Indelible (14 page)

“Not without hanging up. But go ahead and I’ll call back from my cell when it’s through.”

“Okay, but don’t let Suzie or the kids see what I send.”

“If it needs a bra, don’t send it. The guys got me in trouble on my birthday, and Suz withheld my present. Ouch. They can’t hear me in here. Okay, I’m in the office so hang up and send it.”

Trevor laid the three photos on the scanner and pressed the buttons. He closed his eyes and waited. When his phone rang, he said, “Sorry to ruin your day.”

“What is this?”

“Someone sent them in the mail. To me. No explanation.”

“These are on-scene photos.” His throat made a sound of disgust. Conner’s reaction mirrored his own—as it should, since they shared the pain.

“There’s a street sign in one of them. Can you plug it into an accident database or something?”

“We ought to search YouTube. Stinking voyeurs.”

“Reel it in, little brother.”

“I have a friend with the feds. I’ll see if he’ll run it. Was there a postmark on the envelope?”

“No return address on either, but let me check postmarks.” He lifted the first from his desk and sounded out a city in Mississippi.

“Know anyone in Mississippi?”

“I can label it on a map. The other’s from Arkansas. Not even the same state. What’s that about?”

“Huh.” Conner pondered. “Have you offended some activist group?”

“What, the anti-rock-climbing federation?”

“How about personally? Torqued anyone off?”

The only recent altercations were with Jaz. “There’s a journalist on my case.”

“She wanted you, huh?”

“How do you know it’s a female?”

“That
je ne sais quoi
in your voice.”

“Enough with the French. Besides, she’s here in town, not in two Southern states.”

“Sure about that?”

Trevor turned and paced. “Well, I haven’t tracked her.”

“So she could be messing with you.”

He frowned at the photos. “That would be psychotic. Even for Jaz.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to have a conversation.”

“Yes, it would.”

Conner sighed. “All right. Send me the originals and the envelopes they came in. I’ll have my guy run it all through the system.”

“Thanks, Conner. Kiss Suzie.” He set his phone down and rubbed his neck. He considered calling Jonah, but he’d see what Conner came back with first. He yawned. He had a climbing course in two hours, but he might get a power nap—if he dared close his eyes.

Jonah paused his walking patrol of Old Town to study the guy approaching him. It wasn’t that Jay never entered the quaint shopping district, though if he did, it was rare. It might be that it was midmorning, and he
knew for a fact Jay wasn’t happy with his current construction foreman and would ordinarily be watching the crew like a hawk. But actually, it was something he couldn’t put his finger on.

With a ball cap over his raven black hair, and a searching look in his bicolored eyes, Jay came to a stop and studied him back.

Jonah said, “Okay, I’m curious.”

“Something in the air. Can you feel it?”

Jonah looked up and around. The day was actually quite seasonable and so far peaceable. “What am I missing?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me.”

Though Jay had a wry sense of humor, Jonah could tell it didn’t apply here. “It’s all quiet. No calls, though Moser had a profitable time with speeders last night. I backed him up on a drunk and disorderly.”

Jay’s eyes narrowed. “Something wicked this way comes.”

Icy breath found the nape of his neck. “Um …”

“Macbeth.”

“Right. Please tell me it doesn’t apply.”

Jay shrugged. “Just came to mind.”

Jonah rubbed the back of his neck. He loved Jay better than a brother, owed him his life, and trusted him completely. Right now, he really wished he didn’t.

For this infernal pit shall never hold
Celestial Spirits in bondage, not th’ Abyss
Long under darkness cover.

T
hrough narrowed eyes, he identified the evil as like to others of its kind, as if spewed from the same putrid breath, spawned from the same fetid seed. Through chain link, this one observed the carefree play and scuffling of its subjects, the practiced nonchalance a poor disguise to one who recognized the twisted soul.
I know you
, he breathed. Their paths never crossing, still he knew.

Maybe sensing itself observed, it moved from the fence. Following, he made himself a ghost. A shade. Personless. A shadow moving through the monster’s mind, leaving gray insipid prints in the ash of its conscience. The hunter hunted to its den.

Denied, it drenched its hunger in booze. He waited, silent as death in afternoon’s heat, for sleep to come, then entered. Carelessly displayed material confirmed his guess. His course was clear, but first he must be sure no others breathed the tainted air expelled by drunken lungs. From one end to the other of the corrugated home, into closets, cabinets, makeshift crawlspace, he peered and found no fearful trembling, no pleading eyes staring.

Back to the ratty kitchen, behind the stove, one twist, two. The odor sent tentacles through his sinuses into the recesses of his mind. Fire-scourged fingers ached for a spark, a single spark in gas-soaked air. But having found no cowering captive, he slipped away, leaving fate to decide.

Nine

I
t had been almost impossible to keep his focus, teaching people to climb when somewhere a little boy—Trevor shoved the ropes onto the shelf. Whit came and stood in the storage-room doorway. He knew the corrosion that had surfaced with those photos.

“Sara wants you to come over.”

Trevor hung the belts, clanking with carabiners, on the wall.

“She wants to apologize.”

“For what?” He heaved a crash pad into its spot against the wall. “Being less than perfect last night?”

“You know how she is.”

“Tell her everything’s fine.”

“Is it?”

Trevor lowered his arms and canted Whit a look. “She knows she can say what’s on her mind.”

“She says what’s on her heart.”

“Okay.”

Whit braced his hips. “It wouldn’t hurt to come by. Nothing went the way she expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“She remembers too, Trevor.”

His shoulders slumped. She’d wanted to work through it with him. But he brought Natalie, who didn’t know the half of it.

“Come for dinner. Bring wine.”

“I thought she wasn’t drinking with Braden—”

“I am.”

Trevor cocked his head.

“What, I can’t covet your wine budget, Mr. Endorsement?”

“Long time ago, dude.”

“Still paying off.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I invested.”

“That Midas touch.”

Trevor raised his hands. “Okay. I’ll be there, bearing wine.”

The Bordeaux he brought was a 2008 Beychevelle. Sara took it wistfully. “I’m glad you could come.” She looked glad, but also anxious.

He closed his eyes and sniffed long and slow. “Tell me that’s roast beef.”

“Prime rib in burgundy sauce with roasted potatoes and shallots.”

“You’re killin’ me.”

The sparkle found her eyes again as she pulled his head down to kiss his cheek.

Whit came down the hall with Braden in his arms.

“Hey, buddy.” Trevor reached.

Whit handed the baby over. “Fed and changed, just the way you like him.”

“They come that way now?”

“Sure.” Sara snorted. “And they stay that way right until they feed themselves and use the toilet.”

He pressed his face to the baby’s. “You’re a biological marvel.”

“So,” Whit said. “What’d you do with the pictures?”

“I faxed them to Conner. He’s got a Fed running them through a database that might identify the incidents. I haven’t heard back.” He turned to Sara. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

“I just can’t believe someone would do that to you.”

“I can’t believe someone did it to him.” Hurting all over again, he slipped his free arm around her. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head, tears welling.

“She had nightmares last night. Braden’s baby seat in the street. Cars coming.”

He looked into the baby’s face, felt his arm tighten reflexively. “Don’t open anything else that comes to me.”

She sniffed. “You think it’ll happen again?”

“This wasn’t the first. I got one the other night.”

She looked at Whit, who shrugged.

“I didn’t think it was real, just a stupid gag photo.”

Sara stared. “Another child?”

“Just the setup. No outcome. Maybe he’s fine.”

“What is wrong with people!”

He shook his head. “Let’s have wine. One glass won’t hurt.”

“Maybe half a glass.” She took the bottle to the kitchen to decant.

Trevor swayed side to side with the baby, a motion that happened automatically as though Braden transmitted a signal.

Sara handed Whit, then him, a goblet of the dark ruby-colored wine. Her own glass held a fraction of theirs. Mother’s sacrifice. His mom had splintered five ways when his dad walked out, trying to meet all their needs. It took no thought at all to step in and fill what gaps he could.

His chest squeezed hard. He didn’t want to remember how he’d failed. But he’d had his own nightmares last night.

Sara rubbed his arm. “I was worried about you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“After Ellis—”

“Sara. Don’t.” With the baby crooked in one arm, he took a sip, hardly tasting it.

She slid an arm around his waist and squeezed. “I’ll check the roast.”

Glancing, he caught Whit’s crossed arms and complex expression. If he’d tried the wine he asked for, he made no comment. His glass sat on the curio cabinet beside him.

Trevor handed the baby over. “Are we okay?”

“You have to admit it’s weird.”

“What’s weird?”

“Me, Sara, you.”

After all these years it was weird?

“Forget it.”

“Whit, if there’s an issue.”

“There’s not.”

“You want some space? If you and Sara want to get away, I can manage the store.”

“Yeah, maybe. Might be good for the three of us to take off for a bit.” He snuggled his son.

“Plan it. I’ve got you covered.” If what he saw indicated more, Whit needed a break. This crazy mail didn’t involve them or anyone else. It had come to him personally.

Natalie slid both hands into her hair, surprised and not, to have Trevor at her house again. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He leaned on the door frame. “Are you busy?”

His arm was powerfully built, muscles and tendons like a Da Vinci masterpiece, lean and defined—just the way she’d sculpted them. He no longer seemed immortal, but very much flesh and bone, even vulnerable. What was he doing with rolled shirt sleeves and no coat in the dark at eight thousand feet?

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Forgot my coat at Whit’s.”

“Well, come in.” The story she was reading would wait.

He nodded over his shoulder. “You want to go out? There’s dancing at Fuego.”

She’d heard the crowds at the new club were stretching occupancy limits. “I’m not sure I’m up for that.”

“You could sculpt a face volcano.”