Pitch Black (8 page)

As they talked, the guys piled up mountains of stripped bones at a rate that would rival those competitive eating contest guys on ESPN.

Hope rose in her chest. This could be a turning point for Ethan. Life would never be exactly the same after what he’d been through on that mountain, but perhaps it was sliding back toward normal—or at least normal-ish.

She smiled, feeling warm and at peace as she watched the two guys talk. Licking her fingers, she continued to eat Gabe the Gourmet’s unhealthful, artery-clogging, fat food. She decided she’d wait until later to feel guilty about it.

GABE WATCHED RELIEF GROW IN MADDIE’S
eyes as Ethan ate like the teenager he was and got swept up in the subject of football, which had just switched from the fall schedule for UT to the prospects for the local high school team, the Buckeye Rebels.

“Have you considered playing?” Gabe asked. The kid certainly had the build.

Ethan shrugged. “It’s way too late for me to start. I mean, most of those guys have been playing since they were in grade school. I wouldn’t have a chance.”

Madison said, “If you think you’d like to, maybe we could find a football camp next summer.”

“Nah. I don’t want to play for losers . . . everybody says without Zach Gilbert, the Rebels are royally screwed.”

Gabe saw that for the self-defensive move it was. Ethan was already in a tenuous social position; new kid, best friend hospitalized for what the rumor mill was calling a nervous breakdown.

“I understand it was steroid use,” Maddie said sadly. “At
seventeen.
”

Before Gabe’s surprise formed a question on his lips, Ethan said, “No shit?” He paused with a rib halfway to his lips. “That’s just stupid.”

“It is. And a horrible, tragic waste,” Maddie agreed. She shifted her attention to Gabe. “We push and push these kids, and for what? A winning
high school
season? Where are our priorities as parents and coaches?”

Gabe didn’t know which took him more off guard, her jumping in with both feet on a subject that could be upsetting for Ethan, or the fact that she already knew about the autopsy findings.

She seemed to read his surprise. “It’s my job to stay on top of the news.” She sounded just a tad defensive. “Part of that is communication with the ME’s office—especially in a case like this. It
is
public record, after all.”

Gabe lifted a palm in her direction. “I’m not criticizing. Just surprised at the speed of your acquisition of the fact.”

“News has a short shelf life—that’s why they call it news. I have to obtain information quickly.”

“Yeah,” Ethan piped up. “M won an award in Philly because she’s the best there is.”

Maddie harrumphed. “Hardly.”

“I have no doubt about that.” Gabe locked his gaze to hers. “I could tell first time I saw her at a city council meeting.”

For a moment, her gaze flirted with Gabe’s, probing, suggesting possibilities that he had been hoping for for weeks. His pulse actually kicked up a notch. After a pause in conversation that was bordering on obvious—even to a teenager—she disentangled her gaze.

Apparently not quickly enough; Ethan made a sound of disgust, then said, “Hello? . . . Impressionable teen in the room.”

Maddie rolled her eyes. “Yes, well,” she said, the first syllable just shaky enough to tell Gabe she was as affected as he, “this whole steroid situation needs to be exposed. I did a little research today; it’s a serious and growing problem in high school athletics.” Her eyes glittered with enthusiasm; her attention now solely focused on what she was saying.

Gabe recognized that kind of enthusiasm; the kind that was borne of a passionate soul. He longed to probe that passion, get under that beautiful skin and see what dwelt deep in her heart; to have her eyes light up like that with his touch.

His thoughts must have been written on his face, because she blinked, looking away from him, color rising in her cheeks. She moistened her lips and went on, “I plan to focus front-page space of the
Herald
on it. Maybe we can prevent another athlete from inadvertently killing himself.”

He gave a nod. “I think that’s a very good idea.”

Maddie asked Ethan, “Do you know anything about kids at school doping?”

Ethan’s eyes widened. “Seriously, M! If I did, do you really think I’d rat somebody out? They already don’t like me ’cause I’m from up north.”

To Gabe’s surprise, Maddie laughed. “Okay, don’t get your boxers in a bunch. I was just checking . . . you know I access all of my sources. . . . ”

“Yeah, well, this source is a dead end.” Ethan’s untroubled tone said this was a gentle battle, one these two had danced around before. Ethan wiped his sticky fingers on his third napkin. “Do we have dessert?”

After they nearly polished off a bag of Oreos, Ethan went to his room to watch TV. Gabe took the opportunity to say something he’d been hesitant to bring up in front of him.

“I saw your piece in tonight’s paper on Steve McPherson. Very nice.”

Maddie smiled a smile that said his opinion mattered. “Thanks. He’d earned it. He was a good guy.” She started to clear the table. “I feel really badly for Kate—she doesn’t seem to have the kind of fight in her that it takes to push through all of this. And Todd . . . poor kid. Is his mother around here?”

Gabe dumped the rib bones from their plates into the paper bag. “No, she died before Steve and Todd moved here. I think when Todd was around ten.”

She made a sound of sympathy. “Cancer?”

“Not sure. Steve didn’t ever seem to want to talk about it.”

Madison picked up the Oreo bag. “How on earth did we leave just one?” She pulled a single cookie out, then dropped the empty bag in the trash. She took a step closer to him. “Open up.”

“
I
get the last cookie?” He raised a brow.

“You’re the guest.” She moved the cookie closer to his lips.

“You’re the lady.”

Inching closer, she said, “The lady has to watch her figure.” She rubbed the Oreo lightly against his bottom lip.

He put his hands on her waist. “I’ll be glad to watch it for you.”

Those possibilities bloomed in her eyes again. “How gentlemanly of you. How about we split it?” She slid the cookie between his teeth.

He held it there, half out of his mouth, and leaned closer to her lips. His words were muffled around the cookie when he said, “Come ge’ ’our haah.”

With a little grin that could only be called wicked, she took the other side of the cookie between her teeth. Then she surprised him by snapping it downward, breaking it off, leaving him with far less than his fair share. He watched three-quarters of
his
Oreo disappear behind those lovely lips.

Laughing, she tried to twist away from him, but he tightened his grasp on her waist and pulled her against him. “Cheater.”

Her hands settled on his upper arms. She made a show of chewing and swallowing. Challenge sparkled in her whiskey eyes. “What you going to do about it?”

“Get it back.” He ducked his head, his lips finding hers.

Her hands slid over his shoulders, pulling him closer. He tasted Oreo and her hunger as he slipped his tongue between her lips. The sweet flavor of her passionate soul nudged away his good sense. Instead of backing off, taking his hands and shoving them in his pockets, he slipped them inside the back of the low waistband of her slacks and cupped her backside. The electric shock of intimate skin contact shot from his fingertips to the pit of his stomach.

One of her hands rested on the back of his head. None-too-gentle pressure urged his mouth toward her neck as her head dropped back.

His fingertips dug into her hips, anchoring their lower bodies together as he traced kisses along her ear and down her neck, sucking at the soft flesh, teasing, tempting. His blood was lava pounding through his veins, the pulse of it drowning out everything except the taste and feel of her.

He’d wanted this woman since he’d laid eyes on her. Over the past weeks, his desire had grown into a need. And with this hint of intimacy, it was suddenly much more, a wildfire that once set loose would be impossible to extinguish. And it was close to breaking free.

The low moan in her throat told him she wasn’t any more inclined to put a halt to this than he was.

That one small, sultry sound put an effective end to all thoughts of smothering this fire. It was going to have to burn until it had consumed everything that fueled it.

But not today. Not now with her son upstairs.

It was wrong.

Still she clung to him.

Maybe the kid was asleep. . . .

Suddenly, her hands pressed gently against his chest. “You’d better get that.”

He looked at her. “Get what?”

“Your cell.”

As the sound of his heartbeat receded in his ears, he heard a distant electronic melody.

Pulling back, he looked at the phone clipped to his belt. “Oh.” He blew out a quick breath that puffed his cheeks. He hoped it cleared the huskiness that had to be in his voice.

He opened the line. “Sheriff Wyatt.”

“Gabe, it’s Dottie.”

“Hi, Dot.” With his mind miles away from his job, it took him a few moments to register the possible reasons for her call. None of them were good.

“Remember back when you were in training and they told you to treat every unattended death like a homicide?”

“Yeah.” He took a couple of steps away from Maddie.

“I hope you did it on the McPherson case. It looks like we have something other than an accidental fall—unless he bounced.”

“More than one blow?”

“Several. And the positions of some are completely inconsistent with a fall.”

“Shit.”

“That pretty much sums it up. The pathologist is faxing the report to your office right now.”

“I’ll take a look at it tonight.”

“Figured you would.” She hung up.

Maddie was staring at him, questions burning in her eyes.

“I need to leave.”

“Okay.”

He started toward the back door. Then he stopped. She’d have the news in the morning anyway. “I’m talking to Maddie, here, not the editor of the
Herald.
”

She nodded. “All right.”

“McPherson’s autopsy says it’s very unlikely the man fell.”

Maddie echoed his words, “More than one blow . . . ”

He moved back to her. “I’d appreciate it if we kept this quiet for a few hours.”

Her back stiffened. “I would never use something said in confidence in my work.”

He gave her a sideways glance.

“Okay, not when I have a personal relationship involved.”

He managed a smile. “Good.”

As he kissed her forehead, movement caught his eye.

There standing in the doorway to the kitchen was Ethan, as sickly white as when he’d come down from that mountain.

“You okay, kid?” Gabe asked, wondering how much Ethan had heard.

Maddie turned. “Oh.” She moved to feel Ethan’s forehead.

Ethan pulled away and headed back toward the stairs. “Fine.”

Maddie didn’t argue, so Gabe certainly wasn’t going to. But he didn’t buy Ethan’s denial—not in the least.

Chapter 7

T
HE TELEPHONE AWAKENED Madison with a start. She sucked in a breath and knocked away the lingering fingers of the nightmare that had been tormenting her most of the night. The clock said four-ten.

She picked up the phone and mumbled, “Hello?”

“It’s Gabe.”

She shifted to a half-sitting position. “What’s wrong?”

“I have Ethan. He was caught sneaking into Jordan’s hospital room. I’m bringing him and your car home.”

She jumped out of bed and looked out the window at the empty driveway.

Her waking reality was worse than her nightmare.

MADISON WAS PACING AT THE KITCHEN DOOR
. Dawn had come, but it was still shadowy enough beneath the trees for the headlights to be visible when her car pulled into the drive.

She ripped open the door and waited on the back step. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest to hide her trembling hands.

Ethan got out of the car and passed her with his jaw set, careful not to make eye contact.

“You wait in the kitchen,” she said, then pulled the door closed. The night air was cool, but she didn’t really think that was the reason for her shivering.

Gabe stopped at the bottom step. “I have a deputy picking me up.”

The grip of disappointment she felt was startling. At that moment it struck her that she’d been counting on him to help her get through this. Suddenly she realized how dependent she’d become on Gabe’s interpretation and guidance with the adolescent male psyche. She hadn’t had adequate time to plot her course, examining the pros and cons of each action and argument. What if she acted on impulse and screwed up?

“Did he have any excuses?”

Resting his right foot on the lowest step, Gabe rubbed the back of his neck. “No. He didn’t present any argument at all, just took what I dished out.”

“Which was?”
Please, give me a guidepost here.

“I used the only weapon I thought would get through to him . . . you.”

She furrowed her brow. “What?”

“I told him how much a stunt like this hurts you.” He paused, glancing toward the new set of headlights that pulled in the drive. “Listen, the security guard said he got the impression that Ethan was planning on taking Jordan out of the hospital . . . he brought extra clothes.” Gabe handed her a plastic grocery sack.

“Why would he do something like that?”

“Maybe you’ll have better luck getting that answer out of him than I did.” He backed a step away. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Thank you, Gabe.” She bit down on her tongue to keep from asking him to come inside and help her deal with this.

As if sensing her unspoken need, he came back to her. For a moment he looked into her eyes, then he put his hands on her shoulders. It took all of her willpower not to throw herself into his arms, bury her insecurities in his strength.

“Trust yourself, Maddie.” He held her gaze. “You can do this. I’m sure he’ll respond to you.”

The fact that her need had been so evident made her draw back. She hated weakness, in herself most of all. This was a road she’d embarked upon alone. It wasn’t fair to burden Gabe with the difficulties she now faced.

She nodded and turned, not looking back as she opened the kitchen door.

Shaking the tension out of her shoulders, she took a breath and stepped inside the kitchen.

Ethan was slumped in a kitchen chair. The sun was just coming up. A single ray slipped through the trees, illuminating the contrast of his bright blue irises against bloodshot red.

“I think it’s time for you to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. You
steal
my car? And where did you think you were going? Why would you try to take Jordan away from the help he needs?”

Ethan sat stonefaced, his fingers busy shredding a paper napkin he’d plucked from the holder.

Madison lurched forward and slammed her palm against the table. “Talk to me!”

Ethan’s flinch was barely perceptible. He kept his gaze on the napkin and continued tearing.

Closing her eyes and reining in her temper, she pulled out a chair and sat across from him. “Where were you taking Jordan?”

Ethan’s chest rose and fell with deep breath.

“You may not believe it now, but the stress center is the best thing for him. Don’t you want him to get better?”

His startled gaze snapped up. There, running deep beneath the surface, was something that sent a cold shaft of fear through her chest—guilt.

“Why would you ask that?” His voice quivered just enough to seal the deal.

Frost encased her heart. God, she didn’t want to ask, but she had to. “Is there something you need to tell me about what happened up there?”

For a long moment, he chewed his lower lip, keeping his gaze averted. He swiped up the thin ribbons of napkin and balled them in his fist. His knuckles blanched white. Finally he said, “No.”

“Ethan,” she said softly, “look at me.” Reluctantly, his eyes met hers. “I’m not an idiot. It’s easy enough to connect the dots between you overhearing the results of Mr. McPherson’s autopsy and you trying to run off with Jordan.”

“Who says I was trying to run off with him? I just wanted to see him before they moved him.”

“Ethan.” She used the same don’t-bullshit-me tone her mother had used on her. “You had spare clothes in a bag.”

He looked up from beneath his brows, his mouth pulled into a frown. “Can I go now? I need to take a shower before school.”

She knew from experience that once Ethan shut down, that was it. She’d have to take another run at him later. “Go. We’ll discuss your punishment tonight.”

The chair rattled across the pine plank floor as he pushed it back with his knees as he stood.

Before he got through the door to the living room, she said, “You do know how lucky you were tonight, don’t you?”

“Some luck.” He hurried on.

Madison sat for a few minutes, just staring out the window at the brightening day. For a moment she felt completely rudderless. She saw something deep in her soul she’d never faced; she, Independence Incorporated, wanted someone—no, not just someone, she realized—she wanted
Gabe
to take her hand and weather this storm at her side. She needed help. There was too much at stake for one person to be solely responsible.

The reality of that horrified her. Ethan was savvy and resourceful enough that, had he gotten out of town with Jordan, it would have been very difficult to find them. Her entire insides felt as if someone had filled her with broken glass and shaken her. She decided she’d be sleeping with her car keys under her pillow for a while.

GABE LOOKED AT
the autopsy report again. Not that he was going to see anything different, but he didn’t like where the most logical trail was likely to lead.

In addition to Steve McPherson’s most obvious wound—which now proved to be the result of at least three separate blows, all from angles extremely unlikely to have been caused by a slip and fall—he also had four fractured ribs, three on the left and one on the right, classic defensive wounds on his hands and forearms (bruising most likely caused by fending off blows), a broken nose, and six fractured teeth. If they’d found him in a back alley instead of at the base of a rocky waterfall, their first conclusion would have been that he’d been beaten to death.

The pathologist suggested the most likely instrument used in the cranial blows would have been a fist-sized rock, or something similarly shaped. Gabe pulled the photos of the scene—the
crime
scene—and spread them on the desk. No shortage of possible weapons in the immediate area. In fact, a person would be hard-pressed to put his hand down anywhere within fifteen feet of the body and not have it land on a rock of the appropriate size.

After careful review, he was no more enlightened than he had been when he’d opened the folder containing the photos.

The only scrap of evidence he’d brought down from that mountain had been the cigarette butts. He held the baggie up in front of his face. Filtered. Marlboro. Could there be enough DNA after being exposed to the elements? Would it tell him anything if there was? Those butts could have been left by anyone over the past weeks.

He set a box on his desk to load all of the evidence so it could be sent to the forensics lab. The cigarette butts. The paper bag with the T-shirt that had been wrapped around McPherson’s head, and the jacket that had been under it. The two bags with the jackets that had been used to cover McPherson’s body. His clothes were already there, as they’d traveled with the body.

He’d have to go back up on the mountain and do another search. Maybe he’d discover something of value.

Scrubbing his hand over his face, he wished Ethan had not tried to pull such a stupid stunt this morning. Damn kid. This wasn’t the time for him to be doing stupid things.

Gabe ached for Maddie; she’d looked so, so . . .
betrayed
was the only word for it, when he’d taken Ethan home.

Gabe paused with a marker in his hand, the case reference number half-finished on the box. For a moment, he studied the phone on his desk. How was Maddie doing? No. He shouldn’t call. He’d done what he could. And he’d told her to call him if she needed anything.

Besides, this had now become a homicide investigation. And currently the only suspects were the four teenage boys—one of whom was Maddie’s son. Until this was cleared up, he had to take a step back. It was his job. It was his duty. And it totally pissed him off.

As he picked up the last bag containing one of the jackets, he paused. Then he slipped on a pair of latex gloves and unrolled the top of the bag. He lifted the jacket out by its collar, holding it over the bag in case anything fell off of it. He looked it over for signs that the wearer had beaten McPherson. Nothing, at least nothing visible to the naked eye.

He replaced that jacket, changed his gloves, and opened the bag with the other one. It was Ethan’s Philadelphia Eagles jacket. Gabe had seen him wearing it. There were a couple of small blood smears on the sleeve, no droplets. He felt the pockets. The one on the right side had something in it.

With two fingers, he spread the pocket opening and looked in. Shit. An open pack of Marlboro filtered cigarettes.

IT HAD BEEN A HELL OF A DAY
, and it was only one-thirty in the afternoon. Of course, Madison thought, it had begun at four-ten this morning. She still hadn’t decided on the proper punishment for Ethan’s misconduct. She’d left him with the instructions to phone in hourly once he was home from school. Thanks to caller ID she would be certain he was home. She’d drawn on their no-bullshit pact in a way she’d never imagined.

It was time to draw on one of her old talents, compartmentalization. She would take care of problems at home when she was in a position to do something about it. Now it was time to work.

She finished her last proof of the story she’d written for the front page. It was good. Gathering her facts for it had made her itch for the old days. Back when investigating stories and ferreting out sources had had risk, when she had constantly ridden the edge between what was ethical and what was necessary to get the job done.

Since Zach Gilbert’s funeral was this afternoon, Madison had been able to locate his girlfriend, Julia Patterson, at home. The girl was angry enough over her needless loss, and young enough to have very little rein on her emotions, that she had given Madison an earful. She didn’t name names, or direct Madison toward the source, but she had confirmed Madison’s suspicion that doping was a much more widespread problem than one lone football player.

Madison hoped this article would open the eyes of the parents and coaches enough that Zach’s death could be the beginning of the end. She’d keep digging, looking for more specific information, keeping this from slipping into the background and hiding behind the fog of everyday life.

It felt good. Damn good. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this part of her old job. She’d been a tenacious shit-stirrer in her day. Nice to feel that rush again.

As soon as she sent the story off to press, that rush disappeared as fast as bacon on Ethan’s breakfast plate. Now that her crusade was off the ground, she was left to face her own, more personal problems. If only they could be fixed by a sharp-witted exposé.

Ethan was hiding something. She had to get him to open up to her. It might not fix the problem. In fact it could very likely kick off a whole new set. But she had to know the truth—so they could prepare.

KATE MCPHERSON ANSWERED THE DOOR
in her bathrobe, even though it was two in the afternoon. There was a crumpled tissue in her right hand. She wore no makeup, and her pale hair was in a sloppy ponytail. Her red-rimmed eyelids were so puffy, Gabe might not have recognized her if she hadn’t been in her own house.

“Kate,” he said, “I know this is a bad time, but I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

With a sniff and a nod, she opened the door wide enough for him to enter. The room was dark, the draperies blocking out the clear sunny day. She motioned for him to take a seat on the sofa. He stubbed his toe on a cast-iron cat-shaped doorstop that he hadn’t seen as his eyes adjusted from the bright outdoors.

“Oh,” she squeaked. “Careful.”

He made it the rest of the way and sat down without further incident.

“Steve gave me that doorstop for my birthday. I love cats . . . but Jordan’s allergic so I can’t have a real one. Steve started me a collection.”

Gabe rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, as if to make his questions less painful by making them more intimate. “Dr. Zinn informed you of the autopsy results?” It was a question he already knew the answer to, but it seemed the best place to start.

“Yes. I still don’t believe it. There has to be some sort of mistake.”

With a sympathetic shake of his head, Gabe said, “I wish I could say it was a mistake. But the report was conclusive. Steve’s injuries weren’t the result of a fall.”

“You said he was by Black Rock Falls. He could have fallen from the top. He could—”

“I’m sorry, Kate. That’s just not the case.”