by Rachel Kane
The reaction he had to that thought was so strong it shocked him. If he went back to Jace now, how would he have any integrity? Even if Jace thought it was the right decision, Trent would always be questioning himself. Always wondering if he'd done the right thing.
At some point in life, you had to make a decision and stick with it. Even if it cost you.
Even if it costs me everything? It's not like I'm bringing down an evil dictator and freeing millions of people from his iron grip. Is it really worth all I am giving up?
This wasn’t about second thoughts. Trent wasn’t thinking things through again. These circles his thoughts traveled in were about despair, not about figuring out answers. He knew he'd done something wrong, giving up Jace, and he just needed to hurt for a while.
When he got home, his mother was there. She was in the kitchen, her tablet on the counter with a new recipe on the screen. Since she'd retired a couple of years ago, she'd thrown herself into cooking as a hobby. Now she was doing something that looked complicated, involving flour and a huge brick of butter.
She looked up at him, smiling, but the smile faded when she saw his face. “Oh, baby, what's wrong now?”
He didn't have the strength to talk about it, so he just slid onto one of the kitchen chairs and sighed.
“I swear, I am ready to have the previous version of you back,” she said. “You look a hundred years old.”
“Um, thanks?”
“Remember back when you were happy?”
He shook his head sadly. “Not really.”
“Well I do. You used to be bright and hopeful.”
“Are you sure you're remembering the right kid? I've never been hopeful. I'm always anxious and sad.”
She gave him a look of concern. “Yes, always nervous. But not like this. Not bowed and broken.”
“You saw me at the hospital. I was pretty broken then.”
“Dear, you're making this pep talk much harder than it has to be.”
That made him laugh. But she didn't know the whole story. She knew bits of it, that he was a witness in an important case, but hadn't even known he was out of town, let alone on the run. And she didn't know about his job. And all she knew of Jace was that he was “that nice lumberjack boy” Trent had met.
So she didn't know why he looked so sad, and there really wasn't anything she could say to make it better, so he gave her a weak smile and said he was going up to his room for a while.
“Oh, before I forget, you had a call just a little bit ago,” she said.
His heart leapt. Could it be Jace? No, surely not, it was probably Billy or somebody, but what if it was Jace? “Who?” he asked, his pulse beating fast.
“One of those lawyers,” she said. “He said he had some exciting news for you.”
“Really?” he said. He pulled out his phone. Did the case get settled after all? Oddly Harlan hadn't tried to call his cell.
His mom pulled a piece of paper from the refrigerator door where it had been held with a magnet.
He looked at the number. It wasn't one he recognized.
“Who was this again?” he asked.
“Oh, I don't know,” she said, waving the question away. “I thought you would know who it was.”
“And they said there was exciting news?”
She nodded. “That was the word he used. He said you were going to be very happy to hear from them.”
He took the number and thanked her. He began to dial as he walked upstairs to his room.
The call was picked up immediately.
“So polite of you to get back to me so quickly, Mr. Sinclair,” said Springer. “Mr. Grumman has an offer he would like to discuss with you.”
30
Jace had not visited with David in a long, long time. It was something that had weighed heavily on him until finally he learned to ignore the gnawing sense of wrongness. He had learned it was possible to ignore pain until it seemed to go away. Of course it never did really go away; the body and mind adjusted to it, learning to shove it into the background, pretending everything was okay.
But sometimes you need closure. Sometimes you need to stop hiding.
He was standing in front of an older brownstone, studying the aging green paint on the front door. Footsteps were audible on the other side of the door. He braced himself. Was he really ready for this visit? Wasn't this the wrong time, the worst possible time for it?
But when the door swung open, there was no more time for second thoughts. He was going to deal with his past for once and for all, so that it could stop haunting him and destroying everything in his life.
“Oh, Jace, it's you,” said the older woman at the door. “I never expected to see you again.”
With his head bowed, and throat so tight he could barely speak, he said, “Mrs. Mathis. I'm here to pay my respects. Finally.”
Inside, it was so easy to tell where David had come from. The housekeeping suggested an iron will in the fight against decay; though the furniture and fixtures were shabby with age, there was not a speck of dust to be found. Mrs. Mathis gestured him towards a settee near a portrait of David. “I will make a pot of tea,” she said, leaving have alone with the picture.
There was no urn of ashes. David’s will had requested his ashes be scattered in the river. Jace found it unsettling. There was no grave to visit. No single place to feel connected to David.
For quite a while he'd told himself this was why he hadn't visited after David was killed. It was just a rationalization, though, an excuse to avoid the deep sorrow he felt now.
“I think I fucked things up again,” he whispered to the portrait. “I think I've failed yet another person in my care. The exact same way I failed you. Isn't that funny?”
It wasn't funny at all. He felt a dread in the pit of his stomach.
“I need your forgiveness, David. I think—”
“Why do you need my son’s posthumous forgiveness?” asked Mrs. Mathis. She had returned unexpectedly quickly. The look on her face was as curious as it was bitter. She was holding a manila envelope.
“I'm sorry,” said Jace. “I didn't come here to bother you.“
“You're no bother. I told you at the time that you were always welcome to visit. I just didn't expect it would be so long. There are some old pictures in here that you may want to have. A few mementos of your time together.”
After handing him the envelope, she sat across from him and smoothed her skirt. “About this forgiveness. Surely you don't think anyone holds you responsible for my son’s death. Not to put it too baldly, but I would have come after you like the furies of old myth, if I thought you had anything to do with it.”
He shrugged, unable to look at her, unable to look at the portrait. “I abandoned him when he needed me. I let him walk right into danger.”
Her laugh was as loud and honest as it was unexpected. “Jace, no one had to let David walk into danger. He wouldn’t have been half the reporter he was, if not for that thirst for danger he had. As his mother, it worried me terribly. But his pride in his accomplishments was contagious.”
“The last story was different.”
“Of course it was.”
“He was scared. He told you I was his bodyguard for a while.”
“I heard all about it. Trust me, Jace, none of your story is a secret to me. And trust me again, when I say there is nothing for you to feel guilty about. No one could truly protect David, because to protect him would mean getting between him and his story. How do you protect someone from doing the thing that fulfills them, that makes them…themselves? I can wish he found fulfillment in restoring old cars or doing open-heart surgery, but wishes are idle things.”
“You’re so sanguine about it.”
“Dear, I have had a year to think about it.”
The kettle whistled from the kitchen, and she rose.
He got up at the same time. “I’m sorry for interrupting your day. I will go.”
“Nonsense. Sit.”
&
nbsp; He did, but he was so uncomfortable. This wasn’t getting him any closer to what he needed. Assuming I could even figure out what I need, he thought. It wasn’t forgiveness; here Mrs. Mathis was, holding no grudges, and it wasn’t enough.
He glanced again at David’s portrait.
Mrs. Mathis entered with the tea. “Tell me this,” she said. “Are you seeing someone new?”
Jace sat back, startled. “I…I…”
“It’s not a trick question,” she said. “I certainly wouldn’t hold it against you. It has been so long.”
“I was. In remarkably similar circumstances to David. And now it’s over, and I feel…” His voice trailed off. Mrs. Mathis was practically a stranger to him. If he could barely understand how he felt, how could he explain it to her?
She inclined her head. “I am not at all surprised. About the similar circumstances, I mean. After your breakup, David told me that you required danger. That you thrived in it, that it was the only time you saw your true self.”
“And that’s the problem. What’s the use of a relationship that only exists if there is danger?”
“The relationship has not changed. You have not changed. You’re like a man who needs glasses, and once the glasses are taken away, you think the world has disappeared. It has not. You just need help seeing it.”
“I don’t know. Everything feels different.”
“That is the point. The feeling of something may change, while its core stays the same.”
The look she gave him, so piercing, was so much like David’s look, that it was uncomfortable to see. David had that way of dissecting you with his eyes, understanding everything that made you tick.
“I feel so guilty,” he said, finally. “I broke up with David, and then he died. And now I’m with someone else…or was. But now I’ve broken up with him. What might happen to him?”
“I’m sure whatever happens, you will blame yourself,” said Mrs. Mathis. “And yet, the one thing that is really your fault, the one thing that you apparently keep doing, is the thing you rationalize the most to yourself.”
He looked blankly at her. He was so exhausted. He just wanted someone to tell him what to do.
For once in his life, he wanted to be the protected one.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said quietly.
“You blame yourself for David’s death, which you had no part in, which was so clearly the work of the bastard he was investigating. You blame yourself for any harm that comes to your new boyfriend. None of which is under your control. What is under your control? Staying in a relationship. Discovering commitment, even when that first rush of feelings has faded. If you give up happiness, if you give up love, then you’re to blame for that, Jace.”
“But—”
“Do me the courtesy of not arguing with me about this. I’ve lost my son, and here I am advising you to throw yourself into the arms of another man, and this is awkward and painful enough for me, without having to argue you into it. Stop hiding from your feelings. Especially if you think your new boyfriend may be in danger.”
He nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry for bringing all this right to your door. But thank you for saying you don’t blame me for David’s death.”
“It was such an ugly thing, Jace. The whole thing was handled so badly.”
“Honestly, I hid from it. I avoided the news for a while.”
“Oh, the papers, the television news, they were all evil about it. It’s amazing how quickly they turned on one of their own.”
“How so?”
“They reported he was killed in a random street crime. Why would they print such a lie? The police came, they took his laptop, all his files. And then nothing came of their investigation. It was like the entire world was trying to cover up the truth, that David was on the biggest story of his career, and ended up dying for it.”
Everything in the world slid slowly and silently to a halt. The very molecules of the air seemed to hang suspended, unmoving. The hair on the back of Jace’s neck rose, and he could feel the adrenaline in his heart, his muscles, preparing him for defense.
“From what little I heard, they said he died investigating a drug dealer,” he said, quietly, carefully.
She shook her head. “He was so excited. You know the way he got. This was no little drug dealer. I think the police protected the man he was investigating. I believe they took all his notes, all his evidence, and destroyed it.”
His heart was beating so fast, but he wasn’t nervous. His mind was crystal-clear, with an awful certainty slicing at his conscience like an icy blade.
“Who was he investigating?” he asked.
“Wallace Grumman,” said Mrs. Mathis, poison in her voice. “The filthy man who is poisoning the river my David loved so much. I could never prove it. And when the police and news began to spread the lie that David was killed by a drug dealer, I realized there would never be justice for my boy. This, Jace, is why I am telling you to release yourself from guilt and blame. You’re not the monster who did this. And I don’t think you could have protected David from it, even if you had still been together. Grumman’s power is too vast, his influence too great. He will never pay for his crimes. All that is left to do is to nurse our wounds as best we can, and try to move on.”
Jace rose. He took her hand, giving it a slight squeeze, and glanced over at David.
In the icy calm that had descended over him, he understood he had been an absolute fool. Running from Trent out of fear: Fear of losing him, fear of his own feelings. But he also understood there was still time to make this right. To go to Trent, to tell him the truth about how he felt. And to protect him from Grumman. Because he understood in that moment what Trent had been trying to tell him: Grumman would never stop coming. Would never stop punishing Trent for knowing about his crimes.
He had to get to Trent.
31
“You’re the last person I want to talk to,” said Trent. “And it’s probably illegal that you’re calling me.”
He sat on the side of his bed. His room felt small and cramped, like there wasn’t enough room for both him and his fear.
“Don’t worry,” said Springer. “I’m a lawyer. I’d never do anything illegal. I can understand your hesitation—”
“It’s not hesitation. It’s disgust. You got your way. I will never work in another school as long as I live, thanks to you.”
“If only there were a way to put things right,” said Springer. “I want you to take a ride with us, Trent. Would you mind that terribly?”
“What, so you can shoot me? I’m not getting in a car with you. You’re crazy.”
“I was going to say, What do you have to lose, but I suppose if you think we’re capable of killing you, that answers that.”
“What do you mean if? You sent assassins after me.”
“I didn’t send anyone after you. Although if I had, I’m sure your bodyguard would have gotten you out of any scrapes.”
Oh, that stung. He didn’t want to think about Jace right now.
And he really didn’t want to think about how vulnerable he felt without Jace. How much he wished Jace was here in this tiny room, sitting on the edge of this tiny bed.
“I’m hanging up now,” said Trent. “Anything you want to say to me can come through Harlan Marlowe.”
“Before you go, I want you to know there is a car outside of your house waiting for you. And I want you to ask yourself a question. If you really think we are capable of all the horrible, illegal things you’re accusing us of, what will happen if you don’t get in that car? I understand your mother is there with you at the house. How is she doing, Trent?”
The fear that shot through him was worse than when the thugs had accosted him in the mountains. It was a huge, mute fear that weighed him down and stole his words, his ability to think. Part of him knew he should call Harlan and try to find Jace. But another part of him knew there was no time for that. If anything happened to his mother, he could
never forgive himself.
His heart heavy as a block of ice, he crept back down the stairs.
There were three things that went differently than he expected.
First, the car. Rather than being a limousine, as he figured Grumman must travel in, the car that pulled up to his house was a late-model sedan, an anonymous shade of dull silver. A car you might forget about even while you were looking at it.
Second, the absence of Springer or Grumman. He thought that when he got into the car, one of them would be there to greet him, to fill his ear with painful ironies about how easily he had been captured. But there was only a driver, whose one-word answers didn’t help Trent at all. Trent began to understand that he was not going to survive this ride. That it was really over now. His worthless testimony wasn’t just going to destroy his working and social life. It was going to be the death of him.
But there was a third thing he did not expect. He was sure that he would be driven to some quiet bend in the river, and dealt with quickly and efficiently. And yet the driver didn’t stop at the river. Didn’t stop at the city limit. They merged onto the interstate, and headed north.
Towards the mountains.
Towards the cabin.
So this was not going to be fast after all. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. His fear settled into a raw, gnawing worry.
The cold front that had stung him with rain, had brought an early winter to the mountain. Snow dusted the ground. Young icicles grew from the overhang of the cabin roof. A halo encircled the moon. At any other moment, the white and the silence would have been beautiful.
Two other cars had parked nearby, their tire tracks soiling the snow. Orange light flickered from the cabin windows.
There wasn’t anything to say. The driver let him stretch once he got out of the car, but then gestured him into the cabin.
Another surprise. Springer was not inside. It was just Grumman, flanked by the two hitmen.