Every instinct in Kate’s body screamed at her to let it go. Jackson was in enough pain without her calling his daughter’s character into question. But it was imperative that they explore all the possibilities. “Kids hide a lot of things from their parents,” she said quietly. “If Tricia is sneaking out to go to parties, isn’t it possible she’s doing other things you’re not aware of?”

  “Kate,” Tommy said in a warning tone. Jackson’s shoulders were rigid, his face grim.

  “If she’s a runaway, it will affect how we approach things in the media—”

  “Right, so they can portray her as an ungrateful brat who’s wasting time and resources—” Tommy snapped.

  Kate continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “—and how much of our efforts will go to working with organizations that focus on runaways and troubled teens.”

  “I get your point,” Jackson said, �
��but our family’s been through the wringer this year, and I don’t believe for a second Tricia would do this to us.”

  Kate looked at CJ. “You reported it as a stranger abduction case. You still believe that?”

  CJ gave a grim nod. Kate wouldn’t completely dismiss the possibility that Tricia was a runaway, but CJ’s opinion was enough to convince her until they found evidence to the contrary. Part of her would always see CJ as the flirty teenage wannabe stud, but the years had lined his face with experience and brought depths of knowledge to his eyes. She’d checked around with her contacts and knew he had been on the fast track to making Special Agent at the Bureau before he left for personal reasons. She’d trust his instincts. “Then we’ll make sure the press portrays it that way.”

  “Glad we got that settled,” Tommy said, and even if Kate couldn’t hear the disdain in his voice, she would have seen it in the curl of his lip.

  “Then again,” he added, “I guess you’ve had enough experience with the press that you must know what you’re doing.”

  Kate’s fingers curled involuntarily at the emphasis he placed on the word “experience.” That snide undertone and the way his lip held its sneer let her know loud and clear he wasn’t talking about the many interviews she’d done over the years and the appearances she’d made on CNN, MSNBC, Headline News—you name it—on behalf of the St. Anthony Foundation.

  No, it was clear Tommy had heard about her failed engagement to a news anchor that had ended so disastrously her broken heart was the least of the damage.

  Kate’s spine pulled tight and she fixed Tommy with the bland stare she’d spent more than a decade perfecting so no one would ever suspect the turmoil constantly churning and raging beneath the surface. “Yes, my work with St. Anthony’s has resulted in a lot of time with the various media outlets. While it may seem cold and calculating to be worrying about spin control, I’ve learned it’s important to control the message right from the get-go, so people stay focused on finding Tricia rather than wasting time speculating on what motivation she might have had to leave of her own accord.”

  “Whatever you say,” Tommy said without so much as a flicker of emotion. “All we want is to make sure Tricia gets home unharmed.”

  “That’s all any of us want.” Kate turned to Jackson, unable to stop herself from reaching out to take his hand. “I know this sounds trite, and nobody will ever know what you’re going through, but after what my family experienced, know that I’m going to use everything I’ve learned in the decade I’ve worked with the foundation to find Tricia.” Jackson nodded stiffly and swallowed hard, his big hand closing around hers with almost desperate strength. He was doing his best to remain stoic, but Kate could feel the pain and anxiety emanating from his body, and her own eyes stung with tears. She swallowed them back, cautioning herself to push her own emotions aside.

  It would be too easy to let herself sink into the dark hole of empathetic grief. It was a struggle with every case the foundation worked on; it was nearly impossible to learn about these kids, meet with their families, and see what they were going through and not let their sadness bring her own screaming back to the surface. But her job was not to grieve with them, it was to maintain a clear head at a time when emotions were beyond overwhelming. She was the linchpin, connecting the family with law enforcement, volunteers, and the media.

  And usually with any outside investigators brought in to help. But Jackson had brought in Tommy himself, and though they seemed to have entered into an uneasy truce, she was more than happy to let Jackson deal with him directly.

  “CJ, can you bring me up to speed on the investigation? How many people are involved?”

  “I’m heading up the investigation myself, as you know,” he said, gesturing with his chin at the report on the table in front of Kate. “But our resources here are limited. I made some calls to the state police district office, but so far they’ve only made contact by phone.”

  “Hopefully the additional media exposure will give them a kick in the ass,” Kate murmured. “Support from the community is critical. The first thing we need to do is coordinate the volunteers. We need to set up central headquarters—”

  “Tracy helped us print up some flyers and has been taking the calls here,” Jackson said.

  Kate shook her head. “We’re talking about coordinating dozens of people—you don’t want to have that many people in your house. Not to mention, while we like to think everyone would be helping out of the pure goodness of their hearts, there are a lot of twisted people who are attracted to cases like this, attracted to victims. You don’t want those people to have access to your personal space.”

  Kate felt a knot in her stomach. She of all people knew that. She had spent years protecting herself, and even she hadn’t been smart enough to spot the wolf in sheep’s clothing she’d ushered through her own front door.

  “We need to find a print shop in town that will help print flyers and set up a tip line and get people to man the phones. CJ, maybe you can put me in touch—”

  “I’ll help you with that,” Tommy said impatiently. “CJ needs to keep his focus on the investigation itself, not deal with logistics a high schooler could handle.”

  Every cell in her body rejected the idea. She needed someone who knew the local business owners, someone to make introductions, someone who would be her constant companion for at least the next couple of days.

  No way was she spending that kind of time in close contact with Tommy Ibarra. “But CJ knows the town and as the sheriff he’s got the respect—”

  Tommy made a scoffing sound. “And the fact that my family has been here for five generations and that I still live here more than half the year doesn’t count for anything.”

  Even before he said it, Kate knew how stupid her protest sounded. Of course Tommy was connected with the local business owners as well as—if not better than—CJ was.

  “And despite your father’s opinion of me,” Tommy bit out, “I’m still pretty well liked around here.”

  For a brief moment she saw a crack in his stony facade, enough to let his real emotions shine through. What she saw didn’t put her any more at ease, as Tommy’s eyes glittered at her with resentment that had been simmering for more than a decade.

  Shame and the knowledge she deserved every bit of his resentment burned like acid in her chest. The sixteen-year-old girl still lurking inside her wanted to jump to her defense. I had to go along with it. I couldn’t say anything, not if I wanted to make it up to my father for everything that had happened.

  But they both knew the truth. One call to the dean at the University of Idaho, one call to the press to expose her father’s strong-arm tactics against Tommy and his family, and his life at least would have returned to normal. Instead, in a last, futile attempt to regain her family’s favor, she’d stayed silent, unwilling to create a media scandal that would alienate her from her family once and for all.

  What Kate hadn’t realized, until it was too late, was that no matter what she did, her father was never going to forgive her. He was never going to love her again.

  I’m sorry, Kate wanted to say, but she couldn’t push the words past her lips.

  CJ cleared his throat and lowered his gaze as though he’d spotted something really interesting on the brown leather tips of his boots. Jackson’s brow knitted in confusion. “You had a problem with Senator Beckett?”

  Kate swallowed hard and opened her mouth to answer when Tommy cut her off. “It’s old news and, like I said, never really amounted to much.” Kate watched as the resentment faded, Tommy’s expression turning flat and emotionless once again. So different from the Tommy she’d known, whose every emotion showed in the depths of his eyes. He could brush it off, but Kate knew the truth: The senator’s manipulations and the life Tommy had lived since then had turned him into a hard-eyed stranger she barely recognized.

  “We should get going then,” she said to Tommy. As she pushed to her feet, she added, “The reporters
are going to want to talk to me about my involvement. Are you comfortable with me giving them a statement?” The question was as much for CJ as for Jackson.

  Jackson nodded. “That’s a big part of why I contacted you. I don’t want to be in front of the cameras any more than I have to, and I certainly don’t want them bothering Brooke.”

  CJ added, “As long as you don’t divulge details we don’t want leaked—and as of now there are none—I’m hoping for as much media attention as we can get.”

  “Good.” The four of them walked to the front door. She said goodbye to Jackson while CJ and Tommy followed her outside. As expected, the reporters were gathered on the front porch in a buzzing knot. The second the door swung open, half a dozen microphones were pointed at their faces. CJ quickly took his leave.

  Tommy hung back and gestured with one big hand as though to say “It’s all you.”

  Kate mentally braced herself. She’d done enough interviews to be comfortable in front of the cameras, but she knew the press for this case would be different. She was used to rehashing her own past. It was, of course, why she’d majored in criminology at NYU.

  She’d originally planned to go into law enforcement. But after a summer spent interning at the St. Anthony’s Foundation, named for the patron saint of missing people, she’d realized she could do more good leveraging her own notoriety to draw national attention to cases that might otherwise linger in obscurity.

  This time, she knew, the rehashing would be worse. Because this time when she was talking about her past, she would be in the same town, breathing the same air, seeing the same familiar places she’d seen that night long ago.

  And not only that, she was surrounded by people who had been there. Who remembered what had happened that horrible night, who had lived through it with her.