“I just want to take one more look around.” Her father’s determined expression resigned Mac to their side trip, as much as she dreaded their destination. She gripped the armrests, digging her still-painted fingernails into the cracked vinyl. “We’ve looked a hundred times. So have the cops. We didn’t miss anything.”
“Please. Since we’re in the area, let’s check it out.” Her father smiled his sad smile that made her heart bleed for him. What she would give to see a real smile on his face once again, hear his hearty laugh, and listen to his teasing when she lost yet another poker round to him and her brothers. Card games were not her forte.
Craig pulled his truck off the logging road into a small clearing. Moss hung from huge cedars and hemlock trees. A slight breeze ruffled the boughs. The sound should’ve been comforting, but it wasn’t. Not in this place—the very place hikers found Will’s truck three years ago almost to the day, three months after he went missing.
Mac sighed, feeling like shit for being such a selfish bitch. She knew why this area drew her father back time and again. It was the only connection they had to Will’s disappearance. At least, the only one they could explore. Sonja had never let them back in the house after Will disappeared.
Mac watched as her father wandered around the clearing then disappeared down the same trail they’d walked dozens of times before. With a heavy sigh, she got out of the truck and poked around the area. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing had changed except the grass was taller and the blackberry vines weaved their thorny arms into the clearing, claiming more and more territory as their own.
“Mac! Mac!” Her father’s urgent, frantic tone slammed into her.
Mac’s head jerked up. She spun in the direction of her father’s voice and broke into a run, crashing through the woods. Tree limbs slapped her face as her feet hit the narrow trail. Her heart pounded in her ears at the frantic sound of her father’s voice. Lord, she wished she’d learned to shoot a gun. She’d carry it on these trips. She slid to a stop, her chest heaving.
Her father stood several feet ahead, pointing at the ground, his face chalky white.
“Dad, you scared the crap out of me. I thought you were in danger or something.”
Craig ignored her alarm, his entire attention focused on a small pile of garbage on the ground. “Look at this.” Agitated, his whole body vibrated.
She bent down to get a closer look but saw nothing but a couple plastic garbage bags, empty tin cans, discarded junk mail, and a broken child’s toy.
“Don’t touch it. It’s evidence.”
“Dad, it’s nothing. Someone dumped their trash here. Happens all the time in the woods, unfortunately.” Mac stood up and shook her head.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. Let’s get back in the truck. It’s going to rain.” She started down the path, then half turned and waited for her father. He stared at the pile of garbage as if willing it to turn into the clue he so desperately sought.
But it wasn’t a clue, and no amount of wishing could transform it into something it wasn’t.
Chapter 8—Double Date
Bruiser cast his line and leaned back in the seat of Brett’s fishing boat, a twenty-five-foot C-Dory TomCat built locally in Ferndale. The two friends often sat for hours on the lake or Puget Sound in this boat, rain or shine, sometimes talking, sometimes not, and often not catching a thing. Regardless, Bruiser enjoyed it.
Eighty-degree warmth soaked into his T-shirt as rays of sun bounced off Lake Washington like a million tiny diamonds riding the waves of the large freshwater lake.
“So, how’d it go with Mac the other night?” Brett never took his eyes off the end of his pole, waiting for that telltale tug that announced a fish on the line.
Bruiser gave a guilty start and sat up straight. He forced his face into what he hoped was his best innocent expression, even as he felt his ears getting hot. “Fine. You know Mac.”
“Yeah, but the guys said she didn’t look like Mac, that she looked damn hot.”
“I guess.” Bruiser shrugged one shoulder, even as he recalled how hot Mac had looked. Really fucking hot. Throw-her-on-the-bed-and-bang-her-brains-out hot. He bet the sassy blonde would be one wild lady in bed. Those mental pictures were worth a million words. Oh, yeah, baby, give it to me like only you can.
“Did you get a pic?”
Bruiser jumped, almost dropping his pole. “Uh, yeah. On my cell.” Like he hadn’t looked at it dozens of times since last Saturday night. Putting his pole in the rod holder, he fished his phone out of his pocket, flipped to the photo, and handed it to Brett.
“Wow. That’s Mac?” The asshole practically salivated as he stared at the picture.
Bruiser’s stomach clenched with something that felt like jealousy. “Yeah, that’s her.”
“Damn.”
Bruiser snatched the phone from him. When Brett cast a strange look his way, Bruiser fought to come up with a plausible explanation. “Hey, she’s like my sister, and you’re drooling all over her.”
Liar.
He’d sure as hell not treated her like a sister Saturday night. And this morning she’d been spreading bark near the practice field and he’d stopped to admire her fine ass in those tight Wranglers. Since when did he lust over a woman in Wranglers of all things?
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect her.” Brett had the common decency to appear embarrassed, which made Bruiser an even bigger jerk. “You always get the girls.”
Bruiser shrugged. “Not Mac, we’re not like that.” Oh, but part of him wanted to be like that in so many dishonorable ways.
“I’d love to go out with her. I’m every woman’s second choice, you know? Sometimes it gets damn old being number two all the
