And he floated from one to the next without much effort, remorse or thought. When their father retired and insisted that Nick run for sheriff, Nick had left his professorship at the university without any hesitation. At least, none Christine had witnessed, though she knew he loved being on campus, being a walking legend and having coeds drool over him. Without a hitch-and quite predictably, in fact-he had been elected to the post of county sheriff. Though Nick would be the first to admit it was only because of their father’s name and reputation. But he didn’t seem to mind. He just took things as they came.
Christine, on the other hand, had to scrape and claw for everything she wanted, especially since Bruce’s departure. Well, this time she deserved the break she was getting. She refused to apologize for capitalizing on her sudden streak of good fortune.
“If it is a copycat, don’t you think people deserve a warning?” She kept her voice sincere, though she didn’t want or need to justify herself. This was news. She knew what she was doing. The public had a right to know all the grisly details.
Nick didn’t answer. Instead, he brought his feet up on the bench in front so he could lean forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on clenched fists. They sat silently in the middle of whoops and howls. There was something different, something unfamiliar about him, and the change was disconcerting.
After what seemed like a long time, Nick said quietly, calmly, “Danny Alverez was just a year older than Timmy.” His eyes were focused straight ahead.
Christine looked out at Timmy bouncing down the field, weaving in between the boys that towered over him. He was fast and agile, using his smallness to his advantage. And, yes, she had noticed the resemblance. Timmy looked very much like the school photo they had used in the newspaper of Danny. They both had reddish-blond hair, blue eyes and a sprinkle of freckles. Like Timmy, Danny also was small for his age.
“I just spent the afternoon at the morgue.” His voice startled her back to reality.
“Why?” she asked, pretending not to be interested. She stared at the game, but watched Nick out of the corner of her eye. She had never seen him so serious before.
“Bob Weston called in an expert to help us come up with a profile-Special Agent Maggie O’Dell from Quantico. She got in this morning and was raring to get to work.” He glanced over at Christine, then did a double take when he noticed her scratching down something in her notebook. “Jesus, Christine!” he spat out so suddenly it made her jump. “Isn’t anything off the record with you?”
“If you wanted it off the record, you should have said so.” She watched him rub his hand across his jaw as if she had sucker punched him. “Besides, by tomorrow everyone will know about Agent O’Dell when she starts asking questions. What are you worried about, Nicky? Calling in an expert is a good thing.”
“Is it? Or will it just make me look like I don’t know what the hell I’m doing?” He shot her another look. “Don’t you dare print that.”
“Relax. I’m not the enemy, Nicky.” She noticed the boys doing their victory dance between the required handshakes. The game was over, and it was beginning to get dark. The park lights slowly turned on one by one. “You know, Dad wasn’t afraid to work with the news media.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not Dad.” Now she had made him angry. She knew to stay away from the comparison, but she hated him treating her like an ambulance chaser. Besides, if he didn’t like the comparisons, perhaps he shouldn’t have followed in their father’s footsteps. As usual, she simply sidestepped the subject.
“I’m just saying that Dad knew how to use the media to help.”
“To help?” Nick asked incredulously, his voice rising above the cheering in front of them. He quickly looked around, realizing he was too loud. He lowered his voice again and leaned toward her. “Dad used the news media because he loved being in the limelight. There were so many leaks, it’s amazing they ever caught Jeffreys.”
“What leaks? What are you talking about?”
“Never mind,” he said, glancing at her notebook.
Christine rolled her eyes at him, wondering if he was just baiting her now.
“But they did catch Jeffreys, and Dad solved the case,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, they did catch Jeffreys, and good ole Dad took all the credit.”
“Nicky, no one’s asking you to fill Dad’s shoes. You always take that on yourself.” Okay, there it was. A slip, an innocent slip. She watched his face, waiting.
Instead, he simply shook his head. A frustrated smile caught at the corner of his mouth as if he thought she couldn’t possibly understand.
“Haven’t you ever wondered…” He hesitated, looking out at the field, his thoughts far away. “Didn’t you ever think it happened all too quickly…too neat and convenient?”
“What are you talking about?”
This wasn’t the response she expected. The night air was chilly, and Christine felt a shiver down her back. She rubbed her arms and tried to look into her brother’s eyes. He was starting to scare her with his anger and his hushed manner. Normally, he joked around and never took anything too seriously, even their sibling banter. Had the mention of their father brought all this on? No, it was something else. What did he know? What was it that had her arrogant, confident little brother so spooked?
“Nicky, what do you mean?” she tried again.
“Forget it,” he said, standing up and stretching, closing the subject.
“Uncle Nick, Uncle Nick! Did you see me score?” Timmy yelled as he ran up the bleachers, carefully watching his small feet the whole way up.
“You bet I did,” Nick lied.
She watched as Nick’s entire face changed, relaxing into a smile as he snatched her small son up into his long arms, wrestling him in close for a hug.
Christine knew her brother was hiding something, and she was going to find out what it was.
Chapter 14
He drove around the park again, this time slowly. The game was finally over. He pulled into a parking space far from the other cars, alone in the corner of the lot. He turned off the headlights and sat watching, listening to the music and waiting for the jerky strings of Vivaldi to smooth out and silence the throbbing in his temples.
It was happening again and so soon. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t control it. And worse, he didn’t want to. He was so tired. He tried to remember when he had last slept through an entire night, instead of pacing or wandering the streets. He rubbed his eyes, wiping at the exhaustion, then stopped suddenly. His fingers were trembling beyond his control.
“Dear God, make it stop,” he whispered as he tore at the hair at his temples. Why wouldn’t it stop? The throbbing, the pounding made his head ache.
He watched the group of boys in grass-stained uniforms. They looked so happy, fresh from their victory, arms crossing around one another, hands patting each other on the back. They touched so carelessly, so casually. Their singsong voices grew loud as they approached, drowning out Vivaldi with lyrics of gibberish.
The memory came flooding back to him, paralyzing him and pinning him to the stiff leather of the car seat. He was eleven years old and his stepfather had made him join the Little League team, bargaining with the coach to get him out of the house on Saturday mornings. He knew it was only because his stepfather wanted to fuck his mother all morning.
He had accidentally walked in on them the Saturday before, only because they were out of milk. The memory washed over him-powerful despite the years. So clear, so vivid he grabbed the steering wheel to Bruce himself.
He stood in the doorway of his mother’s bedroom, paralyzed by the sight of his mother’s skin, white and naked with the silver cross swinging between her big breasts. Her breasts wagged back and forth. She held herself up on her hands and knees while his stepfather rode her like a dog in heat.
It was his stepfather who saw him first. He yelled at him, panting and jerking, while his mother’s eyes grew wide in horror. She twisted out from under his stepfather, falling and tumbling off the bed, grabbing for the sheet. It was then that he turned to run. He stumbled down the hall, tripping and falling only once before he got to his room. Just as he began to slam the door, his stepfather crashed through it.
