Out of the Depths

CHAPTER ONE

THE INTERCOM BUZZED like a trapped insect, and Chance’s mind immediately shot to items he could use to put the old thing out of its misery. When he became a judge, his gavel would top the list.

“Sorry to bother you again, Mr. Brennan. Sheriff Blaine on line three.” Despite having fielded hundreds of calls during the day, Alice sounded as fresh as she had at eight that morning.

Chance took the opportunity to stretch his back and shoulders as he swallowed the last bite of a turkey club. “Thanks, Alice. Now, please, go on home. It’s late.” Before she could hang up, he added, “I hope your dad’s surgery goes well Monday. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“I will, Mr. Brennan, and thanks again for all your help. Good night.”

“Night, Alice. See you Wednesday.” Chance punched the button to line three, leaving the phone on speaker. “Hey, Buck. What’s going on?”

A frustrated sigh exploded in his ear.

“Caught kids at the cave again, Chance.”

Chance bit back the expletives on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t have time to deal with the teenagers and their nonsense. “How many?”

“Five. These was having an orgy and smokin’ pot. Probably got a stash hidden in there somewhere.”

“Which means they’ll be back. Or somebody’ll be back.” Chance massaged his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger. The constant hassle with kids and the cave was making him doubt his sanity about buying that property, even if it was a prime lakeshore piece. One girl already had stitches from cracking her head on a low overhang. How many more of them getting hurt was it going to take?

“That’s what I figure, too. I’ll have a look-see tomorrow. Maybe I’ll find it or find whoever comes after it.”

The sheriff’s easy manner didn’t fool Chance. If a stash was there, Buck Blaine would find it. His redneck mannerisms conned a lot of people, but underneath the hick exterior beat the heart of a criminal investigator.

“You need me to come to the office?” Chance offered halfheartedly. “I’m still in Paducah, so it’ll take a half hour or so, but if you need me…”

Buck’s customary chewing gum smacked across the phone line. “Nah, no need. Trespassin’s gonna be the least of these kids’ problems. We can hold off on the paperwork till tomorrow.”

Chance rubbed his hand down his face, relieved he wouldn’t have to add a stop at the sheriff’s office to his already late night. “Sounds good to me.”

“We’ve got most of their parents on the way, so I’m gonna make sure these young’uns have had a bad night.” Chance could almost feel Buck’s laugh vibrating the receiver. “They’ll think twice before they visit your place again.”

“I don’t know, Buck. These kids don’t even think about things the first time.” With all the secluded areas around Kentucky Lake, it was beyond Chance’s comprehension why the damn kids insisted on partying on his property. “Can we keep this out of the paper? If the cave gets any media coverage, kids will likely swarm it again.”

“Can do.”

“If that state-of-the-art, handy-dandy security system I’ve ordered ever gets installed, you may be out of a job.”

The sheriff gave a gritty chuckle. “I can only wish, but I doubt it. The Bible promises the ignorant are with us always, you know. Or somethin’ like that.”

“Amen, brother.” Chance raised his soda in a toast. “I’ve seen enough frivolous lawsuits to know ignorance is a certainty.”

“You got that right. See you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there. Night, Sheriff.”

“Good evenin’, Chance.”

Chance hung up and looked at all the piles of paper covering his desk. The call had broken his concentration. Getting back into the wearisome Davenport case seemed unlikely now, even if his dad did expect the finished briefs by Sunday. He’d have to wait until he could see it with fresh eyes. Tomorrow.

He glanced at his watch, noting it was after nine. Friday night and still in the office. “Brennan, you need a life.” He wadded up the sandwich wrapper and pitched it into the trash.

His mom had tried to warn him what it would be like, tried to make him see joining his dad’s practice wasn’t a good idea. Bill Brennan had never accepted anything but perfection from his sons. Perfection had come easily for Hank but seemed always just out of Chance’s reach.

“‘Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?’” Chance read the plaque on his office wall, a gift from his dad.

Those kids at the cave needed such a parent. One who cared enough to kick their asses if they acted stupid.

Then again, those kids at the cave would probably kick back. Kids were different now. He smiled at the memory of Old Man Turner showing up with a gun and running Kyndal and him off of his property. One look down the barrel of that shotgun made sure they wouldn’t be back.

If Old Man Turner were still alive, Chance would hire him as a guard for a month or two. But he doubted that tactic would work on these kids. They weren’t nearly as naive as he and Kyndal had been.

Kyndal Rawlings. At one time, he’d thought the two of them would be together forever. Now that was naive. Their separate ways had turned out to be in entirely different directions. She hadn’t gone to law school the way she’d always planned…had become a photographer, of all things—working for some damn liberal environmentalist website. Of course, she did stage that sit-in against hot dogs in the high school cafeteria claiming they were made from throwaway parts, so maybe the clues were there all along, and he was just too smitten to see them.

He hadn’t thought about Kyndal in a while. In fact, he’d pretty much refused to let himself think about her since they’d split. When he did, guilt still gnawed at him. Breaking up with her had been almost as hard as losing Hank, but it was the right thing to do, damn it. That was obvious now. He would never have made it through college and law school if they’d stayed joined at the hip. Every class together was unhealthy, but Kyn couldn’t loosen her hold. She demanded his total attention.

Just as his career did now.

If he wanted a judgeship by the time he turned forty, there was little room for dating.

But someday, the right woman would come along. Someone goal-oriented. Career focused. Someone with an impeccable reputation and a drive to match his own. A few connections to sweeten the deal wouldn’t be a bad thing, either.

He’d straightened the scattered papers and had switched off the desk lamp when the intercom buzzed again, startling him, ratcheting up his wish to sledgehammer the damn thing.

“Chance?” His dad’s voice boomed over the line.

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Good. I was afraid you’d left already. Your mom just called. The travel agent got us on an earlier flight Sunday morning. Can you get those briefs to me tomorrow?”

“Okay. I’ll finish them up tonight.” As if he had a choice. His parents’ first trip away together in years. Only three days, but it was a start. He switched the lamp back on.

“And I want you to take this new Farley case. Look over it. We’ll discuss it first thing Wednesday morning.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Seeing Denise this weekend?”

“No.”

“You’re a fool. Someone’s going to snatch her up.”

“If I’m lucky.” Denise Macomb was the flavor-of-the-month his dad was trying to cram down his throat. She met all the criteria, but her voice sounded like a violin badly played.

“Get those briefs done,” his dad said by way of parting.

Chance watched the intercom light switch off. “You have a life, Brennan.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “And this is it.”

* * *

SNAP…SNAP…SNAP. Three good shots before the tiny bottom lip started to pucker again.

Thank you, Lord, for digital cameras and comfortable shoes. Kyndal’s third straight day of twelve-hour shifts was almost over.

“I think we got her.” She smiled at the young couple hovering nearby, only now truly noticing them.

The young man’s shirt had Ted’s Car Wash stamped on the pocket. His zit-covered face suggested he couldn’t be much more than seventeen. A chunky high school ring hung from a chain around the girl’s neck.

Kyndal sized them up, knew immediately they were here for the free 8x10 and wouldn’t be able to afford any of the great package deals Shop-a-Lot offered at a bargain price of $29.95.

She watched the way they handled the infant so carefully, saw the pride shining in the boy’s eyes as he kissed his baby girl and his baby girlfriend on their foreheads. How long before he’d be out of this picture?

“Come over here and you can see the shots.” Kyndal swiveled the freestanding monitor to face the couple.

The best part of this job was getting to see the parents’ eyes when the portraits clicked on. Without exception, they all softened instantly. If only she could capture that moment on film, those images would be priceless.

The shots were better than good, and Kyndal watched the parental expressions turn fretful when they realized they had to choose.

“They’re all so precious. Can we get all three, Danny?” The young mother’s voice held little hope, but the blue of her eyes shone intensely like the stone in the ring around her neck.

The young man’s head dropped, and he lowered his voice. “We can’t afford ’em, Lisa. We can only get the free one.”

Kyndal remembered the glow on her own mom’s face when friends admired the free 8x10 of Kyndal at twenty-eight months. She would go on and on about Kyndal’s smile looking “just like her daddy’s.”

Mason Rawlings had walked out of their lives a month after that portrait was taken, but her mom still talked about his smile to this day.

I might have his smile, but that’s the only thing I ever got from him. She couldn’t help wondering if he had any regrets.

Life wasn’t easy for teen parents—nor was growing up as the child of one as Kyndal knew firsthand.

She sighed in resignation, aware she was about to give these kids a break and forfeit her last three hours’ commission in the process. “Which one would you like? I’ll print it for you.” She allowed her mouth to droop into a pout of feigned preoccupation, tried to sound bored, glanced at her watch to let them know it was closing time.

The girl chewed her bottom lip until the young man prodded her with his elbow. “Number three.”

Kyndal pressed a key and pretended to be busy as she fumbled with some order forms. She turned back as the paper slipped from the printer. “Oh, shoot! I’ve printed billfolds of the wrong one. Here, you can have these.” She held the prints out to the young man, but he hesitated. “No charge,” she assured him. “I’ll just have to throw them away.”

“Now.” She hit another key, queuing up number two to print as two 4x6’s. “You said number two, right?”

“No, we said number three.” The young man gave her a look that could have indicated she’d sprouted an extra nose.

“Crap. I’ve done it again.” She watched their guarded looks of amusement as she thrust the second sheet toward them and sighed dramatically. “Third time’s a charm, right?”

Another keystroke sent the correct command, and the 8x10 slid from the printer. “She really is a doll.” Kyndal checked the finished product before handing it over. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

The lights blinked, indicating five minutes until closing time. The couple moved toward the exit, the young mother clutching the photographs to her chest.

Kyndal watched until they were out of earshot. “And that’s why I have to get back to a job where I can shoot golden eagles instead of golden-haired toddlers.” The hope that tomorrow would bring that dream job back was never far from the surface. She let it rise to the top as she disassembled the gear and lugged everything to her car.

Tomorrow will bring the perfect shot that will make me somebody. Tomorrow will bring the perfect shot that will make me somebody. The mantra couldn’t block out the sluggish start of the old Jeep’s engine, but if she said it often enough, it had to come true. That’s what affirmations were for.

When she reached her apartment, fatigue convinced her to leave everything in the car except her laptop. Dover, Tennessee, wasn’t a hot spot for crime. In fact, Dover, Tennessee, wasn’t a hot spot for anything. But it was centrally located between the other two towns where she took family portraits on Wednesdays and Thursdays, and the apartment she rented was clean. And cheap.

She’d tossed a package of ramen noodles into some water before she saw the message light blinking on the phone.

The light always brought the same thought to her mind. This could be the big one. Her hand shook as she pressed the voice mail button.

“Kyn. It’s Mom. Going on a little road trip with Lloyd for a few days. Talk to you later.”

Lloyd who? When did a Lloyd come into the picture? And “a few days” meant she’d quit her job at the dog kennel. Or gotten fired. Kyndal swallowed her frustration and sent a mental warning to the little girl she had photographed at closing time: Being a parent to your forty-four-year-old mother is not an easy row to hoe.

She deleted the message, but the light blinked again, indicating a second message.

“Hey, Kyndal.” Mike Sloan’s southern drawl oozed from the handset. “Heard about a tourism magazine startin’ up in your hometown. Sounds like a good fit for you. Gimme a call.”

A job opportunity? In Paducah? She grabbed the phone and had half of Mike’s number punched in before logic reared its head. Would it be wise to trust the man whose dumb-ass moves had caused her to be blacklisted for the past six months? He and his shady contacts ultimately caused the lawsuit that became the demise of the True Tennessee website—and her own reputation by association.

But his intentions had been good. She punched another button. He was trying to make things up to her.

Four years of eye-opening, truth-seeking public awareness of pollution in the Cumberland River brought down by an asinine lawsuit over a totally unnecessary hack job. Her stomach tightened at the memory.

But it turned completely over at the thought of many more ramen noodle suppers. The ten-cent price had made them a staple when she was growing up, but she’d always dreamed adulthood would bring better fare. And it had for a few short years. Then it was back to ramen noodles—just like Mom used to fix.

But someday her luck would change when she found that perfect shot.

The lure of landing a magazine job and splurging on a carry-out pizza won out over the anxiety of talking with Mike. She dialed the rest of his number, keeping one eye on the pot on the stove.

“Hel-lo?” he drawled.

“Hey, Mike. It’s Kyndal. Got your message.” She hurried on, trying to move the conversation directly to the point. “So, you’ve heard about a new magazine starting up?”

“Hey, Kyndal darlin’. How you been?”

“I’m still getting by. Not getting rich, but paying the bills.” Thanks to the savings she’d put away during the four

good years at True Tennessee. “A tourism magazine out of Paducah, huh?”

“Yep. Outdoor magazine about your beloved old Kentucky home.”

Her heart beat faster. Four years of Nashville had been exciting and fun, but city life wasn’t her thing, and it was way too expensive after the website went under. Dover was too far at the other end of the spectrum, though. Moving back to Paducah and Kentucky Lake…now that was a dream worth having.

“You still shootin’ brats at the five-and-dime?” His words came out slightly garbled by the cigar he inevitably kept in his mouth.

“Well, I’ve wanted to shoot a few, but so far, all I’ve done is photograph them. You still smoking those cheap-ass cigars?”

Mike’s laughed turned into a vicious cough. She waited for it to subside then launched her next tactic to get him on the subject.

“Tell me about the magazine quick before those things kill you.”

“Okay, darlin’, don’t go gittin’ your bowels in an uproar. Here’s the deal. You remember Charlie Short?”

Kyndal dredged up a memory of a squatty fellow with a bad toupee. “Yeah, I remember him.”

“The state’s contracted with him for a quarterly tourism deal showin’ the natural wonders of Kentucky. Now, while I think that means its women, the guys callin’ the shots are looking more for landscape. Seasonal photos and whatnot. I thought of you. On both accounts.”

“I’m sure you did, you old codger.” Sixty-eight years old with four divorces under his belt and a huge beer belly over it, Mike Sloan would forever be a player in his own mind. “Quit flirting and stick to business. What’s Charlie Short wanting? Anything particular I can impress him with?” She stirred the flavor powder into the noodles.

“Caves.”

She stopped stirring. Had she heard him right? “Caves?” She moved the pot away from the heat and turned off the burner.

“Yep. Apparently, Kentucky’s loaded with them. Not well-known ones like Mammoth Cave. Small caves. Ones that might have had historical significance or are just interesting in formation. Know of any you could shoot, like quick? He’s wantin’ to make a decision pretty soon. Maybe the next week or so.”

Kyndal’s chest tightened, and she took a deep breath, letting it out slow and controlled. “Yeah.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “I know of one. I can go shoot it tomorrow.”

“You’re not workin’ tomorrow?”

She responded to the sadness in his voice with enthusiasm in her own. “Five to nine, Tuesday. Nine to nine, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. A forty-hour week with time left for freelance work. Or days at other Shop-a-Lots if I can find some that want me.”

Mike sighed, which led into a loud cough followed by a wheeze that probably saved her from further comments. “Here’s his email address.”

She took down the information. “Does Charlie know about…”

“Yes, darlin’, he knows about the lawsuit and that you had nothing to do with any of the shenanigans…just got caught in the cross fire. Says he doesn’t give a damn as long as your shots are good. So this may be the chance to get your good name back.”

“Your lips to God’s ears, Mike.” Hope flickered at his words. “Thanks. I owe you one”

“No.” He gave another long, remorseful sigh. “I owe you one, and I hope this is it. See ya.”

“Bye.” He was already gone.

She poured the noodles into a colander to drain and checked the fridge for nonexistent butter.

So the cave was drawing her back. Chance’s special place. Their special place. The place he’d taken her after his brother Hank’s funeral. The place where they cried out all their anguish, clung to each other for hours and finally lost their virginity. Tears stung her eyes at the bittersweet memory.

Could she face the cave now?

It might be good for her. Give her closure. Let her put the Chance Brennan chapter of her life behind her for good.

Chance Brennan. She closed her eyes and gave in to a minute of nostalgia. Black, curly hair. Eyes like rich espresso. Full lips that made her lick her own just thinking about them.

Theirs was one of the great love legends of Paducah Tilghman High School those two years. Most-Likely-to-Succeed and the varsity quarterback. Poor girl, rich boy. Government-subsidized housing versus country club estates. An unlikely yet somehow compatible pairing—to everyone except Chance’s dad.

She could still see the relief in his dad’s eyes when Chance got his acceptance letter from Harvard and she didn’t. Bill Brennan never thought she was quite good enough for his son. If he’d known how serious things had gotten between them, he probably would have sent Chance to a military school his senior year.

An involuntary shudder shook her. How careless they’d been about unprotected sex that day in the cave. Jaci had her convinced she couldn’t get pregnant the first time. Some best friend. It was a miracle they didn’t end up like her mom and Mason. Or those kids in the store tonight. Where would they be but for a little bit of luck?

Probably back in Paducah, eating at Max’s Café instead of having ramen noodles. She scanned her spice rack for nothing particular.

Chance was back in Paducah, practicing law with his dad, according to Jaci. That news came as no surprise.

What would it be like to have a life like that? Being somebody from the day you were born? Having money for everything you needed? A ready-made career? Parents who were around?

There was the rub, of course. Repayment for Chance came in the form of having to put up with Bill Brennan’s constant presence.

Kyndal took a bite, but the noodles had lost their flavor. She gave the mixture a heavy dousing of pepper and took another bite.

Tomorrow will bring the perfect shot….

A warm tingle ran up her spine. She wasn’t sure if the cause was the pepper or the thought of going back to the cave. No way would she let it be because of Chance Brennan.

She would show him…and his dad…show them all.

She was going to be somebody.