by Dana Marton
She’d done night landscapes before, had enjoyed the challenge of handling the light and colors. Maybe someday soon she would do another.
“Okay,” she said and watched as Pete just about danced back to the mail truck.
He beeped the horn as he drove away.
She went back into the house, locked the door, and padded upstairs.
She was painting. And she was going on a date. Someday very soon, if she fought hard enough, she would have Maddie back. Her life would go back to normal.
All she had to do was not give up.
And forget Jack Sullivan.
* * *
By the time noon rolled around, Jack had gone back and forth between the two crime scenes in Jersey half a dozen times and had talked to everyone worth talking to. Yet he wasn’t any closer to figuring out whether the two kidnappings were connected or whether Blackwell had been involved in them.
Agent Hunter gave him a hard time about being there, but tolerated him as they reinterviewed key people. That Jack might be able to identify Blackwell from his voice helped. But nobody they talked to rang a bell.
Jack drove back from Jersey in a foul mood, not all that much cheered when he got a call from the high school principal.
“Bobby is willing to talk to you.” The man sounded grim and cold. “On the condition that he doesn’t have to go to the station to be interviewed. And, of course, our family attorney will be present.”
Jack was too distracted by the two missing persons in Jersey to point out to the man that the boy wasn’t setting conditions here. “Fine.”
“My attorney can be here by four,” Adamo said and gave his home address. “I’d appreciate it if you came alone. No uniformed officers and police cruisers. I have my standing in the community to consider.”
He should have considered keeping a closer eye on his son, Jack thought but agreed. With Harper still out, they were understaffed at the station anyway. The case wasn’t big enough to justify pulling one of the others off something else.
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. He had time to go out to see Ashley and try to talk her into going someplace until he caught Blackwell.
He knew, with everything he had, that the bastard had been on her land the other night.
The fact that he’d put the grave there couldn’t be a coincidence. At the beginning, Jack had thought it was because Ashley was involved with the man. Now he knew better.
But Blackwell could still be someone she knew, under another name. It might even be someone who liked her.
The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Maybe he’d been some sick gift to her. A cop, the biggest thing Blackwell had taken down so far. Of course, Blackwell hadn’t counted on her finding and saving Jack.
The mailman popped into his mind again. He’d looked at the man at the beginning, but Bing had talked him out of it, vouching for him. But this was too important to take someone else’s word for it.
So, on his way to Ashley’s, he stopped by the post office.
He lucked out. Pete was just coming in.
The man wore hunting boots, Jack noted, and wasn’t surprised when two minutes into their talk, the man’s alibi for the days in questions came up as a solo hunting trip. No alibi at all.
“Would you mind lifting your foot?”
Pete looked at him as if he was crazy but did it.
Wrong treads, which didn’t mean anything. If he had one pair of boots, he would have others.
“How about the day of the third, that Saturday? You said you came back from hunting in the morning.”
“I was home with my mother. Then I went in to work for an hour in the evening to take over someone’s truck who had to leave early.”
Mother wasn’t exactly the strongest alibi, Jack thought. He was definitely going to keep an eye on the man.
* * *
“You’re so sweet,” Mrs. Kentner said, holding the small paintings at arm’s reach. “We really do appreciate your support.” She put the paintings on the living room table and lifted her purse from the floor, taking out a small box wrapped in sparkling paper. She handed it to Ashley. “For Maddie. Pete said she’s having her birthday party this weekend.”
“Thank you. You really shouldn’t have.”
“Well, the way things are going…” Mrs. Kentner gave a smile and a wink.
Okay, so Pete told her mother about the date. Ashley felt a moment of embarrassment, then pushed it away.
“I’m so glad he came back home,” the older woman said. “He deserves something good. The way he took care of me with the cancer…” Moisture glistened in the woman’s eyes.
Ashley patted her hand. Pete did deserve something good, but was she it? A sudden wave of doubt rushed her. What was she doing with Pete? But then she thought, they were just going to look at the dam. They’d been friends for a long time. It didn’t have to be more than that.
“I’ll have him bring you some venison.” Mrs. Kentner gathered herself. “He got a big one this fall. Dressed and butchered it by himself too. Gave half to the homeless shelter, but the freezer in the garage is still way too full. I can barely squeeze anything else in there.”
“Thank you,” she said politely, not having the vaguest idea what to do with venison. Then again, she had Internet. There should be some recipes there. For when she was alone. No way she could put dinner on the table and tell Maddie they were eating Bambi.
Mrs. Kentner stayed to chat for a while. Dusk was falling by the time she left. Ashley washed the few dishes in the sink, trying to decide whether to tell her father tonight that she wanted to cancel the party. She didn’t want to cancel. She didn’t think there was any danger.
She looked outside as she dried the silverware. More snow had fallen overnight, coating the trees, the woods pretty enough to paint. Not enough color left in the day, but still, even as a monochromatic work, the view from her kitchen window would have made a good composition.
As she scanned the trees, something caught her eye—a patch of value difference. If she wasn’t so attuned, she probably wouldn’t have noticed it. The patch moved. A bit of russet hair came into view.
Jack.
Aggravation and something else, something she wasn’t willing to name, flashed through her in equal measure. The man didn’t know when to give up. She dragged her coat on, stepped into her boots, then walked through the front door. His car wasn’t in the driveway. Where had he come from? She had a good guess.
She strode around the house. “What are you doing back there?”
“I was walking through the woods.” His face was drawn even more than usual, shadows all around him. He seemed to be in a dark mood, his coat open and flapping in the cold breeze. He didn’t seem to care.
“Where’s your car?”
“Back by the side of the road.”
She’d been right. He’d been to the grave. Unease spread through her. She wished he could see what his obsession was doing to him. She wished they’d met at another time, under vastly different circumstances.
“How often do you go back there?”
“Every night.”
He had good in him, at his core, that drew her to him. But he seemed inextricably mired in the past and in darkness. She didn’t want to want him. If she was going to fall for anyone, she wanted simple. She couldn’t live the rest of her life dancing on the edge of the precipice.
The cold seeped through her coat and made her shiver. She turned away from him and walked toward the house.
He followed. “I really do think Blackwell came back. Might be coming back all the time. I know I heard him last night.”
“Did you see him?”
Silence.
“Did you see anything?”
He didn’t respond.
A short bark of a laugh escaped her throat. “Teenagers hang out back by the creek sometimes. I told you they drive their snowmobiles all over the place. I found cigarette butts before. And empty beer bottles.”
For a second, fear stabbed through her, but she pushed it away. That was the old Ashley. She refused to live the rest of her life in fear. She watched his face, his gaze intent on hers. He believed, with everything he was, what he was saying. She didn’t.
Regret washed over her. “I understand that you can’t let go of Blackwell. I have my own issues in the letting-go department. But please leave me out of this.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
His cerulean eyes looked nearly black in the twilight. His gaze held hers. “Because I care.”
The quiet admission sent her for a spin.
Especially since, deep down, she cared about him too. She wished things were different, for both of them. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “How did this happen? How did we get here from anger and hate?”
His eyes gentled. “I never hated you. I was angry at you because you were supposed to be my straight line to Blackwell, but it was becoming obvious pretty fast you weren’t. And I hated myself because I was attracted to you even back when I did think that you were in league with the bastard.”
She stared at him. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“Say that you’ll keep yourself safe until this is over.”
“Safe from what? From imaginary trouble? You know how long I’ve been doing that? You know how hard I’ve been fighting the anxiety. I’m making progress. I’m moving forward. I’m trying not to hide from my own fears. I can’t start now to hide from yours. Don’t ask me that.”
One moment they were glaring at each other, and the next the heat was back, his gaze dipping to her lips. And, yes, part of her wanted him to kiss her again. Part of her wanted more than a kiss. Even as desire tingled across her skin, an ache grew inside her chest. Because she knew what little good it ever did to wish for impossible things.
He’d never want anyone half as much as he wanted Blackwell. So why did he have to mess with her? Why did he have to kiss her in the middle of her damn kitchen where she would now think of that kiss every time she walked in there? Why did he-
She froze.
The cold wind slammed into her, but the ice that spread in her stomach was colder. Oh God.
Humiliation and a sense of betrayal washed over her. She scampered back. “Are you playing some kind of sick game? Did you kiss me in front of the window last night, with all the lights on, because you thought Blackwell was watching?” Her stomach turned. She was going to be sick.
He stared at her, his face darkening. But he didn’t deny her words.
Her eyes burned. He opened his mouth to say something, but she lifted a hand to stop him. The darkness he carried, the paranoia, was too much. She was already fighting her own demons. She couldn’t take on his. “I don’t want any of this, Jack.”
“You might not have a choice. If he has an interest in you, like I think—”
“You need help.” She turned on her heels and hurried away from him.
He called after her. “Have you canceled the party?”
She glanced back over her shoulder.
His hands shoved into his pockets, tension bracketed his mouth as he watched her.
Brady Blackwell’s shadow had destroyed his entire life. But it wasn’t going to destroy hers. “I’m sorry about your sister,” she said. “I’m sorry what it did to you. But this is my life. And I’m going to live it.” Then she ran up the steps.
She went inside and locked the door behind her, had no intention of letting him in if he came up and rang the bell. He didn’t.
The ache in her chest deepened. She refused to cry as she took off her coat and kicked off her boots. For the first time in forever, here was the guy she could have been interested in, someone she actually had chemistry with.
He had strength, despite his deep, dangerous flaw. She was attracted to that strength—maybe because of her myriad weaknesses—but Jack’s strength wasn’t what she needed. She needed to find her own strength. She needed to stand on her own two feet. She needed to fight for what she wanted.
She moved to get the mop to deal with the mud she’d brought in, but the cell phone ringing on the coffee table stopped her. Her father’s number flashed on the display.
“It’s me,” Maddie chirped on the other end.
“Hey, birthday girl. What’s new in the big city?”
“Bertha took me shopping for a birthday dress. She said it’s so pretty it would make princesses weep.” Excitement poured through the line.
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“Am I getting a lot of presents?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
“Moooom!” A moment passed in disgruntled silence, then, “Grandpa would like to talk to you.”
Her father picked up the line then, and they talked about what he should bring. Bertha had apparently baked up a storm already.
“About the birthday party tomorrow…” she began, thinking of Jack.
Her father waited.
“This weekend…” She couldn’t say it. The phone conversation when she’d canceled her trip to the city still lived vividly in her mind.
“If you’re having problems—” he said, his tone resigned.
Did he expect her to beg off again?
“No problem,” she rushed to say. “I just wanted to let you know they’re calling for snow. The kids will have nice, clean snow to build snowmen with. And I’ll drag the old sleds out of the garage.”
Jack Sullivan and his all-consuming obsession would not be allowed to ruin her relationship with her daughter. She was reclaiming her life. And she was starting it by driving into the best bakery in town and picking up the biggest cake they had.
* * *
“Did you kiss me in front of the window last night, with all the lights on, because you thought Blackwell was watching?”
Had he?
The question haunted Jack as he drove to his next meeting.
Had he kissed her to tick off Blackwell? Not consciously. But on some level…
Maybe, partially, yes. Get Blackwell angry. Get him to make a rushed move on Jack. Get him to make a mistake.
Had that been there, in the back of his mind?
He hated himself for the possibility as much as Ashley hated him for it. She had every right.
He was crossing too many lines. But he didn’t know how to stop now, he thought as he drove to the Adamo residence to officially interview Bobby.
While it was a generally acknowledged fact that teachers were underpaid, some school administrators fared pretty well, he thought as he pulled up in front of the largest house on the street, a stone-covered colonial with giant banks of windows, three-bay garage, and professional landscaping.
The principal himself opened the door when Jack rang the bell. He looked even more unhappy now than at the school early that morning, his tone clipped as he said, “Detective Sullivan. Come in.”
He guided Jack to the library that didn’t quite rival William Price’s but was nevertheless impressive, with a conference table in the middle. Bobby sat there, looking a lot less cocky now, next to his pale-faced mother who was wringing her hands, and another man Jack assumed to be their lawyer.
He sat as the introductions were made, then turned to Bobby, the reason for his being here. He wanted to be done, to be able to close this case that Bing had assigned to him only as a distraction in the first place. “So have you remembered anything since we talked this morning?”
The lawyer responded instead of the teenager. “Bobby is willing to acknowledge that the Internet account in question is his, but he had no idea the items listed were stolen.”
“And where did he get these items he
claims he doesn’t know were stolen?”
Bobby swallowed, looking at his father with resentment, but both his father and the lawyer nodded, prodding him to go ahead.
And Bobby did, naming his friends one by one.
“Do you have any stolen items in your possession?”
“No,” he immediately protested.
“You realize that since you confessed, I can get a warrant for this house? You came clean about the listings. How about we do this all the way?”
The principal glared; the lawyer said nothing. But Mrs. Adamo’s quiet words, “Bobby, honey?” did the trick.
“Tyler gave me some stuff.” The kid shifted on his seat, quickly adding, “I thought they were his. I don’t know anything about any burglaries.”
Jack nodded, even if he didn’t believe a word. The kids were caught; the burglaries would stop. Bobby would get special consideration for turning on his friends. Life wasn’t perfect, but progress had been made in the case. Bing would be happy.
“How about I take what you have in evidence right now and avoid the whole search-warrant thing?”
“Absolutely,” the principal answered for his son, then snapped at him, “Bobby?”
The boy got up. “It’s um… The stuff is in the basement.”
They all followed him down to a fully furnished space that looked like a college-dorm rec room, complete with flat-screen TV, pool table, video games, even a full-size refrigerator for snacks. The space was as cluttered as a teenage boy’s hangout would be, sports paraphernalia everywhere.
Bobby picked through the mess and handed over a laptop, a couple of phones, a Skilsaw, a dozen top-brand golf clubs, and a ratty old fan. “That’s all I have here.” He glanced at his father. “I swear.”
Jack catalogued the items and gave the lawyer a receipt. “I want a full, written confession.”
“I’ll bring it to the station first thing in the morning,” the lawyer promised.
“Why the fan?” Jack asked on the way up the stairs. “It can’t be worth two bucks.”
Bobby gave a sheepish shrug. “We plug it in when we hang down here, so nobody upstairs hears us talking.”
