by Jen Blood
“Family, right?” I said finally. “The gift that keeps on giving.” He didn’t crack a smile. I hesitated before I broached the next subject, knowing it wouldn’t be popular. “Listen, do you think there’s a chance he could call the cops on us? That Fed who shot Einstein is still out there somewhere.”
“Trent Willett? He shot you too, Solomon,” Diggs reminded me. “I don’t think my father would call him, though. I mean…” He stopped and gave it some thought. “Damn it. We shouldn’t have come. Maybe I can try talking to him again.”
I could just imagine how well that would go over. “Why don’t we head back to the island for now? You’re probably right: he won’t say anything. But right now, you’re practically dead on your feet. You got even less sleep than I did today—we can figure out the next step tomorrow.”
“Just a second,” he said. He put the car in drive. “I want to stop somewhere first.”
“Somewhere where?”
“I just want to check something out at my old house.”
“Your old house, as in your father’s current house?” I shook my head. “No way. Not tonight—we’re not breaking into your father’s place.”
“It wouldn’t be breaking in,” he said. “Look, something’s not right with him. The way he reacted when you mentioned the Paysons, the way he looked at me… I just want to look around. See if I can figure some things out.”
The backdoor to the church opened. We were parked far enough back that the reverend didn’t appear to notice us, but close enough to get a good look at him when he came out. Reverend Diggins stepped out, searched the lot briefly, and locked the door behind him. He struck out, cane in one hand, briefcase in the other.
“So breaking into his place is out for now,” I said. Diggs put the car back in park, focused on his father’s every move.
The reverend didn’t have a car with him. Instead, he picked his way painfully across the parking lot, then crossed the empty road to the sidewalk on the opposite side. A woman walking her dog in the yard waved to him.
“Let’s go back to the island,” I said.
“Yeah,” Diggs said after another second or two. He nodded reluctantly. “I think you’re right, for now. There’s nothing else we can do tonight.”
He put the car in gear. We’d barely inched forward when I heard the scream of an engine at full throttle as another car tore over the hill. It was a dark color, either deep blue or black, but I couldn’t tell anything beyond that in the darkness. The car barely cleared a twist in the road before it righted itself. I froze. The other driver sped forward.
Headed directly for the reverend.
Chapter Four
From there, it all happened in a split second. The woman walking her dog screamed in the instant before it happened. The reverend turned to face the car speeding toward him. Diggs reached for his door handle.
The car struck with a screech of tires and a sickening thud. Diggs’ father rolled up over the hood and flew ten, maybe fifteen feet. At first impact, Diggs was out of our car and in motion. I was out at the same time—though not for the same reason. On the street, the woman who’d been out with her dog raced to the reverend’s side, screaming the whole time. Another half-dozen doors opened along the street.
“Stop,” I said to Diggs. He tried to get past me but I pushed him back, my hands on his chest. “We can’t go out there. This could be J.—this could be their way of luring us out in the open. They’ve got this, Diggs.”
I kept my hands on his chest, and slowly pushed him back. He stood in the darkened parking lot breathing hard, shaking. I didn’t take my eyes from his face. Behind me, I could hear sirens. The woman who’d seen it happen had stopped screaming, but she was crying loudly. A man shouted over the chaos.
“We need to get out of here,” I said, trying to get through to him. “Diggs—look at me. We have to go.”
Eventually, he nodded.
I got in the driver’s seat this time. Diggs slid into the passenger’s seat without complaint, his complexion paled to ghost white.
“Go,” he said, hoarse.
We left before the cops or paramedics arrived, listening to the sirens as we got into the boat and I guided us out of the harbor. Diggs didn’t say a word, the whole time.
Despite the cold, he stood outside the pilothouse for most of the ride. His gloved hands gripped the steel railing as he leaned into the icy sea spray. My stomach rolled, that split second of impact replaying itself over and over in my mind. Shaking myself, I got out my cell phone and called Jamie. She answered immediately.
“Everything all right?” she said.
“Not really.” I swallowed past a fresh wave of nausea. “There was an accident on the mainland—or, not an accident. Definitely not an accident. Diggs’ father was hit by a car.”
Jamie sort of gasped. “What do you need?”
“I just need to know if he made it. If you can check in with the hospital, use whatever sources you might have…”
“Of course. You’re on your way back now?”
“Yeah. We’ll be there in about forty-five minutes. Thanks.”
I hung up.
The seas were choppier than they’d been earlier, the night darker. I kept our speed low and my eyes on the instruments as I navigated out of the harbor and back to open ocean. We were back in the inlet just off Payson Isle before Diggs finally came back in. He was shivering violently. I wasn’t sure how much of that was cold and how much of it was shock, but either way it wasn’t great.
“He could be okay,” he said, after I’d stopped the boat and he’d secured us at the dock. They were the first words he’d spoken for the entire trip. “He’s tough—it looked bad, but we don’t know…”
He looked at me, waiting for me to give him hope. I couldn’t do it, though. Jamie would tell us for sure, but the way that car hit…the force of the impact… He might have been tough, but I was sure Diggs’ father hadn’t survived this.
“We’ll know for sure soon,” I said. I resisted the urge to look away. “I’m sorry, Diggs.”
He stared out into the night. I’ve seen Diggs do distant over the years; have seen him check out in any number of circumstances when things got tough. I’d never seen him like this, though.
I set my hand at his back when we were on solid land again and propelled him forward.
“We’ll get them,” I said. There was no question in my mind that, somehow or other, J. was to blame for this. “We’re taking them down this time.”
Diggs didn’t say a word.
It was almost midnight when we walked through the door of the Payson boarding house. Einstein whirled at my feet with a completely inappropriate grin, while Jamie’s dogs were much more sedate. Jamie met us at the entrance to the meeting room. Monty and Carl were seated at the table, though no one else was in sight. She shook her head subtly when our eyes met. I took Diggs’ arm. He shook me off.
“They just left him there,” he said numbly.
“You should sit down,” I said to him.
“I’m fine.”
“Will you get us some tea?” I said to Jamie. “And a blanket?”
She nodded. She went for the kitchen, while Monty stood and went in the other direction—presumably for the blanket, though he may have just been fleeing the drama. Carl followed Jamie into the kitchen, leaving us alone.
Instead of sitting, Diggs scratched the back of his neck with a shaking hand and began to pace the room.
“We need to figure out what this means. Why would J. try to kill him? You saw how he reacted when we were talking about the Paysons. If he knew something about Isaac Payson or your father, maybe he had information that could have helped us. We need to get into his house. The old bastard always locks the place tighter than a drum, but I’m sure I can find a way in—”
“Diggs,” I said. He just kept going. I grabbed his arm on his third pass by me. He looked at me, surprised.
“What?”
“Sit down.”
“I don’t need—”
“Daniel Jacob Diggins, sit your ass on that bench.”
He sat, albeit reluctantly. “I’m fine. I want to go to the hospital tomorrow, though. I’ll be careful, but I don’t want him to be alone—”
“Diggs,” I interrupted. The name stuck in my throat. “You saw that car hit. He didn’t survive that—there was no way. He’s dead, Diggs.”
He just stared at me. I waited for tears. Denial. Anger. Instead, comprehension gradually took hold. He nodded after a while. “Oh. Okay. I…” He shook his head. Jamie came in with the tea and handed it to Diggs. “Thank you,” he said. He held the steaming mug, but didn’t take a sip. Jamie looked at me.
“I think we’ll all head to bed now. But if you need anything…”
“Thanks,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”
Instead of leaving, she hesitated. “Tomorrow, I think we should talk.”
Diggs stared silently at his tea. Monty returned with the blanket and handed it to me. It spoke to the gravity of the situation that he didn’t make any comments about the two of us breaking it in first.
“Yeah,” I said, returning to Jamie’s suggestion. “That’s probably a good idea.”
When we were alone once more, I wrapped the blanket around Diggs’ shoulders. He was still shivering, though not as much. The fifty-yard stare hadn’t gotten any better, though.
“I’m fine, Sol. I don’t need to be babied,” he said as I moved away from him. He wet his lips. “I hated the man, okay? That’s the reality. And he hated me. He always did.” A flicker of emotion broke through the cool blue. He stood abruptly. “We can’t afford to get derailed by this—you were right when you said this could have been J.’s way of drawing us out. We still have to stop Mike Reynolds.”
“We do,” I agreed. “And we’ll do that…in the morning. Right now, you need sleep.”
“I’m not tired.”
“I’m not arguing,” I said evenly. “This isn’t your girlfriend speaking, this is a medical professional. Sort of. Come on.”
He considered resisting before he finally shook his head. “Can I at least go use the john first?”
“I can go with you.”
“You’re not taking me to the bathroom, Sol.” I set my jaw. He read me for a second before he tipped his head and fixed me in his gaze. “Worried I’ll score an eight ball between here and the outhouse?”
I hesitated. In the past, Diggs has been known to turn to chemical support when times get rough. It didn’t get much tougher than tonight. “I’m worried that you’ve been sober for five years now,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “and I don’t want that to get flushed down the drain after everything you’ve been through to get here.”
“Me staying clean isn’t your responsibility—it’s not on you. That’s up to me.”
“I grew up with a mean drunk, Diggs. Trust me, I know what’s my responsibility and what’s not. I’m not saying your recovery’s suddenly on my shoulders, for crying out loud. I’m saying, you just had a shitty night and right now you shouldn’t be alone. You’re really gonna fight me on that?”
I tipped my chin up and held his gaze. A flicker of a smile touched his lips. He shook his head.
“Fine. But, seriously—give me twenty minutes to go to the outhouse, alone. I’ll meet you upstairs.”
Against my better judgment, I agreed. There’s no question that growing up with Kat has colored my attitude toward addiction, but there’s a fine line between being supportive and being an untrusting ass. I pride myself on staying on the right side of that line at least seven times out of ten.
After he’d gone, I went upstairs and walked the long, dark hallway to the bedroom that had been mine twenty-five years ago. There was a gas furnace to heat the house, but it was still pretty damn chilly. I thought of the…whatever it was, that I’d seen earlier that night. Allie Tate. I don’t believe in ghosts, and Diggs definitely doesn’t believe in them. If Allie had appeared to me—via the power of my subconscious, presumably—then there was a reason for it. My brain was trying to tell me something; I just wasn’t smart enough to figure out what.
I went into the room, using a flashlight to light the path to the lantern beside the bed. I turned the light on, and extinguished my flashlight. A sliver of cold air made it through the plastic at the broken window, and I shivered as I stripped down to my base layer of underclothes: long johns and a long-sleeved t-shirt. There was no way more than five minutes had passed since Diggs had gone out, and I was already thinking it was a terrible idea. I got into bed anyway. Einstein hopped up beside me and promptly burrowed under the blankets. I thought of Allie Tate again, standing at the door with a bashed-in skull and broken glasses.
“If you want to talk tonight,” I said out loud, “do me a favor, Al? Either do it now, or wait till morning.”
I lay back in bed. Closed my eyes. Allie made no appearance. Einstein snuggled closer in my arms. The image of Diggs’ father flying through the air ran through my mind, that sickening thud playing on a loop in my ears. The bastard child…
I was sorry for the way Reverend Diggins died. Sorry for his pain, his suffering, any fear he might have felt. I was sorry for the mess he’d left behind, while Diggs tried to sort through their muddled relationship over the years. I couldn’t say I was sorry the son of a bitch was gone, though.
Half an hour had passed and I was debating the wisdom of organizing a search party when Diggs finally came to bed. I’d left the light on, but pretended I was asleep—trying to give him some space to do whatever it was he needed to do.
He got into bed and gently set Einstein at the end of the bed. He got under the covers beside me and pulled me close, my back to his front, his arms wrapped around me and his face at my neck.
“I know you’re awake,” he whispered.
“No, I’m not,” I whispered back. He didn’t say anything. Seconds passed. Then a minute. And a minute more. “Are you okay?”
A long pause followed. Finally, he took a deep, shuddering breath before he said anything. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”
I rolled over. He’d had to cut his hair before we left Australia, since we were going back to being other people. It wasn’t buzz-cut short this time, but it was still a lot shorter than he’d had it when we were living the dream as beach bums. Now, I ran my hand through the close-cropped curls that remained. In the moonlight, he looked tired. Worn down. Sadder than I could remember seeing him since his mother’s death.
“What can I do?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. Nothing, probably—beyond what you’re doing. Keep being a pain in the ass. Don’t give up on me.”
“I’m pretty sure you never have to worry about either of those.”
He leaned in and kissed me. It started out slow, quiet, but built fast—as it tends to do with Diggs and me. I draped my leg up over his thigh and pressed closer; I could already feel him hard, more than ready.
Before things took their natural course, though, he pulled back. “I… Not tonight, okay? Do you mind if we just sleep, tonight?”
Two words I never thought I’d hear from Diggs: Not tonight.
“Yeah,” I said. “Of course, not a problem. Whatever you need.”
He rolled away from me.
I lay awake for a long time that night, trying to convince myself we shouldn’t just pack everything up then and there and head back to Australia.
◊◊◊◊◊
At six o’clock the next morning, Einstein reacquainted me with the new schedule he’d adopted thanks to life with Jamie and Bear. I cracked one eye open and groaned when he pawed my chest.
“Seriously, dog? You’re delusional if you think we’re getting up now.”
He whined and pawed my nose. Wagged his tail. Whined some more, giving me a little play bow for good measure. Despite the fact that it was still dark outside, I could hear activity downstairs. The kicker that finally ousted me was the realization that Diggs
was no longer beside me. I felt the pillow; it was cold. Wherever he was, he’d been there for a while. The events of the night before came rushing back.
“Right,” I said to Einstein. “What the hell. Let’s be morning people.”
I staggered down the stairs to find the rest of the team of Flint K-9 already in action. Coffee brewed. Dogs paced underfoot—in addition to Einstein, Phantom, and Casper the pit bull, a little curly-haired moppet dog and two brindle mutts had joined us. Much to my relief, Diggs was already in the mix. I took stock from a distance. He looked like hell—clearly hadn’t slept, his eyes rimmed with red. Though he was putting up a good front, I could see the residual shock of last night tinged with that first weight of grief. Despite all that, he put a mug of coffee in my hand before I had to ask.
“How are you doing?” I said. The others continued to banter and joke around us. I wondered how many of them even knew what had happened.
“I’m breathing,” he said. “I don’t really want to talk beyond that.”
I got it. I wouldn’t have before this year, but now it made perfect sense to me. I let it drop and moved on. “Okay. Next question, then: why are we up?”
“We like to kick off every day by running the dogs,” Jamie answered. I got the feeling she’d been keeping an eye on Diggs in my absence. Rather than the green-eyed monster who used to share my skin, I just found myself grateful that I wasn’t the only one who had his back right now. “Sorry if we woke you,” she continued. “Einstein probably heard us. He’s used to being front and center.”
“Super,” I said.
“Care to join us?” Jamie asked.
I looked at Diggs. He already had his running clothes on. “You’re going?”
“I thought it might clear my head. You up for it?”
Once upon a time, the whole idea would have been my definition of torture: get up before it’s light outside, harness everyone you know, and run around an ice-cold island until you drop. The past year had given me a new perspective on torture, though. This? This wasn’t even close.
