One Step Too Far (Frankie Elkin #2)(55)

I have spent most of the past ten years on my own, but I’ve never felt so vulnerable and alone as I do now.

Miggy and Scott sit on the ground on either side of Neil. He sips water; they chew on rehydrated pasta. Luciana has crossed to the other side of the fire, closer to me. Daisy lies at her feet, but the dog’s deep brown eyes are open, watching.

“Does she still need to play hide-and-seek?” I ask softly.

“Not now. Too dark.” Luciana sounds distant. She’s made a decision. I already know what it is and don’t blame her.

“When will you and Daisy leave?”

“At first light.” She glances at me. “You’re welcome to join.”

“Not sure yet.” But like her, I’ve reached a decision as well. Mine just makes less sense. A dry drunk. That’s what Paul accused me of being when I first started doing this work. Substituting one dangerous addiction for another. I want to think there’s more to it than that. More to me than that. But times like these, even I’m not sure.

Martin steps closer to the fire, clears his throat, opens his mouth. I don’t wait.

“Did you attack Neil with a rock?” I ask in a loud, clear voice. It’s enough to stop him and startle the others.

“What?”

“Did you try to kill Neil out there in the boulder field?”

“No.” Martin sounds genuinely bewildered, if not a trace indignant. “I was conducting my own search.”

“And the food? Did you rip open the bags?”

“Why would I rip open the bags? You were with me when I discovered them—”

I’m already moving on to Nemeth. “And you, where were you this afternoon?”

“At the other end of the cliff face.” He speaks up, equally defensive.

“And you, Bob?”

“Chasing after Nemeth.”

“Miguel?”

“Headed in the other direction; you saw me.”

My attention homes in on Scott. “That leaves you, buddy.”

“I already said—”

“He didn’t do it,” Neil interrupts tiredly. “He wouldn’t do it. Not him or Miggy. For God’s sake, it’s time. It’s five years past time. Tell them. Just tell them everything. While we still can.”



* * *



—

I keep my attention on Martin while Scott, Miguel, and Neil whisper among themselves. I spare a glance for Nemeth and Bob to be sure, but Martin is the one I’m most interested in. He knows, Neil said. I assumed he meant Martin. Martin figured out the secret the guys were hiding. But so far, Martin looks confused and angry. That good an actor?

Nemeth is wearing a reserved, wary expression, as if he knows something bad is headed his way and is trying to predict the blow.

Bob’s expression is the most thoughtful, the least surprised. He seems to have expected some sort of grand revelation. In theory, he’s the person I should know the most about, given our past acquaintance through virtual forums. But as I’m sure the three college friends are about to reveal, there’s a big difference between thinking you know someone and actually knowing them.

The boys stop their whispered huddle, sit back, peer at the rest of us.

Miguel seems to have been appointed primary speaker. Deep breath, then: “We lied. About that night. Not about everything, but about enough.”

I appreciate the strategy. Once you’ve been found out, stop with the petty denials and cut to the chase.

Across from me, Martin’s eyes widen in apparent surprise. But for once, the man shuts up and listens. Nemeth and Bob are already on that page.

“We were drinking. All of us.”

“Even Tim.” Neil speaks up. “A lot. More than we should’ve. More than anyone should.”

“We were off-our-asses drunk,” Miguel clarifies, in case we weren’t getting the picture.

Martin nods slowly, the fact that his son was drunker than originally reported not being of the greatest relevance.

“Josh especially,” Neil murmurs.

“We should’ve stopped him,” Scott sighs.

“What happened?” I push, trying to move them along.

“Tim got to talking—”

“Making a speech,” Miguel corrects Scott.

“Whatever. He was pontificating—”

Neil laughs hoarsely.

Good God, I want to kill all of them. I study Martin again. He still looks like he has no idea where this story is headed. Nemeth is blank-faced, while Bob nods along encouragingly.

“He wanted to thank us for being his closest buds. You know, now, on the eve of his marriage.” Miguel, still sounding bitter after all these years. “He told us he knew he wasn’t perfect, hadn’t always been the best friend. He started with me first, apologizing for stealing my job interview.”

Martin’s mouth gapes open. He shuts it again.

“He told me he was sorry for stealing Latisha.” Neil’s turn. “He’d gone on the double date with every intention of being a good wingman. But then he saw her. And he knew he was being an asshole, but he couldn’t have behaved any other way. He knew in the first instant, she was the woman he’d spent his life waiting to find.”

“Wait a minute.” Bob raises a hand. He looks at Neil. “You dated Latisha first?”