Dark Harvest (A Holt Foundation Story Book 2) Page 7

  He held up his hand cutting her off. “I know.”

  The rain beat down on the metal roof, filling the silence with its fury.

  “She just needs more time,” Marissa tried to explain.

  “Good night,” he said.

  Seth turned to go, but Marissa grabbed his hand and yanked him back. She threw her arms around his shoulders and held him tight.

  “Thank you. Thank you for getting her down.” The only way she would get any sleep tonight was with him lying beside her. “Stay?”

  “I think it would be better for Brooke if I left.”

  He pressed his lips to her temple and eased out of her embrace. His footsteps receded down the hall. With a hollow heart, she heard the door bang shut.

  Chapter 9

  The house was empty. Dark windows peered out into the stormy night like vacant eyes. Seth turned the engine off and sat in the car, listening to the howling wind, not wanting to go inside. He rubbed his eyes, bone weary from the drain of the day, his mind still spinning on the case, Marissa, Brooke, and the call from Maryanne.

  The call weighed heavily on his mind—an obligation unfulfilled that he wished he could ignore forever, but Maryanne deserved better.

  He hit redial on the number and waited, half hoping he could leave a voicemail. Maryanne picked up.

  “Sorry I wasn’t able to talk earlier.”

  “I understand, dear. How are you?”

  “I’m okay.” Such a short sentence covering all he’d been through in the time since they’d last seen each other, a history he had no desire to rehash. “You?”

  “Oh, you know.” She trailed off, sadness gave a weight to her words that he felt even now. “We’re having a get-together to celebrate Holly’s life.”

  There it was, the reason she was calling. Seth closed his eyes and absorbed it like a punch. He played mental games with the dates, trying to forget, but you never really forgot the source of so much pain.

  “I would love it if you could join us, but if you can’t . . .”

  Guilt-trips weren’t Maryanne’s style. He’d always loved her for that.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  It wasn’t a promise, and no one would blame him for not wanting to relive the worst moment of his life. Like Holly’s family, her death stayed with him, like the scars on his face. A part of him.

  Always would.

  Maryanne passed along the details in a hopeful voice. Saying goodnight, he ended the call. He pulled the keys from the ignition, stared at the house he had once loved, and headed inside.

  He flicked on the lights and the shadows retreated, but the sense of stillness remained. The chirp of his phone sounded unnaturally loud in the silence, and he checked the text message from Marissa. Both girls were asleep.

  Seeing Brooke out on the roof in the storm only confirmed what he had felt earlier that morning. Brooke needed her mother, and having him around wasn’t helping. He didn’t know whether Brooke would be able to move past the awful things that had happened to her, but giving them space to heal as a family was the right thing to do, no matter what Marissa thought.

  He dismissed the text without responding and shoved the phone into his pocket. He’d had enough drama for one night.

  Rain pounded down on the roof, and the damp chill of the room deepened. The lights flickered, and he glanced up, waiting to see if they would go out. They didn’t.

  Left alone, he started to pace—as he did most nights. Too keyed up from the stress of the day to sleep, he moved through the living room, to the kitchen, around the dining room and back again. He looked down at the hardwood floors, half expecting to see a track worn in the wood, but they looked no worse for wear.

  Once he and Holly would have spent nights in front of the fireplace, talking about the day over a glass of wine. But now . . .

  He strode to the mantle and wiped the thin layer of dust clean with his palm. Weeks ago, he had packed away the photographs of her in a box. Now that he was with Marissa, it didn’t seem right to have them on display. Holly was gone, but her ghost remained.

  Dammit, why was moving on so hard?

  He had a chance to be happy. He stared at the mantle and tried to imagine a new life with Marissa and the girls. Places they would go. Things they would do. Family photographs that chronicled the years. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t imagine it.

  What was wrong with him?

  He was stuck between the past and a present where he didn’t belong.

  The lights flickered again, then died, plunging the house into darkness. Bare branches scraped the dining room window like skeleton fingers tickling the glass. Seth tipped his head back and sighed.

  There was no fucking way he was going to sleep, and the thought of thrashing around in his empty bed was unbearable. Seth grabbed his coat and keys and headed out the door.

  A thick layer of pine branches lay scattered across the empty streets. He sped across the Aurora Bridge and headed downtown. The power was on at the foundation, and Seth wasted no time getting back to work.

  He scoured Becky’s social media sites, looking for some clue they may have overlooked. Three in the morning came and went, and Seth was past the point of exhaustion when he stumbled on something that made him sit up straight in his chair.

  He’d almost missed it completely until he dug into Nathan’s social media posts. He’d found a link to a site, and what he saw there horrified him. Photographs of naked college girls filled the screen. He blinked, hoping the images would fade, but they were indelibly etched into his brain.

  So many girls. Some of the shots were blurry, taken in low light with a cell phone, while others were clear as day. Based on the fact that none of them looked staged, Seth guessed that the girls were not aware that their photos were being taken, let alone shared with other frat boy sickos.

  He scrolled through the pages. Most pictures included an X-rated caption, which included the girl’s rating on a hotness scale. The whole situation turned Seth’s stomach, and he couldn’t help but think of Brooke and Kelly, and the online world that faced them. While it would be nice to think they would never date anyone who might exploit them like this, truth was, these pictures were posted by garden variety college boys, not sociopaths.

  He skimmed the site looking for Becky. He found one from February. Valentine’s Day. Becky wasn’t pregnant and was clearly drunk. Nathan rated her low: kind of hot but too young and needy. Nice.

  Then another photo caught his eye. The woman was young, with long dark hair and black eyes. She looked disturbingly familiar. It didn’t take him long to find her. He clicked on Becky’s Instagram page, and he found a picture of the two of them posing for the camera. Maya Cruz worked with Becky at Jimmy Macs. They were both wearing T-shirts bearing the restaurant’s logo. Nathan rated Maya much higher than Becky, and as he glanced back at the photo, he noticed something else. Maya had a tattoo.

  A gang tattoo.

  He called Henry in early, and despite the grumbling about the hour, the two of them were soon pouring over ill-gotten phone records and printouts of texts between Nathan and Maya. While Maddox had quit responding to anything from Becky months ago, he stayed in close contact with her friend.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me what I found out about our home-girl, Maya?”

  It wasn’t his job to manage Henry, Seth reminded himself. He’d warned Evan.

  “You mean other than the fact that she failed spelling?” Seth set the stack of texts down and sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for Henry’s antics this morning, but rather than resist, he played along. “Tell me what you found, Oh Great and Powerful Oz.”

  “She was questioned in the shooting death of a teenaged girl down in White Center.”

  “What?”

  “The police believe the shooting was gang related. A drug deal gone wrong.” Henry sent Seth a link to the Seattle Times article.

  “Oh shit,” Seth said, skimming through the article at warp speed. “So
if Maddox was looking for someone to take out Becky . . .”

  “His little hottie, Maya, might be able to do just that.”

  “Exactly.”

  Seth glanced away from his screen and caught sight of Marissa walking past the doorway toward Evan’s office. Their eyes met for a brief second. She shot him a scathing look that made his heart drop.

  She marched past his office without so much as a glance.

  “Uh-oh,” Henry said. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing,” Seth said, directing his gaze back to his screen. He’d wait until she simmered down before he stopped by. She’d wanted him to stay last night, but leaving was the right thing to do for Brooke. She had to realize that.

  “It didn’t look like nothing.”

  He ignored Henry. Living in a fishbowl sucked. There were no secrets in an office romance, and he could still feel Henry watching him as he picked up his phone and dialed Garcia’s number.

  “What do you want, Crawford?”

  “Good morning, Linda. Check your email.”

  “What are you sending me?’

  “Take a look. I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

  Chapter 10

  Practice sucked.

  He dropped every ball thrown his way. Nathan played worse than he had ever played in his whole football career, including when he joined his first team at the ripe old age of seven.

  Standing beside his open locker, he’d just finished pulling on his T-shirt when Doug Baker, one of the team’s offensive linemen, piped up.

  “Word has it you had a visit from the cops.”

  More than a few heads turned in their direction. Irritation prickled the back of Nathan’s neck like a rash. Which one of his frat brothers had opened his big mouth? If it was that little prick Travis, he’d be in serious shit when Nathan got back to the house.

  “It was no big deal,” Nathan said, brushing it off and hoping the conversation would die. But it didn’t. He wasn’t having the kind of day where he caught a lucky break.

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  Nathan slammed his locker shut. Baker had never liked him much. Envious of Nathan’s superior talent, he never missed a chance to criticize. Although they were a similar height, Baker outweighed Nathan by a good fifty pounds. Maybe more.

  “Yeah, well you heard wrong.” Nathan jabbed his finger into Baker’s rock-hard chest.

  Nothing attracted a group of guys faster than the promise of a fight. Baker stepped closer, closing the gap between them until his overdeveloped pecs almost bumped Nathan’s chest.

  “Your pregnant girlfriend is missing, and the cops think you had something to do with it.”

  A murmur rippled through the locker room, and Nathan’s face burned.

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Oh, that makes it better,” Baker sniped. He shoved Nathan. The locker door dug into his shoulder as he stumbled back. Baker advanced. “Did you hurt her?”

  Nathan set his jaw and ignored the question. He’d have to be crazy to try and fight this walking meat shield. Grabbing his jacket, he slammed the locker shut, but Baker just kept on going. His voice rose a half dozen decibels until it was ringing in Nathan’s ears.

  “I went to high school with Becky. She’s a nice girl. I fucking swear if you’ve hurt her . . .” Baker shoved him again, and this time Nathan’s control snapped.

  He hurled himself at Baker, drilling him into a locker. He thrust his forearm against the lineman’s throat. The clatter of muscle smashing against metal echoed through the locker room. The players fell silent. Spit sprayed from Nathan’s lips as he stared into the mad dog eyes of his teammate.

  “Listen, shit for brains, I didn’t hurt her. I didn’t do anything to her. Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?”

  “What’s going on?” The team’s offensive coordinator rounded the corner.

  “Nothing,” Nathan said.

  He dropped his arm and stepped away from Baker. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he exited the locker room, feeling the stares of the other players follow him every goddamned step of the way.

  Stupid. Fighting with a teammate was exactly what everyone expected from him right now, and he couldn’t afford to come off looking like a psycho. Every single thing he did was being watched. Baker was the first of his teammates to accuse him of making Becky disappear, and with a sinking feeling in his chest, he knew there would be others.

  Judgmental pricks. All of them. When the truth came out, and they realized how wrong they were, they’d regret having treated him this way.

  None of this was his fault.

  Fucking Becky and her fucking baby. He wouldn’t let them ruin his life.

  The rain pelted down from the charcoal sky, but Nathan barely noticed. The stabbing pain in his hip made each step excruciating. No one cared that he was playing while hurt. All that mattered was how many yards receiving he stacked up each week. Those numbers determined where he placed in the draft.

  Those numbers were money.

  Nathan pulled a vial of pills from his pocket and popped one in his mouth. He chewed the Percocet instead of swallowing it dry. Nathan grimaced. The pill tasted like ass, but someone told him they kicked in faster that way. He was tempted to take a second to silence all the shit spinning around in his head, but didn’t. His supply was low. Maya promised him she’d have more tomorrow.

  Nathan didn’t see the girl blocking his path until he was two steps away. Dressed in a dark jacket with a hood pulled over her head, she looked like a rain-slick otter. Without so much as a word, she cocked back her hand and slapped Nathan hard across the face.

  Pain ignited his cheek. A fireball of anger exploded in his chest.

  “You fucking pig,” she yelled at him. She would have hit him again if he hadn’t grabbed her wrists and wrenched them high overhead. “How could you do something like that?”

  “What the fuck?” Nathan spat out, angling his body to the side in case she decided to take aim at his junk.

  In the dark, he hadn’t recognized her, but now with her face inches from his, he thought she looked familiar. “Samantha?”

  “That’s right, you prick. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me. You took pictures after all.”

  She leveled a kick at his leg. The jarring blow caught him hard and a bolt of pain shot through his hip. He pushed her back.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “It’s all over twitter. The pictures you took and posted with your sick, asshole friends.”

  Nathan shoved her away. She stumbled into a crowd of students beginning to form. A guy in a red jacket caught her. She regained her balance and came right back at him. Nathan grabbed her and shook her like a rag doll.

  “Leave me the fuck alone,” he shouted, spittle raining down on her face.

  A hand grasped his shoulder and spun him around. Some douche with a tough guy attitude and a death wish pulled him off the girl.

  “Get your fucking hands off me,” he yelled.

  He took a swing at the guy, but with the drugs kicking in, his timing was off and the dude ducked out of the way. The other guy didn’t miss. A bone crunching blow cracked into the side of his temple in a starburst of sparks and light.

  Hot breath escaped Nathan in great dewy gasps. He braced his hands against his knees and waited for the dizzy spell to pass. He wanted to beat the shit out of the asshole—teach him a lesson about minding his own fucking business, but then he caught the flash from someone’s phone camera directly in his face, blinding him for a split second before his vision cleared.

  The asshole who’d nailed him was being hauled away by his friends. The crowd circled around him and the girl like a throng of angry protesters, surrounding him in a ring of hate. They were taking pictures with their phones and posting them to God knew where. Nathan slapped the phone out of one girl’s hand. It shattered on the cobblestones.

  “You fucking dick,” she screamed at him
.

  “What are you looking at?” he yelled back, getting right into her face.

  She backed off. By the time Nathan turned around, Samantha was gone. The throng of students around him muttered and stared.

  Just fucking great. That’s all he needed. As if this day could get any worse.

  He shoved his way through the crowd and took off at a run. Shouts faded behind him, and he slowed his pace only when his house came into view.

  Nathan pounded up the steps and threw open the door. Travis met him at the base of the stairs, looking even more pale and pathetic than usual.

  “I’m sorry, man,” he said.

  He held out a sheet of paper and Nathan snatched it from his hand. Halfway up the stairs he read it.

  A search warrant?

  He groaned and ran the rest of the way up the staircase to his room. His door gaped wide. His shit was tossed all over the place. The sock drawer where he hid his stash hung open. He rifled through it.

  Gone. All gone.

  “Fuck!” he roared, and collapsed onto the weight bench, his head in his hands. “Fuck. Fuck.”

  From the doorway, he felt someone staring at him. What little self-control he had evaporated.

  “What?” he snapped. He fully expected to see Travis’s stricken face staring at him.

  He looked up, but it wasn’t Travis standing in the doorway.

  It was so much worse.

  Chapter 11

  “Wow, this kid just can’t get out of his own way,” Henry said, looking up from his computer.

  “What now?” Seth asked.

  Henry held up his finger. He switched on the flat screen television at the end of the conference room. They were calling Nathan Maddox a person of interest in Becky’s disappearance. His blowup on campus was all over the news. The shaky recorded video showed Nathan shoving a slender girl in a black rain jacket. Things got worse for Maddox when a bystander intervened. Students uploaded the video to social media. Every local news station was playing it followed by footage of Nathan being loaded into the back of a squad car.

  “Kid’s got a temper.”