Guilty as Sin (8 page)

Kate mentally braced herself. She’d done enough interviews
to be comfortable in front of the cameras, but she knew the press for this case would be different. She was used to rehashing her own past. It was, of course, why she’d majored in criminology at NYU.

She’d originally planned to go into law enforcement. But after a summer spent interning at the St. Anthony’s Foundation, named for the patron saint of missing people, she’d realized she could do more good leveraging her own notoriety to draw national attention to cases that might otherwise linger in obscurity.

This time, she knew, the rehashing would be worse. Because this time when she was talking about her past, she would be in the same town, breathing the same air, seeing the same familiar places she’d seen that night long ago.

And not only that, she was surrounded by people who had been there. Who remembered what had happened that horrible night, who had lived through it with her.

People like Tommy, who had also been damaged in the aftermath.

She fielded the first few questions easily.

“Do you have any leads on Tricia’s location?” This from a grizzled, middle-age man who was scribbling his notes on an old-school steno pad.

“We have no new information, but we’ll be setting up a tip line soon for people to call with information,” Kate replied.

“What about speculation that Tricia is a runaway?” asked a petite brunette who looked like she was still in high school.

“Right now there’s nothing to indicate that Tricia left on her own. She was last seen heading in the direction of home on her bike, the ATM card her father gave her for emergencies hasn’t been used, and she hasn’t been seen at any of the area bus terminals or along the major roads.”

“At what point will the search shift its focus to looking for a body?”

This was from a slim blonde whose perfectly applied makeup didn’t do anything to hide the hard glint in her eyes. Kate knew her type well, the kind of reporter who gained notoriety by provoking her interview subjects into anger or an overly emotional response. “We of course hope it never comes to that. Right now we’re working on the premise that Tricia is alive, and we’re hoping that anyone who has any information about her whereabouts will come forward as soon as possible.”

Another reporter tried to get a question in, but the blonde’s sharp voice drowned him out. “What makes you think you’ll have any more success helping to get Tricia Fuller back than you did with Madeline Drexler?”

Kate braced herself against the pain spearing her chest at the mention of eleven-year-old Madeline, the memory of her small broken body covered by nothing but a pile of wet leaves. “I have to be optimistic with every case we get involved in,” she said, hoping the fact that the question had her crumpling inside wasn’t obvious on camera. “I couldn’t do this job otherwise.”

With Kate’s defenses already weakened, blondie decided to go in for the kill. “Of course, but you’ve had to overcome other tragedies where some would say you had some culpability. Starting with your own brother right here in Sandpoint.”

Kate felt like she was about to fly apart, like a glass crashing to the ground to shatter into a million shards. She wanted to lash out at the reporter, take her to task for taking the sucker punch. But she knew that while she had to tread carefully with the press on every case she worked on, this time it was particularly important.

Just the memory of her meeting the day before with Ron
Weaver, the chairman of the board of St. Anthony’s, was enough to make her cheeks burn with shame.

After what happened with the Drexler case, we can’t afford to have even a hint of misconduct. Because of your carelessness, we’ve had major donors threaten to pull their funding. If you make even one misstep, Kate, it will be disaster for us and for you.

She didn’t let the camera pick up any of her turmoil as she forced her stiff lips to form a reply. “Of course I will never get over what happened to my brother and my own guilt for not keeping a closer eye on him that night. But I’m here now to focus on giving Tricia and her family the happy ending mine will never have.”

F
or the last fourteen years, Tommy Ibarra was convinced that if he never laid eyes on Kate Beckett again, it would be too soon. Now, as he pulled his truck into the space next to hers and watched her climb out of her rented sedan, he was still reeling from that first moment he saw her when she walked into Jackson Fuller’s den.

It was like being punched in the face, addling his brain, making his head ring with the impact. Even though, unlike Kate, he had several hours to prepare himself to see her again, he still wasn’t ready for his first in the flesh encounter with her.

Probably never would be.

He didn’t know what it was about her—had never really known. With her blond hair tinged with the barest hint of red, her pale skin, and finely sculpted features, she was classically beautiful but hardly striking. And her body didn’t sport anything close to the outrageous curves that had caught his eye in the past.

But there was something about her, always had been, from the first time he’d met her, that hot, sunny July day when he was fifteen. He’d been mowing the lawn at one of the big mansions on the lake, drenched with sweat as the sun beat down on him. He’d cursed a blue streak when he went
to the cooler in his truck only to realize he’d forgotten to restock it with cold drinks.

Then she’d appeared, a skinny little girl with big blue eyes and a wide smile that took up most of her face, pressing an icy cold soda into his hand and introducing herself. That moment had sparked an unlikely friendship where Tommy had taken the sheltered senator’s daughter under his wing like a surrogate kid sister.

Until the summer she turned sixteen, and new feelings cropped up that were anything but brotherly.

As he climbed out of his truck, he let his gaze rake over her as she waited for him on the sidewalk. In her close-fitting jeans and sleeveless white button-front shirt, she was nearly as slim as she’d been when she was sixteen. Her hair in its ponytail was a little darker. But damned if she didn’t still have that smattering of freckles across her nose and that keen intelligence in her clear blue eyes that had inexplicably fascinated him from the first moment they’d met his.

And still, always, there was that composure, that aura of untouchability that compelled him to reach out, to touch, to see if he could break through the wall of reserve she wore like an invisible cloak.

Today that reserve was mixed with a heavy dose of discomfort, her body practically vibrating with tension as he joined her on the sidewalk. “Where to first?” she asked in a too-chipper voice that grated on his nerves.

“You said we needed a volunteer headquarters. Tim Greaves manages several of the properties downtown, and I know he has some vacant storefronts,” he said, starting down the sidewalk in the direction of the Realtor’s office. “I called him on the way, he’s expecting us.”

Kate nodded and fell in step with him, her legs moving double time to keep up with his long-legged strides. In spite
of himself, he snuck looks down at her, for some reason fascinated by the brisk swing of her pale, bare arms, the subtle flex of her leg muscles under her jeans.

The hot sun beat down on them, and as her skin heated he caught the scent of her shampoo.

A jolt of heat hit low in his belly as he was immediately transported back fourteen years, that same mix of floral and fruit saturating his senses as they lay on a blanket on the beach, arms and legs in a tangle, heartbeats and breath coming hard and fast as they kissed and caressed while his body demanded so much more.

He wondered if she still tasted the same…

He shook the memories off, shoved them back in the mental vault where they belonged. What the fuck was wrong with him? The last time he’d tangled with Kate Beckett, his entire world had been turned upside down.

“How’s your father?” Tommy asked to reinforce his point.

Her mouth tightened almost imperceptibly as she walked. “He’s well. Gearing up for another election year—”

“Be sure to tell him he can’t count on my vote,” he muttered.

Her pace faltered. “Tommy,” she said. He paused. She reached out with one pale, slim hand as though to touch him, then pulled back before she made contact. She swallowed hard, and as Tommy watched her throat work, he tried not to remember the shuddering, sighing sound she used to make as he flicked his tongue down the pale, slender length.

She cleared her throat and he jerked his eyes back up to her face. Her full pink mouth was pulled down at the corners, and there was a storm brewing in her wide, pale blue eyes. “I know this is fourteen years overdue, but I owe you an apology for what happened after Michael—”

The mention of Kate’s little brother brought a stab of
guilt and sadness so fresh it was like it was happening now. And along with it, all the anger, resentment, and helplessness he’d felt at having his entire world go ass up because he was too dumb to stay away from Kate Beckett. He’d done what he could to make the best of a bad situation, but there was no denying that the senator’s revenge had changed the course of his life, changed him in ways he never would have seen coming. And he had no interest in dredging up the rage, the humiliation, and the gut-wrenching pain of Kate’s rejection and ultimate betrayal.

“This is Tim’s office,” Tommy said, cutting her off as he indicated the glass door that read “Greaves Property Management LLC” and reached past her to push it open.

This time she did touch him, putting her hand on his chest to stay him. It sent a pulse of heat straight to his groin, making him go heavy and thick as he imagined her hand elsewhere. “Please, you have to know that I hated what my father did, and I felt—feel—terrible about how much trouble he caused for you and your family. I should have done something.”

Tommy looked meaningfully down at her hand, then back at her face to pin her with a hard stare. Hot color flooded her cheeks as she snatched her hand away and took a couple awkward steps back. “Like you said, Kate, it was fourteen years ago. Water under the bridge. And I landed on my feet eventually.” He should have left it at that. But a little demon inside urged him to go in for just one dig. “Really, the only person to blame is myself. I should have known better than to mess with a sixteen-year-old virgin who wasn’t worth the trouble.”

Her only reaction was a tightening of her lips, a flush of hot color to her cheeks. Nevertheless, Tommy felt mean and small. Swearing under his breath, he pulled the door to Tim’s office open and ushered Kate inside.

Within an hour Tim had them set up in an empty storefront on First Street, nestled between Ike’s and Mary’s Cafe. Tommy hooked Kate up with the print shop down the block to produce thousands of flyers with Tricia’s information, then left to gather special communication equipment from his house and swing by the rec center to retrieve the folding chairs and tables they would need for the volunteers who would man the phones.

By the time Tommy returned two hours later, the crew from the phone company was already on-site installing several phone lines. No small feat considering it often took days, sometimes even a week to get a phone line installed around here.

But Kate’s arrival had immediately raised the profile of the case, and the guys at the phone company knew they’d get nothing but bad press by dawdling.

Jackson Fuller showed up and helped Tommy unload the tables and chairs from his truck bed. “You should be home,” Tommy said.

He responded with a curt shake of his head. “I can’t just sit at home and do nothing but stare at the front door, hoping Tricia will walk through it.”

Tommy balanced one side of the table and backed his way in the door while Jackson took the other. “What about Brooke? Shouldn’t someone be home with her?” he asked.

Jackson grimaced and helped Tommy unfold the legs and set the table upright. “She won’t come out of her room. Tracy says she hasn’t touched her food. She blames herself.”

“Do
you
blame her?” Though Kate’s voice was pitched low, it cut like cold steel through the din of men working and metal chairs sliding around.

Tommy turned to face Kate, and he wondered if Jackson could sense the tension in every fiber of her body.

“No,” he said tiredly as he ran a hand through his hair. It was already sticking up all over his head, as though he’d run his hands through it dozens of times already. “Of course, I wish she’d been more considerate of her sister and not told her to leave the party alone. It’s not her job to protect her. It’s mine, one I failed when I didn’t stop her from sneaking out because I was too fucked up to hear her.”

Kate crossed to him and put a consoling hand on his arm, her expression measurably more relaxed at Jackson’s reply. “It’s not your fault either,” she said. “If someone is determined to take a child, they’ll find a way. You can’t let guilt drain you when you need all of your energy focused on finding her.”

He didn’t look convinced. He scanned the room, his gaze catching on the tables where the phone boys were busy connecting half a dozen or so phones.

His brow furrowed. “That’s a lot of phones.”

“I expect to field a hundred or so calls within the first hour after we announce the hotline number,” Kate said briskly as she placed the metal folding chairs around the tables. “Especially once we announce a reward for information.”