Dark Harvest (A Holt Foundation Story Book 2)

by Chris Patchell

  “What baby?”

  “What baby?” he mimicked and shook his head.

  He approached her. Slowly. Deliberately. Fear welled in her eyes.

  “The one you say you left in the woods.”

  Xander planted his hands beside her head and boxed her in against the door. He could practically smell the fear on her, like a scared animal wanting to run. But there was no place to go.

  “I told you—”

  “I know what you said.”

  Her stupidity had put them both in danger. Killing her would be easy. Just a slice of the scalpel, and she would bleed out.

  “Stop it, Xander. You’re scaring me.”

  “I know.” He turned back toward the computer and clicked on the image of the cop speaking to the press last night. Enlarging the photo he centered it so she could see the man with the scar.

  “Do you know who this guy is?”

  “No,” Tory’s voice trembled on the single word, and Xander dismissed the image.

  “It’s not a very good shot. How about this one?”

  He pulled up the image from the Holt Foundation’s website. Zoomed in until it filled the screen. Tory shook her head again.

  “Xander, no. I told you. I haven’t seen him. Why?”

  “Because he knows you.”

  “He’s a cop?” panic blossomed in her eyes.

  “Ex-cop, and he came here looking for you.” Tory sagged against the door as if all of the strength had left her body. “He has a picture of you taken by a surveillance camera.”

  “From the hospital?” she blurted.

  Xander smiled. It was the confession he’d been waiting for, and he savored the moment. From the look on her face, Tory knew she had fucked up. She opened her mouth to speak, to craft another lie.

  “Don’t bother,” he said.

  He zoomed out of the Holt Foundation web page and was about to dismiss the browser tab when she said, “Wait.”

  She pointed toward the monitor at a woman near the top of the page.

  “That woman was here this morning.”

  “At the clinic?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think she came here looking for you?” he asked.

  The woman was pretty, with wavy blonde hair and delicate features. Mid-thirties. He read her name. Marissa Rooney. Assistant Director.

  “No. She was upset. She’s pregnant and has two girls already and isn’t sure she wants to keep the baby.”

  “She’s pregnant? You’re sure?”

  “We did an ultrasound.”

  Xander pursed his lips as he considered the series of events. Suppose the Rooney woman had come in first. Had she been the one to recognize Tory and send Crawford their way? Crawford hadn’t seen her, so if Tory and this woman disappeared . . .

  “How far along is she?”

  Tory hesitated. “Why?”

  The trepidation inherent in the question told him that she already knew the answer.

  “We’re in need of a donor.”

  “Not her. If she disappeared her whole team would come looking for her—for us,” Tory said.

  Xander shook his head. She just didn’t get it.

  “Thanks to you, we’re out of options. You should tell the girls up front that you’re sick and leave now, before another member of the Holt team comes looking for you. I’ll finish out my shift but then we’re done. We can’t come back here. There is no time to find another donor. So, unless you have another pregnant girl in mind, she’s it. Our last hope.”

  Horror dawned on Tory’s face, like she was finally starting to comprehend the magnitude of what she had done.

  “This is crazy, Xander. We should just—”

  He slammed his fist into the desk. “That’s the second time you’ve called me crazy. Now you’re either with me, or against me. Which is it, Tory?”

  She clasped her trembling hands in front of her face and bowed her head.

  “I’ll do whatever you ask,” she said.

  Chapter 33

  Every day Seth drove by this place. Every day he kept on driving—to home or work. Wherever. But today wasn’t like any other day. Today he’d found out that his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—was pregnant and wanted an abortion. She didn’t want him or his baby. And why would she? He was a fuckup and she knew it. She knew he didn’t have what it took to be a partner, a husband.

  Then, to make matters worse, he’d wanted to beat the fuck out of an asshole outside of a clinic. What kind of cop was he? What kind of person was he if he couldn’t control his temper?

  Seth parked in front of the bar. He rolled the window down, letting the rain blow in. A gold chip winked in his fingers. He ran his thumb across the surface, traced the triangle, then the words unity and service. Sixty days of sobriety since he’d last fucked up, which happened right here.

  It was the first night he’d been with Marissa.

  Two months later, and here he was again. Of course. This is who he was. This is what he always did.

  Seth squeezed the coin tight in his fist.

  His cell phone rang. Seth yanked it from his pocket and turned the damned thing off. He dropped it in the cup holder between the seats, wishing there was an off button to the world. He was tired of fighting. Trying. Failing.

  Seth hurled the chip out the open window.

  He couldn’t fix anything. Not his relationship with Marissa. Not the foundation. Not the case. He was useless. Worse than that. The only off button he’d ever found was inside the pub. He just wanted everything to stop.

  Seth crossed the street and entered the bar. The carpet smelled like stale beer. Pink Floyd blasted over the speakers a dreary tune. Wish you were here.

  How fitting.

  He was never much of a day drinker, even when his drinking was at its worst. He’d always managed to hold off until five, but fuck it. Who cared?

  “Detective?”

  Jesse Morgan pushed away from the beer fridge and sauntered down the length of the bar toward him.

  Ah shit. Was Jesse Morgan the only bartender in town? He could go elsewhere, he supposed. Ruin himself in private. There were plenty of bars in this city, but what was the point? Jesse had already seen him.

  “I’m not a detective anymore,” Seth reminded him, taking a seat. He wasn’t anything anymore.

  “That’s right. You’re working at the foundation now.” Jesse wiped down the lacquered wood. He filled a glass full of ice and sprayed club soda into it. “Lime?”

  When Seth didn’t answer, Jesse sliced through the flesh of a lime wedge and perched it on the edge of the glass.

  Seth stared down at it like it was a dead thing not fit for human consumption. He could smell it from here. It had all the appeal of a dirty swimming pool. Wrinkling his nose, he pushed the glass away.

  “Scotch. Rocks.”

  Jesse’s eyebrows arched. “You’re sure?”

  “Are you my mother?”

  “No but I thought . . .” Jesse shrugged, as if the meaning should be obvious.

  Seth bristled under the judgment of Jesse’s gaze. It was his life. His decision. If he wanted to fuck it up, so be it. He fixed Jesse with a hard stare. The kid shifted, looked uncomfortable.

  “Do I need to go somewhere else?”

  With a sigh Jesse pulled an old-fashioned glass off the shelf, added a scoop full of ice, and poured.

  Glenlivet cascaded into the glass. Seth breathed in the fumes like it was the best smelling stuff in the world. Because it was. He licked his lips. He’d missed this.

  Frowning Jesse righted the bottle. If that was an ounce and a half, then Seth was seven feet tall. The kid was shorting him. Seth gestured for him to keep going. Resigned Jesse did until the glass was half-full.

  It was that easy.

  He pulled the glass toward him. He loved the sound of the ice tinkling, the sweet oblivion that came after downing a fifth. How all the shit spinning around in his head would slow down and then stop.

  It woul
dn’t take that much to get messed up now. He was out of practice.

  “You look like you’ve been run over by a truck.”

  He felt worse.

  “I could be so lucky.”

  Seth picked up the glass and swirled the golden liquid around the ice. His mouth watered. He wanted this. He wanted to forget everything. The foundation. The two missing girls. Marissa. The baby.

  He raised the glass halfway to his lips. Then stopped.

  Like a snake emerging from the roots of an old rotting tree, an insidious thought slithered its way into his mind. Doing this, taking the first drink, was easy. But what about tomorrow? And the day after that? What happened if he didn’t stop? Couldn’t stop?

  He’d end up at rock bottom. Broken. Alone. He’d ruin everything and everyone he touched.

  “You okay?”

  He saw pity in the kid’s eye, and he knew just how much of a loser he was.

  “Yeah.” Seth set the glass down on the bar and stared at it.

  “This have something to do with Brooke’s mom? Not that I’m prying.”

  “Something like.” He could lie but what was the point?

  “Man, she’s a piece of work,” Jesse said. “She sure didn’t like me back when Brooke and I were a thing.”

  “She loves you now,” Seth said. “Anyone who can help Brooke is golden in her book.” He wasn’t helping Brooke. In fact, having him around was making her worse. Why couldn’t Marissa see that? Why did Marissa have to twist everything around to be about her?

  “Yeah,” Jesse said as if he didn’t quite believe it.

  Seth could spot a guilty expression a mile off. Occupational hazard. He didn’t need to be a detective to see that something was bothering the kid.

  “She said some disturbing things. I’m worried she’ll do something . . .” Jesse trailed off.

  “To herself, you mean?”

  Jesse’s shoulders sagged as if bowed under the terrible weight of this knowledge, but the news didn’t surprise Seth. Brooke was struggling to find a way to live with what had happened to her. He knew what trauma could do to a person. How it could crush your soul until all you wanted was to make the pain go away.

  A kid like Jesse had no idea.

  “Take the worst thing that’s ever happened to you and amplify it by a thousand. That’s what Brooke is feeling.”

  Jesse dropped his gaze. “You think she’ll be okay?”

  Seth shrugged and stared down into his drink, wishing it held the secrets of life, the magic elixir capable of mending a shredded heart.

  “Brooke has to want to live. You can’t fix her. No one can. All you can do is be there.”

  It wasn’t what the kid wanted to hear. Everyone wanted easy fixes, but that’s not how life worked. Seth nudged the glass with his fingers. The ice cubes tinkled. Not every stupid choice he’d made in life was a result of drinking, but he’d made a few doozies.

  “There you are.” Henry Cahill straddled the stool beside him. “I’ve been calling you.”

  Aw, fuck. Just what he needed. An audience.

  “I turned it off.”

  “I know. It’s sitting in your car. Which may not be the best place for it.”

  Where he left his phone was none of Henry’s business. Seth bit back a retort as Henry ordered a Diet Coke.

  “You tracked me down?”

  “Like it was hard.” Henry flashed a cocky smile that grated on Seth’s nerves.

  Jesse placed the soft drink down on the bar. Henry looked over and eyed the contents of Seth’s drink like he had something to say. Seth cupped a hand around the glass, shielding it from view.

  “Why? Or do I have to guess?”

  “I thought you could use some company.”

  Company? Seriously? They were coworkers. Not partners. Not friends. Seth stared down at his drink, wishing Henry would take the hint and bugger off.

  “Can I get some pretzels?” Henry asked.

  No such luck.

  Jesse set a bowl in front of him and Henry grabbed a handful, settling in for the long haul. Christ, even the way the man crunched was annoying.

  Seth picked up his glass, swirled the scotch around in the ice, and listened to the ice cubes rattle. Beckoning him.

  “So after the lead about the clinic, I took a deeper look into the girls’ medical records, and I noticed something strange.”

  “So much for HIPPA.”

  Henry snorted. “Privacy policies are not worth the paper they’re printed on.”

  “Clearly.”

  Ignoring the barb, Henry continued. “I arranged a meeting with a friend of mine who is going to look them over.”

  Seth sighed.

  “Why? Did you find something?”

  “Look for yourself.”

  Now? If he wanted to work, he’d be at the office, but he knew that the only way to get rid of Henry was to humor him. Seth released his grip on the glass and took the phone. Before he had a chance to read anything, though, Henry grabbed Seth’s glass and downed the scotch in one gulp.

  Henry’s face crumpled like the scotch tasted like piss.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Seth slammed his fist down on the bar and glared at Henry.

  “I needed a drink.”

  “Get one of your own.” He gestured to Jesse, who reluctantly poured another round. Swearing softly under his breath, he looked at Henry’s phone. Yeah they were test results of some sort, but he couldn’t make any sense of them.

  “What do they mean?”

  “Becky and Suzie were both run through genetic screening.”

  “You came all the way down here to tell me this? Genetic testing isn’t unusual for pregnant women. My sister had a whole battery of tests run when she was pregnant.”

  He wanted to wipe the smug look off Henry’s face.

  “Women over thirty-five or those with a history of genetic abnormalities may undergo genetic screening for things like Down’s syndrome or spina bifida, but our gals are young. Marissa has called both sets of parents and confirmed that they have plain vanilla family histories.”

  He didn’t know what bothered him more—the thought of Henry pawing around in these women’s medical histories or the fact that Marissa was at work functioning normally while he was . . .

  Jesse pushed the glass across the bar toward Seth. Quick as lightning, Henry snatched it and gulped it down. Winced. Seth glared at him like he’d just committed a murder.

  “What is it with you?” Seth barked. But he knew. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  Henry belched. “I thought we were playing a drinking game. Anyway I was thinking; neither of these gals had health insurance, so why run expensive tests if you don’t need to?”

  “Is your friend a doctor?”

  “No, she’s a genetic councilor. I want her to look at the tests to help us figure out what they were scanning for. Maybe it will give us another lead.”

  This was it? This was the whole reason for Henry’s intrusion? What a waste.

  He pointed at the glass and Jesse poured a third drink. This time, Seth was ready. Henry reached for the glass, but Seth was faster. He yanked it away. The drink sloshed over the sides, and spilled onto his hand. He swore, wiped it off on his jacket and raised the glass to his lips.

  “You’re sure you want to do that?” Henry asked. “Maybe you should call your sponsor.”

  “Mind your own business.”

  “Look, my old man would put away five or six beers a night,” Henry said like it meant something. “It wasn’t a problem. He would get up the next day and go to work. Until he got his first DUI.”

  Seth slammed the glass down.

  “I’m not your old man. You’re not my conscience. Stay the fuck out of my life. We work together, Henry. That’s all.”

  Seth dug out his wallet and threw some cash on the bar, leaving Henry, grinning like a Cheshire cat, behind.

  #

  Seth grabbed the bottle of Glenlivet he’d bought from the
Safeway down the street and stepped out of the car. The relentless rain poured down from the darkening sky. Chilled to the bone, he trudged along the grassy field studded with headstones.

  He had never been out here. Holly’s parents had buried her while he was in the hospital recovering. They had suggested holding off until he was ready, but they knew the truth. He would never be ready.

  Seth studied the field of stones. He pulled out his phone. Called Holly’s mother.

  “Seth. I was sorry we didn’t see you at the gathering.”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t make it. Work.”

  “How are you, dear?”

  Seth swept his gaze across the cemetery grounds. Rows of headstones stood in the wet grass like solemn sentries keeping watch over the dead. The vast expanse of green grass and graceful trees was supposed to project a sense of comfort, but Seth could never be at peace here.

  “I’m at the cemetery, and I can’t remember where . . .” He couldn’t say the words. Not even now.

  Maryanne guided him through the maze to the place where Holly was buried. With each step, he felt the weight of loss press down on him.

  A dozen roses wrapped in cellophane were placed at the base of the headstone marking her grave. The anniversary of her death had passed, and Maryanne had left flowers. They had been white once. Now they were sad, dead, brown things.

  He thanked Maryanne and ended the call. Then Seth dropped to his knees in front of the marker. A searing pain ripped the wounds of grief open like it had been just yesterday he lost her. Not years ago. Seth placed the bottle of Glenlivet on the top of the granite headstone. Beside it, he placed the sobriety coin that he had pitched out onto Fremont Avenue earlier that day.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been here. I just . . . couldn’t.”

  Tears blurred his vision. He pressed his palms to his eyes and forced the words out of his head, hoping that she might hear them.

  “I failed you. Right to the end. I fucked things up and fucked things up. Now you’re gone. I can’t fix it. I can’t . . . make amends.”

  The rain pounded the sodden earth, soaked through his jeans. A chill ran through him. He folded his arms across his chest and suppressed a shudder.

  “You’d want me to move on. I know. And I’m trying. But my girlfriend’s pregnant and . . . A kid? Christ. What kind of father would I make? Holly . . . I need help. Tell me what to do.”