by Elle Keaton
Seth turned to see what Parker was looking at. A random stranger was standing in the doorway blocking everyone’s way. Except his eyes were trained on Parker. Like he knew him.
Parker backed closer to Seth. The unknown man saw the movement, and his face changed. Not to anger, as Seth half expected, but to sadness. Resignation. Maybe worse: hopelessness.
“Who is that?”
“That would be my ex, Zeke. What the hell is he doing in Skagit?”
“If I was going to guess, from the look on his face, he came here to see you.” Zeke was standing stock-still, customers flowing around him like water around river rock.
“How did he find me?” Parker’s eyes narrowed at Sacha’s broad back. “That rat bastard.”
Seth had no idea if Sacha was behind Zeke’s appearance but thought Parker was probably right.
A skinny, twitchy-looking guy came in and bumped into Zeke from behind. At first it looked like he was trying to push through the crowd where Zeke was standing, but then Sacha exclaimed, “Jesus fucking Christ, Sigurd Jacobsen?” The next thing Seth knew, Sacha was shoving past him, and the skinny guy had turned and bolted back out the door. Plates, glasses, and coffee mugs clattered across the floor, many shattering as tables were pushed aside and tipped over.
The neighborhood was teeming with cops, but it was Sacha and Zeke who chased the guy down the street and tackled him before he got more than half a block away. Adam followed the two men a bit more slowly, cell phone in one hand and espresso in the other.
Parker grimaced. “Oooh, that had to hurt.”
Did the guy not know they were right across from the police station? Most of the civilians in the café were watching the action through the windows; everyone else had rushed outside to see if they could help and were now standing in a circle around the three men. The guy was putting up a fight, yelling something Seth couldn’t make out, but in moments he was in handcuffs with Sacha’s knee crammed in his back. Start to finish, the incident lasted about sixty seconds.
Adam was standing over the guy—Jacobsen?—shaking his head. Sacha slowly got to his feet, and Seth saw him wince.
“Quit fucking struggling, or the closest officer gets to shoot you,” Adam barked at Jacobsen, who seemed to realize Adam meant every word and went very still, his bloodshot eyes finally focusing on the crowd of law enforcement surrounding him.
Seth was relieved when Sacha separated from the group and limped over to where he and Parker were waiting.
Before Sacha could speak, Parker went on the attack. “You asshole!”
“What?” Sacha looked confused for a second before he looked back in the direction Parker was pointing. “Oh, yeah, by the way, I called Zeke. Don’t even think about running away without talking to him.”
Seth tried to distract both of them from yet another argument by gesturing toward where Jacobsen was being led away. “What was all that about?”
Sacha ran a hand through his hair and shook his head in disbelief. “My past life coming back to haunt me.”
How fucking crazy was life, anyway? It seemed the now-handcuffed Jacobsen was a low-on-the-totem-pole junkie, running drugs and whatnot for anyone who’d let him… which included some big-name crime syndicate from Ukraine. But he’d grown up in Skagit.
Adam walked over to join them, listening to Sacha’s story.
“From what he was babbling, during a visit to his childhood home at some point over the past couple of years, he got mixed up with the Russian mob here in town. He ‘borrowed’ some inventory and then took off back to the sunshine and beaches,” Sacha said. “Then, last March, when my partner and I were assigned to bring him in as a witness, he recognized me from here and ran because he thought the Russians were after him.”
“He recognized you from…?”
Sacha’s mouth flattened. “I was undercover for… a long time.”
The warning look in Sacha’s eyes stopped him from asking about it.
“Okay,” Seth said slowly. “He, um. He thought you were a Russian mobster or something?”
“Something like that,” Sacha agreed, scowling over to where Jacobsen still lay on the sidewalk.
Seth had to admit, Sacha probably played “bad guy” remarkably well.
Sacha glared at the ground a moment before continuing. “Anyhow, he got away—a goddamned fire escape collapsed underneath me—but like a recurring rash he’s here visiting family again, saw me walk in, and panicked. Such a devoted family man, visiting his sick mother and all.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I’m thinking his light bulb is pretty dim.”
Twenty-Four
Sacha
It may have been a little heavy-handed, but, yes, Sacha had gotten Zeke’s number from Mae-Lin. When Zeke had picked up with a breathless “Parker?” even though Sacha’d been calling from his own unlisted number, it had been clear the man cared and was very concerned. Good; Parker needed someone to keep him in line. Sacha hoped Zeke was the man for the job.
He’d made sure Zeke knew where Parker was going to be, and, except for the unfortunate incident with Jacobsen, everything had gone according to plan. Part two of the plan involved luring Seth away from his house for a few days to give Parker and Zeke some privacy.
As they got out of the truck in front of Seth’s house, Sacha asked, “What do you think about going east of the mountains for a few days?”
“Yeah, what for?” Seth whipped around, pinning him with a surprised stare.
“We—or you, since you’ve done all the legwork—can research the photograph some more, maybe check out the county records. We’ll go to the source.”
“Ooooh, wow! Okay, lemme call my clients so they don’t think I’ve deserted them.” He slipped inside, looking delighted with Sacha’s half-assed plan.
Seeing Seth’s eyes light up at the thought of spending hours driving to some tiny town to do more research was worth all the sideways glances and straight-up death glares he was getting from Parker.
“Zeke,” Sacha gestured toward the man waiting for them on the walkway, “came a long way to talk to you, and he deserves to be heard.”
“Fine,” Parker grumbled before disappearing into the house behind Seth.
Zeke hesitated by the front door, a backpack in one hand, his other hand jammed into the front pocket of his jeans.
“You think you can do this?” Sacha asked.
“Well, before I left Miami I came out to my partner, my mother, and my boss. I’m not sure there are more bridges to burn.”
“How’d it go?”
Zeke sighed and shifted his stance. “My partner seemed somewhat okay. My boss can’t really say anything, but I don’t think I’m going get any awards soon. Pretty sure he’d like to see me gone anyway. My mother… I think she will come around. If only because my dad left her for a younger woman, and my brother died a few years ago. I’m all she’s got left. I guess we’ll see.”
Sacha nodded his understanding. He’d been a coward, not coming out at work, but he also hadn’t forced a boyfriend to hide in limbo.
“All right, then. Let’s see what you can do. Seth and I are leaving as soon as we can, and we’ll be gone a few days.”
Twenty-Five
Seth
“What is taking you so long?”
Seth startled at the sound of Sacha’s gravelly voice behind him. Goddammit, he’d sworn he wouldn’t let Sacha sneak up on him. Again. Sacha was supposed to be outside getting his truck ready, not scaring the ever-loving shit out of him. He grabbed some more things out of the refrigerator.
He’d called his clients, Mrs. Anderson and Greg, and let them know he would be out of town for a few days. One of the perks of being self-employed.
There had been a mention of an Owen Penn born in Twisp on one of those ancestry sites, so that was where they were headed.
“I checked online, and there are plenty of rooms available in Winthrop.” He finished stashing sandwiches in the cooler alongside se
veral bottles of water, the rest of the beer, and some fruit. “I’m excited. I’ve read that the drive is beautiful. Supposedly there is a lake—okay, there is a lake—that looks incredible. We could stop there for the night, or we could go straight to Twisp.” Seth was afraid he was babbling, but he couldn’t believe Sacha had suggested the trip. “I know you’re as interested these guys as I am, or I wouldn’t have busted you trying to read those letters the other night.” He’d come home a few days earlier after finishing up a tiny job for Ms. Can I Get It For Free to find Sacha on the couch with the postcards and letters spread around him. “There’s no use pretending you’re not.”
“I’m driving. That Jeep of yours is a death trap.”
Before leaving, Seth watered the plants in the front and back, packed a small bag with necessities, then tucked the cooler behind the passenger seat. Sacha watched him, an unreadable expression on his face, before grabbing his duffel bag and tossing it in the truck.
“I hope this works,” Sacha muttered. “I do not want to come back to a broken Parker.”
Seth peeked around Sacha to peer in the living room window. Zeke had moved over to sit on the couch. It didn’t look like he was going anywhere.
“He came this far; I think he’s serious. And we’re going on a field trip!”
“Field trip, my ass.”
Seth loved it when Sacha pretended to be all grouchy. “No field trips for you as a kid?”
“Closest I ever got to a field trip was a tour of the local jail when I was seventeen as part of a Scared Straight program. The only thing it taught me was to be more careful.”
It was midweek, but there was plenty of summer traffic on the cross-state scenic byway. Part of the Cascade Loop, Seth learned from signs flashing past. The first few miles were standard: flat farmland studded with immoveable stumps; pastures planted with corn or possibly feed hay. Pretty farm houses in silhouette with the imposing mountains behind them. Several tiny wineries. Every corner with a cluster of homes and businesses offered drive-thru espresso—they took their coffee very seriously along Highway 20.
About forty-five minutes in, after being stuck behind several slow-moving RVs—which had Sacha muttering dangerously under his breath—the truck rounded a blind corner and the damn mountains were right there. Right in front of their faces, sheer cliffs rising mere feet from the shoulders of the road. The highway went from flat to a steadily increasing climb. As they passed through a little town called Concrete, the road became even steeper and was reduced to two lanes for the most part.
They were both quiet. Seth, because he couldn’t quite take in the majestic beauty of the Cascade range. Sacha was busy manhandling the truck into submission, his strong forearms flexing while guiding the vehicle around the sharp curves and steep inclines. Seth didn’t know if he was seeing the scenery at all.
He’d seen pictures, looked at the mountains from afar for the past six months, but up close they were fucking incredible. In Scottsdale the biggest piece of rock sticking out of the ground was Camelback Mountain; compared to the Cascades, it was a pebble.
Again, they got stuck behind a flotilla of RVs. Even though the road was clearly marked with spots for slower vehicles to pull aside when there was room, none of them did. Sacha’s muttering increased in volume and creativity.
After passing through the tiny towns of Rockport and Marblemount, where one of the postcards had been sent from, the fierce, jagged peaks became impossibly dominating. Seth could see where waterfalls had worn paths in the granite over the millennia. Regardless of the warm spring and hot summer, snow still covered the highest peaks.
The Sauk River had abandoned the road miles back, but the Skagit still rolled and tumbled over fallen trees and boulders to their right. Mossy rocks peeked out of the glittering water, tempting the unsuspecting in at their own peril.
Finally, they came around a corner and Seth saw signs for Diablo Lake. “Pull over here,” he directed, wondering if the photographs he’d seen did it justice.
Sacha grumbled but did as asked, parking in the Diablo Lake view point. Seth chuckled; he knew that much of Sacha’s grumbling was a knee-jerk reaction to life in general. He’d secretly made it his new mission to discover what made Sacha laugh. Or, at least, what stopped the grumble.
The lake was a good start. They stood elbow to elbow, staring down at the magnificent malachite-green lake. No photograph Seth had seen was worthy. It was… verdant. Incredible, almost offending to the eye with its otherworldly beauty. Seth only had his cell phone, but he took several pictures anyway. Wondering if he could risk asking for one of them together.
“The color comes from mineral runoff from the glaciers that feed it,” he told Sacha. “The dam was finished in 1930; I wonder if Owen or Theodore came up here? One of the postcards is from Marblemount, so I bet they did. Or at least Theodore did.”
“Why do you care so much about these guys?” Sacha asked.
Seth pondered the question for a few moments, staring out over the lush lake and daunting peaks. “At first, I guess, it was because I’m a curious person. I like knowing about people, and that box of books and letters is about as close as I will ever get to actual treasure. Now, I dunno. We’re on the same road at least one of these guys was on. What happened, and why was that box hidden away? Those tools and scraps may have been because some worker was lazy, but that box was hidden on purpose. Why?”
“You’re a menace.” But the accusation was halfhearted.
“Adam says that all the time. I’m trying to be more of a menace; it riles him up.”
Sacha shocked him, taking Seth’s phone and fiddling with the screen before turning them both so Diablo Lake spread out majestically behind them, and then snapping a picture. He handed the phone back to Seth before heading to his truck. Stunned, Seth stood there with his mouth open for a second before following.
Back at the truck, Seth dragged the little cooler out and handed Sacha a sandwich. They ate companionably, watching other tourists have their first glimpse of the lake and get their pictures taken, much like Owen Penn and Theodore Garrison could have. Like the two of them just had.
“Hey, you know…” He looked over at Sacha, who had already finished his sandwich.
“What.”
“After Twisp, we could drive to Lake Chelan and see if we can find where that picture was taken.”
Sacha rolled his eyes and shook his head, but he half smiled. Yes.
Seth also had Sacha pull over at the Washington Pass overlook. First of all, the bottle of water he’d had with his sandwich had gone right through him, and he needed to use the restroom. Secondly, the view was, again, stunning. Sacha didn’t say much except to comment on the RV drivers and the view.
Twenty-Six
Sacha
Except for senior citizens maneuvering RVs the size of small cities, the drive along Highway 20 had been fine. Nice, even. Seth was a good passenger; he didn’t talk too much, and he didn’t cringe or grab the door handle when Sacha got impatient and gunned his truck past the behemoth vehicles.
Late that afternoon, he found himself angle parking in front of a verifiably creepy roadside hotel outside of Winthrop, Washington. Seth had to stay there, as some famous writer from over a hundred years ago had been in town and then gone back east to write The Virginian. A book Sacha had never heard of.
Anyway, the hotel was named after it, although in Sacha’s mind it was closer to being a retreat for serial killers. He watched a middle-aged woman exit the office with a skeptical expression on her face. She got into her car and moved it a few spots down, where she promptly got back out, and an enormous yellow lab leapt out from the back. Together the two of them disappeared up the stairs of one of the “lodges.” He saw a curtain twitch on the second floor, and soon the dog was standing on the miniscule deck, panting and watching the goings-on below.
Seth came back out to the car. They were assigned to the lodge across from the woman with the dog. The room was entirely… not qu
aint. The walls, including the ceiling, were covered with dark wood paneling, creating a cave-like space. The ambiance was not welcoming; it ran more along the lines of “where to hide the body.” Two double beds were covered with tired grey comforters that matched the tired grey carpet. A tiny coffee pot sat next to a basket of bagged ground coffee. The coffee looked like it had been there so long the cleaners dusted it on a regular basis. Sacha ran a finger along the small table next to the sliding door; make that an irregular basis.
“Well, it’s not pretty, but it is cheap, so that’s a plus. A little too close to the hotel décor in The Shining,” Seth remarked, stowing his backpack under the coat hooks by the door. “I don’t care which bed is mine; take whichever one. Or we can share.” He waggled his eyebrows before disappearing into the tiny bathroom. Sacha heard the sound of urine hitting the water in the toilet bowl. Great, walls made of tissue paper, fucking wonderful.
Neither bed being ideal, Sacha chose the one closest to the door. By the time Seth emerged, he had his gear stowed away and was staring out at the river running behind the hotel property. It was flowing lazily in the summer heat; as he watched, several tourists floated by on inner tubes.
“I checked; the library is closed already, and so is the courthouse.” Seth told him that all the early records, any before 1959, were stored in the county archives located in the courthouse basement. The town of Twisp wasn’t large enough for such a structure, even to this day.
Sacha wasn’t going to admit to Seth he wasn’t focused on the reason for their trip. He was thinking about skin, scent, and the spot above Seth’s ass where it sloped into the small of his back. He found himself touching Seth with intent; he wanted to have his hands on him all the time. He’d caught himself absently doing it too, any excuse to run fingers along Seth’s back, touch his arm, lean in close enough to smell him. Back the Booking Room, the first thing he had done after immobilizing Jacobsen was check and make certain that Seth was safe. He often knew where Seth was without having to look, like Seth exerted a gravitational pull on his psyche.
