Cold Image

by Leslie A. Kelly

  “That sounds like utter bullshit.”

  “Doesn’t it? He’d lost his mother, which could have made him really angry. His father was reportedly abusive to all of them.”

  “God. Then the brother died, and he was the only one left?”

  “Makes me wonder if he beat the crap out of little Richie and hurt him badly enough that he did have to send him out of the country.”

  She tried to find some sympathy for the boy Fenton had once been, but it was damned hard to do.

  “Or maybe son was like father, mean and angry. He could have ended up at 1960’s version of a special school for rich delinquents too, and this whole thing is his way of reminiscing,” said Derek.

  “Or getting revenge? If he landed in a military school or something, he could have been hazed or abused.”

  He nodded, obviously having considered the same thing. “Other than that, which I’ll keep digging into, here are some other options, as I see them.” Lifting a hand, he ticked off the possibilities. “One, he’s in it for the money. He’s the sole stakeholder, and the tuition rates are astronomical. Rich folks must really want to be rid of their kids.”

  She swallowed hard, wondering if her parents would ever acknowledged they’d paid a fortune for their son to be killed. Shaking off the thought, she replied, “I can’t see that, considering his financial background. Did you look into how much of that eight figure buy-out is left?”

  “A lot.”

  “Then let’s scratch off the profit motive.”

  “Okay. Second: Whatever happened during that missing year when he was a kid left him feeling like he owes a debt and he’s trying to pay it back.”

  “Do you really think that’s a possibility?”

  He shrugged. “I only spent an hour with the man, but my gut tells me he’s a mean, domineering person. He definitely doesn’t come across as having a tender heart. I doubt he’s ever felt indebted to anyone.”

  “I agree. What’s next?”

  He ticked a third finger. “He wants a challenge.”

  “That’s possible, I suppose. One last adventure in his retirement years?”

  “Yes. A final mountain to climb, over the backs of disturbed youth.”

  Isaac hadn’t been disturbed, merely neglected and sad, which made his story even more tragic. “Go on.”

  Fourth finger. “He’s sadistic and wanted a chance to school rebellious kids in things other than math and science. The parents have given him carte blanche when it comes to discipline. The cops aren’t paying attention. The teachers are either the same types, or they’re more interested in keeping their jobs than in protecting the boys. He could do whatever he wants at that place, and there’s nobody to stop him.”

  Kate slowly nodded. In both her personal and professional opinions, that seemed the most likely explanation. She’d known men like Fenton all her life. They’d been in her father’s exclusive circle, in college, in med school, and in the military. Ruthless people who had no regard for the feelings or emotions of others often managed to reach the top of any heap on which they landed. They wouldn’t all be clinically diagnosed as sadists, but that streak was quite often recognizable.

  She tried to remain dispassionate and not go into the personal ramifications. Isaac had not admitted to being physically “disciplined” by the headmaster, but was it really possible he hadn’t been? He’d gone into the school as a senior. Angry. Rebellious. Was there really any chance he hadn’t drawn the ire of the bulky, vindictive school head?

  Glancing over, she saw Derek’s thumb pop up, and waited for him to go on. Instead, after a second’s hesitation, he pulled all five fingers into a fist. Dropping it onto the table, he looked away, intentionally averting his gaze. She suspected it was because he knew she would especially dislike this last possibility.

  More than sadism? “What’s last?”

  He licked his lips.

  “Come on, say it.”

  He exhaled slowly before looking at her again. Although she hadn’t known him long, they’d been through a lot together. With him, she’d shared moments of sheer intensity, terror, excitement, warmth, and a kiss that had made her world shift. She’d trusted him with truths she’d never shared with anyone else in her life.

  Perhaps that was why she recognized the expression on his face.

  It was sorrow.

  “Number five,” he said, the voice low and thick. “Maybe he’s a murderous psychopath and opened the school specifically so he could have a hunting ground to pick out and stalk his victims without worrying about any interference.”

  The words hung there, stark and ugly. While she’d long considered the probability that someone connected with the school was responsible for the disappearances—murders—she’d never gone that far. Of course Fenton was an asshole, and she didn’t like him, but the idea that he would create an entire slaughterhouse to groom and then kill boys? The idea was crazy, and it made the lasagna churn in her stomach.

  Thinking about it, though, she had to concede it also made a sick, twisted sort of sense. The boys weren’t wanted, the site was remote, a swamp on the grounds made for easy disposal. Perhaps Headmaster Fenton really had looked at the place and seen nothing but a torture chamber and an abattoir.

  Derek obviously saw her distress. He pushed his chair back and came around to the other side of the table. Squatting beside her, he put his hand on her clenched ones and held tight. “I’m not going to quit, Kate. This isn’t just about finding out what happened to Isaac and the others who’ve disappeared.”

  She nodded, her mouth dry. She turned her hands into his and gripped, still feeling dizzy and light-headed at the scenario he’d presented. “I know. It’s about stopping any other children from being taken and killed.”

  “Right. No matter who’s behind it, my personal goal is also to bring that place crashing to the ground so no kid ever gets dumped there again.”

  There they were in complete agreement. “Yes. That’s mine, too.”

  They nodded in unison, a promise silently made, filled with their mutual determination. This was a man who would always do whatever was necessary to find answers, and to protect others. It was innate in him, second nature. He would do whatever it took to fulfill that promise.

  If anything positive could come out of the loss of her brother, making sure no other boy suffered and died at that awful place was it.

  Her breaths slowing, the unaccustomed panic easing, Kate continued to stare at him. The fluorescent lights brought out tiny tinges of grey in his black hair that hadn’t been noticeable when she’d cut it the other day. Given the things he saw every day of his life, she was surprised it hadn’t gone completely white long ago.

  She also saw a hint of his scar, that jagged scar. Its place on his head was a vivid reminder of the mental scars he must also carry. Loosening her hand, Kate reached up and brushed the tips of her fingers over it.

  “Why did you do it?” she whispered, voicing a question that had been repeating in her mind since they’d met.

  “Do what?”

  “Join the military? With your ability…why would you do such a thing?”

  Part of her expected him to react the way he had in the car last night, and she immediately regretted asking.

  He rose to his feet, but didn’t go back to his chair. Instead, crossing his arms in front of his chest, he leaned against the conference table. “I was pretty messed up as a kid.”

  “With good reason.”

  “My family tried to help. They sent me to a shr…uh, to a psychiatrist.”

  “Did it help?”

  “No. I tried to talk about it once, and the doctor immediately went into this-kid’s-crazy mode. After that, I clammed up. I was messed up, but I wasn’t stupid. No way was I going to tell some stranger about what I could see. I figured they’d label me insane.”

  If he couldn’t even open up about what was really troubling him, no professional would have been able to help. What a catch-22 for a chil
d. “Was there anyone you could talk to?”

  “My family believed I saw something. I didn’t want to tell them exactly what. I knew if they realized I’d seen every second of what happened to my parents, and that’s how it was wherever I went, they’d be even more devastated.”

  Her heart ached for him, knowing the burden he had carried alone for so many young, vulnerable years. Hearing he’d kept the secret out of concern over what it would do to others wasn’t a big surprise. Derek had proved more than once that—despite his appearance and usual demeanor—he was an incredibly caring man.

  “For a while there, I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep dealing with it for the rest of my life. It seemed like too much. So I dropped out of school, and enlisted as soon as I turned eighteen.”

  She sucked in a gasp. “You joined the Army because you wanted to die?”

  Her accusation didn’t shock him. “Not necessarily,” he said with a shrug. “But I wasn’t much concerned about whether I kept on living, either.” He slid up to sit on the edge of the table, his hands braced on either side of his lean hips. “I couldn’t see the point of continuing for decades seeing what I see. I didn’t know how to avoid it, unless I went up to some remote cabin and became a hermit. But by then, I was pessimistic enough to suspect I’d run into bear attack victims at every wooded turn.”

  Kate listened wonderingly, hearing more words from him at one time than she’d thought him capable of. He sounded matter-of-fact. Not angry. Not self-pitying. He had just opened up to her and let the truth come out. Realizing he had come to trust her, she felt almost honored by his revelations.

  “Death didn’t sound so bad,” he muttered.

  The idea that he’d once considered dying to be as good an alternative as going on living broke her heart, and then broke it a thousand times again. Kate tried to remain cool and impartial—not the doctor, necessarily, but at least a friend. She hoped she was that to him. For now. “How long did it take you to regret it?”

  A hard laugh. “Well, I hated boot camp as much as every other enlistee in the world. But the real buyer’s remorse came at about three months. As soon as my feet hit the ground overseas.”

  Letting her own memories flare, she closed her eyes. Kate still occasionally had nightmares about the things she’d seen and heard in Afghanistan. The pain in a soldier’s voice still came to mind when she least expected it. She’d never fully escaped nightmares of explosions and gunfire. It had affected her enough that she had needed to talk to another counselor with DWB.

  Derek had had no one to talk to.

  She couldn’t give him much, but she could at least give him something he should have gotten long ago. Wanting—no, needing—to touch him, she stood and stepped close, between his knees, dropping both of her hands onto his legs. His eyes flared, and then narrowed, but he remained silent, watchful.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  His muscles tensed, thick cords in his thighs bunching under her hands. She didn’t let go, and leaned in another inch.

  “I’m sorry for every awful thing you’ve ever seen starting on the day your parents died.”

  “You don’t need to…”

  “I’m not apologizing, and I’m not feeling sorry for you.”

  “So what are you doing?”

  “I’m grieving with you, Derek. I can’t change anything, and I know you don’t want pity or sympathy. But I can at least try to understand and feel empathy for what you’ve gone through. It’s all I can do. Let me.”

  He didn’t argue her away or hop off the table. Instead, eyes still narrowed, perhaps a bit untrusting—his natural state—he simply waited.

  “I’m sorry there was ever a day when you felt so hopeless about your future that you stopped caring if you had one.”

  He might have flinched.

  “I’m sorry for every day of your life when you felt there was no one you could turn to.”

  A low, even breath escaped his lips.

  “I hope you know that’s no longer the case. You do important work…vital work. I suspect that’s what changed your viewpoint and keeps you going.”

  He nodded. Slowly. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.” After another hesitation, he added, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She didn’t go back to her chair, having one more thing to say. “I’m so glad you’re no longer alone, you no longer have to hide anything. You also have people who care about you.”

  “That include you, Kate?” he growled.

  She had been talking about his colleagues. It was obvious he and Julia shared a strong bond. Now that he’d said it, though, she had to admit it. She cared, too. She’d only known him a few days, but having spent so many hours with him—frightened, intense, amused, and heartbreaking hours—she had feelings for this man. They’d come fast, and by surprise, but they existed. “Yes.”

  “That’s what I hoped you’d say.”

  Without warning, he lifted his hands and sunk them into her hair. Surprise took her breath as he pulled her toward him, but when his mouth caught hers, she could only sigh against those warm, firm lips.

  This kiss wasn’t dirty, hot, frantic, and fueled by adrenaline. It was soft, sweetly hungry. Their lips parted, tongues tangling in a slow, steady communication that said, Yes, me too, please. Soon. They thrust lazily and thoroughly, kissing and kissing, but going no further. There were no furtive touches, no suggestions that they take off their clothes and hit the nearest flat surface. It was a kiss for the sake of a kiss.

  And it delighted her.

  Unfortunately, after several warm, delicious seconds, Derek ended it and pulled away. Kate stepped back, her legs wobbly. Coming after her, he put a steadying hand on her hip.

  To her surprise, once she had her balance, he let her go, and then walked to the other side of the table and began cleaning up the dinner. He didn’t say a single word about what had just happened…as if it hadn’t.

  Kate managed to keep her jaw up by sheer force of will. She had no idea what he was thinking. He’d opened up to her, she’d responded, they’d shared an amazing, soul-touching kiss, and now he was all big, strong and silent guy again?

  “Uh, hello, I’m still here.”

  Putting dishes into the box, he lifted an inquiring brow. “Like I could forget that?”

  “Is that all?”

  He looked down, but she saw the side of his mouth curl up. “Thanks for dinner.”

  Her ire mounting, she considered picking up one of the plates and smashing it over his head. Her impulse was entirely emotional. It wasn’t professional, it wasn’t reasonable, or even sane, yet she still wanted to do it. She instead settled for slamming both of her hands down on the table hard, the bang getting his attention.

  “Do you have anything else to say to me?” she snapped.

  He finally stopped with the dishes and looked at her, his eyes warm, twinkling, dazzling.

  “Yeah.”

  She waited.

  “Nice dress.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Although he’d certainly never pictured himself being a school teacher, or, in his opinion worse, a coach, Derek got right to work Tuesday morning, focused only on his job. He’d gotten to know the students yesterday when they’d done only field drills. Now it was time to get serious.

  He didn’t have much time with these boys, and he needed their trust and cooperation if he wanted to get any information on what was happening here at the academy. Making sure they learned something without living in fear every afternoon for the next two weeks seemed like the least he could do to help himself, and them.

  Focusing on his “job” also gave him something to think about other than the stunning redhead he’d made the mistake of kissing again last night. A mistake he did not intend to repeat until after this case was over.

  After that? Well, then all bets were off. As were all restraints.

  Remembering how furious she’d been when he’d put on the brakes, falling silent but screaming at him through her gl
ares, he had to grin. She might have thought he wasn’t interested, and not aroused. In truth, he was holding onto his control and his professionalism with both fists. Playing it cool and casual was the only way he’d been able to restrain himself from tossing that sassy dress up to her waist and impaling himself in her.

  Kate Lincoln had gotten under his skin, deep and fast. He wanted her naked body in his hands, wanted his mouth on every inch of her, and wanted to see if she felt as soft inside as she did out.

  “Christ, don’t think about that,” he muttered. This week had been a series of hot dreams and cold showers. He couldn’t afford either right now.

  Having gotten a lot of information out of the boys during their first day of camp, Derek busied himself sketching out the kind of capture-the-flag games that were much more appropriate for high-school military exercises. Maybe his Army days were good for more than recurring nightmares and shattering grief after all.

  He lifted his head when a knock sounded on the closed door. “Come in.”

  The door opened, and a young African American boy wearing a school uniform stepped inside. He stopped short when he saw Derek. “Oh. You’re not Coach Gardener.”

  “No, I’m not,” Derek said, rising from the desk and approaching the skittish-looking kid. He couldn’t help thinking the boy should be riding a skateboard and eating a candy bar, not sweating in his stiffly starched clothes, looking scared to death. He extended a hand. “I’m Derek. I’m here to run this year’s boot camp.”

  The boy’s jaw dropped, and he was slow to return the handshake. Derek suspected the kids here weren’t used to common courtesies or displays of respect. He probably should have used only his last name. But hell, if he was going to find out the truth, he needed to get some of the students talking. Treating them like human beings could only help.

  Glad he’d gotten a chance to meet with one alone so soon, he said, “Come on in.” He gestured to a chair across from the desk.

  Sitting down on the edge of the chair, the boy swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny neck. “I’m, uh, not a senior. So I won’t be in your class.” His eyes flew wider. “Uh, sir! Coach, uh….”