Mattie shook his head. “I’ll ride my damn bike. When I get my license back-” He sniffled, picking up the bike. “No more, you understand? No more. I’ll show everyone.”

“I bet you will.”

After two tries, Mattie got his bike rolling, and he pedaled smoothly off into the night. Linc walked out to the end of the driveway and shut and locked the security gate, knowing it was what his father would expect. And he needed the time to pull himself together.

The backs of his legs ached from hiking with Owen. He had to be crazy to think he could do search-and-rescue-he wasn’t in Owen’s league. The guy climbed up mountains as if he was on a stroll. He was strong, sure-footed, in top shape.

His father was right, Linc thought. Everyone was right. He was soft.

And now he was in serious trouble, too. He was letting Mattie blackmail him and had just come down close to rooting for the guy.

He started back down the dark driveway, wishing he’d just trip and break his neck and die on the spot. He was useless. Worse than useless. He was an albatross around his family’s neck.

He brushed at his tears with his forearm.

Mattie had no honor, no boundaries, no rational thought process. He was unreliable, contradictory, volatile. Linc could let himself get sucked into Mattie’s twisted thinking. He couldn’t trust him.

Linc swallowed a sob. Where was he going to get nine thousand dollars by tomorrow-hell, by next week, even? What would Mattie do if he didn’t come up with the money?

Tears ran down his face. What he couldn’t stand, far more than the fear of not getting Mattie the money, was the thought that anyone-even that drunk-would think he’d killed Chris Browning.

But why shouldn’t they think it?

Chris is dead because of you.

Stumbling, Linc cut past the garage and across the yard, knowing he had to compose himself before he saw his father and sister.

He could see the silhouette of the mountains across the sound, against the starlit sky. “I got you killed, Chris,” he whispered. “Please forgive me. Please.”

Owen Garrison had found a way to thrive in spite of the guilt he had to feel over his sister’s death. But Linc didn’t have Owen’s strength.

“Linc?” His sister walked down from the stone terrace, casting a long, black shadow under the night sky. “Is everything okay? Dad’s getting worried.”

“Everything’s fine. I was just on my way in.”

She stood next to him. “Mattie?”

“He’s gone. He wasn’t drunk. He just-he wanted to check about coming out here tomorrow. I don’t know.” Linc gave a fake laugh. “Mattie goes his own way.”

“That he does.” Her voice was subdued, and her color was off-it wasn’t just the light. She shivered, wrapping her baggy sweater more tightly around her. “We should go in.”

“Grace-” Linc stopped himself. “Never mind. You’re right, we should go in. It’s cold out here.” He sniffled. “That’s why my nose is red and running.”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

That was his sister, Linc thought. Always so decent. He wanted to tell her about the blackmail and get her advice. But how could he? She had enough on her mind. She might feel obligated to tell the FBI. Would that screw up her appointment?

But if she didn’t tell them and they found out, then what?

No, Linc thought, following her through the cool grass, he had to figure out this one on his own.

Get Mattie the rest of his money. Hope it’d be enough.

Only for guys like MattieYoung, there was never enough.

He’d be back once he had the ten grand. He wouldn’t be able to resist.

CHAPTER 12

The boys started bickering five minutes after Doyle picked them up at camp and hadn’t stopped since. For two cents, he’d put them on a plane to London. Let their mother deal with them.

“Why can’t we stay with Owen?” Sean asked, a demanding note in his tone.

“Because you went out his window.”

“Nothing happened. We didn’t get hurt. He didn’t mind. Come on, Dad, it was no big deal.”

“I mind. What if it hadn’t been Mattie up in the old foundation? What if it had been a ghost? Then what, huh?” He glared at Sean, then shifted to Ian. “There. You don’t have an answer, do you? You didn’t think this one through. You just got a bee up your behinds and out the window you went-”

They sputtered into giggles.

“What’re you laughing at?”

“‘Bee up your behinds,’” Ian said. “That’s funny, Dad.”

He sat back, grinning at his two sons. “What am I going to do with you? Did you tell your mother you went out Owen’s window on a bedsheet when she called?”

“No,” Sean said.

Ian nodded. “She’d worry.”

“What about me? Don’t you care if I worry?”

That just drew more laughter.

At least, Doyle thought, the rascals weren’t fighting with each other. If he heard one more squawk, whine, fake cry or whispered threat, he’d shove them both upstairs and sit and watch television by himself.

Someone pounded on the door-not a normal knock, and it was past nine o’clock. Doyle got out of his chair, pointing at the boys. “Stay put. Understood?”

He flipped on the outside light and peeked out the window, seeing Mattie Young shifting from one foot to the other on the front stoop. Doyle felt a prick of irritation. He’d resisted tracking down Mattie today and asking him about the beer and cigarettes in the old Garrison foundation-why he’d let Sean and Ian think he was a ghost. He’d had to calm down first. And it wasn’t anything that couldn’t wait a day, never mind how Abigail Browning would have handled it.

“It’s Mattie,” Doyle called to the boys. “I’ll be just a minute.”

“Okay, Dad,” Sean said, as if he were the boss. “Take your time.”

Doyle pulled open the door and stepped outside, Mattie automatically backing up, hunching his shoulders in that guilty way he had. He looked gaunt and cold, his hair hanging down his back in a greasy ponytail, his skin pocked with mosquito bites.

“What’s up, Mattie?” Doyle asked him.

“This isn’t an official visit. I mean-I’m not here on police business. You don’t have to log me in somewhere.”

“I guess that depends on what you want.”

Mattie shivered, not meeting Doyle’s eye. “I want you to tell Abigail Browning to stay away from me.”

“Why? What’d she do to you?”

“Nothing-not yet.”

“Then on what grounds?”

“You don’t need grounds. I told you, I’m not here because you’re a cop. I’m here because you’re my friend. She’ll listen to you.”

“When did you last see her?”

Mattie licked his lips and looked behind him, as if he expected to find Abigail standing there. “Just now.”

“Damn it, Mattie, are you going to make me pry it out of you? Just tell me what happened.”

“She scared the hell out of me.” Mattie turned back to Doyle, the light hitting the burst blood vessels in his face. “I was minding my own business-”

“Where?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Doyle rocked back on his heels. “She caught you drinking out at the old Garrison foundation.”

Mattie’s mouth dropped open. “She told you?”

“No, Mattie, she didn’t tell me.”

“But you-” He stopped himself, gave a little laugh. “Did the boys see me out there? I tried not to let them see me. I figured-you know. I didn’t want them getting the wrong idea.”

“What wrong idea would that be, Mattie? That you were drinking beer and smoking cigarettes by yourself in the dark?”

“Just one beer. Honest.”

“It’s never one beer with you, Mattie. You’re a drunk. You know damn well what alcohol does to you-”

“Yeah. I know. That’s why I stay away from it.”

“Drinking beer isn’t staying away from it.” Doyle realized he wasn’t even angry. He was just sick of Mattie and his problems. “You know the deal. Alcoholism is a disease. It’s not here today and gone tomorrow. It’s here to stay. Stop running from it. Face it.”