Pine Lake

“I guess growing up with my old man, I got used to dealing with bullies.”

Don’t, Jack thought bitterly. Don’t let him get to you. None of this matters anymore.

So what if Nathan had lied about Tommy’s whereabouts? Jack had never been charged. He’d left town a free man and he’d put all that behind him. He was happy here in Houston. Or at least, content. He had friends, a good job. Why go digging up the past now?

Because a man had been sent to prison for a crime he may not have committed. Wayne Foukes was an arsonist, a drug dealer and a serial rapist who’d left a string of ruined lives in his wake. He deserved to be incarcerated, but so did Anna’s killer.

“Will you come?” Nathan pressed.

“What is it you expect me to do?”

“What you do in every other place with a corrupt police department. Expose the dirt so we can clean it up.”

“You don’t think people will question my presence in a town where I haven’t set foot in over fifteen years?”

“You have the perfect excuse for coming back. You need to settle your uncle’s estate. You can even stay in the cabin while you decide what you want to do with it. I’ll have someone go in and give it a good cleaning, stock the refrigerator. You might even enjoy a few days on the lake. All I’m asking is that you keep your eyes and ears open while you’re here. Ask a few discreet questions. You’ll know how best to handle the situation once you get here.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jack said.

“For how long?”

Irritation flared. “For as long as I need to. I have a job. I can’t pick up and leave whenever I want.”

“Don’t take too long,” Nathan warned. “Whatever you decide, I would appreciate you keeping this call between us. My life could depend on it.”

He knew how to end the conversation on a dramatic note. Jack would give him that.

Slipping the phone in his pocket, he leaned a shoulder against the building as he mulled over his options. He had vacation time coming. He was between assignments and he’d caught up on all his paperwork. There would never be a better time to take a few days off. Still, he wasn’t about to rush into anything. He needed to have a drink, relax, sleep on it. Then he’d talk things over with his boss on Monday.

He deliberately turned his thoughts to more pleasant options, like how to spend the rest of his Friday evening. He could go across the street to Lola’s and have a drink with the other Blackthorn employees who would already be congregating in the shadowy back room for happy hour. Like Jack, they were mostly former law enforcement—cops, FBI, DEA. They all got on well except for the military contingent, the ex-Special Forces teams that were often deployed overseas as private security. Mercenaries. Those guys kept to themselves.

He decided he wasn’t in the mood for a raucous celebration so he thought about heading over to Ninfa’s on Navigation for solo margaritas and fajitas. But it was a popular eatery and on a Friday night with the Astros in town, chances were good he’d need a reservation. He chose a third option. Home.

His apartment was several blocks away, but he didn’t mind the rain. Dodging umbrellas, he merged with the pedestrians hurrying toward bus stops and parking garages. The theater crowd would soon converge, tying up traffic for blocks. He was glad to be on foot.

As he strode along the sidewalk, the back of his neck tingled. He could easily chalk up the sensation to imagination or the residue of an unsettling conversation, but Jack had learned a long time ago to listen to his instincts. To pay attention to the signs. He was being followed.

He searched the mirrored facade of the building across the street and turned very casually to observe the traffic. Nothing seemed amiss, but in the chaos of rush hour, a tail could be hard to spot.

* * *

OLIVE BELMONT HURRIED along the shadowy streets, suppressing the desire to glance over her shoulder as she rounded the corner toward home. She’d had a funny feeling all day that something was wrong, though she tried to tell herself it was nerves.

School would start in another three weeks and this would be Olive’s first term as principal at Pine Lake High School. Just shy of thirty, she was the youngest to ever hold the position and she knew the school board would watch her every move, waiting to pounce on any misstep. With that kind of pressure, she was allowed a few jitters.

Her unease was more than first-day butterflies, though. Pine Lake wasn’t the town it once was. Maybe it had never been the idyllic hamlet she’d always thought it, but now the community seemed on the verge of losing itself to the same pandemic of drugs and malaise that affected hundreds of rural towns across the South.

The decline had been gradual in Pine Lake. So slow that only lately had Olive noticed the deterioration. But on a sultry evening like this, one could almost smell the rot. Even the beautiful old Queen Anne homes along Primrose Avenue had fallen into a sorry state and it seemed to Olive that every other week she saw at least one U-Haul heading out of town. She wondered if that was why she’d been offered the job as principal. Maybe no one else had wanted the position.

With all the added stress came the nightmares, those terrifying falling dreams from her early teens. The situation was always the same. She found herself on a bridge clinging to the edge for dear life. She could feel her fingers slip as her legs flailed helplessly. Then she was falling backward into a misty abyss as a shadowy figure peered down at her from the guardrail. Olive could never see a face, but she thought the watcher might be her dad. He’d been killed on a bridge when his car and another had collided head on.

Olive had gone years without having that dream, but for weeks now the recurring nightmare had plagued her sleep. She never hit the water, but on at least two occasions, the sensation of falling had been so real that she’d awakened to find herself on her knees in bed, clutching the headboard. The smell of pine needles and swamp had permeated her tiny bedroom, though she knew the scent was nothing more than a lingering effect from her dream.

She hoped the nightmares would go away once school started and she settled into her new position. Meanwhile, a chat with Mona Sutton might help. The guidance counselor had been a lifesaver when Olive had been a new student at Pine Lake High School fifteen years ago. Armed with a doctorate in psychology and a fierce determination to save the world, Mona Sutton had taken Olive under her wing, helping her through the pain and loneliness and seemingly insurmountable guilt over her father’s tragic death. Olive’s mother had been too lost in her own grief to notice that her fourteen-year-old daughter was quietly having a nervous breakdown. Mona had stepped in, then and years later when the pressure of college had caused the dreams to resurface. She would help again if need be, but their relationship might be trickier now that Olive was her boss.

Olive’s tiny bungalow was just ahead on the corner of Elm and Holly. As she approached the intersection, she finally gave into her premonition and glanced over her shoulder. It was still early, but not a soul stirred. Even the eateries along East Market Street had already closed their doors for the evening.

An abandoned air had settled over the town, deepening Olive’s unease. For a moment, she had the terrifying notion that everyone had packed up and left Pine Lake while she’d been working late, readying herself for the coming school year. But she wasn’t completely alone. A dog barked from a fenced backyard and she could hear the idling of a car engine somewhere nearby.

As she stepped off the curb, headlights flashed on, catching her in the face. She froze like a deer, staring wide-eyed into the bright beams until she heard the engine rev and then she instinctively retreated to the sidewalk. A split second later, a dark sedan sped past her. She didn’t recognize car or driver nor did she get a look at the license plate. The car was going too fast. Reckless driving wasn’t unusual in Pine Lake where drag racing down Main Street on a Friday night was still a popular pastime. But she wasn’t on Main Street and Olive could have sworn the car had deliberately swerved in her direction as it zoomed past her.

She stood underneath a streetlight, heart thudding as she tried to rationalize the incident. Someone had probably recognized her and decided to have a little fun at the expense of the new principal. She was a small woman and looked years younger than her age so there would be more of the same once school started. No doubt a steady stream of challenges to her authority. She’d better buck up and learn to hide her nerves if she had any hope of making it through the first semester, let alone the whole school year.

Wiping clammy hands down the sides of her pants, she looked both ways and then hurried across the street to her house. She let herself in and then turned the lock behind her. Dragging over a footstool, she shot home a bolt at the top of the door, a precaution she hoped was unnecessary.

It was an unusual place for a lock. Designed to keep someone in rather than a dangerous element out.

* * *

JACK HAD DECIDED to stop off at a corner bar where he could watch the street. One drink had somehow turned into three and by the time he left, traffic had thinned and darkness was falling. He headed for the shower as soon as he got home, standing for a long time under the steamy water as he tried to banish the barrage of unwanted memories that had kept him drinking at the bar.

Anna’s face swam up out of the back of his mind. He wanted to remember her the way she’d been the summer he fell in love with her, a gorgeous brunette with a killer smile and legs that went on forever. Instead, he kept seeing her dragged from the lake, lips blue, skin gray, eyes glazed and sightless.

Senior year was supposed to have been their time, a long goodbye before college took them in separate directions. Jack had been elected captain of the football team; Anna had been the head cheerleader. They were the all-American cliché. In hindsight, even her death seemed banal, the most beautiful girl in school meeting a violent and untimely demise. The news offered up similar tragedies on a daily basis, but for whatever reason, Anna’s story had captivated the national media.

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.”