LITMIR.BIZ

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Trask, getting in the way like some kind of asshole hero.

      Lurching from his chair, Caith snatched the empty bottle from the table and began to pace. He was going home…to Veronica and the guilt he’d left in Coldcreek. Like fog rolling across a hillside, the imagined taint of model glue returned. Was he out of his freaking mind?

      But there was no turning back. He’d already promised Derrick, and the one thing Caithelden Lairen would never do was go back on a promise he’d made to his son.

      Lies had consequences.

      He wouldn’t make the same mistakes as his father.

      Chapter 4

      Sunlight danced on the hood of the SUV, sending leaf-shaped patterns scampering across the windshield. Caith gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckle force, quelling a surge of panic. As the tree-lined streets of Coldcreek unfurled before him, a suffocating tightness grew in his chest, resurrecting the painful memories of a cold autumn day when he was thirteen.

      Caith pedaled hard, racing down the hillside, head bent close to the handlebars as the wind whipped hair from his face. It was too cold to be biking. His lungs burned with frigid air, and his fingers were chapped where they gripped the handlebars. But none of that mattered in the race to reach the bottom of Spoon Hill first. Behind him, Trask pedaled for all he was worth but his shorter stature was no match for Caith’s long-legged speed. Clamping down on the brake, Caith spun the back tire out behind him, doing a half donut when he reached the bottom of the hill.

      “No fair!” Trask arrived a few seconds behind. “You had a head start.”

      Both boys laughed, flushed with excitement and the adrenalin of the race. Trask pedaled to his friend’s side then stood balancing his bike, one foot braced against the asphalt. Traffic was non-existent, and the few homes scattered nearby were separated from the roadway by rolling fields and pastureland. It was the perfect place to race.

      “Ron should have seen you,” Trask said with a sly grin. “She likes you, you know.”

      Caith made a face. “That’s stupid. She’s just a friend.” He stomped his foot on the left pedal and it spun in a frenzied circle as his heel slipped off.

      Trask grinned as if sensing he’d struck a nerve. “She told Becky Kessler she’d like to be your girlfriend.”

      Before Caith could reply, a car rounded the bend behind them. With a glance over his shoulder, Caith moved his bike off the road along with Trask. He had dismounted, squatting to check the pedal, when he heard the car slow. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as it rolled to a halt directly beside them. The hum of an electric window lowering into the door panel made Caith turn around. The car was sleek and shiny, a four-door black sedan.

      “Hello, boys.” A blond-haired man smiled from inside the passenger’s side of the vehicle. He had a broad face, pockmarked on the right side. “Do either of you know where Candlestick Road is?”

      Deciding they were out-of-towners, Caith stepped closer. There was another man on the driver’s side, a shadowy figure he couldn’t quite see, and another in the rear seat. “That way.” He pointed to the right. “Past the cemetery at the end of Chapel Road.” The moment he looked away from the man, he heard a metallic click. The hair prickled on the back of his neck, and the wind blew cold across his face. His gaze returned to the car, and his eyes widened when he saw the barrel of an automatic pistol pointed at his chest.

      Trask made a strangled sound.

      “Get in the car,” the man with the pockmarked face ordered.

      The back door popped open. A large dark-haired man reached forward and grabbed Trask by the wrist. Caith’s eyes remained frozen on the barrel of the gun, his heart pounding wildly.

      Sensing his fear, the man with the yellow hair sneered. “You’re worth a lot of money to me Caithelden Breckwood. Now get in the car before we hurt your friend.”

      “Dad, it sort of looks like home.”

      Caith flinched, jarred by his son’s innocent voice. Derrick sat in the back of the Ford Explorer, straining against the seat belt, engrossed in watching storybook homes and farmland roll past. Too tense to speak, Caith nodded. He inhaled raggedly as they passed the corner where Bidder farm once stood. The imagined taint of model glue tickled the back of his nostrils and, for one horrid moment, he thought he was going to puke.

      Breaking out in a cold sweat, he dragged a hand over his face. Eventually the Quik-Mart dwindled from sight and he veered left, continuing into town.

      It hadn’t changed much. Some storefronts had been remodeled, and there were a few new businesses clustered near the center of town. The post office had received a face-lift but remained firmly entrenched on the corner of Sickle and Rosewood. The family-owned pharmacy where he, Trask, Ron, and Merlin had stopped after school each day to get sodas and licorice whips had been replaced by a coffee shop. A new McDonald’s sprouted off the square and, farther from town, the community park had expanded to include a new ball field and swim club. Caith could just decipher the soaring roof peaks of the private, gated residence that had been his childhood home set back in the hills, overlooking the town.

      Derrick bounced on the seat, grinning ear-to-ear. “When will we get to Uncle Aren’s, Dad?”

      Caith recovered his composure. His kid didn’t seem to realize anything was wrong, and he wanted to keep it that way. “Soon.” He shot Derrick a glance in the rearview mirror. “You know once I drop you off and go to the lodge, I won’t see you every night?”

      “I know.” Derrick was looking out the window again, seemingly unaffected by the thought, his eyes glowing with eagerness. The trip had been long, and though Derrick had slept the first few hours, he’d eventually had to amuse himself. Too excited to read or watch a DVD, he’d asked endless questions about Coldcreek. Where did Uncle Aren live? Where did Matt and Noah go to school? When was trick-or-treat? Would he be able to go? The list went on and on. Caith had distracted him enough to play some travel games and they’d counted license plates from different states until it was time to stop for lunch. That had been nearly four hours ago, and Derrick was growing antsy again, eager to reach their destination.

      “Will I get to see Grandma and Grandpa’s house, too?”

      Caith clenched his jaw. The roof peaks of the mansion rolled behind a crest of trees and were blocked from view. “They’re not home, Derry.”

      “But we could still see where they live. Uncle Aren could take us.”

      “No.”

      “Dad.”

      “I said no.” Caith flicked another glance in the mirror. “Derrick, this is work for me, do you understand? I’m here because Uncle Galen and Uncle Aren hired me to do a job, just like the people who come to see me at home. I’m not going to have time for anything else.”

      “You just don’t wanna see Grandpa,” Derrick muttered, slumping in the seat.

      Caith exhaled, silently counting to ten. There was no easy way to explain what had happened so many years ago to alienate him from his father. Without delving into Trask’s murder, something he wouldn’t subject Derrick to, there was no magical answer to explain why he wouldn’t see Stuart Breckwood. Perhaps he should let Aren take the boy to the house. What harm would there be if Derrick went to see the place without him? His parents were in Canada. For that matter, he could go himself, without fear of encountering his father.

      “Derrick, we’ll talk about this later.” The tone of his voice indicated the discussion was over.

      Still sulky, Derrick went back to looking out the window, and for a while they drove in silence. Ten minutes later, they reached Aren’s home, a renovated farmhouse six miles from the fringe of town. The property included an old barn, converted to a fort-playhouse for the boys, and a pond that promised excellent ice skating in the winter. Their collie-shepherd mix, Domino, and family cats, Biscuit and Charm, added

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