Hold Back the Dark (17 page)

Brent threw himself back in his chair, his mohawk barely shifting, and shrugged his shoulders. He was a nice-looking kid, Josh had to admit. Tall, broad shouldered, and long legged. The parts of his hair that weren’t purple were a sandy blond. His features were sculpted.

“Shit,” Brent said. “Shit. Shit. Shit. I knew that chick would be trouble. She had trouble written all over her.”

“But?” Josh asked.

“But she was like totally into it. She was all over me. It’s not so easy to say no, you know?” Brent looked at Josh pleadingly.

This wasn’t a group therapy session, it was an interrogation. Still, you often got more information if the subject thought you were on their side. Josh gave him a smile. “She was pretty hot?”

“You have no idea,” he moaned. “Plus she had this thing about doing it in garages.”

“Garages?” Elise repeated.

“Yeah. You know, where we might get caught. And it was like having the cars around totally turned her on. Freaky, but
so
worth it.”

“So did you go to a garage on Tuesday night?” Josh asked.

Brent made a disgusted noise. “No. That’s what I thought we were going to do. She’d even jacked a bottle of wine from her old man’s wine fridge, but she was all freaky that night.”

Elise leaned forward. “Freaky? How was she freaky?”

“I don’t know how to describe it. Freaky, okay? Like one second she’d be all over me, practically sticking her tongue down my throat and grabbing my dick through my pants. The next second, she was all shaky and crying. That’s why I took her back when I did. I didn’t need the hassle, man. There are plenty of other chicks who want a piece of me without getting all weird.” Brent pushed away from the table. “I took her back to her tight-assed girlfriend’s place and went down to the Avalon to meet up with my peeps.”

“What time did you get to the Avalon?” Elise asked.

Brent shrugged. “Probably around nine-thirty.”

“And you were there until when?”

“Close to midnight.”

Josh shoved a pad of paper across to Brent. “Write down some names and numbers. We’re going to need your peeps to verify where you were.”

Brent took the pad and pen and started writing.

Elise gave a little head jerk to Josh. She wanted to talk.

Josh nodded and stood up. “We’ll be back in a minute, Brent.”

They both stood up and walked out.

“Hey!” he called after them. “Hey! Where are you going?”

Josh shut the door without answering. It wouldn’t hurt the little creep to sweat it out for a few minutes. “What’s up?” he asked.

“Does this kid remind you of anybody?” she asked. “Somebody involved in the case?”

“I can’t think of anybody else with a purple-tipped mohawk. What are you trying to tell me?”

“Look past the dyed hair and the piercings, Josh. This kid is the spitting image of Sean Walter.”

Carl stepped into the garage. Most people didn’t like a detached garage these days. They wanted the convenience of never stepping outside, of going from one climate-controlled environment into another. Carl had always liked having the separate structure. He liked the garage being its own place, separate from the rest of the house.

Sarah teased him. She said it wasn’t a garage—it was a shrine to his car. She was right, in a way. He did love the Cougar. He liked that it had its own sacrosanct place. It wasn’t a shrine, though. It was a place he could go to think, with the excuse of changing the oil or checking the washer fluid. Sarah was content to leave all that up to him and he was happy to take of it for her. He was happy to take care of her and Thomas. Period.

He let himself in through the side door and nearly jumped back out when he saw Sean. The garage wasn’t a place Sean spent much time without duress. Sure, Sean liked the Saab Carl had bought him as a graduation present, but he’d never been a car guy the way Carl was. Carl had never figured out what Sean
was
into, after he and his mother had left. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Hey, son, what are you doing out here?” Carl asked.

Sean seemed equally startled to see his father. He put the shovel he was carrying into its place on the wall with gloved hands. “Putting away my tools when I’m done with them, like you taught me,” he said with a tight smile.

“What were you doing with the shovel?” Carl came a little closer. Sean had cleaned off the shovel, but not completely. Some dirt and grass clung to the bottom of the blade.

“Remember Sarah said she’d like a crape myrtle over on the west side of the house?” Sean said, stripping off the latex gloves.

Carl smiled. “Sarah knew what a crape myrtle was?” Gardening was not exactly his fiancée’s forte. That was okay. She had other things to recommend her.

Sean smiled back. “She said she wanted one of those pretty trees with the purple flowers, and I knew what she meant. I heard something on the radio about now being the time to plant them, so I stopped by the nursery and picked one up and planted it over on the west side of the house. Sort of an early Mother’s Day present.”

Carl pulled a pair of latex gloves from his personal kit, slipped them on, grabbed one of the thick blue work towels off the roll, and wiped the dirt and grass off the bottom of the shovel. “You went out and did that in the dark?”

“Doesn’t take much light to dig a hole. Besides, I had a flashlight.” Sean shrugged and started for the door.

“Sean,” Carl called to him before he left.

Sean turned slowly around. “Yeah, Dad.”

“It means a lot to me that you’re accepting Sarah and Thomas. Not every child would be so welcoming to a new family coming in. I’ve seen how much time you spend with Thomas and all the things you’ve done to gain his trust.” Carl’s voice caught a little in his throat. That was a good touch. He wanted Sean to hear the emotion in his voice. “I wanted you to know how much that means to me, how happy that makes me.”

Sean cocked his head to one side. “It’s my pleasure, Dad. Thomas is a great kid and Sarah is really sweet. They’ve been awfully good to me, too. Not every new wife-to-be would want her grown stepson coming home for an indefinite period of time.”

“She is sweet, isn’t she?” Carl liked to hear that other people thought highly of Sarah. He was proud of his fiancée. She was exactly what he’d been looking for for years and years. “And Thomas. What a kid, eh?”

“Yeah,” said Sean. “He’s a real peach. I love him to pieces.”

Carl smiled, remembering when he used to say the same thing about Sean. He turned to leave the garage.

Sean stopped him. “Dad?”

Carl turned. “Yes, Sean.”

“I love you, too, Dad. I wanted you to know that. I love you a lot.”

S
ean walked into the house from the garage. That was one mess taken care of. His hands were still shaking, but that was okay. As long as he could keep cleaning up the messes, maybe everything would be okay.

Right now, he needed a little space. He needed to be someplace safe. He looked down at his clothes, covered with dirt. He’d clean up, and then get the hell out of this house for a while.

He went into the bathroom, stripped off his shirt, and started running hot water into the sink.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Sean smiled. Thomas was peeking around the doorframe. He had on red and blue Spider-Man pajamas that had black webs under the arms. Sean remembered having pajamas a little like those. They had been Superman pajamas with a detachable cape, and he remembered feeling like he could fly when he had those pajamas on. He wondered if Thomas felt the same way. He wondered if Thomas felt like he
needed
to fly away, the way Sean had by the time he was only a little bit older than Thomas was now.

“I’m shaving,” Sean said.

Thomas looked serious. “How do you do that?”

Sean scooped the little boy up and plopped him down on the counter next to him. “I’ll show you. Hold out your hand.”

Thomas held out his hand and Sean marveled at the chubby perfection of it. He squirted a little shaving cream into it.

“You put the shaving cream on your face like this.” He lathered up his own face to demonstrate.

Thomas copied him and then looked in the mirror and giggled. “I look like Santa Claus.”

“Maybe I should sit on your lap and ask you for a present,” Sean teased.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “You can’t sit on my lap. You’re too big. You have to get your own presents.”

“Truer words have never been spoken, my brother.” Sean looked around the bathroom for something safe Thomas could use to scrape off the shaving cream. He grabbed a toothbrush from the drawer.

Thomas crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not a shaver. That’s a toothbrush.”

“It’ll be your pretend shaver. Use the non-bristly end.”

Thomas didn’t uncross his arms and didn’t take the toothbrush.

“It’s that or a washcloth, my man,” Sean said.

“Okay.” Thomas took the toothbrush, but made a face.

“Now, here’s the tricky part. You have to scrape all that off without cutting yourself or making a big mess.” Sean started shaving and Thomas imitated his movements.

“You’re a natural at this.”

Thomas looked up, his eyes big and round. “I am?”

“Absolutely. You were clearly born to shave. I’ve never seen a five-year-old shave like you do.”

Thomas’s chest puffed up a little, and Sean hid a smile behind his razor. He remembered what praise from a grown-up had meant to him when he was a little guy. He remembered especially how it had felt when his dad had praised him. Carl had been his hero.

“Now you wipe the rest off.” He got a washcloth wet and handed it to Thomas.

Thomas looked at the washcloth and then back up at Sean. “You said it was the toothbrush
or
the washcloth. I used the toothbrush. Why do I have to use the washcloth?”

The kid had a point. “I’m sorry, it’s the toothbrush
and
the washcloth. I’m going to use my washcloth, too.”

“That’s okay. It was just a mistake. Everybody makes mistakes. Ms. Barnett says so.” Thomas wiped the last of the shaving cream off his face. Ms. Barnett was his teacher and apparently the arbiter of all that was good and right in the world.

“Thanks. I appreciate you cutting me some slack.” Sean ruffled his hair, picked Thomas up off the counter, and set him down on the floor before wiping the last of the shaving cream off his own face.

“Sean?” Thomas asked. “Is lying the same as keeping a secret?”

Sean froze for a moment. “No. Not exactly.”

“But sometimes you have to lie to keep something secret, right? Like our secrets. Sometime I might have to lie to keep those.”

“Yeah, you do sometimes have to lie to keep something secret. But the best way to keep a secret is to not say anything at all.” Sean kept his eyes on Thomas’s to see if he understood.

Thomas nodded solemnly.

“Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your mind, buddy.” Sean busied himself at the sink.

“I guess I do.”

Sean glanced at his watch. “Listen, kiddo. I’ve got an errand I need to run, but I’ll come back as early as I can, okay? And you and I can talk. Maybe we can play our special game tonight, too. It’s Saturday, so you can stay up a little later than usual.”

Thomas nodded and started to walk out of the bathroom. He turned in the doorway. “I don’t know if I like our special game, Sean. It makes me feel funny.”

Sean’s heart pounded. “You’ll get used to it. Then it won’t make you feel so funny anymore. Okay?”

Thomas nodded again. “You promise you’ll come back early?”

“I promise.”

Sean went into his room and shut the door, trying not to let it click. He opened the closet door then and stared at the pair of shoes sitting in his closet. They would have to be disposed of and soon. It had taken him a while to notice the streaks and stains on them, and a little longer still to realize what they were. He’d watched enough TV shows to know that he could clean them all he wanted, but trace evidence would still remain on them. They couldn’t be found in this house.

He had no idea how long it would take the police to figure out what had been going on behind the scenes at Dawkin-Walter Consulting, but he was pretty sure they would figure it out eventually. That Detective Wolf didn’t strike him as stupid.

It would only be a matter of time before they went from looking into things at Dawkin-Walter to taking a good long look at the Walter household. He’d stick the shoes in his gym bag to carry them out of the house, and toss them into a Dumpster. Even if someone found them, they would never be able to trace them back to this household.

Just in case, though, Sean pulled on a pair of latex gloves—he always kept some handy—and picked up a spray bottle filled with ammonia and water and started wiping down the shoes.

That was one sick twisted son of a bitch. Kyle dropped the binoculars. The view into the bathroom had been obstructed, but he’d seen enough to make him want to puke. The pretty boy sicko really knew how to manipulate. He had that little kid eating out of the palm of his hand.

Kyle knew his type. One of his stepbrothers had been the “good cop” to the other two brothers’ “bad cops.” He had won Kyle’s trust with presents and treats and the thing that Kyle had craved more than anything else: attention. He’d made Kyle believe that he’d cared. He’d convinced Kyle that he liked him. Then he had turned Kyle over to his brothers to be tortured and abused.

Aimee was the one who had helped Kyle see it. She was the one who had shown him that the kindness that Warren had shown him had all been an act. She’d led him through the steps that helped him realize that it wasn’t because Kyle was weak or unlovable. His brothers had been cruel and abusive, and blaming himself was wrong. In a way, it wasn’t fair to blame them either. Warren and Gary and Bill had learned their craft at the hands of a master. Or should he say mistress?

Pretty boy was leaving the bathroom now. Kyle figured he must be getting ready to go out. That was just fine with him. He’d seen everything he needed to see, and he knew exactly where he needed to go to get a very special present for Aimee. He hoped she’d understand the message he was going to leave her. But of course she would. She was smart. Really smart. Then she’d know that Kyle only had her best interests at heart. She’d know he was only doing this for her own good. She needed to understand that he was the one for her. She’d helped him understand so much; now it was his turn to help her.

He knew where this creep’s secrets were buried now. Literally. He hugged himself and chuckled at his own joke. He’d show those secrets to Aimee. She might be a little scared at first, but then Kyle was sure she’d be grateful. Just like he’d been grateful to her for showing him so much, even though talking about it and thinking about it had been scary for him, too.

Kyle imagined Aimee thanking him. She’d walk up to him with that long stride of hers. She’d smile. She’d open her arms to hold him. He imagined himself pressed against the softness of her breasts, inhaling the light fresh scent of her hair. His hands would circle her waist and pull her closer to him. She’d murmur encouragement in his ear. She’d tell him how thankful she was he had come into her life. She’d tell him how strong he was, and how smart. She’d thank him for showing her the truth about the people around her and tell him that he was the only one she trusted, just as she was the only one he trusted. They would be together forever. A team. Facing the world and beating the bullies who tried to tear them down.

He touched himself through his jeans. His cock was hard and pulsing. He glanced around. He was well hidden; no one would see him. He could uncover the pretty boy’s secrets a little later.

He rolled over on his back, unzipped his jeans, and closed his eyes. As he grabbed hold of himself, he imagined Aimee again walking toward him with her arms open.

“Well, who doesn’t like a good ratatouille?” Simone asked, as the same-named movie ended. She sat curled up in the corner of her couch, sipping a glass of red wine.

“Me,” her husband, Brian, answered as he scooped their youngest off the floor where he’d fallen asleep. “I hate eggplant; it’s slimy. Even when it’s not being made by rats.”

“Do you think you can wake Dylan up enough to get him to pee before you put him in bed?” Simone asked.

“I’ll give it a try.” Brian walked out of the room with Dylan draped over him.

“You two need to go brush and pee, too,” Simone said to the two older boys.

“Mom!” Connor, Simone’s oldest at the ripe old age of eleven, blushed. He cast a sidelong look at Aimee, who was ensconced in her own corner of the couch with her own glass of red wine. “Could you be a little more discreet?”

Simone’s eyes widened. “This from a child who just yesterday ran naked from my house to watch the garbage truck?”

“It wasn’t yesterday, Mom,” Connor protested, turning even redder. “It was like five years ago.”

“Fine. Please go get ready for bed, Connor. You, too, Jackson.” Simone made a shooing gesture with her hands.

As the two boys headed out of the room, Jackson said, “Yeah, Connor, go pee.”

“Shut up!” Connor gave Jackson a little shove.

Jackson shoved back and the two were off down the hallway in a jostling match.

Simone rolled her eyes. “What did I do to deserve this much testosterone?”

“Married a guy with good Y chromosome swimmers?” Aimee smiled. Simone loved being the queen bee in a house of men. She also liked to complain.

“There should be some kind of test they have to take before you agree to procreate with them,” Simone grumbled.

“You’re lucky, and you know it.” Aimee stood up and yawned. It had been a long week. She’d felt the tension melt away from her as she’d eaten the burgers that Brian grilled and drank the good wine he’d poured. Part of her didn’t want to leave. Another part of her couldn’t wait to get home and into her own bed.

“I should go. I think it’s past my bedtime, too.” She shivered a little. It was a lonely drive between Simone’s house and her condo late at night.

Simone’s watchful gaze stayed on Aimee’s face. “Do you want Brian to drive you home? I could bring your car over to your place tomorrow morning, and you could drive me back after our run.”

That sounded good. It also sounded way too chicken shit. “It’s not far, and I didn’t have that much to drink.”

“I don’t think you’re too drunk to drive. You know that isn’t why I offered.” Simone’s lips pursed in irritation.

“I know why you offered, and it’s exactly why I’m saying no. I’m fine. I’ve moved on.”

“And it’s time you moved on in some other ways.”

Aimee started putting her shoes back on. “Like what?”

“What were we doing here tonight?”

“Having dinner and a movie.” She smiled. “It’s the classic American date. What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong is that you shouldn’t be dating Brian and me. You should be dating a real guy, having a real date.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you’re just not that into me? That you don’t want to take our relationship to the next level?” Aimee teased.

Simone grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. “I just think that you deserve better.”

Brian walked in. “I’m feeling left out here. Do I at least get to watch?”

Simone launched a second pillow at her husband.

Aimee hugged her friend good-bye and let Brian walk her to the curb.

“Hey, listen,” he said awkwardly. “I kind of heard what you and Simone were talking about. She’s right, you know. It’s been a year since you and Danny broke up, hasn’t it?”

Sometimes the pain of breaking off her engagement seemed like it had happened yesterday. Other times, it seemed like the woman who had fallen in love during weekend trips to Napa and ski getaways in Tahoe was a complete stranger. Brian was right, though. It would be a year next month since she’d given Danny back the ring that had belonged to his grandmother, and watched him walk out the door without a backward glance.

“About a year. Yes.”

She beeped the car open.

“Danny was a fool,” Brian said. “He should have stuck with you.”

“He did his best, Brian. It’s not that easy.” Aimee gave Brian a hug and got into her car. He waved and headed back inside as she drove down the street. He was a good guy and he meant well; he simply had no clue.

Traumatic events left marks. When the shock and numbness had worn off after the attack, Aimee had become powerfully angry. At first she didn’t realize it. She’d had trouble sleeping, trouble eating. She hadn’t wanted to go out with friends. Danny had tried to tempt her with a trip to wine country to revisit some of the places where they’d first fallen in love, but she’d wept so hard while trying to pack, he’d canceled the trip.