Brian Freeman - The Bone House

'What?'

'Did you say yes to her?'

Mark heard the echo of Glory whispering to him on the beach. No one will ever know.

'Nothing happened between me and her.'

'You were out there with her, though, weren't you? Just like everybody said. You and Glory. Together.'

'It wasn't like that.'

'Be honest with me.'

'Yes, I saw her on the beach,' he admitted. 'That's all.'

'Did you arrange to meet her?'

'No. It was an accident. I went for a walk, and I found her there.'

'Did she try to seduce you?' Tresa asked quietly.

Mark hesitated. 'Yes.'

'That bitch. I knew it.'

'She was drunk. She was upset. It wasn't deliberate.'

'What did she do to you?'

'It doesn't matter.'

'Did she kiss you? Did she go down on you? What?'

'No, nothing like that.'

He could hear the rattle in her voice as she battled between anger and tears. 'You know what, Mark? You know what I really think? I think you fucked her, and you don't want to admit it to me.'

'That's crazy.'

'You're lying, aren't you?' she demanded breathlessly. 'Glory got whatever she wanted. It's true, isn't it? Everybody's right. You had sex with her, and then you killed her to cover it up.'

'No.'

'I don't know what's worse. The idea of you killing my sister, or the idea that you wanted to have sex with her, not me.'

'Tresa, listen to me. Stop and listen. You're wrong. I didn't have sex with Glory. I didn't kill her.'

'So what happened to her?'

'I don't know.'

'Do you think I killed her myself? Are you trying to protect me?'

'You didn't kill her.'

'If I saw the two of you having sex, I swear I would have strangled her.'

'I know you, Tresa,' Mark said. 'I know you didn't do this.'

Tresa sobbed quietly. She shuffled closer, bent down, and threw her skinny arms around his chest. 'I'm sorry. I'm such a complete fool. I'm saying whatever comes into my head.'

'Tresa, you have to believe me. I didn't kill Glory.'

'I know. I'm just as bad as everyone else. I'm the one who's supposed to trust you, and I was ready to say you did it, too.'

'I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,' Mark said. 'That makes me the only suspect, at least until Hilary gets back from Green Bay.'

Tresa stiffened and pushed away. It was as if she hadn't heard him. 'What did you say? Why is Hilary in Green Bay?'

'There's a man there who was in Florida last week. Apparently he's got a sexual history with teenagers, and he may be involved in a girl's disappearance. Hilary thinks the police should be looking at him.'

'He's in Green Bay ?'

'That's right.'

Tresa climbed off his lap and paced between the tight walls of the stall.

'What's wrong?' Mark asked.

'I don't know. I guess it's just a creepy coincidence.'

'What is?'

Tresa stopped and squatted in front of him and held on to his knees. He could feel her entire body trembling. 'A girl disappeared there? What's her name? Who is she?' 'Amy Leigh. Hilary coached her in high school in Chicago.'

'Amy Leigh,' Tresa repeated, rolling out the name as if she was searching her memory and coming up with nothing.

'Do you know her?'

'No, I've never heard of her.'

'Tresa, tell me what's wrong.'

'Nothing. I just can't believe—'

'What?'

Tresa reared back so hard and fast that she stumbled against the metal door. 'Wait a minute, you said Hilary coached her? This girl's a dancer?'

'That's right.'

'Was she in Florida?'

'Yes, she's on the Green Bay team.'

He heard Tresa breathing open-mouthed.

'Oh, shit,' she murmured, it has to be her.'

'What are you talking about?'

Tresa ignored him. 'How did Hilary get mixed up in this? Please, tell me what happened.'

'Amy called Hilary yesterday. It sounded like she thought her coach might have had something to do with Glory's death. Now Amy's missing, so Hilary drove down there to talk to the police. She's worried this guy may have grabbed her.'

'This guy you're talking about, is he the Green Bay dance coach?'

'I think he is, why?'

'What's his name? Do you know? Is it like Jerry something?'

'It's Gary Jensen.'

'Oh, shit, that's him, that's him. I forgot all about it. I'm so stupid! Peter Hoffman said I'd want to see it because I was a dancer. Shit!'

'Tresa, you're not making any sense.'

Her voice was urgent. 'Mark, we have to get out of here. Please, we need to go. We have to warn Hilary.'

He felt his adrenaline and fear accelerate as he heard Hilary's name. 'Warn her about what?'

'She has to stay away from there,' Tresa moaned. She crumbled, losing control.

'Tresa, Hilary's not going anywhere near Gary Jensen.'

'No! No, no, no, you don't understand. What have I done?'

The metal door swung open, and Tresa rushed out of the stall. Her panicked sobs bounced between the concrete walls as she stumbled for the way out. When she found it, she tore open the outer door and let it bang shut behind her. Mark chased blindly in her wake, heading into the woods outside the shelter, where the rain and wind swallowed the noise.

'Tresa, stop!' he hissed, it's not safe.'

For a moment, somewhere close by, he heard her running footsteps and the choked gasp of her cries, but he couldn't see through the darkness to follow her. Soon he didn't hear anything at all.

'Tresa, ' he called again, as loud as he dared.

She was gone.

Cab awoke with his blood dripping from his face to the floor. It made a pool around the tips of his fingers. The pain in his head was like a nail hammered through the back of his skull and driven out between his eyes. When he pushed himself up on his forearms, a wave of dizziness and nausea almost made him vomit and collapse. He stayed on his hands and knees until his head cleared, then he stood up slowly, supporting himself against the bedroom wall. He touched the back of his head tenderly and winced as he felt the swollen bump, which was damp with blood. He had no idea if he'd been unconscious for a minute or an hour, but his flashlight was still lit, shooting a tunnel of light toward the bed. He squatted carefully and retrieved it.

When he listened to the cold, quiet house around him, he concluded that the assailant was gone. So was his Glock. It was missing.

He staggered toward the bathroom and turned on the water at the sink. He grabbed a hand towel from the rack, soaked it under the water, and dabbed it against his skull, wiping the blood. He opened the vanity cabinet under the sink and used the flashlight to find a box of gauze bandages and medical tape. Positioning a pad at the base of his skull, he added tape until the mesh stayed tight against his hair and skin. It was a crude job, but he didn't have time to waste.

Before he left the bathroom, he opened a bottle of Advil and took five of them to battle his monster headache.

Cab made his way out of Mark Bradley's house and tramped through the muddy driveway to the black Nissan, which was parked where he'd left it. He leaned against the car, letting the waves of pain in his head dissipate. Whoever had assaulted him couldn't be far. Neither could Mark Bradley and Tresa Fischer. He just didn't know where to find them. They could be anywhere, hidden by the night.

He opened the car door.

That was when he heard it. A sharp crack sizzled through the noise of the rain. The echoes bounced around him, but the ripples of sound started at the beach.

A gunshot.

The world spun as Cab ran for the water.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Hilary ran to Amy on the bed.

As she did, her cell phone rang, and the music was jarringly loud in the silence of Gary Jensen's house. She fumbled with the buttons to answer the call before the coach heard the ringing downstairs.