by Lisa Jackson
From the tunnel, the road ran deep through the forested canyon, then widened. She punched the gas and skirted a huge semi pulling double trailers. Her thoughts turned to Averille and Camp Horseshoe and dealing with the police in that part of the state. Despite the advances in technology over the past two decades, she doubted law enforcement in rural Oregon would be on the cutting edge of a homicide investigation. “Homicide,” she repeated aloud. No one had mentioned the word yet, so it was best to avoid it. The road curved upward and she was just cresting Sylvan Hill when her cell phone jangled, bursting into her thoughts.
Answering automatically, she hit the button on her steering wheel to talk through her Wi-Fi. “This is Jo-Beth,” she clipped out as she passed a slow-moving Ford something-or-other, her Mercedes purring and responding like the excellent driving machine it was.
“Hey,” a man said as if he’d known her all his life. “I heard you were looking for me.”
Her heart nearly stopped, then restarted with a jolt. She recognized the tenor of that voice, despite all the years that had passed, all the time that had slipped away.
“It’s Tyler.”
Oh. My. God.
When she didn’t say anything, he clarified, “Tyler Quade.”
“I know,” she said in a strangled voice that she didn’t recognize as her own. Then she got a grip on herself, took a deep breath, and as she zoomed into the passing lane, barely missing the front bumper of an accelerating BMW, she ignored the angry horn blast from the other driver and said, “And where the hell have you been all these years?”
CHAPTER 12
Camp Horseshoe
Then
Lucas
It was his fault, Lucas knew as he slammed the door of his battered Jeep Cherokee and pocketed his keys. His fault that Elle had disappeared. If his head hadn’t been turned, if he’d been honest with her from the get-go, if he’d been man enough to love her, maybe then she wouldn’t have vanished into thin air.
Or run away.
Or been killed.
Oh, Jesus.
He’d tried to let her down easy, but it hadn’t worked.
His boots crunched as he walked atop the sparse gravel and a pesky yellow jacket buzzed nearby. With a sense of dread he made his way to the camp’s office to talk to the deputy. What would he say?
The truth. You have to come clean . . . about everything. Every last detail. Don’t even think of swerving from what you know to be true.
“Hell,” he swore under his breath. This was going to be bad. Very bad. Swatting at the damned wasp, he thought about the night the shit had hit the fan and Elle had finally realized it was over between them.
The yellow jacket landed on his wrist and before he could slap it away, the wasp stung him. “Son of a—” He bit back the swear word just in time. No doubt his father was waiting for him with the cop, and he needed to hold on to his temper, despite the small red welt rising near the back of his hand. He rubbed the spot, but his mind was on Elle.
She was missing.
Why hadn’t he seen it coming?
But you did, didn’t you? You knew she was unstable, that something was wrong, and it didn’t stop you.
In a wash of memory, he recalled it all.
It had started when he’d confronted her, a few weeks after Fourth of July, nearly August, when he’d decided he couldn’t live a lie, not any longer.
He’d worked up his nerve to end it. Or at least start the process. He and Elle had been a couple for nearly a year, so the breakup wouldn’t be easy, even though, he’d suspected, her feelings for him, too, had changed.
At midnight, he’d sneaked over to her cabin and as he had a dozen times before, rapped softly beneath her window. Three short knocks, then two. Then he’d waited. When she hadn’t immediately appeared, he’d repeated the signal, then soon heard a rustling on the other side of the thin wooden walls, three rapid-fire taps. Sharp. Distinct. Indicating she’d heard, was awake, and would meet him.
He’d swallowed hard and wished there were some way to get out of this, to avoid the heartache of breaking up with her. Would she cry? Hit him? Scream that he was the dickwad he felt like?
Bracing himself, he’d slipped into the shadows, away from the glow of the banked campfire at the center of the ring of cabins, and hustled along the path running behind the cluster of buildings. Jaw set, determined to tell her that it was over, he’d followed the trail, veering at a fork, to hurry through the forest. By the time he’d reached the beach, far below the cliffs upon which the camp had been established, the ocean had been shrouded in fog, the sound of waves tumbling against the shore a rush in his ears, the smell of sea air in his nostrils. He hadn’t been able to see the Pacific—nor much of anything else—through the thick mist, but the feel of the sea had been all around him.
As had been their custom, they’d agreed to meet at the point where the bay fed into the far end of the beach, the southern edge of the camp’s property. It was nearly a mile from the cabin, and Elle had hated to be that far from her campers, but she would always tell Jayla that she was leaving and instruct the other counselors to watch her girls. Jayla had always kept on eye on Elle’s cabin and the campers within, and Elle had returned the favor often enough. The truth was all of the counselors at Camp Horseshoe made a practice of leaving their cabins at night. There was alcohol to consume, weed to smoke, and the opposite sex to flirt and play with.
Yeah, it was dangerous.
Yeah, his father would skin him alive if he ever found out.
But Lucas didn’t give a rat’s ass what his old man threatened or what he did. These days and nights he was always thinking about sex. Always. And Elle, she was beautiful and giving, her pale hair and thin frame almost angelic. He’d known her since middle school, and she’d actually dated one of his stepbrothers before breaking up with Ryan to start dating Lucas. That hadn’t gone over so well, and the two boys had come to words and blows, the worst fight resulting in Ryan being rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night because Lucas’s fist had busted his nose. While Lucas had gotten by with a couple of bruised ribs and a cut on his chin, Ryan had sported a couple of black eyes for nearly two weeks, but more than his face, his pride had suffered a severe beating.
After the final fight, the reverend had lectured the boys, handed out additional chores, and grounded them each for weeks. Still seething, Ryan had backed off, though Lucas had caught Naomi’s oldest glowering at him when Ryan thought no one would notice. There was sure to be payback, Lucas could feel it, and their younger sister had confided that Ryan had vowed to “get” Lucas. She’d slid through the open doorway to his bedroom, the attic on the third floor that had been converted into a sleeping area, complete with a small window and sloped ceilings that made it impossible to stand unless you were in the very middle of the room.
“That’s what he said. I heard him tell David,” Leah, all wide eyes, straight blond hair, and upturned nose, had warned as she’d plopped down beside the bed where he’d been staring up at the ceiling and plotting his escape from his father’s tyranny.
“Spare the rod, spoil the child.” One of his father’s favorite adages, and it was bullshit.
He’d slid a glance at his sister. She didn’t know it, but he adored her, despite her obvious flaws. And there were many. At eleven Leah was intrigued with everything her older half brothers did and was a bit of a mixer herself, always stirring up trouble. “He was gonna ‘get you back’ and ‘make you pay’ and that you ‘would regret ever having started the fight.’”
“I didn’t start it,” Lucas had argued.
Leah had been nodding solemnly as if she understood all the nuances of her siblings’ complicated relationships. Of course she didn’t. Nor did he. Around her braces, she said, “Ryan said he would ‘finish it.’”
Well, so be it. Lucas had welcomed the challenge. Let him try. Lucas had never much liked either of his stepbrothers, and he wasn’t afraid of Ryan, who was tough, all right, just n
ot quite tough enough. And neither of Naomi’s sons had been blessed with Lucas’s wingspan, which really helped in a fist fight. Nor were they as light on their feet. They were both downright naive when it came to street smarts.
So, yeah, Ryan, bring it on, he’d thought.
No doubt he would. Ryan’s temper was and had been legendary, and it had flared white hot when his upstart of an older stepbrother had stolen Elle from him. It hadn’t mattered that his own relationship with Elle had run its course. Oh, no. In Ryan’s mind, Lucas had taken something from him and Lucas had understood even then that he would never be forgiven, that Ryan would always want retribution.
Lucas hadn’t cared about his stepbrother’s simmering anger. He’d ignored the younger boy, his focus on his new relationship as it had heated and grown in the six months prior to her graduating from high school. Everything had been fine, then she’d hired on at the camp as a counselor and things had changed. Lucas had imagined they would continue to see each other, but Elle, in the weeks before actually moving to the camp, had become moody and grown distant, even snappish.
It was in that period when he couldn’t reach Elle, couldn’t find out what was troubling her, was the butt of her anger more often than not, that his own feelings had subtly shifted, and he’d begun to question his relationship with her.
And then he’d met Bernadette.
From that first moment of spying her on the other side of the reception desk, he’d been hooked. He’d tried not to notice the length of her neck, her incredibly long legs, and the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. However, he hadn’t been able to ignore the innocent allure of her, the way her green eyes sparkled or the sharpness of her tongue or how her dark hair turned a deep, fiery copper color when caught in sunlight. She’d been smart, sassy, and opinionated, and though he’d thought she’d given him the once-over, she’d been nonchalant when he’d waited for the two girls to say good-bye to their mother on that first day.
Once Mrs. Alsace’s older Volvo had started rattling down the lane that curved away from the center of the camp, Lucas had shown the sisters to their cabins.
They’d walked with him along the wide path leading from the office and rec center, through the thickets of evergreen trees and clumps of salal. He’d noticed then, with sunlight dappling the ground through the branches, the way her T-shirt stretched over her breasts and the movement of her butt when she walked. It was crazy what an effect she had on him. He’d told himself to look away from her, to remember Elle, but he just couldn’t. The trail ended at the small clearing with a fire pit directly in its center, benches surrounding the pit. A few yards away, the cabins, like circling wagons, rimmed the perimeter of the open space.
“Here ya go,” he’d said, indicating the rustic cabin assigned to Bernadette. He’d waited as she’d stepped inside. This unit, like the others, was basically two rooms, well, actually one large, long room separated by a wall with an open doorway for the counselor, in the smaller “room,” to keep track of her charges. Her bed bumped up against the half wall, above which, again, she was able to view the girls under her supervision through the open interior window. On the wall opposite the cot a few shelves and a cupboard had been built next to the exterior doorway.
Bernadette had walked the length of her small space and through the open doorway to the larger area, which would be assigned to the campers. As it had been then, the cots lining the wall were empty, the pegs and hooks from which girls could hang their backpacks were visible beneath two rows of shelves that Lucas, with the aid of Ryan and David, had installed over the winter.
“Six campers to a counselor,” she’d said as Lucas had dropped her bag by her cot.
“That’s right. Except in the case when there are co-counselors, then it’s eight campers to the two counselors. Like in Annette’s case.”
Her gaze scoured the interior. “No bathroom.”
“A shower house is just down the path. Hot and cold running water, showers, toilets, sinks, and fresh towels daily.”
“Just like the Ritz,” she’d said with more than a trace of sarcasm, but her green eyes had glinted in amusement.
“Exactly like it. The way I hear it, the Ritz copied us.”
Her smile had widened, showing off a single dimple. God, she was beautiful.
“So much luxury,” she’d commented, surveying the open rafters, windows with wood shutters, and worn floorboard.
“Well, it is a camp, you know.”
“Hmm. Straight out of the nineteen twenties or thirties.” Arching a dubious eyebrow, she’d continued to survey the tight, austere rooms. “Home sweet home for the next three months.”
Lucas had nodded. “You got it.”
“And the campers?” she’d asked, motioning to the empty beds. “They’re not here yet, right? When do we meet them?”
“They’re scheduled to show up in about a week. In the meantime you’ll go through orientation and be given a tour and shown around every inch of the campgrounds. The reverend will make certain you know the rules, safety measures, and your duties inside out.”
“Oh, joy.” She’d dimpled. “Can’t wait.”
Annette had been standing on the top step and had craned her neck to peer inside. Lucas had nearly forgotten she’d been tagging along.
“Come on in.” Bernadette had waved to her younger sister.
Shaking her head, the single braid swiping her shoulders, Annette hung back in the doorway. She’d been taking in the conversation and Lucas had experienced the sensation that she didn’t miss much, that she was the quiet type who stood on the periphery of a crowd and made meticulous mental notes. What she’d finally said was, “Where’s my cabin? And why am I ‘co-counseling’?”
“Right next door.” Lucas, irritated that he’d had to deal with her, led the way with Annette following. She was as awkward as her sister was confident.
“Is this cabin smaller?” she’d asked as he’d placed her bag on her cot.
“They’re all about the same size—give or take. Yours is actually slightly larger to accommodate the extra campers and counselor. You have bunk beds. You and Nell, I think her name is Nell Pachis. She’s a junior counselor, only fifteen, so basically, you’ll be in charge.”
Annette was almost eighteen, just as Bernadette had recently turned nineteen.
Annette observed, “It seems darker.”
“It’s nearly identical to your sister’s,” he’d assured her, pointing to the counselors’ area, where there was an additional slim cupboard and a top bunk mounted over the lower cot.
Annette eyed the open rafters suspiciously. “What about spiders?”
“We’ve got ’em.”
“And rats?”
“Not too many. The snakes take care of them.”
As her eyes rounded, her face turning a chalky color, Bernadette had said, “He’s kidding, Annette.” Then she’d glanced at him and smothered a smile. “Well, at least there aren’t any rattlers, probably. But, of course there are garter snakes and others, I guess, nonvenomous.”
“Still . . .” Giving a little shiver, Annette had warily eyed the corners of the cabin. She’d swallowed visibly and had appeared as if she were already regretting signing on to the roster of counselors at Camp Horseshoe.
Bernadette had said finally, “You’ll be fine. We were just kidding.”
Annette had shot Lucas a look that could’ve sliced through granite. “You shouldn’t say those things. Some of the counselors might believe you, you being the son of a preacher and the director of the camp and all.”
“Just trying to break the ice.”
“Consider it broken.” Annette had sniffed and twirled on her heel and, in a huff, half ran outside.
“You’re bad, you know that, don’t you?” Bernadette’s eyes had narrowed and she’d tilted her head to one side as if sizing him up.
“Yeah,” he’d admitted, and felt a slow grin pulling at the sides of his mouth. “I sure do. And if I f
orget? There’s always someone ready to remind me.” He’d been talking about his old man, but she’d thought he was talking about her. Which had been just fine. He’d let her believe whatever she’d wanted.
“Maybe you should work on how you welcome people when they show up here.”
He’d considered it for a second, then shaken his head. “Nah.”
She’d laughed.
“Come on. I’ll show you around.”
“Uh, maybe later. We want to settle in.” With a quick glance to the doorway, she’d added, “Both of us.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, pretty sure.”
“You could be missing out.”
“Right. And so could you.”
Oh, I know it, he’d thought at the time, and from that moment on, his interest in Elle had taken a nosedive. He couldn’t help himself. As pretty and intellectual as Elle was, there had been a melancholy about her that he couldn’t name, a sadness she’d never explained. He’d asked her several times what was wrong, but more often than not, she’d reply, “Nothing,” and manage to scare up a ghost of a smile, or at times ignore his question. As if she hadn’t heard it, or just hadn’t cared.
Nothing had brought that observation more to the fore than dealing with Bernadette, who was sassy and smart and spontaneous. She gave as well as she got, and he’d found himself arguing with her and laughing with her and finding her so intriguing that he thought about her all the time.
It had caused him immense guilt where Elle was concerned, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from being attracted to the confident, older Alsace sister. All the while Elle grew quieter, more solemn, and began to shrink back into whatever darkness lurked within her mind. Sometimes, when Lucas was with her, Elle didn’t seem to be present at all. She was off in her own mind to the point that it seemed she didn’t hear him when he spoke to her. He’d wondered if she’d become bored with him, though upon posing the thought, she’d snapped a quick reply.