Thread of Fear (17 page)

THIRTY FIVE

The thought of going back to the hotel room was unbearable and as much as I didn't want to admit it, I needed my family.

I left right from the Dennison home, driving through the desert twenty miles over the speed limit, trying to quiet my mind. I wondered if I'd made a mistake in telling Kathleen about Aaron. I'd broken an agreement with Anchor and I'd devastated a woman who'd been clinging to a thread of hope for years. I wasn't sure any good would come of it. Maybe someday Kathleen would be able to accept that what I'd told her was true, but without facts or physical proof, she might still cling to the belief that he was still alive.

But I remembered her words about her husband. She'd wanted closure, asked me for it, in the same way that I knew she needed closure about what had happened to her son. I just was no longer sure that what I'd done had helped her. And in doing so, I might've put my own life, and the lives of the people I loved, in jeopardy.

Speeding through the Nevada and California deserts, the speedometer pushing ninety, seemed the least of my worries.

I pulled into the driveway in Coronado just after midnight. The lights were off in the house, the windows dark. I didn't want to scare Lauren so I texted her to tell her I was home. In the driveway.

A minute later, the front door opened and she walked out wearing red pajama pants and one of my old sweatshirts that failed to hide her pregnant stomach. She was barefoot. I got out of the car and gently closed the door. Even still, the sound of it latching reverberated through the still evening air.

“I didn't realize you were coming home,” she whispered, her hair tousled, her eyes heavy with sleep.

“I didn't know I was,” I said. I motioned toward the house. “Let's go inside.”

We went inside and I closed the door behind us. The aroma of garlic and sautéed onions still lingered and I wondered what they'd had for dinner. A nightlight glowed in the kitchen, casting a soft shadow into the living room. Lauren had flipped the hall light on but otherwise, the house was still dark.

“I'm gonna go check on Elizabeth,” I said. “Then I'll be in.”

She looked at me, puzzled, then nodded. “Okay.”

I kicked off my shoes and walked upstairs. I pushed open the door to Elizabeth's room, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. She was on her side, the blankets pulled up to her chin. Her blinds were pulled and I stumbled over a pair of her shoes. Her running shoes. I smiled.

I approached her bed soundlessly. Her hair was a tangled mess above her head and her mouth was barely open, her eyes closed tight. The blankets rose and fell with each breath. My heart constricted.

I leaned down and kissed her forehead lightly and her skin was warm under my lips. She stirred, squirming beneath the blankets, then settled back into sleep. I pulled the door closed behind me quietly and went to find Lauren.

She was back in bed, waiting for me. I pulled off my shirt and stepped out of my jeans and slid under the covers next to Lauren.

She found my hand under the blankets and squeezed it. “Are you alright?”

I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Not really.”

“Did... did something happen?”

I nodded.

“Something bad?”

I placed my free hand on her stomach. I lifted the hem of the sweatshirt and my fingertips touched her smooth, warm skin. “Yeah.”

She was silent for a moment. “Are you going to tell me?”

“Their son is dead,” I said.

“What?”

“The boy I went looking for years ago. He's dead.” I pressed my fingers to her belly, willing the baby to kick. I needed to feel it, needed to feel that new life stirring inside of her. But her stomach was still.

“You found him?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“What?”

“I didn't need to.”

She squinted at me in the darkness. “You aren't making sense.”

“I know.” I sighed. “I'm sorry. I don't think I want to talk about it right now.”

Her eyes searched mine, looking for the things I was leaving unsaid. “Okay.”

We lay there in silence for a few minutes. I listened to Lauren's breathing, concentrated on the rising and falling of her chest

“What if I'd shown up here one day and told you she was dead?” I asked. “Elizabeth, I mean. Like, I'd found her or something that was irrefutable that demonstrated she was gone. What would you have done?”

She inhaled sharply. “I don't like to think about that, Joe.”

“Me, either.”

I waited for her to respond.

“I don't know,” she said, answering my question. “Probably cried. Screamed. Collapsed.” She stopped, took another deep breath. “I don't know. I think I always thought that's what would happen, though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I could hear the fear in her voice. “That doorbell rang a lot of times over the years. Times when I wasn't expecting anyone. And a lot of those times, I was sure it was going to be you on the other side, telling me she was gone.”

I was still holding her hand and I squeezed it gently, trying to reassure her. “Did you ever think I'd bring good news?”

“No,” she said. “I didn't let myself think that way. You were the hopeful one, remember? I thought it was easier to just try and accept that she was gone. So any time hope tried to creep into my mind, I ignored it. Crushed it. Got rid of it.”

I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling, her hand still firmly locked in mine. “I wasn't hopeful. I just had to know. I'd prepared myself that when I found her, it wasn't going to be good. But I needed to know, so there was never a doubt. No gray area. No more nights left wondering what had happened. That was my goal.”

“And thank God for that,” she said. Her voice cracked. “She wouldn't be in her room right now if you hadn't needed that.”

She was right. No one else had been looking for; everyone had given up hope. Kids that disappeared slowly faded from the spotlight, new stories taking their place. Families never forgot but police departments and the media? Cold cases were rarely resuscitated. Even when they were, the tone was always somber and grim. There was rarely hope. The most families could usually hope for was resolution.

Lauren slid closer to me beneath the blankets. Her legs twined with mine and she rubbed her foot against my calf. Her toes were cold but I didn't flinch away. I needed her. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yeah. I just needed to be home tonight.” I slipped my arm beneath her and pulled her to me. “With you.”

She laid her head on my shoulder and threw her arm around my middle. Her lips touched my neck, then moved to my cheek. Her breath was hot, her mint toothpaste faint. “I'm glad you're here.”

“Me, too,” I said. “Me, too.”

THIRTY SIX

The outdoor deck behind the Hotel Del Coronado was one of my favorite places in the world, one I'd missed during all the years I'd been gone from San Diego. They'd upgraded it over the years, adding an upscale bar, expensive furniture and small fire pits, but when you walked out on to it, you were just high enough above the sand to feel like you were about to walk out onto the ocean.

I'd slept better than I'd anticipated and I was up early the next morning, making breakfast for both Elizabeth and Lauren. Elizabeth was shocked to see me home and hugged me as soon as she saw me standing at the stove. She asked if we were running that afternoon and I told her we'd have to see, that I had a few things I had to do and I wasn't sure how long all of it was going to take me.

“That's fine,” she said, digging into her eggs. She liked them extra cheesy and had heaped a handful of shredded cheddar in top of her pile. “I'm just glad you're here.”

Which made driving back at the late hour completely worth it.

Lauren ate a few quick bites and all three of us walked out of the house at the same time. I kissed her goodbye at her car, holding on to her longer and tighter than normal, and then drove Elizabeth to school. She hugged me before she got out of the car, her arms tight around my neck, her lipgloss leaving a smear on my cheek as she offered me a light kiss goodbye, and said she'd see me after school. She turned around and gave me a little wave before heading into the building and in that moment it almost felt as though the years she'd been gone had evaporated

It felt like we were a family again.

I drove straight from the high school to the Del. I'd texted Detective Mike Lorenzo and asked him to meet me there for coffee if he had the time. I wasn't sure what his response was going to be, but I was a little surprised when he texted me back immediately and said he'd be there.

He was already perched on the couch at the end of the deck, a mug of coffee clutched between his hands. He saw me coming and nodded, but his expression told me nothing about how he felt about seeing me. I stopped at the bar and picked up my own coffee, then sat down next to him on the outdoor wicker couch.

“Didn't expect to hear from you,” he said, his eyes fixed on the ocean.

“I know,” I said, my stomach knotted. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“I said yes before I could get pissed off and say no.”

“I figured you'd still be pissed off when you first read it.”

He shrugged. “I don't know what I am anymore.”

Mike had been my only friend on the Coronado force when Elizabeth went missing and the department turned their magnifying glass on me. He'd stuck by me through all of it and then helped me look for Elizabeth for the entire time she was gone. He'd found the picture of her in a file that had eventually led me to finding her. I'd repaid that friendship and loyalty by wrongfully suspecting that he might've had a hand in her disappearance. I'd gotten confused and hadn't trusted my gut, turning on the one person who'd never let me down. He was still confused and angry and our friendship was, at best, strained.

I sipped at the coffee. “I'm sorry, Mike. I don't think I've said that directly. But I am sorry.”

He nodded, still watching the ocean. A thin layer of clouds hugged the coast but the sun was shining and I knew it would burn through soon.

“I got screwed up in the head,” I said. “I should've known better.”

“Maybe we both should've known it was Bazer,” he said, referring to our former boss and the one who'd been responsible for Elizabeth's abduction. “Maybe we should've seen it all along.”

“I don't know about that.” I hadn't suspected anyone on the force, or anyone else I knew. It seemed inconceivable to me that someone who'd known our family could so easily do something to rip us apart. “But I'm sorry that I ever had a doubt about you. It wasn't fair and it wasn't called for and I know I can't take it back. So I just want you to know I'm sorry.”

We sat there in silence, watching the small waves roll in and out, the seagulls squawking as they circled the beach. Mike sat still, his eyes forward, the mug rising up to his lips every minute or so. I didn't know if he'd accepted the apology or cared about what I'd said or if he was thinking about  throwing me off the deck.

“I don't think you wanted to meet this morning to apologize,” he finally said.

“Actually, I did,” I said honestly. “I owed you a straight up apology without excuses and I wanted to do it face to face.” I took a sip of my own coffee. “There's another reason, too, but we can leave it at that if you want.”

He grunted and shifted on the couch. He stared into his coffee, thinking. Then he looked at me. “What do you need, Joe?”

He knew me so well and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. He knew I needed something, just by looking at me and by talking to me. There weren't many people who could do that, but Mike had always been one who could.

“You still do a lot of camping?” I asked.

“Yeah, more or less.” His brow furrowed, clearly not anticipating that question.  “You need a tent or something?”

“No.” I shook my head. “You still doing mostly desert stuff?”

The puzzled look stayed on his face. “Yeah, as long as it's warm enough. Went down to Baja about two months ago, out in Borrego before that.”

“How about the Salton Sea or Yuma?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Joe?”

“I'm looking for someone,” I told him. “I think he might be at a campground in either of those places.”

When I'd found the travel guide in Carina Armstrong's home, I'd found those two pages earmarked. The corners hadn't been folded over for long and when Kathleen Dennison told me that he was a bit of a camper and that his new gear was missing, I wondered if they hadn't had some plan to get out of town. Except something had gone awry and he'd gone without her. If I was going to hide out, but still needed access to regular amenities, I thought that a campground might be a place I'd check out.

“I thought you were getting out of the looking-for-people business,” he said.

“I am,” I told him. “This is it.”

“So why this guy?”

“It's complicated.”

He watched me and I could see the doubt and skepticism creep into his expression. I hated to see him look at me that way, but I wasn't sure that I'd given him another choice, based on how I'd treated him over the prior few months. If I really wanted his help and if I really wanted to be friends again, I was going to have to give him more.

“There was a guy,” I said. “A guy who helped me in Minneapolis with Elizabeth. And he helped me out here, too.” I chewed on my lip, leveling my gaze on Mike. “I owe him. He needs me to find a guy named Patrick Dennison. Works for him.”

“And you couldn't tell him you were out of the business?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

I shook my head. “No. I couldn't. I owe him.”

“That doesn't sound good,” Mike commented.

“I just need to be done with it. So I can be done with all of it.”

He nodded slowly. I knew he was wondering what kind of trouble I was in, but he was keeping his distance, and I didn't blame him. I wouldn't have given him specifics either way.

“I don't know either place,” he said.

“You know anyone who might know them?”

He shrugged. “Probably.”

We sat there quietly.

“What happens if you find him?” he asked.

My gut churned. I hadn't eaten any of the eggs I'd made for Lauren and Elizabeth and the coffee I was drinking sat unsettled in my stomach. “I don't know. I'll call the guy I'm working for and tell him I found him. We'll go from there.”

Mike looked at me and I knew he could tell I was lying to him, as if he could see what was going on in my head. I didn't like lying to him, especially after I'd busted up our friendship. I'd been wrong about him, had let my paranoia and fear override my common sense. But I couldn't tell him the truth; I couldn't risk involving someone else I cared about. For both of our sakes.

He set the mug down on the table in front of us, then checked his watch. “I need to go.”

I was disappointed. He hadn't offered his help. He hadn't declined, but he hadn't offered. The rift was still there.

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks for coming.”

He nodded.

“And I meant what I said, Mike,” I told him. “Whether you want to help me or not, I meant what I said. I'm sorry.”

He put his hands on his hips and glanced at the ocean, then turned back to me. “I know you do. But you're right.”

“About?”

He cleared his throat. “You should've known better. About me.”

He left me there to think about that for a while.