Pine Lake

For a while, Jack hadn’t been able to leave his house without cameras being shoved in his face. His picture had been splashed across tabloids and gossip-style news programs, making him the most hated seventeen-year-old in the country. And then one night, Wayne Foukes had been pulled over for a broken taillight. Among the cache of drugs in his trunk, the police had discovered Anna’s missing class ring.

Once Foukes was charged, the reporters disappeared, but the people Jack had known his whole life continued to avoid him. It was almost as if they needed to believe him guilty in order to justify their behavior. He’d left town vowing never to return, but now Nathan’s phone call had changed everything.

Dragging on a pair of jeans, he ambled into the kitchen to scour the refrigerator for dinner. Pickings were slim. He settled on a beer. Later, he’d order in. Watch a movie, crash on the couch. Assuming he’d be able to sleep.

The night stretched before him, empty and endless. He turned on the Astros game to fill the quiet as he glanced aimlessly around his apartment. The small space, sleek and minimally furnished, boasted a view of the Houston skyline, but it had never felt much like home. Turning up the volume, he took his beer out to the balcony to enjoy the night air. The rain was coming down harder now and he held his hand over the railing to collect a fistful of water.

He could hear his cell ringing inside and he told himself to ignore it even as he flicked the water from his fingers and stepped back through the door. He picked up the phone from the counter and glanced at the screen. It was a Pine Lake prefix but the number wasn’t Nathan’s. Or at least not the number of the phone he’d called from before.

Jack carried the phone back out to the balcony with him. “Jack King.”

“Hello, Jack King. Tommy Driscoll calling.” He gave a low chuckle. “Man, oh, man. I wish I could see your face right now. I must be about the last person you expected to hear from tonight.”

Pretty damn close. What were the chances he’d hear from his two former best friends on the same night? Jack wasn’t a big believer in coincidences. Something was up. He tried to brace himself, but Tommy Driscoll’s voice took him aback. He sounded exactly the way Jack remembered—loud, jovial, a man always up for a good time. Except now the jollity sounded forced, but maybe Jack’s perception had been tainted by time and Nathan’s innuendoes. Or maybe Tommy Driscoll had never been the easygoing guy Jack had thought him.

“What can I do for you, Tommy? Or should I call you Sheriff Driscoll?”

“You heard about that, did you?” He sounded pleased. “Back in our glory days, who would have ever thought a pair of hell-raisers like us would turn out to be cops?”

“I’m not a cop.”

“You were, though. Houston PD. See? I’ve kept up with you through the years.” He paused as if expecting Jack to say the same about him. “Now you’re with that outfit I see on the news. The Blackthorn Agency. You guys go into some hairy places from what I hear. Must be exciting. Good money, too, I bet. You’ve done all right for yourself, seems like.”

In spite of everything, Jack thought. “Why are you calling, Tommy?”

“I need a favor, buddy. It’s about Nathan.”

Jack was instantly on alert. “What about him?”

“Have you heard from him lately?”

Something in Tommy’s voice prickled Jack’s scalp. “Why would you think I’d hear from Nathan? You guys cut me loose a long time ago.”

“You sound bitter,” Tommy said.

“No, just careful.”

“Can’t say as I blame you, considering the way you were treated. We were all just scared kids back then. I’m not making excuses, but it was a rough time for everyone.”

Sure sounded like he was making excuses. And the half-hearted apology was only now being extended because Tommy needed something from Jack. Just like Nathan did. He wasn’t about to make it easy on either of them.

“This is awkward as hell,” Tommy muttered into the loaded silence. “I can’t imagine how strange it must be for you.”

“No, you can’t.”

Tommy drew in a sharp breath as if his anger had been goaded. Then he said in a strained voice, “Look, man, I wouldn’t even be bothering you except I think Nathan may be in some trouble. Serious trouble. And now that it’s all coming home to roost, he’s looking for a way out.”

“What do you mean?”

Tommy hesitated. “I think he may be trying to set me up.”

“For what?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet.”

Jack stared out into the night, dotted with streetlights spanning the misty cityscape, but his mind had already traveled deep into the piney woods of East Texas. “What is it you expect me to do about it?”

“Nothing, buddy. Not a damn thing. That’s the whole point of this call. If Nathan tries to get in touch, I’d appreciate a heads-up. Otherwise, go on about your business.”

“You still haven’t told me why you think he’d try to get in touch with me.”

“He’s desperate. And he and your uncle were tight. Maybe he thinks you still have a score to settle and he can somehow use it to his advantage. A word of advice from an old friend.” Any hint of joviality disappeared from Tommy Driscoll’s voice. “Don’t believe a word that comes out of his mouth. Nathan Bolt is a pathological liar. Always has been. Just like his old man.”

“What has he lied about?” Jack asked carefully.

Tommy hesitated. “Maybe it doesn’t even matter anymore.”

“Maybe it does,” Jack said. “What did Nathan lie about?”

Another pause. “He wasn’t home the night Anna was killed. He left before midnight and didn’t come back until nearly sunrise.”

Chapter Two

Jack sat on his uncle’s boat dock as a fine mist settled over the lake. All around him, the landscape was eerie and primal, a swampy labyrinth of channels and bayous that stretched all the way across the Louisiana border. The town of Pine Lake was less than a quarter of a mile away, but the woods blocked the lights. He could see nothing but the silhouette of trees and a glimpse now and then of the old lake bridge through the curtains of Spanish moss hanging from a dense forest of bald cypress.

Damn, it was dark out here.

Jack had forgotten what it was like to be that deep in the country, without the glow of skyscrapers to create a false daylight. As he stared out at the water, the night came alive. A loon trilled from the woods as a mosquito buzzed his ear. A female alligator grunted nearby, warning predators away from her nest. The nocturnal sounds stirred an uneasy excitement. You shouldn’t have come back here, a voice in his head taunted. You’re asking for trouble.

Yeah, maybe he was.

He hadn’t told anyone he was coming. Not Nathan, not Tommy. But the cabin had been spotless when he arrived, the cupboards and refrigerator well stocked. Even his uncle’s fishing boat had been scrubbed and gassed up. Jack wasn’t too pleased by the preparations. Nathan’s overconfidence bugged him, but it wasn’t misplaced. He was here, wasn’t he?

All weekend long he’d brooded about those two phone calls and then come Monday morning, he’d headed upstairs to talk things over with his boss, Ezra Blackthorn. The taciturn head of the agency had listened carefully to Jack’s story, but he hadn’t offered much in the way of advice. Wading back into the muck of his past had been Jack’s decision alone. As much as he dreaded what he might find, he couldn’t ignore any chance, no matter how slim, of finally bringing Anna’s killer to justice. To resolve once and for all what had really happened on that long-ago Friday night.

But he had no delusions about easy answers. His investigation was likely to get messy. He didn’t trust Nathan or Tommy to tell him the truth. Obviously, they were each working an angle. He could well imagine Tommy Driscoll getting involved in something shady. Even as a kid, Tommy’s innate charm and athletic prowess had fostered a sense of entitlement. He’d learned early on that he could talk his way out of anything and Jack doubted his attitude had changed now that he wore a badge.

Nathan was a little harder to figure out. He already had money and prestige. Why risk his standing in the community?

Jack really didn’t care what either of them was up to. He did care that one or both had lied about their whereabouts on the night of Anna’s murder.

He watched the water with a pensive frown, unable to shake his disquiet. His mind had strayed to such a dark place that when he saw a light flicker on the old lake bridge, he half convinced himself he was being paranoid.

But no, there it was again. Not a flickering light as he’d first thought, but the bobbing beam of a flashlight moving across the wooden deck. The bridge had been abandoned decades ago, but the rotting floorboards and creaking beams had never dissuaded the local daredevils. He watched for a moment, thinking back to his own misadventures on that bridge.

The light was no longer moving, he noted. The beam stayed stationary for so long that he had to conclude someone had set the flashlight down on the deck or perhaps wedged it between the braces. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost conjure a form standing at the guardrail. He was tempted to start up his uncle’s boat and train the spotlight on the bridge, but even so powerful a beam would be swallowed by the misty darkness. Besides which, this was none of his business. He hadn’t come to Pine Lake to get sidetracked—

He heard a splash as something heavy hit the water. Then the flashlight beam swept down and over the lake, glimmering sporadically through the trees. Jack was far enough away that he couldn’t be spotted, but he instinctively shrank back into the shadows.

For the longest time, the light moved slowly over the water. Then the glow vanished, only to reappear bobbing toward the end of the bridge. A few minutes later, Jack heard the sound of a car engine on the far side of the lake. Not a frantic rev but a stealthy purr as the car slowly drove away on the old dirt road.

He didn’t know what to make of the splash or the light. People had been known to use the lake as a dumping site. If caught, the offense carried a stiff penalty, but back in Jack’s day, the area around the bridge had rarely been patrolled. Which was undoubtedly the reason Anna’s killer had chosen to dump her body from the deck.

That splash...

What were the chances another body had been thrown from the bridge on the very night he’d returned to Pine Lake? Slim to none, Jack decided, but he knew the sound would niggle at him all night. Might as well take the boat out and have a look.

* * *

A FEW MINUTES LATER, Jack maneuvered away from the dock and headed into the channel. It was even darker on the water. He didn’t want to turn on his running lights, much less the spotlight in case someone lurked nearby. But it was dangerous to be on the lake blind. Dangerous for others, dangerous for him. If he strayed from the middle of the channel, he had to worry about cypress knees below the surface and those thick mats of aquatic vegetation that could entangle the boat’s propeller.

He turned on the spotlight, keeping the beam concentrated on the water ahead of him. As he neared the bridge, he shifted into neutral and drifted as he trained the light along the banks where ground mist thickened. Cypress trees rose from the shallows like bearded sentinels, obscuring both ends of the bridge. Beyond the lake was the pine forest and all along the water’s edge, a creeping carpet of lily pads and lotus.

He made a pass underneath the first span of the bridge, once again searching along the banks and in the deeper water of the channel before returning through the second span. Clouds blocked the moon so thoroughly he had to rely solely on the spotlight. Even through the mist, he could pick out turtles and frogs and the red glowing eyes of an alligator, but he saw nothing unusual in the water.

If someone had thrown a body off the bridge, they would have more than likely weighted it. It could take days or even weeks to surface. He was wasting his time and he knew it. All he’d heard was a distant splash. All he’d seen was a bobbing flashlight. He had no reason to believe that anything untoward—

She was there in the shallows, floating on her back among the lily pads.

Jack used the trolling motor to navigate through the strangling vegetation and then a paddle to hold the boat steady as he observed the body. He didn’t attempt to drag her from the water. She was dead and had been the moment the bullet passed through the back of her skull and exited between her eyes. During his time as a cop, he’d seen that jagged, X-shaped wound before, usually in drug-related executions. The facial damage was extensive, but the best Jack could tell, she was young, probably no more than early twenties, with long blond hair floating all around her.

He sat for a moment, awash in memories before he took out his phone and called Tommy Driscoll’s number.

The phone rang five times before Tommy finally answered. He sounded annoyed and winded. “Driscoll.”

“Tommy, it’s Jack King.”

“Jack? It’s a little late, isn’t it, buddy?”

“Not for this.”

“You heard from Nathan?” he asked anxiously.

“I’m calling about something else.”

A long silence. “Where are you?”

“Sitting in my uncle’s boat on Pine Lake. I’m about fifty yards south of the old bridge. You’d better get out here. There’s a body in the water.”

He heard the sharp intake of Tommy’s breath. “Do you know who it is?”

“Female Caucasian. Blonde, slim build from what I can tell. She’s young. Early twenties, I’m guessing. Looks like someone shot her in the back of the head and then dumped her body off the bridge.”

“No need for an ambulance, I take it.” Tommy’s voice seemed oddly hushed.

“No, but you’d better send for the coroner. I’ll stay with her until you get here.”

“Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing on Pine Lake?”

“I don’t think that much matters right now, does it?”

“It might,” Tommy said. “I’ll see you in a few minutes. We’ll talk then.”

Jack dropped the phone back in his pocket, his gaze still on the body. He cut the spotlight. The garish brilliance somehow seemed offensive. As darkness slid over him, he had the uncanny feeling that he wasn’t alone. He told himself it was just the situation. The similarities to Anna were bound to unnerve him. But he couldn’t shake the notion that someone was near. Someone watched him.

Turning on the spotlight, he raked the powerful beam all along the banks and then into the shadowy corners of the bridge. He almost expected to see someone at the guardrail staring down at him. No one was there. He was alone on the water with the dead woman.

He made one more sweep, this time slanting the beam up in the trees. As he shifted the light, he caught a glimpse of something white through the cypress branches. A barn owl, he thought, or a snowy egret. But as he focused the light, he realized the shimmer of white wasn’t in a tree, but at the very top of the bridge. For a moment he could have sworn someone was up in the rafters.

He shook his head and moved the light away. Crazy notion.

He sat in the gently rocking boat and let the night sounds settle over him. Then he angled the beam back to the truss. The white object was still up there.

Pushing off with the paddle he let the boat float back into the center of the channel before he started the motor. The outboard hummed throatily as he navigated toward the bridge. Backing off the throttle he aimed the light up through the Spanish moss. Whatever he expected to find was not what he saw. Never in a million years could he have imagined such a sight.

The floor of the bridge was a good fifteen feet above the water and from the deck, a series of braces and struts climbed another twenty feet to the iron beam that ran the length of the bridge.

On top of that narrow girder, a woman lay curled in the fetal position.

* * *

OLIVE’S EYES FLEW OPEN. She had been dreaming again about falling. Down, down, down into that misty abyss. The nightmare had been so real that she still had the smell of the swamp in her nostrils. She could even feel a breeze on her face.

She lay for a moment, breathing deeply as she tried to calm her racing heart.

What was that creaking sound? She couldn’t place it. The ceiling fan, maybe?

“Don’t move,” a male voice said nearby.

That brought her fully awake. She started to sit up, but a hand on her shoulder eased her back down and she realized another hand had clamped around her wrist. Panic exploded. Her instinct was to lash out at the intruder, to fight him off with every ounce of strength she could muster, but she was suddenly aware of her surroundings. That creak didn’t come from any ceiling fan. She wasn’t even in her bedroom. She was—

“Where am I?” she gasped, as her whole world tilted.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” The voice was deep and silky smooth. Olive found it at once soothing and terrifying.

“Got me...where?”

“You know the old bridge over Pine Lake?”

“Yes, I know it...” She trailed away as she tried to peer through the darkness. A light glimmered somewhere below her. She felt compelled to turn and stare into the beam, but the swaying sensation and the hand on her shoulder kept her immobile. “I’m on the bridge?”

“More or less,” the voice said.

Terror surged as she pictured the gaping holes in the rotting floorboards and the unstable framework towering over her. The image dizzied her and she had to suppress the urge to flail her arms, searching for a handhold.

Now she understood the creaking and swaying.

“You have to stay calm, okay? I’m not going to let you fall, but you need to do exactly as I say.”

“Fall?” She started to tremble.

“We’re going to get you down, but it’ll take some maneuvering.”

“Why can’t I just stand up and walk off the bridge?” she asked in a quivering voice.

“You’re not exactly on the bridge. You’re on top of it.”

“On top of it?”

“On top of the truss.”

“That’s impossible.” But even as she protested, she realized the feathery forms all around her were the tops of cypress trees. She could feel the night air on her face and the hardness of the support beneath her. The nightmarish sensation of falling gripped her again and she said in a terrified whisper, “Please don’t let go of me.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

Somehow she believed him. “How did I get up here?”

“You tell me.”

“Sometimes I sleepwalk. I have these falling dreams—”

“You’re not going to fall. If you go, I go and I’m not in the mood for a swim. So here’s what I need you to do. Right now, you’re lying on your left side facing out toward the water. Take a moment to get your bearings.”

“I can see cypress trees. There’s a light somewhere below us—”

“Don’t look down. Stay focused on the task at hand. Listen to me carefully. I need you to roll to your stomach, but there’s not a lot of space to operate. I’d say about a foot, give or take.”

She put out a hand and felt nothing but air. “I can’t. There isn’t enough room.”

“If there’s room enough for you to curl up and sleep, there’s enough room for you to roll over. Besides, you’re small. You don’t need much space.”

“I can’t. Please don’t make me.”

He was silent for a moment. “What’s your name?”

“Olive Belmont.”

“Olive? As in Nathan Bolt’s cousin?” He sounded surprised.

“Yes. You know Nathan?”

“We go back. Listen to me, Olive. We’re going to do this together, okay? I’m right here with you. You’ll be able to see me in a moment. Put your right hand on the support and clamp your fingers around the edge. Do the same with your left as you slowly position yourself facedown.”

Olive clutched the edge, but she didn’t roll over. Not for the longest time. Then drawing a breath, she slowly shifted her body. The rafter rocked and the whole frame seemed to shimmy. She froze. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. This bridge isn’t going anywhere. Just take your time. That’s it. Nice and easy.”

Olive tried to ignore the metallic screeches and the disorienting sway of the structure beneath her. Instead, she let that soothing voice guide her as she maneuvered her hands and body until she lay face down on the support, still breathing hard and trembling.

“Good job. Now you’re going to get on your hands and knees and slowly crawl toward me. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t look down, look at me. Whenever you’re ready.”

Olive rose on hands and knees, balancing herself on the precarious beam. The light from below provided enough illumination so that she could see the silhouette of the man facing her.

“Follow me, Olive. Nice and slow. We’re in no hurry. We have all night.”

His voice flowed over her, so honeyed, so comforting in the dark. She could see the gleam of his eyes, the curve of his jaw. He seemed very steady on the rafter. Not the least bit afraid.

She drew a deep breath and released it. “I’m ready.”

They began to move slowly, inch by inch toward the end of the bridge. He had the more difficult job because he was maneuvering backward on the unsteady support. He didn’t look over his shoulder or down at the water. He kept his eyes trained on Olive. She tried to do the same. She didn’t dare look out over the lake. She didn’t dare peer down into that misty abyss.

“Almost there. You’re doing great, but I need you to stay focused, okay? I need you to stay calm.” He came to a halt and she did the same. His eyes gleamed in the dark as he held her gaze. “Now comes the tricky part.”

“The tricky part?” she echoed faintly.

“We’re going to lower ourselves over the side. The braces form a sort of ladder at the end of the horizontal beam. I imagine that’s how you got up here.”

“I don’t remember.”

“It’s not as hard as it sounds. I climbed this thing more times than I could count as a kid. Nathan did, too.”

“That doesn’t sound like Nathan,” she said.

“It took a lot of double-dog daring.”

She heard a smile in his voice and shivered. “I’m ready.”

He went over the side first, finding his footing and then clinging with one hand as he waited for her. Olive counted to ten and then eased into position, lowering her legs and grappling for a foothold. The movement must have put too much pressure on the rusty bolts. She heard a loud snap and then one end of the beam dropped out from under her. For one heart-stopping moment, she found herself in a free fall.

Then a hand clamped around her wrist. “Easy now. I’ve got you.”

“Don’t let go!” she pleaded.

“Not a chance,” he said as he tightened his grip.

Chapter Three

He pulled her up to the ladder and then his arm came around her, holding her close as she found her footing. Now that one end of the beam had popped free, the integrity of the structure was even more compromised. The struts clanged ominously as Olive and her rescuer began their descent. At deck level, he climbed over the guardrail and helped her through. She clutched his arm, mindful of all those missing planks and the glisten of water far below.

“Let’s get off this thing,” he said and took her hand, leading her from the bridge. When they were safely on the bank, she stopped and bent double, catching her breath.

“Are you okay?”

She drew in air. “I just need a moment.”

“You did great,” he said.

She sucked in several more breaths before she straightened. She could see him more clearly now. He was tall and slim with broad shoulders and long legs. Dark hair, dark eyes. Tantalizingly familiar.

She could see him so well, in fact, she wondered if the moon was up, but then she realized the light came from a bobbing boat at the edge of the water.

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you. If you hadn’t found me when you did...” She trailed off on another shudder. “How did you even know to look for me up there?”