by AJ Lange
She had known, the instant she saw them together when they returned from camp. They were uneasy, no longer fitting together so precisely as before, and it had nothing to do with being ripped from camp mid-season and ushered home after the girl, Melanie, had disappeared. Antonia watched them, moving together but not, over the next week and then pulled Gavin into the kitchen one day, to help her bake cookies for her book club.
She knew she was right the moment Gavin agreed without any sort of protest at all; Gavin normally loathed being stuck inside on a sunny summer day. But Matt was unusually and conspicuously absent.
Antonia measured flour and baking soda into the sifter and handed it to Gavin so that he could turn the crank over the mixing bowl. He watched the white substance float into the bowl like snowfall.
“Do you want to tell me about what’s going on with you and Matt?” She murmured, beating two eggs in a separate bowl, pointedly staring at her hands but feeling Gavin tense beside her.
“Nothing’s going on.” But he was biting his lip when she glanced over, and she smiled to herself. Her boy.
“You know, Gavin,” she paused to measure the vanilla. “You and Matt have a special bond, I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve always been a little jealous of it.” She began to whip the eggs and vanilla into a frothy yellow mixture with a fork.
“Mom,” Gavin protested quietly, and his cheeks warmed. He snuck a chocolate chip from the open bag. “You were jealous?” His eyes darted to meet hers, flushing again when she nodded.
“Not were, am. I don’t know if you’re old enough to appreciate it, but I think you might be ready.” She passed him the egg mixture and a wooden spoon and he carefully stirred the contents into his larger bowl. “The two of you have grown up a lot this year. I’ve been waiting for you to get a clue.”
Gavin snorted. “Mom.” But he was grinning and his shoulders relaxed. His mom knew. She knew and she didn’t care, maybe even approved. The thought warmed him more than any batch of home baked cookies ever could.
“Gavin,” she teased. “Love is a special thing, Gavin. It’s precious but it’s never infallible. You have to be careful with it.”
The wooden spoon slowed to a stop. Gavin waited, understanding she was trying to convey an important message.
“Matt isn’t like us,” she said softly. “He wasn’t raised surrounded by love and affection.” She ruffled his hair and Gavin ducked his head in embarrassment. “Maybe that’s what drew him to you, I don’t know,” she murmured. She handed Gavin a cup of sugar and he added it to his bowl, giving her a sidelong glance when she snuck a chocolate chip of her own. “Just take care, Gavin. ”
“Okay,” he said, clearing his suddenly too tight throat.
Antonia dropped a kiss onto his temple. “Everyone’s heart is breakable, baby,” she continued, turning away to run water into the sink for the dirty dishes. “Matt doesn’t have anyone to fix him. Just you.” She reached out a hand for the empty bowls and spoons and Gavin handed them to her, watching them disappear beneath the soapy foam. “If you break his heart, who’s going to patch him up?”
Gavin swallowed hard and nodded.
Later as they sat at the table, each with a plate of cookies and a glass of cold milk he tapped the back of her hand with an index finger, too old to clasp her fingers, too young to no longer need to. “Thanks, mom.”
Antonia smiled. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
A fish flopped against the water, breaking into Gavin’s reverie. He walked back up the dock, following the dirt path toward the mess hall. This building, too, showed signs of abandonment and disrepair. When he passed the back door of the kitchen, he smiled, thinking of Berta, wondered if the old girl was still alive, if she was still handing push pops and popsicles out of her back kitchen door to neighborhood kids somewhere. He sincerely hoped so.
He had looped around to the edge of the forest now, his brief stroll down memory lane almost complete. Having seen no sign of Matt, or anyone else, he knew his next destination would have to be the cabin.
“Into the woods,” he murmured, shaking off a sense of foreboding and walking into the treeline. He hadn’t stepped foot in these woods since that morning.
…
Her name was Melanie Bodine, and she had been fourteen. It was her first year at camp, her first time away from home, away from her family. Her face and name had been in the papers for weeks after Gavin and Matt had returned home, and Camp Chitaqua had never reopened, the tragedy of the missing girl leeching the lifeblood from the lakeside home to campers for the previous twenty summers.
Gavin had thought of Melanie many times over the years. He had followed her case religiously until it died away, the media losing interest with the next tragedy that happened along. But Gavin never forgot. He had often lain awake, thinking about that night, when he and Matt had had an opportunity to save a life, to help a girl who had cried and begged at their door.
They had never told anyone. Investigators had interviewed every camper, and both Antonia and Angelo had been present for Gavin and Matt’s interviews. Matt’s father was nowhere in sight, but that was per the usual; he had never been wholly present in Matt’s life. The morning the FBI agent arrived, Matt had climbed into the treehouse to find Gavin huddled in the corner. They hadn’t used the treehouse in years.
“I don’t want to do this,” Gavin said quietly when Matt sat down beside him, scooting close until their thighs touched.
Matt reached over and clasped his hand. “I don’t either, but it won’t last long. We don’t know anything.”
“We know she was alive. We know she begged us for help.” Gavin’s breath hitched and he covered his eyes with his free hand.
Matt squeezed his fingers tighter. “We don’t have to tell them that.”
“What?” Gavin’s voice was incredulous. “Of course we do. It may help.”
“Help what? Help your parents? Or hers, to know that we might have saved her if we had opened that door? How is that helping?”
Gavin studied Matt’s solemn face. There was fear there and an unusual hesitancy. “So what, we just don’t mention it? At all?”
Matt shook his head. “I would prefer we never mention it again,” he said sadly. His eyes dropped to his lap and he pulled his hand from Gavin’s.
“Hey,” Gavin said softly, reaching over to turn Matt’s chin up so he could see into his eyes. “Okay. We don’t have to say anything.”
Their gaze held and Gavin wondered if Matt could see the tears that threatened at the back of his lids.
Matt leaned in against him and Gavin held his breath when he brushed a kiss against his lips.
“I was gonna do that,” he whispered gruffly.
The corner of Matt’s mouth lifted. “It was my turn.”
Gavin kissed him again, a stronger push of mouths, and reached blindly for Matt’s hand. He screwed his eyes shut and held on, even after their lips parted and only their foreheads rested against one another.
“We’ll say we played cards all night, until Ben got there.”
“Which is true,” Matt whispered before leaning back.
“Which is true,” Gavin agreed.
They had sat in the treehouse until Angelo called them down to meet the investigator.
That day, and the night they had spent in the cabin, had changed Gavin’s life and decided his future. He was a cop because of Melanie Bodine.
The girl who had never been found.
The woods were just as dark and dense as he remembered—worse really, because there was no groundsman to cut back the overgrowth of shrub and hatchlings covering the narrow path. There were no children maintaining a secret trail, a shortcut through the trees to the mess hall. He hoped like hell he didn’t get lost out here. God only knew if he had cell service. He reached into his pocket to dig his phone out to check, taking his eyes off the leaf-littered ground at his feet long enough to swipe a thumb across the display screen.
Gavin heard the whi
r and snap a split second before he was wrenched off of his feet, breath knocked out of him as he whipped head over heels, one ankle caught tight in a noose. His body swung erratically with the momentum, suspended, and he scrambled belatedly to catch his phone, frustrated as he watched it disappear into the leaves and debris below.
“Mother of Christ,” he groaned in frustration. His ankle had popped with the impact of the snare clamping around it, and it ached, sharp pains that intensified as he struggled against the rope. He attempted to raise himself at the waist, fold up enough to reach his foot and failed, dropping back down red-faced with exertion.
“I probably need to hit the gym a little more often,” he muttered, stomach muscles aching. He tensed when he heard a noise in the leaves. He reached for his gun, thankfully still snapped into his hip holster. He might be hanging upside down by one leg but he could still shoot a motherfucker; for that matter, he grinned, he could shoot the rope that held him suspended above the leaves, if he had to. He waited, watching the convex curve of a distant tree-covered hill, trying to shake off the disorientation of having the horizon flipped on its axis. He saw the dark hair first and relaxed as Matt’s face came into view.
The jerk was not only dressed in Gavin’s jeans and shirt, but he was also wearing Gavin’s jacket, and it pissed him off almost as much as it heated his blood. He hadn’t even missed it this morning.
Matt also had a shotgun slung over his shoulder and Gavin tensed as he approached.
He stopped about five feet away, studying him. “You do know the meaning of the word stealth, right?”
Gavin was perplexed with how comfortable Matt looked holding the gun. “You’re a writer,” he sputtered lamely.
Matt cocked an eyebrow. “And you’re a homicide detective.” Matt bit the inside of his cheek and Gavin had a sneaking suspicion he was trying not to laugh. “So they say.”
“Fuck you. Did you do this?” Gavin was starting to get dizzy from the rush of blood to his head. He still held his sidearm trained on Matt, mostly out of frustration.
“Nope,” Matt said cheerfully. “Actually, I was disabling them. I figured you would poke around the camp first, put off venturing into the woods alone.”
Gavin grimaced. “I did.” Asshole knew him too well.
Matt frowned at that. “Then you drove too fast.”
“Fuck off, Matt,” Gavin huffed. “Would you cut me down already? I can’t feel my foot.”
It was the right thing to say. Matt’s expression turned to one of concern and Gavin felt a little guilty for the lie. Not guilty enough to hang upside down and let him continue to smirk at Gavin’s predicament though.
Matt followed the line along the limb overhead, locating the trap’s crude mechanism at the base of a nearby tree. He was more than a dozen feet away. “No way to let you down gently, Gav,” he said. “Tell me when you’re ready, and try to roll.”
“I know how to fall,” Gavin muttered under his breath. “I’m a trained professional.” The rope went slack and he fell face first into the leaves with a thud, barely missing slamming his head into a moss-covered rock. He rolled to his back and groaned. “Thanks for the warning, asshole.”
Matt’s form blocked the late afternoon sun, throwing him into silhouette. “Trained professional, huh?” He offered a hand and Gavin grasped it, letting him pull him to his feet.
“Shut up,” Gavin complained, wincing when he put weight on his ankle. Sprained, probably mild. He shook his wrist, bending over to retrieve his gun and his phone. When he turned back, Matt was watching him thoughtfully. “What?”
“Nothing. Déjà vu.” Matt was still silhouetted and Gavin couldn’t read his expression.
Gavin stepped forward and roughly pulled Matt to him by the back of the neck, mouth claiming his in a hard kiss. Matt stiffened briefly, then relaxed, kissing him back, turning his head to fit their lips more gently together, letting Gavin stroke into his mouth with his tongue. They broke apart, and Gavin was embarrassed that he was essentially panting. Motherfucker.
“Don’t ever leave like that again,” he growled.
Matt kissed him again, holding his face in his hands, pushing regret and apology through his lips, soothing Gavin’s anger. “I’m sorry,” he said against his mouth. “You shouldn’t have come.” He sighed, resting his cheek against Gavin’s, breath unsteady. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
Gavin tightened his grip on Matt’s waist, unsure of how or when his hands had migrated there, under his favorite jacket, over his favorite shirt. “Yeah, I figured you would be. After you drugged me,” he scowled.
“I was hoping maybe you’d forgotten that.” Matt looked sheepish, and guilty, which fascinated the miniscule part of Gavin that wasn’t mad as hell.
“I haven’t forgotten.” The words were accompanied by a metallic clink and Matt looked down in shock. Gavin had cuffed Matt’s wrist to his own. “You’re under arrest.”
“Gavin,” Matt protested, eyes darkening in anger.
“You have the right to remain silent.”
“Gavin, you stubborn jackass—“
“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney,” Gavin snapped his holster, wincing again when his ankle objected to the weight he put on it as he turned to leave.
“I’m not going with you, babe.” Matt stood stubbornly in place, digging in his heels.
“And to have an attorney present during any questioning.” Gavin yanked on Matt’s arm, exaggerating a limp. He figured he might get a few more minutes play on the sympathy card. He smiled to himself when Matt took a step forward.
“Your ankle.”
“If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense.” Gavin limped forward again. “My ankle is fine.”
“Gavin,” Matt pleaded, then did the one thing that Gavin hadn’t thought of, wasn’t prepared for; he laced their fingers together, bracelets of the handcuffs jangling against one another.
Gavin stopped and inhaled deep. Jesus Christ.
“Gavin,” Matt said quietly. “Look at me.”
“No.” Gavin didn’t dare turn around. He could still taste him and it pissed him off. He just wanted to get out of these woods, into the Jeep and on the road. In that order.
Matt moved to stand in front of him and Gavin rolled his eyes, shifting his weight self-consciously. “I can’t leave. I need to be here to finish something I started a long time ago.”
It didn’t sound like Matt’s voice, it was too sad, too full of emotions Gavin couldn’t begin to parse through. He wondered, not for the first time, what secrets this man held, had held from him all of their lives.
“Then I’m staying with you.”
Matt lifted their joined hands. “Unlock this?”
“Not on your life.”
Gina woke slowly, cold, shivering. Disoriented, she tried to sit up and discovered her chest was strapped to a bed, like a hospital gurney. She panicked, thrashing, moaning when the sudden movement made her head ache. She looked around frantically; she was moving, in a small, contained metal room. A van or a truck.
Her breath puffed around her in thick white clouds and she shivered again. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness and she realized that was she was looking at was frozen packages of food, some neatly boxed, others loose and vibrating on the stainless steel shelving unit built into the wall. She was in the back of a refrigerated truck.
A tear leaked from her eye and ran into her ear and she scrubbed it roughly away with a shoulder. She ground her teeth together against the terror threatening to choke her and thought of Dom’s handsome face.
Dom would save her.
And in the meantime, she would save herself.
Chapter 9
Melanie Bodine was fourteen the summer she went to Camp Chitaqua to be a youth counselor. It was her first extended stay away from home. She would be a freshman at Cassock County High School in the fall, and was excited t
hat she had made the varsity cheer squad. She had a yellow Labrador retriever named Beau and a younger sister named Lorraine, and she lived in a mid-century American era pale pink house, the bane of her adolescence. According to an interview with her mother, she had never had a serious boyfriend, and she had just gotten braces the week before camp. She was struggling with the associated lisp, fearing it would prohibit her from joining the choir when school resumed in the fall.
Matt had kept his promise to Gavin, and never spoke of Melanie again, but he became obsessed with the girl in the months following her disappearance. He had cut and saved newspaper clippings, scouring them for information about her life. He had sat in the DeLuca living room, glued to television coverage of her disappearance; Matt's father refused to allow television in his home.
He had never told Gavin about his research; one of the many things he had kept from his best friend that summer. Matt had been torn between the guilt of keeping such a large secret and the feelings blossoming between them. It had made him distant and irritable; the two had bickered more that summer than they ever had before. Sometimes Matt would catch Gavin watching him worriedly, chewing his lip until it was torn and bleeding. When it got that bad, Matt would sneak out late in the night and climb the oak tree outside of Gavin's window, crawl into bed with him, cuddling close until morning.
Gavin would be all right after that, at least for a time.
The steamy encounter they had shared in the cabin did not reoccur that summer. Matt had never been sure why; there were still stolen kisses, sweet and chaste, and occasionally Gavin would take his hand, lacing their fingers, when they were alone at night.
Looking back, Matt thought maybe he had been too wrapped up in Melanie's story, and Gavin had been too worried about the social pitfalls. The kisses would fall away so slowly Matt was later ashamed that he hadn't noticed, hadn't done something to prevent their loss. One day he had been standing at his locker, waiting for Gavin to finish football practice so they could walk home together, when the other boy rounded the far corner of the hall, an arm slung around the slender shoulders of Heather Morgan. Suddenly Matt realized: Gavin hadn't kissed him in weeks.
