“I don’t particularly want to spend another night at my apartment until my partner gets home. Mason obviously has keys or somehow figured out easy access to the place.”
“We can protect you, Ms. Sinclair,” Kinross insisted.
So you say.
“My parents now live a few hours north in Maine. They’re away on holiday at the moment for another four days, which isn’t ideal, but it’s better than going back to the apartment.”
“Does Mason know where your parents live?”
“No. He shouldn’t.”
“Leave us the address, and we’ll contact the Maine precinct and have them do a few drive-bys a night.”
“And what will happen here?”
“We keep searching for Mason Carter.”
Chapter 12
“Darling?” Peter whispered sleepily while answering the phone.
There were a few moments of some shuffling before he spoke again, this time his voice was husky. “Is everything all right?” The noise of a sliding door closing sounded on the other end.
I fought back the well of emotions, my throat tightening. “Not really.” I sat on the edge of the bed packing a few changes of clothes into an overnight bag.
“What’s that mean?” he asked, confused. “Something happened at work?”
“So much has happened, and I just want you here.”
“I know, baby. Things are moving slowly, and…” Peter heaved a heavy sigh, “… it looks like I’ll be coming home a day or two later.”
Biting my tongue to stop the sobs, I let the few tears fall down my cheeks.
Something fell in the kitchen, the clutter echoing down the hall. I was on alert, body tense, heart pounding.
“Gem?” Peter’s voice called on the other end, but I didn’t answer. I was focused on whoever or whatever was in my apartment. “Darling, are you there?”
I listened carefully. Nothing. The apartment had fallen silent once more.
“I’m… I’m here.”
“You don’t sound like yourself. I wish I could fly home now, but I just—”
“It’s fine,” I said, my tone clipped.
“Don’t be mad—”
“Peter, I have to go. See you when you get home.”
“Gem!”
I ended the call, cutting short his somewhat desperate plea. Clutching my cell, knuckles turning white, my feet met the floor. I walked slow and silent, shoulders aching with tension. The lights were on throughout the apartment, my nerves too fragile to be consumed with darkness. With my gaze ahead, I searched the shadows and combed the kitchen. The windows were locked, the fire escape empty. Nothing seemed amiss. So, what was I missing?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The door rattled on its hinges from whoever was behind it, the frightening sound causing my cell to slip through my fingers. It clattered to the floor, face down.
“Shit!” I cursed, my heart threatening to explode.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“For God’s sake!”
Talking tentative steps, I stopped just shy of the door and looked through the spy-hole expecting to see a monster from the past. Instead, a familiar, yet distorted face came into view.
Shaking, I unlocked the door, my reproachful stare meeting that of Kinross and Walsh.
“You scared the shit out of me!”
“Sorry,” Walsh said with little concern, hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. “Can we come in?”
Kinross observed my uncertainty.
“You shouldn’t be here. If Mason knows you’re coming to my apartment—”
“We wanted to catch you before you left,” Kinross said, calmly. “May we?”
Drumming my fingers nervously on the door, I realized they weren’t planning on leaving until they got what they wanted.
“Sure,” I conceded, opening the door. “Come in. I’m just in the middle of packing.”
“We won’t keep you,” Walsh assured, prying eyes scanning the apartment floor to ceiling.
I rounded the kitchen counter and waited for them to initiate the conversation. When they didn’t, I took the lead. “So, what brings you here at nine-thirty?”
“We realized after you left that our investigation has been centered solely on Mason Carter. Yet, we believe it was Lucas who tipped him off.”
The insinuation was there.
“Lucas was always protective of Mason and vice versa. It would only be natural for him to tip his brother off.”
Walsh flipped open her pocket-sized notebook and clicked her pen. “Tell us more about your relationship with Lucas.”
“I’ve already mentioned how close we were. What more do you want?”
“Your dialogue was geared toward Mason in the memories you recounted. This time I want you to focus on Lucas and solely on him.”
For a moment I remained silent, my critical stare passing between the two. They were hardened detectives. They knew bullshit when they heard it. “Lucas would never do anything to hurt me.”
“We’re not suggesting he did,” Walsh answered far too quickly.
“Lucas and I were best friends.”
“Yeah, we know that already.” Kinross was growing agitated but so was I.
“Then you know we did what best friends normally do. We hung out. We laughed. We protected each other. We had each other's back when it was needed, and we told each other everything.”
“Everything?” Again, Walsh was narrowing in for the kill.
My throat constricted but not for the first time that night.
“Everything except whatever it is you think he’s hiding from me.” I needed Mason off my case and if I had to enlist the help of the detectives, I would. But that wasn’t going to come at the price of incriminating Lucas.
“You said you told each other everything?”
“That’s right.”
“How was Lucas just before he and his family moved out?”
The frustrated frown faded from my face and was replaced with sadness. Less than two months before Lucas had moved out things had dramatically changed. The boy I knew for years was no longer himself. He was damaged. Broken. Very seldom could I earn a smile.
“Ms. Sinclair?” Kinross prompted.
I licked my bottom lip and tried to push Lucas’s image away. “It was a challenging time for Lucas and his family.”
“How’s that?”
“Every child’s worst nightmare came true, that’s how.”
Chapter 13
THEN
“Mom,” I yelled while drying the last glass and stacking it carefully on the shelf. There was no answer because the television was too loud in the other room and both my parents were cackling away to the fifteen millionth re-run of I love Lucy like it was the first time they had seen it. It was the episode where she complained endlessly about being a housewife, and her husband had heard it all before and predicted everything she was about to say. Another belly laugh erupted from the living room, and I couldn’t help but smile along with her. My mother’s laugh was infectious. Lucas always saw my mom as a second mother, and she often referred to him as the son she never had. Sometimes she’d even go as far as saying she would settle for him becoming a son-in-law someday as long as he became a son of some kind.
“Mom,” I called again, hooking the tea-towel over the oven handle.
“Yes, Gem?” she sang back, through a smile.
“Did you sign the permission note for the field trip?”
“Yes, darling. I already put it in your backpack, along with your letter to Mrs. Henderson and your book order.”
Bending down, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”
I could feel her smiling as the roundness of her cheek moved against mine. She turned to me slightly and whispered in my ear, “Have you asked your father about going camping again on the weekend?”
“I heard that,” my father’s playfully stern voice sounded, his eyes locked on the TV. “The answer is yes. As long as Lucas is also going.”
“Of course, he’s going.” This time I moved over and kissed my father’s cheek. “Goodnight,” I said to both of them. “Love you.”
“Love you,” they replied in unison. Excited to be going back to the cabin, I took the stairs two at a time. I was already showered, fatigue claiming me. Crawling into bed, I watched the breeze gently blow the chiffon curtains. They danced hauntingly, and the graceful movement of the fabric lulled me to sleep. That was until the shouting started. It was faint at first, and I wondered for a moment whether it had been a figment of my dreams. I listened hard, staring into the darkness.