Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  “You wouldn’t dare tell Alex. Admitting the affair will damage your career more than mine,” Jill said. “Forcing me into a sexual relationship would not only get you fired, but would also destroy any prospects you have for climbing the corporate ladder. For me, it would be an unfortunate situation that I need to put behind me. The company might be worried I’d sue for sexual harassment. Thanks to you, I’ve got a pretty good reputation here. I’m a married woman. No one has any cause to question my integrity. Can you say the same?”

  She gave a light shrug of her shoulders. “I’m willing to take my chances and see what happens. Are you?”

  “Right. We’ll see who has the stronger hand.”

  He pushed away from the desk and walked toward her, stopping mere inches away. His back was to the door, shielding them from view.

  Jamie’s fingers reached up and touched her face. Slowly he traced the line of her jaw, down her throat, lingering on the jagged scar, his expression softening. She could feel his warm breath fan her cheek. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled at the contact.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this, Jill.”

  His face inclined toward her ever so slowly. The scent of his cologne filled her head—leather and spice. She tried to hold steady, breathe evenly, maintain eye contact despite the revulsion she now felt at his touch.

  As the seconds clicked by, her instincts overcame her control, and she flinched away. His hand dropped to his side, and a knowing smile twisted Jamie’s lips as he pulled away from her. Without another word, he left the office.

  She could feel her skin burn with a deep flush as he closed the door behind him. Releasing a ragged breath, she stared at the open office door, struggling to regain her composure.

  This was no longer about Dana Evans. This wasn’t about the review meeting or their affair. This was something more. He had threatened her job and her marriage. She had the weekend at home to plan what to do next. Perhaps the distance would provide the perspective she currently lacked. There was one thing she was certain of: playing the harassment card was risky, for both of them. But in the end, it might be her only way to get the upper hand.

  12

  “Wow, that looks good.”

  Alex crossed the kitchen and stood behind Jill, who was stirring the bubbling sauce on the stove. The scent of the apples and raisins cooking in a spiced brown-sugar-and-butter sauce filled the room. His hands rested lightly on her waist, cheek ruffling her hair.

  “I hope it is good. First time with a new recipe.”

  She stepped away and crossed the kitchen to open the refrigerator. The last thing she wanted tonight was a dinner party. But it was Alex’s family, so she had to play the part of the hostess. The best she could hope for was to tune out and enjoy the wine. Man, she could use a drink.

  Jill fished an armful of vegetables out of the fridge and deposited them on the island’s granite countertop. Deftly peeling an onion, she started to chop. Alex poured her a glass of wine, and she glanced up to catch him watching her.

  “We haven’t had much chance to talk since you got home. How was your trip?”

  The knife stilled as Jill paused long enough to look up at him.

  “It could have been better.”

  “Why, what happened?”

  “Jamie wasn’t very happy with the state of the project, and voiced his displeasure with me in particular in front of the team.”

  “Why would he do that? Why wouldn’t he save his criticism for a private conversation?”

  “Who knows?” The knife resumed its steady rhythm. “There’s a lot riding on the success of the project.”

  “Still, why would he single you out publicly? I can think of many ways he could get his point across without undermining your leadership in front of the team.”

  Jill released an exasperated sigh.

  “Damn it, Alex, I don’t know—because he’s an asshole. Can you stop playing the detective for one night?” The knife slipped and sliced easily through the pad of her index finger. “Shit.”

  She dropped the knife and raised her hand to examine the cut. Alex’s glass clinked on the countertop, and in no time he led her across the kitchen to the sink. A hiss escaped her lips as he held her hand under some cold water, the sting of the water burning.

  Alex handed her a paper towel, and she applied some pressure to the cut as the doorbell rang. A quick glance at the clock confirmed her suspicion.

  “They’re early.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  Molly, their yellow Labrador, followed Alex out of the kitchen, her gait fast, toenails clicking on the floor. Voices filled the breezeway, and she could hear the footsteps approaching down the hallway. Jill had time to bandage the cut before they stepped through the doorway.

  “Something smells great,” Mike said. He stopped and sniffed his shirt. “Oh, it’s me.” He stooped to kiss Jill’s cheek. “Hey, hey, Good-Looking, what you got cooking?”

  Jill straightened, her smile tight as she met her brother-in law’s gaze. His big frame fit his bigger-than-life personality. Dark hair and hazel eyes. His ruddy complexion spoke of long hours spent outside. His wife, Emma, seemed to float like a fairy at his elbow, his bulk making her seem all the more petite. Blond curls framed her heart-shaped face.

  “Pork chops and corn pudding.”

  “Corn pudding. Sounds southern.”

  “It’s kind of a soufflé,” she shrugged, taking a sip of her wine.

  “Getting all fancy-fancy on us.” Mike turned toward Alex. “Well, I’m going to get all blue-collar on you and start with a beer.”

  “Coming right up.” Alex handed Mike a bottle and Emma a glass of wine.

  “Anything I can do to help, Jill?” Emma asked, smiling a gracious thank you at Alex. She took a tiny sip from her wine glass and then placed it on the island.

  “Got it all under control. Maybe you and Mike could help Alex pick out some music. Otherwise we’ll be listening to ’80s metal all night long.”

  Alone in the kitchen once more, Jill turned toward the window and sipped her wine. Her ghosted image reflected in the dark pane. Despite her cleverly applied makeup, she could see how drawn her face looked. The long week in San Jose had taken its toll. Even the punishing morning run along Alki Beach hadn’t done much to get Jamie out of her head. The threat he posed to her career felt all too real.

  There had to be a way to neutralize him, but she didn’t know what it was. Not yet. The latest update from her team did not offer any hope of resolving the performance issues. Despite the thorough review of all new code in the project, the team hadn’t pinpointed the source of the problem.

  “How was your trip to California?” Emma asked from the doorway. Jill jumped at the sound of her voice, so deep in her own thoughts that she had not heard her sister-in-law enter the room. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “I need to switch to decaf,” Jill said, forcing a crooked smile. “Would you mind putting this on the table?” She handed Emma the salad bowl.

  “Looks great. You’re such a good cook. Did your mom teach you?”

  Jill tried not to cringe at the question. Her mom had died in the car accident that also claimed her brother’s life. No time for cooking lessons. Not that she had shared that information with Alex’s family. As much as she had once yearned to be part of their family circle, familial comfort didn’t come naturally to her, and sharing wasn’t exactly her forte.

  “I waited tables in college. Learned a thing or two working in the kitchen.”

  “I’m a whiz with pasta—everything else …” Emma trailed off, her blue eyes twinkling in her pixie face. Jill knew she should like Emma. Everyone did. Her open, friendly manner made her easy to talk to, but Jill didn’t find it easy to connect. The shell she’d built around herself was formed early, and few were able to penetrate her defenses.

  “I don’t know how you find time to cook at all with your crazy schedule,” Jill said as she served the plates. Emma w
as a crime reporter with the Seattle Times. There seemed to be no shortage of stories to cover. Bad news abounds.

  As they settled around the table, conversation steered toward current events.

  “Any news on the Watson case?” Emma asked Alex. “Strictly off the record.”

  “No,” he said, staring at his glass. Jill frowned, realizing that she hadn’t asked him a single thing about the case since she got back from San Jose.

  “How are the Watsons holding up?” Mike asked.

  “It’s been tough.” Alex took a sip of his wine, and his gaze shifted to Emma.

  “You’re sure she didn’t just take off? Kids do that sometimes. It’s scary, really. They have no idea what they’re getting themselves into.”

  “It doesn’t look that way.”

  “Is Jackson on the case?” Mike asked, his eyes settling on his brother.

  “He’s the lead investigator. I’m helping out.”

  “And why is that, Alex?” Jill asked, unable to stop herself. All eyes turned toward her. Alex was the first to look away. He studied his wine glass for a second before answering.

  “Because there is an online angle to the case. That falls directly within my purview.”

  “She met someone, and you think that maybe this person was responsible for her disappearance?” Emma asked, then held up a hand. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”

  Alex didn’t answer, and Jill couldn’t let it go.

  “Oh, an internet connection, is that it?” Jill nodded slowly, her voice betraying her skepticism. While there may well have been an online angle to the case, she would be willing to bet money that Alex wouldn’t step away from the investigation and let Jackson do his job. He would find a way to stay involved.

  “And what do you mean by that, Jill?” Mike asked, his tone cutting through the tension like a whip.

  “Nothing.”

  “Right,” her brother-in-law scoffed under his breath.

  “Mike,” Emma said, quietly placing a hand on his arm. Mike jerked it away.

  “I suppose, like everyone else, you think that Alex needs to rush to Abby’s rescue?” Jill fixed her gaze on Mike.

  “Jill.”

  She recognized the warning in Alex’s tone but barreled ahead.

  “Seriously, Mike, there’s a whole missing person’s unit available to look into Natalie Watson’s disappearance. Jackson is a very capable investigator. Why do you think Alex needs to be involved?”

  “Jill,” Alex repeated, louder this time.

  Second warning.

  She turned toward Alex.

  “Seriously, why don’t we all just admit that if this wasn’t Abby’s sister, you would have passed the case on already? In fact, you wouldn’t have been involved in the first place. You’re still looking into it because of your relationship with Abby.”

  “Of course he is,” Mike said, his face reddening. “Alex has known the Watson family since we were teenagers. Something awful like this happens, and you expect him not to care, not to want to help?”

  “Is that what this is about?” Jill asked quietly, a cynical smile stretching across her lips.

  She stood quickly and set her plate on the kitchen counter, her gaze shifting to each of them in turn. Emma looked embarrassed. Mike looked angry. And Alex refused to meet her stare.

  No one said anything for a long, tense moment. To Jill, the answer was obvious.

  “Coffee?” Alex asked at last.

  Long after their guests had departed, Jill stood at the sink, her hands in the hot, soapy dishwater. She could see Alex reflected in the window as he finished clearing the dinner table. He had not said a word to her since Mike and Emma left. Jill scrubbed the large skillet in silence. Molly’s long nails clicked on the kitchen floor as she circled the island, tail wagging. Jill felt the dog brush up against her leg.

  “Damn it, Molly, go lie down.” Jill snapped her fingers and pointed toward the doorway. “Go.”

  Jill watched as Molly slunk out of the room, her head hung low. Turning back toward the sink, she couldn’t avoid Alex’s disapproving stare.

  “What?”

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “What? I’m tired of her begging. You’d think we never feed her.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about, Jill.”

  “This really isn’t the right time.” She held her hand up, like a traffic cop.

  “Unfortunately there is never a right time with you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She dropped the skillet back into the soapy water and spun toward him. Her eyebrows were drawn close together in a deep frown.

  “You want to talk? Let’s talk.”

  “Forget it. We’ve been drinking. You know the rules. We should wait until tomorrow.”

  “Those are your rules, not mine.”

  Alex had turned away from Jill and started to walk out of the room, but her words stopped him cold.

  “Get back here. You don’t get to start something and then not finish it.”

  “Why, have you cornered the market on that move?”

  Jill stared at him in silence, and his glare softened. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,” he said.

  “Yes, that was a cheap shot. You got any more that you want to get in?”

  Feet planted in a wide stance, Jill crossed her arms and waited for him to continue. She knew it was an unfair question. He had apologized, after all, but sometimes sorry didn’t cut it.

  Alex sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before focusing back on her.

  “Listen, Jill, I honestly don’t know what’s up with you lately, but you’ve been in a foul mood since you got back from California.”

  “Poor Alex.” Her tone was condescending and perfectly calculated to needle him.

  “Okay, if you don’t want to listen, there is no point in continuing this conversation.”

  Without another word, he left the room. Jill stood drying her hands on a dish towel and considered the exchange. They were both angry. She had started the fight. Maybe she should finish it. After taking a few deep, calming breaths, she followed him into the living room.

  Alex was seated in the large black leather chair across from the fireplace. Molly was stretched out on the floor at his feet. His brown eyes fixed on Jill as she entered the room. She perched on the edge of the coffee table, facing him.

  “I’m listening,” she said at last when Alex didn’t give her an opening.

  “You’ve been on edge for weeks, maybe months. You blow in and out of the house like a storm. You’re distant, you pick fights, and you squirm away from me whenever I touch you.”

  “That’s not true.” Jill shook her head in automatic denial.

  “It is true. Are you really worried about Abby? Or is something else bothering you?”

  Alex’s voice was firm and unwavering. Jill sighed, her fingers laced tightly together as she watched him.

  “Look, Alex, I can’t say I’m happy about you running to her rescue. But it’s more than that. You’re never here. You’ve always got some case you’re working on that seems more important than us.”

  “You knew you were marrying a cop. It’s not exactly a nine-to-five job.”

  “So I should just suck it up? I should be grateful that you’re out saving the world?” Sarcasm wasn’t helpful. She knew that, but she was too angry to stop herself.“We both know this isn’t all about me and my job. You’re never home, either. When you are, you’re thinking about work.”

  “What do you want me to do? Quit my job? Stay at home? Have babies? Is that what you’re looking for in a wife? Maybe you should have married Abby.”

  Alex’s jaw clenched, and she saw anger flash in his eyes.

  “That’s not what I’m saying, Jill.”

  “Of course it is. Did you find time to call me last week when I was in San Jose, Alex, or did you forget? Too busy tracking down leads to be bothered?”

  “The phone works both ways
.”

  “Sure it does, but when you’re the one accusing me of being absent, you should look in the mirror once in a while. You might see your own face staring back at you. I know you’re busy saving the world and all, but you might want to save something for me, too.”

  He cringed, and she could tell her words had hit their mark.

  “That’s enough for tonight.” Alex held up his hands.

  “Actually, I haven’t even gotten started.”

  “Well, I’m done,” he said as he got to his feet. “Good night.”

  From her living-room chair, Jill could hear the sound of his footsteps pound up the stairs as he made his way to the bedroom. The chill in the night air deepening, she shivered and inched closer to the fire.

  13

  Ensnared in the grip of a dream and unable to awake, Jill found herself in eerily familiar surroundings. The living room of her stepfather’s house came into sharp focus. She could see the worn fabric on the brown corduroy couch, the scarred veneer surface of the coffee table, and the cabinet-style television console that flashed light from its curved screen.

  The smell was also familiar. Stale whiskey steeped the air. Her gut clenched hard as she paused in the doorway. Her stepfather coming home drunk was nothing new. Master Sergeant Samuel Morris had been known to tie one on now and then. He was a mean drunk. Many a bar fight outside the officers’ club had either started or ended with vicious blows from his meaty fists, but the after show was always the part of the night that Jill dreaded most.

  Some nights he would roll through the kitchen door, bottle in hand, spoiling for a fight. Other nights, the ones that Jill learned to fear, she would turn to see him standing in the dark. Master Sergeant Sam’s silence was unpredictable. The yelling, the hitting—that she could deal with. She had strategies for that. His calm was far more menacing, like being caught in the eye of the hurricane.

  After her mother’s death, Sam had withdrawn further into his brooding silence. Drinking binges became more frequent. Without her mother to help blunt the edge of his violent outbursts, Jill found herself fully exposed to the gale force of his anger. But Jill had devised a strategy for dealing with Sam’s drunken outbursts—something she dubbed “Operation Pass Out.” She had ground up some pain pills from the car accident and dissolved them in the bottle of Wild Turkey that Sam used to help him sleep. She was hoping that, with a swig or two under his belt, he would go straight from the arrive-home-drunk stage to passing out on the couch without stopping long enough to howl at the moon.