Trent took a slow breath, relaxing his muscles. He shifted his weight onto his back foot. And heard the sound of the shotgun being racked.
“129 West Lincoln,” Simon said in a deep, steady voice.
Trent closed his eyes. His brother's address. He had no idea how he'd given away his intentions, but somehow, the big man had seen it. And the threat was all too clear in the few words he'd spoken. If anything happened to Caroline, his family would suffer. He'd underestimated Simon's devotion to her, had thought he was just paid muscle. When he opened his eyes, Caroline was looking from one of them to the other.
“Is there a problem?” she asked Simon.
Simon relaxed his hold on the shotgun. “No problem,” he said, narrowed eyes on Trent.
Trent kept his mouth shut, and for the first time since Caroline had stepped out of the woods, he felt the same intense fear he'd felt that long ago day at the stream when Eddie had disappeared under the water.
Chapter 5
“My brother is not dead.”
Detective Lora Tatum felt sorry for the man across the desk from her. He really believed his brother was still alive. She could see it in his eyes, in his haggard yet determined face. Lora wished she could share his steadfast belief, but after reviewing Trent Barlow's file more times than she could count, she held out little hope.
Trent Barlow had disappeared seven weeks ago from the trails at Cross Pointe. She and her partner had worked the case hard. It had been big news for a while, local hero gone missing. Despite all that, there were still no suspects in his disappearance and there had been almost no good leads. There was nothing left to go on. Part of her wanted to be brutally honest and tell that to the man in front of her. Normally, she would have. But for some reason she didn’t yet understand, this case was different and she didn't want this man to give up hope. She was not ready to admit defeat.
“Trent always did like to go running just before a storm,” the man mumbled more to himself than to her.
The love Nathan Barlow had for his brother was obvious. So was the family resemblance. Nathan was an older, stockier version of the man in her case files. There was a hint of gray in his dark hair and the lines around his brown eyes were deeper.
“Who would want to harm Trent?” she asked, hoping for something, anything, that would give her a new lead to follow.
Nathan Barlow scowled. “No one. He was a great guy.” Nathan was functioning on little food, his energy fueled by huge amounts of caffeine. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Caroline Newberry,” he whispered. “She always did blame Trent for her son's drowning.”
Across the desk, Detective Tatum sighed. Nathan knew what she was thinking. Caroline Newberry was a prominent doctor in the community, well known for her sizeable charity donations including building a youth center named after her deceased son. Her husband had owned an art gallery. Even he had to admit the idea that she had been involved in any way in Trent’s disappearance was beyond far-fetched. But while everyone else saw a grieving mother all those years ago, he'd seen a cold, desperate woman.
And he knew deep down in his gut that his brother was still alive. The bond they shared was too strong. If it had been broken by Trent dying, he would have felt it.
Now that he’d said Caroline’s name out loud, he was utterly certain that he was right. She was a part of this. She was somehow connected to his brother’s disappearance. He just didn't know how. The detective was talking again and he forced his attention back to her words.
“That was twenty years ago. Her son's death was ruled an accident and I really don't see that she'd have anything to gain by harming your brother. Besides, there was no evidence of foul play found.” Nathan could see compassion in the detective’s eyes as she said the words, as if she didn't blame him for clutching at straws in his desperation. At least she cared.
“I'm not giving up on him, detective. But if it is her, I will find out and I will go after her. Even if I have to do it myself.”
Detective Tatum leaned forward, meeting his eyes. “Mr. Barlow, I assure you, I will continue to work this case. I won't let it slide, but you and I both know you can't do that. You can’t help your brother if you end up behind bars.”
He sighed and slumped in the chair. “I know, I know. But he's still out there somewhere. I feel it.”
“And I'll do everything I can to find him,” she said, holding his gaze.
Satisfied with her sincerity, Nathan stood, shook her hand, and walked slowly back down the hall. He needed to go home, needed to spend some time with Amy and the kids. Needed to get away from people that referred to his brother as a case.
Lora rubbed her forehead and temples, then leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
“What's got you so down?” Detective Justice Woods asked.
Lora opened her eyes and looked up into the face of her partner. His big body blocked most of the overhead fluorescent light, casting a shadow over his dark face and eyes.
Lora and Detective Woods were assigned to the special investigations squad of the KCPD, which handled any cases or investigations involving government officials, other officers, or any case that generated higher than normal media or public interest. Like this one. Ever since 9-11, firefighters had become more prominent public heroes, and a kidnapped one was bound to be big news.
Lora's first assignment in the department had been in the sex-crimes unit, where she stayed until the chief hand picked her to partner with Justice Woods after his partner of ten years retired.
While she knew her assignment was because of her hard work and record of clearing cases, she'd be lying if she said there weren't times when she wondered if it had anything to do with who she was related to.
Woods cleared his throat. He was watching her, waiting for an answer.
“The Barlow case,” she said. “The brother was here again.”
Woods nodded. “Tough one, but there's nothing left to go on.”
“I know. But there's something still bugging me about the whole deal.”
“Well, put it aside. Boss just handed us a top priority. A body was found over by the railroad tracks. ID came back as the girlfriend of the mayor's son.”
Lora forced a smile, then saw by the set of her partner's mouth that he was serious. “Shit. Okay, okay. Just let me grab a cup of coffee.”
“I think you already have the stuff running through your veins.”
Chapter 6
Honesty wasn't getting Trent anywhere. Time to try a new tactic. What was it his brother used to say? The definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.
Caroline watched him expectantly, the mini digital recorder on the floor next to her, the record light blinking red.
“Eddie,” Trent said between coughs. “I saw him. He's happy. He's with his dad.”
She pressed the stop button on the recorder and stood. “Don't you ever lie to me again,” she said, looking down at him. She nodded at Simon who slammed the butt of the shotgun towards Trent's face without hesitation.
Trent saw flashes of light and heard the crunch of bones in his nose break as bolts of pain shot through his head. He wiped blood from his face, spat more of it on the floor. He glared up at her, determined not to show how much the blow had hurt. “Whatever you say, Caroline.”
Simon grabbed his arm, jerked him to his feet and propelled him down the long hallway, then shoved him through the bathroom door.
Trent braced his hands on the sink and waited for the wave of dizziness to pass. His entire head throbbed. He wiped the blood that still dripped from his nose with the back of his hand.
Caroline had so graciously allowed him to use the bathroom and get cleaned up. How fucking nice of her.
Of course, the mirror was made of some sort of safety glass, so he couldn't smash it into shards to use as a weapon. Or to cut his wrists. She’d thought of everything. And that disturbed him more than anything he’d seen yet.
/> He rinsed off his hands, splashed cold water onto his face, and watched his blood run down the drain. The whiskers on his face itched. He wasn’t used to having a beard. He ran a hand through his too-long hair, then touched the bridge of his nose and winced. No question, it was broken in at least one place. The pale yellow tiles of the floor tilted underneath his bare feet, the brown walls spinning around him.
A heavy knock sounded on the door. Simon. Time to go back to his room. Trent slowly straightened, put his hands on his hips, and took several long slow breaths through his mouth. He looked up at the ceiling. Closed his eyes. Concentrated on breathing and not bashing his head against the wall until he passed out.
Caroline Newberry was troubled. Her original plan had been to watch Trent drown just like her son had. But she wanted more now. And Trent would give it to her. He had to.
It was a noble purpose. Serving justice. It was also exhilarating. The power of holding Trent’s life in her hands and making him suffer over and over whenever she wanted. Then there was the power of bringing him back. She'd fantasize about it all day at work, anticipating the moment, the look on his face as his body went under the water, then the look when he opened his eyes again.
Sometimes it was easier than others to bring him back. Sometimes all he needed was for her to start his breathing again. Other times his heart had stopped and things got more interesting. She was good, but he was growing weaker and there would come a time when even she wouldn’t be able to bring him back. She’d have to get what she needed before then. But fate was on her side. She was sure of it.
And she got to share it all with Simon. He deserved to be a part of something like this. Simon had comforted her when she needed it the most. He was there at the times when she couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed, crushed with grief over the loss of her husband and son.
She’d married an older man, but my God, how she’d loved him. Their son Eddie had been three when her husband was killed in a car accident on his way home from work. Then it was just her and Eddie. Her son became her world. Then he too was taken from her and she’d been left with nothing. Just the knowledge that she was a doctor, a healer, and she hadn’t been able to save either one of them. The two most important people in her life and she hadn’t been able to save either of them.
Meeting Simon had helped. Her work had helped. And it had been enough for a while.
Then her life had changed again. She didn’t want to think about that day six months ago, but the memories came anyway.
If only she hadn’t opened the paper that morning. Then she wouldn’t have seen the front-page black and white picture of the firefighter carrying a child to safety, dark smoke pouring out around him like a halo as he raced through the door. There was no name below the picture but the face from her darkest days was all too clear and the memories came flooding back, forcing her to her knees even after twenty years. She left the house in a blur and went to work. Staying home was not a good idea. She needed to keep busy.
She should have left when her shift was over, but instead, not yet ready to go home where nothing needed to be done, she stayed when a young child was brought in. Male, about six years old. A drowning victim.
“I’m calling it. Time of death, eleven a.m.”
Her hands kept pushing down rhythmically on the small chest.
“Caroline. He’s gone,” someone said.
“No.” She didn’t look away from the tiny fragile body.
“Get her out of here.” Another voice.
“Eddie,” she cried, reaching out to the child’s lifeless body, as she was dragged out into the hallway.
They’d sent her home, ordered her to take a few days off.
She’d failed again.
Then she'd thought of Trent Barlow’s picture in the paper that morning. So heroic. Saving someone so effortlessly. She was supposed to be the one to save people. Not him.
She’d wanted to die. A part of her had been dead for twenty years already. She was nothing without her job. And now she was ordered to stay away.
She'd thought of drowning herself, had even gone so far as to fill up the bathtub, her nose just touching the surface, tears dripping off her face, disturbing the stillness of the water. But in the end, she couldn't do it. That was when she thought again of Trent Barlow and the sacrifice that needed to be made.
Chapter 7
Simple Simon met a pie man.
Trent couldn’t remember the rest of the words to the nursery rhyme. Simple Simon. That was what Trent had come to call to the tall, scarred blond man now walking him back to his room. The bastard rarely said a word. Not to Caroline and not to him. A thick, white scar ran along the man’s right cheek from his nose to his ear. Most likely a knife wound. Trent was sure Simon had given his fair share of wounds over the years as well. He sure as hell had no problem beating the living shit out of Trent. Pain still radiated throughout his face from his busted nose.
“What? Can't you talk? Did the bitch cut out your tongue so you couldn't talk back to her?” Trent asked him now.
Simon's face showed no reaction but his fist quickly found Trent's stomach. Trent doubled over, gasping to catch his breath. Simon shoved him the rest of the way into the room and slammed the door shut. Trent heard the lock click into place.
Simon took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he walked away. That had been how he'd survived all these years. It was the only way to do what he had to do. He never talked to the people he had to hurt or kill, it made things too personal. And while he wasn't killing the kid with his own hands, he knew Trent Barlow would die sooner or later. There was no point in making the effort to communicate with him. It was a waste of time and energy.
Trent coughed violently, his lungs expelling the water he'd inhaled. He rolled onto his side, automatically gasping in air hungrily.
He was alive. Dammit, he was still alive. He didn't even remember them coming for him this time.
God, please, just let me die.
“Welcome back, Trent.”
He did not want to look into her eyes. The loathsome voice was enough.
“How are you feeling?”
He didn't answer her. They were beyond that.
Back in his room, he lay on the bed, flat on his back, the familiar burning ache again in his lungs and airway as he forced air in and out. Maybe death was too good for him. But how long was he destined to suffer at her hands? How much longer would his body hold up? He'd given up any hope of escape. When he wasn't locked in his room, Simon was always right there with that damned shotgun pointed at his head.
No way out.
Trent closed his eyes, exhaustion overtaking his body.
The escape of sleep was cut short. Someone was in the room with him.
Caroline.
He knew it was her by her scent. He never heard the door open, but he felt the bed dip as she sat down next to him. He hated her being that close to him but didn’t have the strength to move or push her away. He kept his eyes closed.
“You're only alive because I allow you to live. It would be so easy to just not save you.” There was no mistaking the hate that punctuated her words.
“Then don't. Let me die.”
It was so clear when Caroline looked at him now. He truly wanted to die. Even with his eyes closed, she knew it. She reached out a hand, ran it along the side of his face, enjoying how he flinched and turned his head away from her. “Oh Trent, why would I do that when we're having so much fun together?”
His eyes opened. “You need help, Caroline. It's not too late. I'll help you. Just let me go.”
“Oh you'll help me all right. You don't have a choice.” She stood and stared down at him. “Get some rest.”
Trent closed his eyes again and didn’t open them until he heard the door shut behind her. There was no way to reason with someone that far gone. Though the longer he was around her, the closer he was to losing his own mind. There was a part of him, down in the deep dark corners of his mind, t
hat thought he deserved to be right there where he was, suffering endlessly until death welcomed him.
Chapter 8
She had the damned recorder again.
“What did you feel, Trent? What did you see?” Caroline asked.
Trent coughed and pushed himself to a seated position. “Fuck you.”
Her face twisted with rage.
“What?” he challenged. “If I don't tell you what will you do to me? Kill me?” He gave a bitter laugh. “Sic your manservant on me?”
Her mouth was drawn tight. She cocked her head to the side. “You really don’t want to provoke me, Trent. There aren’t a lot of people in this world you care about. It would be a shame if something happened to one of them.”
He wanted to believe she would never harm his family, but he really didn’t know what she was capable of. “I can’t give you what I don’t know,” he said quietly, looking into her eyes, willing her to see the truth.
She stood and looked down at him. “Then I guess we’ll just have to keep trying.” She turned and walked out of the room.
Trent fought the urge to collapse onto the floor in despair. Simon was already coming towards him. He forced himself to his feet. He could fall apart once he was back in his room.
They walked in silence down the hall. He waited until he was sure Caroline wasn’t within earshot.
“Why are you doing this? What does she have over you?” he asked.
Simon ignored him.
“She's insane, you know.”
Still no response.
“Come on, there's got to be something I can say to get you to look the other way while I get the hell out of here.”
Simon smirked without looking Trent in the eye and shook his head as he stood in the hall, waiting for Trent to walk into his room.
He wished the big man would slug him a good one, wanted to be pounded into oblivion. Maybe he could even get in a few good hits of his own before Simon put him down. But Simon just stood there, and shook his head as if he knew what Trent wanted and was denying him.
The Drowning Man Page 2
