mother) and stubborn (exactly like their mother, according to their father), she’d been the protector and leader.
Despite that background, Andrea didn’t feel much in charge of anything these days and any advice she might give her sister would be questionable, at best. Especially where men were concerned, be they six or sixty-six.
She knocked on the front door, the screen banging under her knuckles as the sound of Mrs. Moore’s wind chimes drifted over on a fresh sea breeze. The retired schoolteacher had been the Hunts’ neighbor for as long as Andrea could remember. She had also been a constant source of sugar cookies for the two sisters. Andrea turned to see if the elderly woman’s ancient Beetle was there, but her driveway was empty.
As empty, it seemed, as Vicki’s house.
Andrea rapped on the door again, her impatience growing as she wondered why she was surprised. Unlike Andrea, Vicki never had trouble living in the moment. For her, the future was a vague concept and the past didn’t even exist. Andrea loved Vicki but admitted that her sister could have just as easily woken up this morning and decided to take the bus back to Los Angeles.
Andrea left with a huff. Halfway to her Jeep, she started thinking and her footsteps slowed.
She was irresponsible and flighty, but Vicki really cared about Kevin. Reluctant to discuss all the details, she’d told Andrea over the phone he was one of the major reasons she had returned to Courage Bay. He had a problem, a serious problem, she’d said, and it needed to be addressed.
“Kevin stopped talking the day Grant walked out on us,” she’d explained. “He talks at school, but he won’t talk at home. To me. His teachers said the condition isn’t that unusual and they even have a name for it. It’s called selective mutism, but it’s so frustrating….” Her voice had become bitter, an attempt to hide the obvious hurt. “I could kill Grant Corbin, Andie. This is all his fault! I should never have married that man!”
She’d gone on about the breakup of her marriage, the words spilling out in a rush she had been unable to contain.
“He cheated on me, Andie. He had a girlfriend and everything! When I found out, I went ballistic. She was a cop he worked with—redhead. I’m afraid Kevin knew what was going on even though I tried to keep it from him.” She’d cursed again then continued fuming. “Grant just walked away. He never even came back to visit with Kevin. Never even called!”
Without further thought, Andrea returned to the house. Disregarding the front porch this time, she headed to the backyard. At the first window she came to, she cupped her hands against the glass and peered in but the view was blocked by stacked boxes. She continued to the back door where she knocked loudly, the faint sound of a radio lingering in the hot, stagnant air.
She banged on the door two more times. Finally, when it was clear no one was going to answer, Andrea grabbed the doorknob and jerked it sharply—to the right and down. As it had in her childhood, the latch opened. She shook her head and grinned. How many times had she and Vic snuck inside after curfew using that very same trick? They had always kept the hinges well-oiled but they squeaked loudly now as she stuck her head inside and called out. “Vicki? It’s me, Andrea…. Are you in here? Hello?”
Andrea had been a paramedic for almost six years. She’d worked east Los Angeles and had gone into countless situations following 911 calls. Most of them were routine. Some of them were false alarms. But the minute she arrived on scene, she always knew if something was truly wrong. She wasn’t sure how but she could tell. The air vibrated in an odd way and even the light seemed different to her. Her co-workers had teased her at first, then they’d come to depend on her.
She was two steps into the kitchen when she froze.
Something in this house was wrong.
Very wrong.
GRANT CORBIN HAD thought he would grow accustomed to the solitude, but a full year had passed since Vicki and Kevin had left and the place still felt empty and cold. He could never get comfortable, either. Looking around the half-empty room, he shook his head wryly.
Maybe if he had some furniture, things might be different.
Then again, maybe not.
Spending the money to replace what Vicki had taken had struck him as foolish and spending the time to select new things, impossible. Detectives in Los Angeles were usually short on the first and had none of the second, and Grant was no exception.
He crossed the living room and went into the kitchen, which was even less equipped for its purpose than the living room. The essentials were present, though, he told himself, reaching inside the refrigerator’s freezer. When a man had a fifth of cold tequila, he didn’t need anything more.
Perching on the one bar stool he’d kept, Grant twisted off the top of the bottle and took a long swig, holding the frigid alcohol in his mouth as he closed his eyes. He wished he could numb his brain as easily as he could his tongue, but it never worked that way. He’d tried, Lord knew he’d tried, but so far he hadn’t found a bottle big enough to make that happen.
Opening his eyes, he swallowed and the freezing Cuervo slid effortlessly down his throat. Then he saw the bear.
The goddamn bear.
For some ridiculous reason he couldn’t recall right now, he’d decided to clean the bedroom closets a week ago. He’d found the stuffed animal upside down on one of the shelves in the very back. He’d almost thrown it away, but then he’d remembered that the guys at the station kept some toys around to hand out when a child was brought in. Grant had fingered the tattered little bear, then set it on the kitchen counter to take with him the next day.
But the next day, he’d forgotten. And the day after that, he’d done the same. Finally, he’d been forced to admit the truth. He didn’t want to get rid of the toy. He wanted to keep the damn thing because it was all he had left of Kevin.
Another mouthful of tequila went down, then he cursed out loud as the phone rang. He thought about ignoring its persistent call but he was a cop and cops didn’t have that luxury. He picked up the receiver and grunted.
“Corbin? Get your ass down to the park. We got a dead gangbanger who was a bagman for Jaime Sanchez, that dealer over on Fourth who’s been giving us hell. The first O says some of his buds are there and they want to talk.”
Parker Richmond didn’t bother to identify himself because he didn’t need to. Another detective in Hollenbeck, he and Grant had graduated from the academy at the same time and had been friends through four divorces, three lawsuits, and two near-miss gun battles, one a holdup that went bad and the other, a domestic that went violent.
“I just got home,” Grant said.
“Then you still have your coat on.” Parker’s deep voice rang down the line. “C’mon, chop-chop.”
Grant looked down. He did indeed still have on his coat.
“Screw you,” he said pleasantly. “And the dirt-bag. I’ve got a cold bottle of Cuervo and I’m not going anywhere until I see the bottom of it.”
“Then drink fast. I expect you here in fifteen minutes.”
Parker hung up without another word, and Grant followed suit, rising to place the bottle back into the freezer with a pat. He and Parker both knew his protest had been automatic. He would take a murder any day of the week over a night at home by himself. Or a night out with friends, for that matter. Without a wife and kid, Grant no longer worked to live, he lived to work.
Passing by the teddy bear, he picked it up and held it to his nose. The little-boy scent he wanted to smell wasn’t there so he brushed a knuckle over its plush back when he set it down. His steps were heavy as he closed the front door behind him.
ANDREA STOOD in the middle of the kitchen and listened to the silence around her. The radio had been playing music but now a taped commercial came on. She could only hear part of the words as the signal faded in and out. “…on the beach today…hope you’ve