Trent shook his head. His shaggy hair slid over his brow, nearly hiding his eyes. “Nope. But I will show you one more place to check for Ashley’s car before you take me home. I don’t want to be late for work. My little brother’s the boss and he’ll give me hell.”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because you’d get yourself into trouble. Do the things I mentioned.”
“And if they don’t pan out?”
A slow, satisfied smile curved his mouth. “Then you’re just going to have to let me help you.”
T
rent was late for work. His brother’s truck was already at the job site, bristling with PVC pipes.
He pulled up behind Sam’s Ford, and braced himself for a scolding as he crossed the client’s dead lawn.
“You’re late,” said Sam over his bare, sweaty shoulder. He dug the shovel into the hard ground, biting into the orange line they’d painted on the grass yesterday.
“Sorry.”
“No explanation? No stories of sexy women tying you to the bed against your will?”
Trent grabbed a shovel, picked a spot and started working. “Nope.”
“You’re not going to kiss and tell, huh? Oh, wait. I forgot. You don’t even kiss these days.”
Trent shoved his boot against the shovel and dug in deep. “Leave it alone, Sam.”
“You show up late, you take your punishment. Besides, Mom is worried about you.”
Trent felt his shoulders creep up toward his ears as the muscles in his neck clenched. “Since when is that new? She’s been worrying about us since we were born.”
“Can you blame her? You never visit. You never call. You work and go home. What the hell kind of life is that?”
“The one I picked.”
“Then you’re as stupid as you are ugly.”
“Can we just work and stop yammering like old women?”
Sam chuckled that same wicked chuckle he’d had since they were kids—the one that told Trent he was in for a world of hurt. “Mom and Dad are having a cookout this weekend. You’ve been ordered to attend.”
“I’m busy,” said Trent.
“That’s not going to fly this time. Besides, Mom’s invited some girl from church she wants you to meet. Dad says she’s busty.”
The idea of his dad looking at any woman’s breasts was unsettling enough without the commentary. “Not interested.”
“Fine. I was going to call dibs, anyway.”
“She’s a woman, not a slice of pizza,” said Trent.
Sam gave him a
whatever
shrug. “So, are you going to tell me why you were late, or should I invite Mom to bring us lunch?”
That was a threat worth paying attention to. Sam was the Golden Boy. He’d taken over the family lawn-care business so Dad could retire. He graduated from college. With honors. He was actively searching for Mrs. Right to provide their parents with grandchildren. Sam wouldn’t think twice about having Mom out to watch them work, bring them lunch, stay and chat for a while. He’d bask in the attention.
Of course, Sam wouldn’t be stuck avoiding intrusive questions about his love life and whether or not he should “talk” to someone about what happened in Chicago. Nor would he be getting all those wonderful bits of helpful advice about how to find and keep a good woman so his life would be worth living.
If he never had to hear his mother ask him how his sex life was again, it would be too soon.
“You wouldn’t do that to me,” said Trent.
“The hell I wouldn’t. I’d do it just for the entertainment value. I love to see you squirm.”
Squirming twice in one day. That had to be a record. “You’re a horrible brother.”
Sam grinned. “That sounds a lot like defeat to me. So, spill it already. Why are you late? You’re never late.”
“My neighbor’s sister came to town last night.”
“Oooh. I like where this is going. ‘Dear
Penthouse
,’ . . .”
“My neighbor has gone missing, dickhead. Have a little sympathy.”
All the humor in Sam’s face fell from his expression, leaving it bleak and barren. “You’re not talking about Ashley, are you?”
“Yeah. I am.”
“How long?”
“How long what?”
“How long has Ashley been missing? Has anyone talked to the police? Filed a report?” Sam slung the questions at him like closed fists.
“Since Friday. Yes, and yes. What the hell, Sam?”
Sam pulled his shovel from the ground. “We should be out there looking for her. That girl doesn’t have two brain cells left to rub together. All those paint fumes killed them. Someone’s got to look out for her.”
“The police know what’s going on. It’s not our business.”
“I don’t care. Let’s go look for her.” Sam turned to leave.
Trent stepped in his path. “The police have it covered. They’ll find her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” lied Trent. He knew the kinds of things that could happen to a young, beautiful woman, and he didn’t want his little brother to witness any of them.
Sam’s posture relaxed somewhat. “We should still go look for her.”
“I already have. That’s why I was late. Her sister and I were cruising around, looking for her car.”
“That screaming-green Volvo? Shouldn’t be hard to find.”
No, it shouldn’t have been, which only made Trent worry more that Elise was right and something bad had happened. But, since his brother was already getting riled up, he skipped stating his worry and stuck with the facts. “We didn’t see it.”
“Maybe she’s out of town.” Sam sounded hopeful and worried all at the same time.
Trent shrugged. “That’s what I told Elise, but she’s sure there’s a problem or Ashley would have called by now.”
“Well, hell,” spat Sam. “Like I needed one more thing to worry about.”
“Then don’t worry. The police are on it. So is Elise.”
Sam’s body relaxed more, deflating him. “Let’s hope she’s smarter than her sister.”
“She is. Cuter, too.”
“Like hell she is. God doesn’t make ’em any cuter than Ashley. That’s why no one’s killed her yet.”
“Let’s hope.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Elise has a bad feeling.”
“People have bad feelings all the time.” Sam sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
“Last time I had one was two years ago.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Trent regretted them. He hurriedly added, “But I’m sure you’re right. It’s nothing.”
Sam buried his shovel in the ground and leaned on it. He stared intently at Trent, speaking in a low voice. “You can talk to me about it, you know. About what happened.”
No, he couldn’t. Not to Sam. Not to anyone. That part of his life was locked up tight, sealed and buried. It was the only way he could keep moving each day, keep living.
Trent gave his head a brief shake. “Won’t help. Why bother.”
“John called me again last night. He said he tried to get ahold of you several times, but the number he had was disconnected. Apparently, he doesn’t have your cell phone number.”
A sick sense of panic flooded Trent’s stomach. He couldn’t talk to his former partner. He couldn’t face the mistake he’d made and the lives he’d ruined. “You didn’t give it to him, did you?”
Sam sighed. “No. I figured I’d talk to you first, make sure it was okay.”
“It’s not. I don’t want to talk to him.”
“You shot the man. I think you owe him the courtesy of a fucking phone call now and then.”
No. The best thing he could do for John was leave him in peace. Anything he tried to do now would only make matters worse. “Leave it alone, Sam. I mean it.”
“I can’t. Your life is a pile of shit. Do you think I like seeing you live like this?”
Rather than see the look of pity on Sam’s face, Trent focused on the sun-dried ground, biting into it with his shovel. “If you don’t like it, then don’t look.”
“You’re my brother. I can’t let you go on punishing yourself for an accident.”
Accident. It was funny how such an innocuous word could symbolize the devastation of so many lives. John’s, his wife’s, his kids’. Tyler Craft’s and his mother’s. Trent’s. “It’s none of your business.”
“Like hell it’s not. How much longer do you think Mom and Dad can stand to see you moping around? They should be enjoying their retirement, not worrying about you.”
“Are you telling me I should leave town?” He’d thought about it a lot lately. Maybe it was the right thing to do. Sam had taken over the family business, and it was once again running smoothly under his vigilant care. The transition from father to son was complete, and Sam didn’t need Trent’s help so much anymore.
“No, dickhead, I’m telling you to get some help. Talk to someone.”
“I’m not going to get my head shrinked.”
“Fine, then talk to
me
. I’m standing right here.”
What good would talking do? It wouldn’t change anything. “I just want to get back to work. Can we do that? Please?”
Sam shook his head. “You’re losing it, man. You’re not like you used to be when you were a cop. You used to care. About everyone around you. About yourself.”
“I still care.” It was another lie, but an easy one to tell.
“Then you’ll tell Mom you’ll show up this weekend, make nice with Busty. And get a damn haircut. You look like a junkie.”
“If that’s what it takes to get all of you to leave me the hell alone, then that’s what I’ll do.”
Sam uttered a low curse. “If that’s the way you feel about it, then it’s already too late. You’re already dead.”
Finally, after two years, Sam was catching on.
After spending the day in Ashley’s home, Elise was finally starting to figure out her filing system. She found her sister’s phone bills under the phone book in the kitchen cupboard. Her credit card bills and bank statements were in her closet with her purses. Her unopened mail was on top of the washing machine, which didn’t make any sense to Elise, but probably made some to Ashley.
The bills weren’t current enough to cover the past few days, but she was able to use them to create a pattern of Ashley’s normal routine. Nearly every weekend night, she went to Sally’s. The weeknights she spent mostly near campus at one of three coffee shops.
Ashley had saved all of her account passwords on her computer so she wouldn’t have to remember them, which made Elise’s job of getting the most current information easy.
What she found left her reeling in shock.
Ashley used her bank card or credit card for everything. There were charges for a couple of dollars here and there, proving Ashley still forgot to carry cash around. Nearly every day, Ashley had purchased something, even if it was just a cup of coffee. Friday night, there was a charge at Sally’s, then nothing. Not one of her cards had been used since just before midnight on Friday.
It was as if Ashley had fallen off the face of the planet.
Panic grabbed Elise by the throat, cutting off her air. That sick feeling in her gut welled up until she had to sprint to the bathroom to throw up.
Elise retched into the toilet and sank down, her knees too weak to hold her up. She sat there on the worn vinyl floor, tears streaming down her face, shaking.
Ashley was gone. There was no hint she was still alive. No scrap of hope to which Elise could cling.
Despair hung over her, blocking out the light and air in the room. If Ashley was dead, how could Elise go on?
“You left the door unlocked,” said Trent from the bathroom doorway. “You should be more careful.”
Elise jumped at the sound of his voice, but couldn’t find the strength or the will to get up. She sat with her forehead propped on her arms, which muffled her voice. “You should have knocked.”
“I did. Guess you were too busy puking to hear me.” He stepped into the bathroom, wet a washcloth, and filled a paper cup with water. He handed her the cup, and Elise was grateful to wash the taste of bile from her mouth.
She flushed the toilet, but her arm felt too weak and heavy for even that small task. Getting up wasn’t going to be fun, but sitting here with an audience was too much for her pride to bear.
Elise moved to get up, but Trent pressed his hand to her shoulder. “Stay put, just in case you’re not done yet. Neither one of us want to clean that up.” He lifted her hair off the back of her neck and draped the cool, wet cloth at her nape. “This will help.”
Miraculously, it did. The cloth sucked away some of the nauseating heat coursing through her body and eased her stomach.
He sat down on the edge of the tub, making himself at home. The room was small, and the hair on his legs brushed her bare arm. “Any better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He nodded. “Do you have some sort of Asian stomach flu, or was it a case of nerves?”
“Definitely nerves.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Elise shook her head. “Not really, but I guess I have to.”