Dark Waters (2013) (11 page)

She slid her hand over the smooth granite surfaces in the kitchen. The steaks were defrosting on a platter and everything else had been put away in the cupboards and refrigerator. Nothing left out on the counters. No trash sitting waiting to be thrown out. Not a single envelope or junk mail flyer in sight.

It could be a show home, she realized.

There wasn’t a smidgen of personality anywhere, and maybe that was a sign that she should get out as fast as possible. She helped herself to a glass of water and gulped it down. She wandered through the living room and spotted the huge canvas above the fireplace.

Now
there
was emotion.

It was such a simple picture: three bands of color—bone-white sand, gritty purple ocean, darker teal sky. The sea looked calm, but there was a brooding element to the painting, an energy that was almost tangible.

Her father had given her a painting of Brent’s. It hung above her bed as gentle and soothing as a lullaby. Staring at that scene felt like going on a vacation and had kept her company on many a lonely night. This one above his stone hearth spoke of an impending storm. Of fury waiting to strike.

A shiver ran over her skin.

She moved on, looking for some clue to the truth of Brent’s personality. Something substantial. Something she could trust. A huge flat-screen TV hung on the wall that formed the stairs. The furniture was dark and masculine—dark blue couches with black cushions. Almost everything was made of polished wood, stainless steel, or glass. Nothing to tell her who Brent Carver really was, except for the torment-soaked canvas on the wall.

All this rigid structure contrasted strongly with the passion she saw in his paintings. The same way his stoic expression battled the fire in his eyes. What did it mean? That he controlled it? Disguised it? What was he hiding?

Was it any of her damned business?

She prided herself on having good self-preservation instincts. More importantly, nowadays she listened to them—which was why Peter was history. It worried her that the instincts that should have been sending out five-engine alarm bells were curiously silent in Brent’s presence.

Was she stricken numb with grief? Did that handsome face and ridiculously honed body blind her to reality? Why didn’t she sense the danger in him?

Why had he killed his father? Something terrible must have happened, but what?

Her father’s actions had driven her to the edge of despair, but she’d never wanted to hurt him. Her brain spun with unanswered questions.

Did she stay or go?

Go where?

She didn’t know, but that was no reason for inaction. She wouldn’t be a victim just because she didn’t have options. However, she didn’t want to run around like a headless chicken and get hit by a frickin’ train either.

Tears stung but she blinked them away.

She spotted three photographs in what looked like solid silver frames tucked on the edge of the hearth of the wide stone fireplace. She walked over and stared down at them.

A thick lump wedged in her throat.

One picture showed a black-and-white image of two boys goofing around. Brent, looking so young and skinny, mischief dancing in that gorgeous young face as he mugged for the camera. He held a much smaller boy in a loose headlock. The younger boy, who must be his brother, if the family resemblance was to be believed, stuck out his tongue as he grappled with his big brother. Such an innocent depiction of boyhood happiness. There was another photograph—her father—making a snow angel in the sand. She picked it up and held back sobs as she looked at his handsome face smiling at the camera. She didn’t know the last time he’d looked
that happy. The third photograph showed a shy-looking teenage girl. She had short dark hair and a pretty smile.

“That’s Gina.”

She jumped, almost dropped the frame.

“We were childhood sweethearts.” His voice was brusque.

Emotions were churning through the room in a thick undercurrent. “You still have her photograph? You must have really loved her.”

His eyes were stark against his tanned skin. “She waited for me the whole time I was inside.” There was something in his voice that gave away some terrible tragedy.

Anna stared at the photograph and tried to steel herself. “What happened?”

“She was murdered. Last spring. I broke up with her because she wanted things I couldn’t…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, she got involved with someone else and ended up dying because of it.” His expression darkened. “Bad things happen to people around me. Maybe you should leave.”

A full body shiver took hold of her. This man exuded menace. He’d killed. People around him died. Her silence sounded like a condemnation and his expression hardened. He started to turn away.

“What happened to your brother?” She needed to know. The boy in the picture looked like a live wire.

“The one person left alive in those photos, you mean?”

“You’re alive,” she pointed out.

A veil fell over his eyes.

Something else he’d learned in prison? Give nothing away? Lock himself inside his mind where no one could touch him? She’d learned that trick too.

“Finn found himself happiness with the love of a good woman.” A cynical smile formed at the edge of his lips. That smile said he didn’t believe in love. Neither did she.

“You ever think you’ll be happy? Truly happy?” Up until a few days ago she’d thought she was happy. Now she wasn’t sure she
even knew what it meant. Her father’s death had shown her all the fault lines in her life, fault lines that snaked back to the day he’d been arrested for theft.

His smile grew icy. “I’ve got money in the bank and the greatest view in the world. Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

“That’s not an answer.” She touched a finger to the cheek of that girl in the photograph and Brent flinched. “Do you have a new girlfriend?” Murderer or not, she didn’t want to complicate this man’s relationships. Staying here would do that and he’d suffered enough.

“Christ, no. I prefer my own company.” He padded to the fridge and pulled out a beer. “You staying?” he asked as if he didn’t give a damn. But she could see the rigid, unbending line of his back, and the stiffness of his shoulders.

He’d loved her father. He’d loved that girl, Gina, and he loved his little brother.

It was enough. “For now.”

Katherine stood ready to serve the volleyball. Ed was watching her with what he probably assumed was encouragement, but what she felt as pressure. Her shorts were too snug, her hair kept getting in her eyes, and Davis was dead.

Anna wasn’t answering her phone. Katherine had called twice and left a message. Now she needed to tell Ed. Except then she’d have to tell him she’d lied, and that was the one thing he never tolerated—lies. She was trapped by her own duplicity, and if anyone knew how being lied to hurt, it was her.

Katherine had grown up in a household where her father had repeatedly cheated on her mother. Davis had always been overly romantic, trying to prove he’d never betray her that way. Instead, he’d stolen and gotten arrested. She’d known she shouldn’t have fallen in love with the man, known it and done it anyway. She and Anna had both paid the price.

She batted the ball over the net and scored a point. Their opponents were a couple they’d met at breakfast the previous morning and started spending time with—the Montgomerys. Harvey was OK, but his wife, Barb, was a little sharp for her taste. She did
everything with a competitive air that set Katherine’s teeth on edge.

You really must see the pyramids before they’re gone
.

Well, yeah, that would be nice.

Katherine served an ace. Harvey was nice but wore a Rolex with the relaxed carelessness of the filthy rich. That sort of wealth unnerved her. Reminded her of Davis always telling her that one day he’d give her the world. Her mouth went dry. He’d never cared about appearances or if she ate two donuts for breakfast rather than a bowl of bran flakes, but he’d wanted to give her diamonds.

They’d struggled to make ends meet. Struggled to pay the mortgage and car repairs, and to send Anna to a decent school. She’d nagged him terribly. Some days Katherine wondered if everything had been her fault, that he’d stolen that money just to stop her nagging.

Poor Davis.

“Come on, love,” Ed urged.

She jerked back to the present. Wiped her brow and batted the ball but it went wide. Ed looked angry for a moment but hid it. His competitive streak was starting to irk her. After eight years of marriage, she should be used to it.

Harvey hit the ball toward her and she returned it with an easy dig. Barb blocked it by pounding it straight in her face. Pain exploded in her nose.

“Sorry,” said Barb.

Katherine covered her face with her hands and felt arms curl around her shoulders.

“Are you OK, love?” Ed. Always, Ed.

Her nose stung but she nodded.

“Let’s have a look at you…”

He gripped her chin and she forced herself to hold still. He was just trying to help. Most people liked being fussed over.

“Nothing Malcolm needs to fix, that’s for sure.”

Malcolm was her stepson. A neurosurgery resident in Seattle with the ego to match.

Ed kissed her cheek and rolled the ball back to the opposition. He did not like to lose.

Harvey caught the ball and picked it up. “Are you OK? Do you want to stop?”

Both Barb and Ed looked staggered by the suggestion. They’d play to the death.

She smiled at Harvey, whose eyes softened. “I’m fine. Thank you.” And then she got into position because she wasn’t going to be outdone by someone who took pleasure in another person’s pain. If she could just stop thinking about the past she’d be fine. She kept her eye on Barb. She wasn’t big on forgiving or forgetting and that probably made her a bad person. But life had stopped being all sunshine and roses the day Davis had been arrested and she’d been interrogated for hours in a sweaty horrible police station surrounded by prostitutes and junkies.

Perhaps if she could reach Anna, she wouldn’t be so upset over Davis’s death. Who would have thought that after all these years he’d still have the power to hurt her?

Rand went slowly through the mail. Flyers and a meter reading card, a credit card bill that he pocketed to examine in detail later, a couple of begging letters from charities. No manila envelope that would put an end to this goatfuck.

Marco came down the stairs with a shake of his head. Lucky for the Plantains they were currently on an Alaskan cruise, which Petrie had discovered courtesy of hacking into their e-mail accounts. Unlucky for Rand and Marco, Anna wasn’t here either.

Someone, probably a well-meaning neighbor, had piled the mail up on a table beside the front door. They needed to be careful someone didn’t walk in and catch them here, unless it was Anna. She could walk in anytime and he’d be fucking ecstatic.

It had crossed Rand’s mind that if you knew the right people you could do a lot of disappearing with sixty million. Even though she was squeaky-clean on the surface, Anna had access to all the right people through her father’s prison connections.

He called Kudrow. “She’s not at the mother’s house. Nor is the envelope.”

Kudrow swore. “Nothing at her place or Davis’s apartment. Where the fuck did he mail it?”

If Rand knew, he wouldn’t be standing here like a spare part. “Any luck tracking her phone?”

“Nothing. She ditched it.”

He didn’t bother asking if Petrie had found the money because he’d have already heard if he had. They were running out of options. He scratched the back of his neck. “Where’d Davis serve his time?”

There was a shuffling of paper. “Wilkinson Prison.”

“Any details on the mother or stepfather?” He knew they were away on a cruise but didn’t know when they were due back.

“They get back next Sunday night. Petrie put a tap on the mother’s and stepfather’s cell phones just in case Anna reaches out to them.” Kudrow swore. “Davis Silver is as much a pain in the ass dead as he was alive. No wonder she left the prick.”

Rand rang off without saying good-bye. Davis had been a thorn in his side since this began, but at least he’d shown some balls. He rubbed his chin in memory of the uppercut Davis had delivered just before he’d fallen to his death. He walked into the living room, and saw a photograph of Anna looking miserable in her graduation gown. Picked it up and kissed the cold smooth glass.