The Drowning Man (2 page)

Time meant nothing anymore. There were long periods Trent couldn't remember. And that terrified him.

He put his hands on his hips. He glared at the walls of his prison. How in the hell had he ended up here? He couldn't allow himself to think about Eddie. The memories hurt too damned much. Then again, memories of Eddie were the one thing he had in common with Caroline. He could use that.

Trent had never been one to shy away from a fight. At least not after he'd started high school. He'd been a bit of an outcast, afraid to make friends for fear of losing them, and he'd gotten in more than a few scrapes because of his loner attitude. Then he'd found the ultimate fight. On the first day of firefighter training he knew he'd found his calling.

He had been assigned to Kansas City, MO Fire Station number 12, which was home to the Engine 35 and Ladder 27 companies. He'd been with Ladder 27 for nearly ten years
.

And he was good at what he did for a living. Damn good.

He'd also found acceptance with his brothers in the firehouse and there was no greater feeling in the world than battling their common enemy together and winning.

He leaned his head back against the wall. His life hadn't been much, but he missed it. He missed his job and the guys in the house. Missed his brother Nate, his sister-in-law Amy, their girls. He hadn't had any romantic relationships worth remembering, but damn, he missed his brothers, blood and fire.

Keeping his mind busy allowed him to cling to the thread of sanity. He went over portions of the firefighting texts he'd had to memorize as a probie, department policies and procedures, anything he could think of to keep focused and pass the time.

He visualized the fires he'd fought, going over every detail in his mind. He didn't want to lose his edge. He wanted to be ready when he went back to work. And he would be back. Any other option was not acceptable. He would find a way out. There was always a way out.

The door opened.

This time Trent couldn’t follow along and do nothing to save himself. Even if his efforts were in vain, he had to try. If he died, at least he'd die fighting. It was better than doing nothing. Better than the endless waiting and mind games, wondering when they were going to come for him again.

Trent swung his fist at Simon’s right eye. He succeeded in catching the big man off guard. Simon stumbled back a step but recovered quickly, bringing the shotgun up and pointed at Trent’s head.

Fuck it. This nightmare had to end. One way or the other. He launched his body straight at the gun. He had the satisfaction of seeing Simon’s eyes widen in surprise before the butt of the shotgun was brought down hard on his temple. Lights flashed in front of his eyes. When his vision cleared, he found himself on the floor, Caroline standing over him.

“I loved him too,” Trent said quietly. She blinked rapidly. For a moment, he thought he'd gotten through to her, then her eyes hardened again.

“You try anything that stupid again and your brother and his family will pay for your mistake.” She nodded at Simon to continue the beating.

Trent woke up again on the floor of his room, just inside the closed doorway. His entire body ached, but the pain in his head and ribs was excruciating. Damn, that Simon guy had a punch. He slowly pushed his throbbing head off the floor. Bracing his palms on the floor, he pushed himself to his knees, and then, with a pained breath, his feet. He wavered as the room came in and out of focus. He put his hand against the wall to keep from collapsing back to the floor.

Yep, no question about it, the big bastard was not only handy with a shotgun, he was skilled in the giving a beating department as well. On his best day, Trent doubted he would have been able to take him, and that was before you factored in the ever present shotgun.

Okay, he thought as his mind cleared. There had to be a way out of this. There was always a way out. He could find his way out of a burning ten-story apartment building in the dead of night unable to see two feet in front of him. He could find his way out of this.

He would have to kill Caroline. It was the only option. He could strangle her, but an elbow shot to the throat would be quicker. She'd be dead before Simon could help her. Of course, he would probably also be dead seconds later, but at least it would be over.

The sun rose and set. Simon brought him food and water. The waiting was endless. Agonizing. He fought the urge to smile when the door was finally yanked open and she stood silently, silhouetted by the light from the hallway. Judgment day.

Trent took a slow breath, relaxing his muscles. He shifted his weight onto his back foot. And heard the sound of the shotgun being racked.

“129 West Lincoln,” Simon said in a deep, steady voice.

Trent closed his eyes. His brother's address. He had no idea how he'd given away his intentions, but somehow, the big man had seen it. And the threat was all too clear in the few words he'd spoken. If anything happened to Caroline, his family would suffer. He'd underestimated Simon's devotion to her, had thought he was just paid muscle. When he opened his eyes, Caroline was looking from one of them to the other.

“Is there a problem?” she asked Simon.

Simon relaxed his hold on the shotgun. “No problem,” he said, narrowed eyes on Trent.

Trent kept his mouth shut, and for the first time since Caroline had stepped out of the woods, he felt the same intense fear he'd felt that long ago day at the stream when Eddie had disappeared under the water.

“My brother is not dead.”

Detective Lora Tatum felt sorry for the man across the desk from her. He really believed his brother was still alive. She could see it in his eyes, in his haggard yet determined face. Lora wished she could share his steadfast belief, but after reviewing Trent Barlow's file more times than she could count, she held out little hope.

Trent Barlow had disappeared seven weeks ago from the trails at Cross Pointe. She and her partner had worked the case hard. It had been big news for a while, local hero gone missing. Despite all that, there were still no suspects in his disappearance and there had been almost no good leads. There was nothing left to go on. Part of her wanted to be brutally honest and tell that to the man in front of her. Normally, she would have. But for some reason she didn’t yet understand, this case was different and she didn't want this man to give up hope. She was not ready to admit defeat.

“Trent always did like to go running just before a storm,” the man mumbled more to himself than to her.

The love Nathan Barlow had for his brother was obvious. So was the family resemblance. Nathan was an older, stockier version of the man in her case files. There was a hint of gray in his dark hair and the lines around his brown eyes were deeper.

“Who would want to harm Trent?” she asked, hoping for something, anything, that would give her a new lead to follow.

Nathan Barlow scowled. “No one. He was a great guy.” Nathan was functioning on little food, his energy fueled by huge amounts of caffeine. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Caroline Newberry,” he whispered. “She always did blame Trent for her son's drowning.”

Across the desk, Detective Tatum sighed. Nathan knew what she was thinking. Caroline Newberry was a prominent doctor in the community, well known for her sizeable charity donations including building a youth center named after her deceased son. Her husband had owned an art gallery. Even he had to admit the idea that she had been involved in any way in Trent’s disappearance was beyond far-fetched. But while everyone else saw a grieving mother all those years ago, he'd seen a cold, desperate woman.

And he knew deep down in his gut that his brother was still alive. The bond they shared was too strong. If it had been broken by Trent dying, he would have felt it.

Now that he’d said Caroline’s name out loud, he was utterly certain that he was right. She was a part of this. She was somehow connected to his brother’s disappearance. He just didn't know how. The detective was talking again and he forced his attention back to her words.

“That was twenty years ago. Her son's death was ruled an accident and I really don't see that she'd have anything to gain by harming your brother. Besides, there was no evidence of foul play found.” Nathan could see compassion in the detective’s eyes as she said the words, as if she didn't blame him for clutching at straws in his desperation. At least she cared.

“I'm not giving up on him, detective. But if it
is
her, I will find out and I will go after her. Even if I have to do it myself.”

Detective Tatum leaned forward, meeting his eyes. “Mr. Barlow, I assure you, I will continue to work this case. I won't let it slide, but you and I both know you can't do that. You can’t help your brother if you end up behind bars.”

He sighed and slumped in the chair. “I know, I know. But he's still out there somewhere. I feel it.”

“And I'll do everything I can to find him,” she said, holding his gaze.

Satisfied with her sincerity, Nathan stood, shook her hand, and walked slowly back down the hall. He needed to go home, needed to spend some time with Amy and the kids. Needed to get away from people that referred to his brother as a case.

Lora rubbed her forehead and temples, then leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

“What's got you so down?” Detective Justice Woods asked.

Lora opened her eyes and looked up into the face of her partner. His big body blocked most of the overhead fluorescent light, casting a shadow over his dark face and eyes.

Lora and Detective Woods were assigned to the special investigations squad of the KCPD, which handled any cases or investigations involving government officials, other officers, or any case that generated higher than normal media or public interest. Like this one. Ever since 9-11, firefighters had become more prominent public heroes, and a kidnapped one was bound to be big news.

Lora's first assignment in the department had been in the sex-crimes unit, where she stayed until the chief hand picked her to partner with Justice Woods after his partner of ten years retired.

While she knew her assignment was because of her hard work and record of clearing cases, she'd be lying if she said there weren't times when she wondered if it had anything to do with who she was related to.

Woods cleared his throat. He was watching her, waiting for an answer.

“The Barlow case,” she said. “The brother was here again.”

Woods nodded. “Tough one, but there's nothing left to go on.”

“I know. But there's something still bugging me about the whole deal.”

“Well, put it aside. Boss just handed us a top priority. A body was found over by the railroad tracks. ID came back as the girlfriend of the mayor's son.”

Lora forced a smile, then saw by the set of her partner's mouth that he was serious. “Shit. Okay, okay. Just let me grab a cup of coffee.”

“I think you already have the stuff running through your veins.”

Honesty wasn't getting Trent anywhere. Time to try a new tactic. What was it his brother used to say? The definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

Caroline watched him expectantly, the mini digital recorder on the floor next to her, the record light blinking red.

“Eddie,” Trent said between coughs. “I saw him. He's happy. He's with his dad.”

She pressed the stop button on the recorder and stood. “Don't you ever lie to me again,” she said, looking down at him. She nodded at Simon who slammed the butt of the shotgun towards Trent's face without hesitation.

Trent saw flashes of light and heard the crunch of bones in his nose break as bolts of pain shot through his head. He wiped blood from his face, spat more of it on the floor. He glared up at her, determined not to show how much the blow had hurt. “Whatever you say, Caroline.”

Simon grabbed his arm, jerked him to his feet and propelled him down the long hallway, then shoved him through the bathroom door.

Trent braced his hands on the sink and waited for the wave of dizziness to pass. His entire head throbbed. He wiped the blood that still dripped from his nose with the back of his hand.

Caroline had so graciously allowed him to use the bathroom and get cleaned up. How fucking nice of her.

Of course, the mirror was made of some sort of safety glass, so he couldn't smash it into shards to use as a weapon. Or to cut his wrists. She’d thought of everything. And that disturbed him more than anything he’d seen yet.

He rinsed off his hands, splashed cold water onto his face, and watched his blood run down the drain. The whiskers on his face itched. He wasn’t used to having a beard. He ran a hand through his too-long hair, then touched the bridge of his nose and winced. No question, it was broken in at least one place. The pale yellow tiles of the floor tilted underneath his bare feet, the brown walls spinning around him.

A heavy knock sounded on the door. Simon. Time to go back to his room. Trent slowly straightened, put his hands on his hips, and took several long slow breaths through his mouth. He looked up at the ceiling. Closed his eyes. Concentrated on breathing and not bashing his head against the wall until he passed out.

Caroline Newberry was troubled. Her original plan had been to watch Trent drown just like her son had. But she wanted more now. And Trent would give it to her. He had to.

It was a noble purpose. Serving justice. It was also exhilarating. The power of holding Trent’s life in her hands and making him suffer over and over whenever she wanted. Then there was the power of bringing him back. She'd fantasize about it all day at work, anticipating the moment, the look on his face as his body went under the water, then the look when he opened his eyes again.

Sometimes it was easier than others to bring him back. Sometimes all he needed was for her to start his breathing again. Other times his heart had stopped and things got more interesting. She was good, but he was growing weaker and there would come a time when even she wouldn’t be able to bring him back. She’d have to get what she needed before then. But fate was on her side. She was sure of it.