“Why’d you leave the ER to work with the Beacon Group?” she asked. “All those cold cases with no answers… doesn’t seem a good fit. You seem like someone who likes to be doing, taking care of problems, not plowing through ancient history.”
“If you had any idea what I see in the ER—”
“
See.
Present tense. You miss it.” She tucked her legs under her and leaned toward him, squeezing a throw pillow on her lap. “Why don’t you go back?”
He turned away.
“You’re awfully young to leave everything you trained so long for behind forever.”
He started to give her the same story he gave everyone else. The story he told himself every morning when he looked in the mirror. That it was too hard being a single father working rotating shifts, that Nellie needed his full attention. All true.
And all lies.
“Ever hear of the term poleaxed?” he asked her. She looked up, puzzled, not realizing that he’d answered her question more truthfully than he’d answered that same question asked by anyone else in the past year.
“No. I don’t think so. Is this a memory test?” A shy smile. “You know I’d fail.”
“When I was a kid I thought it meant something to do with pole vaulting. Those guys fascinated me, how high they went, closest thing to flying.”
“What does it really mean?”
“I’ll be fine. Look fine. Act fine. Even my thinking will feel fine. Like I’m functioning normally. Like life is normal again. That’s one second. Then the next, no warning, no hint, it’s like someone flips a switch. I’m in the dark, lost. Absolutely lost. Sinking into a black so complete I’m suffocating—I can’t even find the strength to keep fighting to breathe. My body goes numb, like it’s not even my own. And my mind—it’s a fog so thick I struggle to remember my own name, much less who I am or why I’m here. Forget making any kind of complex decision. Like how to save a life.”
His shoulders slumped. He hadn’t told anyone this before: not his friends, not the counselors, none of the well-meaning well wishers constantly asking how he was but not really wanting the answer.
“I simply,” his voice dropped to a whisper, cowering against the weight of the truth, “disappear.”
“Poleaxed,” she whispered back.
They sat in silence for a long time. Somehow her hand ended up on top of his. He didn’t pull away. Since Charlotte left, Sarah was the first person with whom he’d felt comfortable enough not to raise up defenses and retreat behind a facade.
“What about—I mean, there are drugs, medications?”
He stopped her with a shake of his head. “Single dad, remember? Can’t risk adverse reactions. I need to stay alert in case Nellie needs me.”
“You can’t take care of her unless you take care of yourself,” she argued. Then to his surprise, she smiled. “Ouch. I’ll bet you tell all your patients and their parents that. Sorry.”
Not for the first time today he wondered if she was a mother. He had a feeling she might be. Or maybe if she didn’t already have children, she’d make a good mother in the future.
“When’s the last time you slept?” she asked.
A sigh escaped him at the thought of sleep. A distant memory. “Sometimes when Charlotte’s folks have Nellie I’ll take a pill. But when Nellie’s home I can’t sleep. Can’t risk it. I wander the house checking the doors and windows, checking in on her. Then I work at the computer, following up any leads on Charlotte. I’ll hear a noise—the furnace turning on, the fridge defrosting—and I’ll know it’s Nellie and something awful has happened and…”
“You panic.” Her hand clasped his. “I don’t remember having those feelings, and yet, when you talk about them, I feel it. Here.” She raised her free hand to beat against her chest, then closed it into a fist and pressed it against her throat. “And here. Like I can’t breathe, my body’s too heavy.”
He nodded grimly. “Yep, that’s about right.” He sagged against the sofa. Damn, it was comfortable. This was where he and Charlotte sat together and finished each day. In silence that wasn’t silence but something so much more. He could almost imagine…
“You’re safe here,” Sarah said quietly. “Go to sleep. Just a short nap. I’ll watch over you. Wake you if anything happens.” Her voice was soothing, hypnotic. And he was so damned tired…
His eyes closed against his wishes. He tried to will them open, but they were heavy, too damned heavy…
<><><>
THE FIRST STATE
trooper arrived just as the sun set. After Lucy explained the situation, he took a quick look at the scene, then radioed for backup. Lucy had always thought of the state police as the unsung heroes of law enforcement: as more and more municipalities closed down their own police departments, the staties stepped in to fill the gap, stretching their own resources thinner and thinner.
Like now. With an unexpected, rural crime scene to protect, assignments would need to be shifted, investigators called in—whether on duty or not—and a forensic team scheduled, not to mention additional help to search the mountain for more evidence, a painstaking, tedious job.
“At least most of it can wait until morning,” Lucy told TK after the trooper sent her down the mountain and she returned to the parking lot.
“I’m more worried about Tommy. They’re going to think he did it.”
“If it is Charlotte up there.”
“It is. It has to be. Right?”
Lucy had no answer except a shrug. “It might be days or weeks before we know for certain.”
“Burroughs won’t wait. He’ll go after Tommy. And the press, they’ll crucify him.”
Lucy was silent, busy rearranging her own priorities. They still needed to help Sarah, but now her review of Charlotte’s case had become urgent.
“You think he’s guilty, don’t you?” TK said, her tone biting. “How could you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is what we can prove. To answer your question, no, I don’t think he killed his wife.” At least she hoped not. She liked Tommy. But she didn’t know him, not well enough to let it cloud her judgment. “But I need—
we
need—to stay objective, investigate every possibility. That’s the best way to clear Tommy, prove that he didn’t do it.”
“You can’t prove a negative,” TK grumbled. A new set of headlights entered the parking lot. Burroughs’ white Impala. “Oh look, your partner in the lynch mob.”
“I warned you,” were Burroughs’ first words as he barreled out of the car, despite the fact that there was no urgency, not at this crime scene. “Didn’t I tell you not to trust him? Not to let him near Sarah?”
“You can’t seriously think Tommy had anything to do with Sarah’s accident?” TK stepped forward, squaring off with Burroughs.
“Maybe it’s not an accident,” he answered. “A new witness came forward before we closed down the public service announcements. Guy who left before the smash and grabs, didn’t know about what happened to Sarah until he read it this morning.”
“What did he see?” Lucy asked, her gut tightening as if preparing for a blow.
“Said Sarah wasn’t alone on the trail. Said he saw a man with her—they were talking and she seemed upset.” He paused. “Description sounds a lot like Worth.”
“I don’t believe it,” TK said. “How good of a look did he get?”
“He only saw his back and profile,” Burroughs admitted. “But if those remains up there are Charlotte’s, then—”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Lucy urged. “The staties have a lot of work to do before we know anything for certain. In the meantime though, we should prepare Tommy and his family. Update them on what’s happening. I can do that if you want to stay here.”
“No,” Burroughs said. “I want to see his face when he hears. And like you said, they won’t be doing much here until morning.” He tilted his head to look up at the dark mountainside now awash in headlights. “I’m not sure if I want it to be her or not.”
“I know how you feel,” Lucy admitted. Families always said they wanted closure—until you gave them answers they weren’t prepared for. Answers that destroyed their worlds and reshaped their lives forever. “TK and I will come with you to tell Tommy.”
“You’re a civilian now.” His tone warned her to tread lightly when it came to his investigation.
“Right. And Tommy is on my team. I’m going to be there for him.”
“We’re
going to be there,” TK amended.
Burroughs stared at them both with narrowed eyes, then shrugged. “All right then. Best get to it.”
TOMMY WASN’T DREAMING,
but neither was he awake. He lay in a languid half-state, his body paralyzed while his mind raced. And he wasn’t alone.
Charlotte
. He felt her heartbeat as she held him in her arms, her breath stirring his hair, her scent filling his lungs. Not a dream. It had to be real…
She smiled down at him, her fingers dancing through his hair. “I miss you,” she whispered.
He tried to speak, but he couldn’t. Every muscle in his body was weighed down with exhaustion. He fought to open his mouth, to move a limb. He felt her slipping away and he was powerless to stop her. The paralysis that gripped him was terrifying, but even more frightening was the thought of losing her again.
No!
He tried to scream but still couldn’t move.
Don’t go!
“Tommy.” It was a voice almost exactly like Charlotte’s. A hand shook his arm. “Tommy, you and your friend need to wake up.”
Gloria, Charlotte’s mother. Disappointment washed over him, freeing his body from the sleep paralysis. He opened his eyes. Gloria was frowning in disapproval—and behind her stood Peter, TK, Lucy, and Don Burroughs.
Pushing himself up, he realized he
had
been sleeping in a woman’s arms: not Charlotte’s, but Sarah’s. Sarah. He’d forgotten all about her. As he disentangled himself from her embrace, her eyes fluttered open. “What?” she asked with a yawn.
“We fell asleep,” he said.
She reached for him with half-closed eyes, the way a lover would reach for their partner.
Gloria made a noise and stalked out, followed by Peter. Tommy pushed Sarah’s hand away and scooted down on the couch, beyond her reach. He knuckled his eyes, still not quite awake, but took his hands down when he realized there could only be one reason why TK, Lucy, and Burroughs would be here together.
“You found her. You found Sarah’s past,” he said excitedly. “Does she have family?”
Sarah’s eyes popped fully open and she sat up. “What did you find?”
To Tommy’s surprise, Lucy touched TK’s elbow and nodded to Sarah, giving a silent command. TK moved forward. “Sarah, why don’t we wait in the kitchen?”
Confusion clouded Sarah’s face, but she stood and followed TK from the room. Lucy took her place on the couch, facing Tommy.
“We need to talk,” she started, and he realized he’d been wrong, so very wrong.
The world grew dark around the edges, and for a moment he wondered if he was still asleep. He shook his head, trying to ward off her words, yearning to retreat back behind the protective shield of denial. Once the words were said—words he’d dreamed a thousand times, words that colored his every thought throughout the day—once spoken, those words could not be unsaid. His glance ricocheted from Lucy to Burroughs. Even the detective wore a mask of sympathy.
“You found Charlotte.” The words tasted of ash. They sounded foreign, like another language.
“We think so.” Lucy’s tone was soft and gentle. She’d done this before, he could tell, because it was the same tone he’d used in the ER when he had to give families bad news.
Reality crashed down on him. Charlotte
had
run away, hidden, hadn’t wanted to be found—by him. Tears choked his throat. She’d abandoned him and Nellie. She’d never loved them.
“Where is she?” he asked, the words feeling sharp, painful. “Is she all right?”
Burroughs made a low noise in the back of his throat and stepped back, leaving Lucy to take the lead. Lucy hesitated, didn’t meet Tommy’s eyes. And he knew.
Cold slapped him, stealing his breath—the truth asserting its cruel grip, tearing away his final shroud of denial. “She’s not alive?”
“No,” she confirmed. “We found skeletal remains that might be hers. It’s too soon to tell. We’ll need to finish searching, get the forensic anthropologist and medical examiner…”
He nodded. He knew the routine. He also knew she was spelling things out both to give him time to process and because a mind numbed by shock could not retain information.
“Where?” he asked. “How did she—did the woman—die?” Maybe it wasn’t Charlotte. They’d been wrong before—like in December when they’d found a body in the Ohio River, ruined their Christmas until they confirmed it wasn’t Charlotte. “Why do you think it’s… her?”
Something in him refused to use his wife’s name to reference a corpse.
“You were with Sarah today at Fiddler’s Knob. Had you ever been there before?”
Her question puzzled him. “I think so. A few years ago—Nellie was young enough I carried her in a baby backpack gizmo. Charlotte wanted to see the mountain laurel in bloom. But we were too early—late frost or something.”
He knew he was rambling but couldn’t help it. Anything to delay dealing with reality. No matter how much he wanted answers, an equal part of him desperately wanted to avoid the truth. Because everything would change once he knew. Not just for him, but for Nellie.
“I remember thinking today when Sarah and I were there, how much Charlotte would have loved it. There’s a tunnel, twenty feet high, made from mountain laurel. It’s so beautiful.”
Lucy and Burroughs exchanged a glance. “Have you been there more recently?”
“No. Not until today.” He sat up, stretching his fingers into his pants pocket—no, the charm was in his jacket. “Wait.” He left the couch and went to the coat rack beside the front door where his jacket hung, fished into the pockets. He emerged with the tattered leaf and its treasure. “We found this. Today.”
He held the leaf and charm on an outstretched palm for their inspection. Burroughs reached for it and Tommy flinched, hating the idea of anyone else touching something that he’d imagined had a connection to Charlotte.