“Thanks, Dad, but I’m fine,” Gin said. “Or I will be, anyway.”
“Honey, are you sure I can’t fix you a plate?” Richard asked.
“No … actually, I think I’m going to head upstairs in a minute. I’m exhausted. I just wanted to say goodnight.”
But after she’d kissed them both, washed her face and brushed her teeth, and slipped into an old nightgown she’d found in the back of one of the dresser drawers, she got into Lily’s narrow bed and stared at her phone, suddenly longing to call Jake.
She didn’t even know exactly where he was staying, only that his client had offered him the use of a corporate apartment near the job site. Gin’s fingers hovered over her phone, as she tried to compose a text that would let him know what had happened—but she got stuck when she thought about her motivation for contacting him.
She felt unnerved and scared and needed a friend—but Jake wasn’t a friend, exactly. He was both more and less, now that he’d put their relationship on hold, and as much as she missed talking to him, it wouldn’t be appropriate to reach out to him now. Not if she had any hope of accepting that it could be ending, that she might have to move on. She’d been hoping that he’d call, even just to talk, to say he missed her; but as his silence stretched, it was starting to feel like he was really gone for good.
There was one other person Gin thought about calling, one other person who knew everything she had been through and had already provided her a measure of comfort. Someone who could help her navigate her emotions and convince her that she was safe.
As she was reminding herself of all the reasons it would be a terrible idea, the phone rang. Gin stared at Tuck’s name on the screen, marveling at the coincidence—it was as though she’d summoned the call merely by thinking about him. Finally, after three rings, she answered.
“Hello?”
“Everyone doing okay there?”
“Yes. Thank you again for—for everything. And Max, too. He was so considerate, especially with my parents.”
“Yeah. I’m sure he’ll call tomorrow if anything comes up from the prints, but I’m not holding my breath.”
“Thank you,” Gin repeated.
Tuck exhaled audibly. “I’m concerned about you going alone to meet Keith Walker tomorrow night. I think you should call it off.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Tuck. We’ll be in a public restaurant, with people all around. He doesn’t even know my real name.”
“Okay. Here’s the thing. And don’t give me any shit about being sexist or—or any of that PC crap. Can we agree that what happened tonight changes things?”
“I don’t see why,” Gin retorted, “given that there’s no reason to think it’s related.”
“It’s not unrelated. Maybe. Probably.”
Gin smiled despite herself. Tuck didn’t seem to be aware that concern made him stumble over his words. “That was some very strange logic. You’re worried about me meeting a man for a date, in a crowded public restaurant. The worst that could happen is he could throw a dinner roll at me.”
“Whatever. The only way you’re going through with this if I’m there too.”
“That’s—I don’t—you can’t tell me what to do.” She tried again. “But if you do insist on showing up, you’d better stay out of the way.”
“Gin. I’ve worked as an undercover cop.” Tuck sounded exasperated. “I think I can manage to sit at the bar and drink a beer without attracting attention. I’m trained for this—I could check out your ass all day long without anyone knowing it.”
“I guess we’ll see.” How was it that conversations with Tuck always seemed to end up leaving her feeling unmoored?
“Okay. Well.” Tuck cleared his throat. “I hear someone who should be asleep tiptoeing around her bedroom, so…”
“Good night, Tuck.”
Gin hung up the phone and turned out the lamp on her bedside table. The soft glow of the moon filtered through the eyelet curtains hanging in the window of her sister’s childhood bedroom.
When she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend that Lily was asleep next to her.
14
It was only a nightmare, obviously, but while it was happening, it had felt so terribly real.
Lily, at the end of a long tunnel, calling out to her. Gin was trying to reach her, but the faster she ran, the more distant Lily seemed to become, the tunnel twisting and changing, its outlines shrouded in mist. She was cold, so cold, but she knew that where Lily was it was colder still, and she looked so thin and frail in the gauzy white dress that floated around her body. Over and over Lily called her name, but her voice grew more and more distant, no matter how hard Gin tried to get to her.
And then she woke. The room was still dark, and she could hear rain falling gently onto the roof. She glanced at the clock: nearly five. Before long, Madeleine would be up and in the shower; Richard would follow soon after that. Their home would come alive, and Gin would welcome the activity, the proof that they were all still here, all still safe.
* * *
She was pulling into the morgue parking lot by seven thirty, having avoided the worst of the traffic. Madeleine had filled a travel mug with coffee for her and told her not to worry about calling contractors; she said it helped her cope to have a task to throw herself into, and had already arranged to meet with the designer who’d helped her with the kitchen remodel.
“I’ll bring back paint chips and sample books for us to look through,” she promised.
“Oh, no. Do you think they’ll declare a city emergency when you don’t show up?” Gin teased, glad her mother had found a distraction.
“They can muddle through without me for a day,” Madeleine had declared. “Even the mayor needs to play hooky now and then.”
Now that Gin had arrived at work, she too planned to keep herself busy today. Her first stop was a visit to Paula Burkett’s office in the forensics lab. For once, she was glad that Katie wasn’t in yet.
“I was wondering if I could talk to you … privately, for a few minutes,” Gin said uncomfortably.
“Of course,” the CSI tech said, standing and maneuvering the swell of her belly around her desk so that she could shut the door. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. I mean mostly. It, um…” Gin was uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “Well, I think some past trauma has caught up with me. I’m having nightmares, and a little trouble focusing. And, well, I know you know a lot about this.”
Paula had met her partner, Angie, in an IMPACT self-defense class. Among other things, the class was lauded for empowering those who had suffered abuse and trauma, and Paula was pursuing certification to become a teacher.
“I don’t know about that,” Paula said, “but I’m happy to listen. And of course whatever you tell me will stay between us.”
“Okay.” Gin took a deep breath, then described the nightmare she had, and her memories of her work in the mass graves. “I think it was triggered by seeing the John Doe left in the ground like—like garbage. I can’t stop thinking about his family.”
“That makes sense,” Paula said, putting her hand on Gin’s arm. “What a terrible thing to have gone through. I wonder, though … it was a desire to help families that sent you overseas in the first place. Is it possible that that same desire to help might be the key to healing?”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking,” Gin said, feeling a rush of relief at being able to talk to someone about it. “I just—with everything going on, I wasn’t sure I could trust my instincts.”
“Well, I’m no substitute for a qualified therapist,” Paula cautioned. “But I’m sure you’re familiar with exposure therapy and the theory that facing past experiences in a safe setting can help one move past them.”
“My parents probably wouldn’t call my current situation ‘safe,’ unfortunately.” Gin briefly described the paint splashed by the intruder. “But I feel that it’s more important for me to face this than to retreat,
especially because—because,” she finished awkwardly. She had been about to say, because Tuck was available whenever she felt threatened, but given the fact that Paula was employed by the county and Tuck had been suspended, it felt unwise to mention that.
“That is alarming,” Paula said. “Please be safe—and let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, okay? And … and maybe make an appointment with a therapist. If you don’t mind me suggesting that.”
Gin squeezed Paula’s hand. “That’s a good idea. I’ll definitely make some calls. Listen, Paula, I appreciate you speaking to me so frankly.”
“I’m just happy I was here to listen. I had been thinking of going on maternity leave early, but now with us being so short-staffed, I’m going to stay on as long as I can to help out until they can hire new staff.”
“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” Gin said. “For your sake and the baby’s as well.”
As she walked to her car, Gin paused to look over her shoulder at the building that had been her refuge for the last year, the place where she could shut out everything but her work.
* * *
Gin checked her phone when she got into the car, and discovered that she’d had two missed calls, one from Rosa and one from Jake. Only Rosa had left a message.
She tried to ignore the complicated feelings evoked by seeing Jake’s name as she listened to Rosa’s message. “Hey gorgeous, wondering if you’d like to stop by for a bit tonight? Mom and Antonio will both be in bed by nine or so, but come over any time.”
Gin sent a quick text thanking Rosa, mentioning that she had a date and promising to try to visit afterward, thinking it would be a good way to unwind after the stress of her subterfuge. Then she took a breath and dialed Jake.
“Gin,” he said, not bothering with a greeting. “I just talked to your dad. He told me what happened.”
“My father called you?”
“Yeah, don’t be angry with him. He was asking for some advice on how best to secure the house. You know, update the alarm system and the locks. I gave him a name—a guy I’ve worked with in the past. I’ll follow up and ask him to make it a high priority.”
“I—wow. Thanks, I guess.” Gin was always annoyed when her parents inserted themselves into her private life, but she had to admit that she understood her father’s concern. And Jake truly was the best person to give such advice. “I’m fine, though. Just in case you were wondering.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Jake said tightly. “For now. Gin, you are a highly capable woman. Tough, too. But this is getting out of hand. Whatever’s going on with that John Doe investigation, you need to stay clear of it.”
“Dad should not have discussed that with you.”
“He loves you, Gin.” Jake shot back. “He’s worried about you.” A second later, in a quieter voice, he added, “I’m worried about you. And there’s something else. Now that Baxter’s gotten canned, I don’t want you anywhere near him. He’s reckless at best—and there’s no telling how bad this could be, since Wheeler’s not talking.”
Gin’s irritation spiked to fury. “You don’t get to tell me who I can or can’t talk to,” she said. “Not after you walked out on me.”
“I didn’t…”
Gin could hear Jake breathing hard into the phone, and she pictured the way his jaw pulsed when he was angry. “You know what? I think I need to get off the phone.”
“Gin…”
“No. I know we were calling this a break, but—it’s too hard, Jake. You can’t just pop into my life whenever you want to tell me what to do. I—I needed you, last night, and you weren’t there.” She didn’t tell him that she’d turned to Tuck instead, that he was the one who’d made her feel safe, who’d given her comfort. “So I think we need to call this what it is—a breakup. Maybe not forever, but until you figure out what you want—until you come home—I can’t do this anymore.”
For a long moment neither of them spoke. Gin’s heart felt like it was shattering inside her. She longed to take back the words—to say that she had overreacted, to beg him to come back.
But she knew it wasn’t the answer.
“I … understand,” Jake said, his voice hoarse. “I … I love you, you have to know that. Please, if not for me … for your family. Please take care and be safe.”
“I will,” Gin said, tears springing to her eyes. She wiped them away. “I have to go.”
She hung up before he could reply.
* * *
At 6:55 PM, Gin walked through the doors of Drake’s Tavern, a historic pub that had once served the steel workers and had been lovingly restored, with a popular menu of light fare and hand-crafted cocktails. She scanned the room, looking for the man whose photograph she’d seen on the dating web site. Instead, she saw Tuck sitting at the bar, watching a baseball game on TV and drinking a beer.
She hadn’t spoken to him yesterday, though he’d texted her to make sure she was still planning to keep her “date.” Gin had sent a terse reply, then spent the rest of the day trying to keep busy with a long run and paperwork.
As she stared at Tuck’s broad shoulders, straining against the plaid shirt that was only a slight improvement over his usual off-duty look, she just couldn’t believe that he’d done anything to warrant the suspension. She had watched him care for his daughter, heard him cheer as hard as any parent at a middle school basketball game, seen the posters he’d made with Cherie for a car wash fundraiser for the school.
She’d seen the way his eyes grew flinty when he was angry, opaque when he was working on a case, and dark and depthless when he was thinking about kissing her.
“Excuse me—are you Beth?”
Gin turned, awkwardly remembering that she was Beth Conway, a saleswoman who loved to dance and browse art galleries. She smiled at Keith Walker, who looked exactly like his photograph: attractive in an easygoing way, with thinning brown hair and a host of laugh lines, a neatly trimmed goatee, and a hint of a paunch that would probably turn into a beer belly if he wasn’t careful.
“You must be Keith,” she said, shaking his hand.
“Nice to meet you. I’ve got us a table over here by the window. Hope that’s okay.” He had a warm smile, and he stood politely aside for her to pass, then held her chair while she sat.
Certainly not the sort of manners that hinted at a dark side. Keith was a bit stiff, but that could easily be chalked up to first-date nerves; he might also simply be shy. As he took his own seat, nearly knocking over his water glass, she decided it was the latter.
The waiter stopped by the table to drop off happy hour menus, and Gin ordered a Greyhound while Keith suggested a burrata appetizer that he’d enjoyed before. “I know I shouldn’t,” he admitted, patting his stomach, “but they do a terrific job with it.”
Once Keith finally relaxed, conversation flowed easily, and Gin found herself enjoying his company until she remembered that she was here to try to find out if the man across the table knew anything about the body that had been discovered near his land. She steered the conversation to hobbies, and Keith enthusiastically launched into a description of his outdoor pursuits, including hunting and fishing. “I grew up hunting these woods,” he said, giving her the entrée she needed. “And I still spend as much time as I can at my cabin.”
“Oh, the Pennsylvania countryside is so beautiful,” she said. “Is your cabin near a good fishing spot?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact. I can walk out the front door in the morning and have my line in the water in less than five minutes. My grandfather built the cabin in the thirties—can’t even imagine how many trout we’ve taken out of the stream since then.”
“Oh, so the cabin has been in your family all that time?”
“Yeah, though it’s just me and my sister now. Well, technically my dad owns it, but he’s in a nursing home so unfortunately he’s not able to use it.”
Gin’s ears perked up at the mention of a sister. “Is your sister into fishing as well?”
“Cindy? Hardly,” Keith said, smiling fondly. “She’s not really the outdoorsy type. Her hobby is garage sales and selling stuff on eBay. Or at least it was until her kids hit their teens—they’re giving her kind of a hard time these days, and with her ex-husband out of the picture, she’s really got her hands full.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Gin said diplomatically. “Teens can be challenging.”
“Yeah. Well, my niece is okay, she doesn’t spend as much time as Cindy would like on homework, but she’s a good kid. It’s Logan who’s got Cindy more worried. Poor kid has always had a tough time fitting in, and once he got to high school, he got mixed up in some bullying. And to make things worse, he goes to North Valley High, and the overcrowding problem is really bad there—it’s easy for kids like Logan to fall through the cracks.”
“That’s really unfortunate,” Gin said. A troubled kid could be a possible suspect—and there was a potential connection between Keith’s nephew and Jonah Krischer, although Logan didn’t attend Jonah’s expensive private high school. “Bullying can create such lasting scars. It sounds like Logan could use some specialized attention. Is he involved in any activities that he enjoys?”
A flicker of uncertainty in Keith’s eyes made Gin wonder if she’d gone too far. “I only ask because I have a cousin who went through something similar,” she added hastily. “But he got involved in theater and found his true passion—and a community that he really enjoys.”
“Oh. Well, yeah, Logan’s interested in some sort of gaming group. I know he made friends through it, but Cindy’s not crazy about it. From what I gather the imagery is pretty violent, and I don’t think she likes the other kids very much. Let’s just say there aren’t any Rhodes scholars in the group, know what I mean?”
The appetizers came, and Gin sampled the burrata. “You’re right, this is amazing!” she said, realizing that she hadn’t eaten lunch.
“I’m so glad you like it,” Keith smiled. “So, Beth Conway, all we’ve done is talk about me. How about you tell me how a nice girl like you ended up in a place like this?”
In the Darkest Hour Page 14