Dark Harvest (A Holt Foundation Story Book 2) Read online

  Brooke jerked her chair back from the table.

  “It’s my mess; I’ll clean it up.”

  Marissa stood and set the textbook on the table. Tears flooded down Brooke’s pale cheeks, and she turned away.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” Brooke’s jagged laugh filled the kitchen. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve lost a whole semester at school, and my fucking brain can’t seem to absorb a single goddamned thing. I’m never going to catch up. I might as well just drop out.”

  Marissa stepped closer. She reached out to smooth Brooke’s hair away from her face, but Brooke batted away Marissa’s hand. One by one, she slammed the textbooks into a pile and shoved them onto the table.

  “Oh, baby, I know you’re frustrated. You can start back at school when you’re ready. You’ve got a lot to deal with right now. Working through things takes time.”

  Brooke’s hands balled into fists. She glared at Marissa.

  “Time? How much time do I lose because that crazy asshole decided to fuck up my life? You want to fix something? Fix it so this never happened to me. Fix it so that I can go back to school, so Tess wouldn’t be dead, so my life wouldn’t be a fucking nightmare.”

  “No one can fix what happened to you.”

  “That’s right. It’s never going away. What did I do to deserve this?”

  “Nothing, baby.”

  The psychologist had warned Marissa that after the kind of trauma Brooke had suffered, anger was perfectly normal, but seeing her daughter in so much pain was unbearable. All she wanted to do was wrap her arms around Brooke and tell her that things were going to be okay. She needed time to heal, and Marissa hoped with all her heart that the horrible things that had happened to Brooke would fade so she could get on with her life.

  Right now, she wasn’t sure anything was that simple.

  “Go easy on yourself, Brooke.”

  Marissa crouched down and collected the papers.

  “Leave it.” Brooke ripped the papers from Marissa’s hands and pitched them in the air. They fluttered to the floor like dead leaves. “You can’t fix everything.”

  Marissa sighed and turned away. She couldn’t fix anything. Everything she tried failed. Seth was standing in the doorway watching, a grave look on his face.

  “Is your blood sugar low?” Marissa asked.

  “Is that your solution for everything?”

  “Why don’t you sit down and we’ll test?”

  Brooke’s shoulders slumped. She dropped into a chair at the table. Marissa sat next to her and took her daughter’s outstretched hand. She used the lancelet from Brooke’s test kit to draw blood. Swiping the pad of her finger across the test strip, she watched the blood fill the reservoir. She waited. Forty-six. Definitely low.

  Without a word, Seth set a small glass of orange juice on the table beside Brooke.

  “Are you moving in?” she snapped. “I can get my own damn juice.”

  Seth left the room. Seconds later, Marissa heard the shower start.

  “You shouldn’t be angry with him. He’s been good to all of us. Without him—”

  “We’d both be dead. I know. You’ve told me. He rescued you from a burning building and gave me CPR. He’s a genuine real-life hero. And you’ve known him, what? Five minutes? Kind of soon for him to move in, don’t you think, Mom? Three divorces and you still haven’t learned.”

  Brooke’s words lashed into her like the sharp edge of a whip. Marissa scraped the chair away from the table and stood.

  “You’re angry. You want to strike out at me, fine. I’m your mother. Say whatever you want, but don’t be mean to Seth.”

  Brooke said nothing. She crossed her arms and glared at the table.

  #

  Silence hung as heavy as the gray mist sheeting down from the sky on their way into the office. Marissa wished she could hit the snooze button on the morning and have a do-over with her daughter, but life didn’t work that way.

  “Did you want to stop for breakfast?” Seth asked. There was a diner he liked up ahead, just off Highway 99. Traffic was as thick as pea soup through the industrial part of the SoDo district. Through the fog, Marissa saw the Seattle skyline take shape.

  “No.” With her stomach tied in knots, Marissa couldn’t eat even if she’d wanted to.

  Seth braked hard as the car in front of him came to a sudden stop. He shook his head. The guy in the car behind him blared his horn. Seth tossed his hand up in a futile gesture and glanced in the rearview mirror. The other driver flipped him off.

  “It’s like people don’t know how to drive in the rain. It’s Seattle for Christ’s sake. All it does is rain,” Seth grumbled.

  His elbow was propped against the door. Cheek resting against his fist, he looked deep in thought.

  “I’m sorry about Brooke.”

  “You don’t have to apologize, Marissa.”

  “She’s been through a lot.”

  “I know. I get it. She’s angry. She’s got every right to be.”

  “Okay, I just didn’t want you to think it’s about you. She’s mad at the world for what happened. She was supposed to see her therapist yesterday, but I couldn’t get her to go.”

  “Staying holed up in the house isn’t helping her recovery.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Marissa rubbed her forehead as a tension headache took root. “If I knew how to fix it, I would.”

  All she could do was take it one day at a time and hope that, eventually, Brooke would recover. Hope was a crappy strategy, she knew, but right now she had nothing else.

  They crawled along the highway toward the Smith Tower and the Holt Foundation where they both worked. Her mind brimming with worry, it was hard to think about anything other than Brooke.

  Marissa glanced at Seth. He stared straight ahead at the endless line of traffic snaking into the downtown core. While it was true that they’d known each other only a few months, she recognized his expression. He was stewing about something.

  “What?” she asked.

  His gray eyes cut her way.

  “I was thinking about what Brooke said.”

  “She didn’t mean it. Let it go.”

  “She’s angry,” Seth said, “but that doesn’t mean we should discount her feelings.”

  Marissa’s stomach clenched like she was braced for a blow.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe it’s too soon for her. Us, I mean. Maybe Brooke needs more time to adjust. Feel safe.”

  Marissa slid her palm across her eyes and sank deeper into the car seat. God, not him too. She needed support, not more drama.

  “What do you think?” Seth prompted her.

  “Were you asking my opinion?”

  Her pointed tone stopped him short.

  “You’re upset?”

  “Of course, I’m upset. I think what you really mean is that you’re not ready.”

  When they met, she’d known that he wasn’t fully over his wife’s death, and part of her worried that he never would be. It’s not like their relationship was easy—she had her share of baggage and two teenage daughters. It was a lot for anyone to handle.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “You didn’t have to say it,” she said. “I know you didn’t sign up for this. Messed up girlfriend. Messed up kid. You don’t have to use Brooke’s condition as an excuse. I get it.”

  Seth’s jaw clenched tight. “Obviously, you don’t.”

  Tension crackled like lightning as they drove into the city. They parted ways in the lobby of the Smith Tower. Marissa charged ahead to the elevator without waiting for Seth. She strode down the hallway toward the Holt Foundation and paused outside the doors to read the inscription etched into the frosted glass.

  Strength comes from within. Small steps. Every day.

  She never read this without thinking about Elizabeth Holt. Surviving a brutal rape in college changed the path of Elizabeth’s life and drove her to law
school. One of the first women to graduate in her class, she spent a decade working as a prosecutor before founding her own law firm. In the last year of Elizabeth’s life, she turned her considerable talents and fortune away from the practice of law to create a foundation to help victims of crimes and their families. Their first case had been finding Brooke. That’s how they’d met.

  Marissa’s office was empty. She had no sooner settled at her desk when Evan Holt stuck his head inside her office.

  Handsome in his Burberry suit, Marissa was struck by how much he looked like his aunt, Elizabeth—tall and angular with dark hair and intense eyes. Not long after Marissa joined the firm, Elizabeth lost her battle with cancer, leaving Evan in charge.

  “Good morning,” she greeted him with false cheer.

  “Is Seth in yet?”

  She made no effort to hide her relationship with Seth. The whole office knew they were a couple. The only one who seemed to have a problem with it was Seth.

  “He’ll be along in a few minutes.”

  “When he gets in, please call everyone into the conference room for a meeting.”

  “Sure.”

  Normally, Marissa would have asked the foundation’s administrative assistant, Jessica, to rally the troops, but Jessica wasn’t in yet, so she headed down the hall herself.

  Seth was poring over an open case file fanned out across his desk. Henry Cahill, the foundation’s computer genius, sat across from Seth and stared intently at his laptop screen. Lips slightly parted, Henry scratched the scruffy red beard on his chin.

  “Evan wants to see us all in the conference room.”

  “Okay,” Seth said without looking her way.

  “You too, Henry.”

  Henry’s bright blue eyes danced with mischief and he flipped her a mock salute. Marissa smiled and headed to the conference room.

  The team gathered around the table. Marissa took a seat on the far side while Seth chose a chair beside Henry. Evan stood at the front of the room with a whiteboard marker in hand. They were a much smaller team than the one Elizabeth Holt had assembled to find Brooke.

  “Rebecca Kincaid has been missing for three days,” Evan said.

  He pointed to her photograph taped to the whiteboard. Five foot two with wavy brown hair and soft brown eyes, Rebecca was a pretty girl, now in her ninth month of pregnancy. Marissa’s heart sank as her eyes settled on the picture of the girl. Though it was many years ago, Marissa still remembered how scary it was to be young, unmarried, and pregnant.

  Now Rebecca was missing.

  Her poor family was probably going out of their minds with worry. Like she had been when Brooke was gone.

  “What do we know so far, Seth?” Evan asked.

  Seth shrugged, sipping from a cardboard coffee cup.

  “I just started digging into it last night. The police will already be looking at Rebecca’s boyfriend, Nathan Maddox. He’s a student at the University of Washington on a full football scholarship. A starting tight end for the team, he’s due to graduate in the spring.”

  “What do we know about their relationship?” Evan asked.

  “As near as I can tell, they weren’t living together. He’s on campus. She lives in Renton.”

  “You think the kid did it?” Henry said. Next to Seth, he was the other half of the Holt Foundation’s investigative unit. Part hacker, part magician, no digital data was safe with him around. “In these kinds of cases, it’s usually the boyfriend, right?”

  “Every case is different, but, yeah, it’s reasonable to assume that the police will zero in on him as their chief suspect.”

  “So if the boyfriend did it, why are we wasting our time on this case?” Henry asked. “There are plenty more people we could help.”

  The blunt remark startled Marissa. Based on the pinched look she saw on Evan’s face, he didn’t appreciate it either.

  “Because she needs our help,” Marissa said. “Her baby is due any day now, and if we can do something to find her, it’s our responsibility to do so. We’re talking about two lives here.”

  “Marissa’s right,” Evan said. “I have a bad feeling about what happened to this girl.”

  “So we’re taking cases based on your gut feel?” Henry persisted.

  Marissa was used to having her authority challenged. Raising two teenagers on her own, it had been a daily occurrence, but she could see this was new for Evan.

  “Do you have a problem with this case?” Evan asked, pinning Henry with a look.

  “I was just thinking there should be some criteria for the cases we select—you know, something we could explain to our donors if they asked.”

  Marissa couldn’t argue with Henry’s logic, but it was only their second case as a team. Evan didn’t respond.

  There were so many operational aspects they still had to figure out. Avoiding the conflict, Seth doodled on his notebook while the awkward silence dragged on.

  “What about other suspects?” Evan asked. Seth looked up.

  “Henry and I are scouring her social media sites, developing a list of the people closest to her. Nothing’s popped so far.”

  “I’ll get her phone records and her bank statements,” Henry said, punching away on his laptop keys.

  “Wow, it’s that easy?” Seth asked.

  Marissa caught his sarcastic tone, but Henry didn’t rise to the bait.

  “Easier than waiting for a warrant, that’s for sure.” Henry winked.

  “I don’t know whether to be disgusted or awed,” Seth said.

  “You’re no longer a cop, so you should definitely be awed by my skills. It makes us all feel better. Especially me.”

  Marissa hid her smile behind her hand. Henry’s cocky attitude cracked her up, but neither Seth nor Evan looked amused.

  “What about the press?” Evan asked Marissa.

  “What?” Wide-eyed, her mind raced.

  Dealing with the press was her job? There were so many moving parts to a case; they were all trying to figure out where they fit.

  “Should we hold a press conference? Announce that we’re on the case?”

  Marissa was at a loss. Elizabeth had orchestrated their media engagements on Brooke’s case. Now that she was gone, Marissa had assumed Evan would take over.

  “We should give the police department a heads-up before engaging the press,” Seth said, saving her. “Professional courtesy will go a long way toward smoothing any potential ruffled feathers.”

  “Good thinking,” Evan nodded. “Marissa, why don’t you talk to Becky’s parents? Let’s see if we can find out anything from them.”

  “Okay.”

  Evan checked his notes.

  “That’s all for now. We’ve got a lot to do. Let’s get at it.” The team rose from the table and filed out the door. “Marissa, hang on for a moment, if you would.”

  Evan waited until everyone else had left the conference room before he spoke.

  “I’m meeting with a financial group next week to talk about setting up a monthly donation model. I’d like you to research how other nonprofit organizations have done this in the past. What kinds of marketing campaigns did they run?”

  “Sure,” Marissa said with more confidence than she felt. She knew nothing about donation models. Maybe she could hand off the research to Jessica while she went to speak with Becky’s parents.

  “Did Jessica call in?”

  Evan’s face reddened, and he slid his hands in his pockets. “Right, I meant to talk to you about that.”

  “About what?”

  “Jessica. We’ve got a small team, and I was thinking that we didn’t need an executive assistant. You could pick up a little extra work and cover the gap.”

  “You fired her?”

  “Not exactly,” Evan said, looking down at his shoes. “I laid her off.”

  “Wow,” Marissa said, stunned by the sudden turn of events. Jessica was doing a good job. “I wish you’d talked to me first.”

  Evan squared his s
houlders like he was bracing for another challenge.

  “The budget is tight, which is why the work on the donation model is so critical.”

  “Okay,” she said and left the office.

  If Jessica was expendable, then presumably so was she. She didn’t have a business degree. Her best qualification for the job was as the mother of a victim.

  They all had a lot to learn.

  The case was off to a rocky start.

  Chapter 3

  Nathan Maddox lay on his back, the padded vinyl weight bench beneath him was slick with sweat. His arms shook. Three more. He could do three more. He focused on the beat of the house music throbbing through his earbuds.

  He lowered the weight bar to his chest. His pecs and triceps screamed. He thrust the bar up. One. Elbows locked, he kept his eyes tightly focused on the bar and lowered then straightened again. Two. One more. He could do it. One more, then he’d hit the shower.

  A low, guttural groan escaped his lips. His arms shaking, he lowered the weight halfway down, and that was it. He lost it. The bar fell to his chest. He struggled against the weight and tried to heave it off.

  No good.

  Panic crowded his throat. A burst of adrenaline shot through his veins.

  Chest heaving, he thrust the bar up with everything he had. His shoulders shrieked, but he kept on pushing until he worked the bar onto the safety rests.

  Trembling, drenched with sweat, Nathan sat up.

  He grabbed the white terry cloth towel and swabbed his face and chest. The towel hooked one of the thin earbud wires and tore it from his ear. And that’s when he heard it. Someone was pounding on his door.

  “Fuck,” he swore under his breath. “What?”

  Most of his fraternity brothers had early classes, but lately, Travis had been stopping by with a protein shake fresh from the blender when he was finishing his own morning workout. NitroTech was filled with muscle-building protein. No fruity girl smoothies for him; this one packed a whopping thirty grams of protein per serving. The perfect way to top off his morning workout. Sure, it was a little weird that Travis had taken to delivering his morning drink, but whatever.

  If Travis had a thing for him, fine. As long as he kept it to himself. Between football, school, and girl trouble, he had enough problems to deal with.