Every hidden thing, p.19
Every Hidden Thing, page 19
Parker bounced the knife in his open palm, amazed at the perfect balance of it. Every part of the knife was brilliant in its simplicity, ruggedness, and functionality. Even the butt was heavy steel, fashioned to a point perfect for busting open a car window—or somebody’s head.
He slid the knife back into the hard plastic sheath until the hilt clicked—locking it in place. He snapped the straps around the handle, and pulled the cuff of his pants back down from his knee to cover it. He stood and looked down at his pants. Nobody would even know it was there.
But Parker would.
He strapped his dive knife to the other calf. This was definitely a two-knife night. If the one from Grandpa hadn’t been stolen, he’d have brought that one, too. The weight of them on his legs felt good. Like he was ready for anything. This was just the way it was going to be until the break-ins stopped. Not that he really thought he could use the knife against another human being, but it might be enough to keep someone away.
Steadman was totally revved up for the stakeout. Chafing at the bit. His Bayview rental had been hit again last night—and there was some real damage this time. Shadow-man had been really busy. When Parker told him about his dad helping, he could sense the excitement in Steadman’s voice. “Okay, you and your dad watch one place, while I guard the other. Tonight we get some answers. And I’m expecting some intel coming on this BIG outfit,” he said. A meeting was already set up at Ella’s house for the next day.
He didn’t tell Steadman about the trail cam idea. He didn’t want to get Steadman’s hopes up. Actually, that wasn’t it. He didn’t want to let Steadman down. Always deliver more than you promise. Parker tried living by his grandpa’s motto. What if something got messed up and the camera didn’t make it?
Then again, what if Jelly hadn’t even sent the camera at all? He knew her well enough to know she wasn’t wild about the idea. But in the end, she said she’d send it, right?
He replayed the conversation in his head—then pulled out his phone to reread the texts. Had she actually agreed to send it?
No. She hadn’t. She’d only said she’d figure something out. What on earth did that mean? And if she already did send it, why hadn’t she sent him a text letting him know when to expect it for sure?
The more he thought about it, the more he was sure Jelly didn’t ship it at all. Parker sent her a quick text.
The trail cam—here tomorrow—or Monday at latest, right? I’ll pay you back for the shipping!
He set the phone on the window ledge and looked toward the Headlands. So many places he couldn’t wait to show her—if the transfer for her dad ever came through.
His phone dinged, and he opened her response.
Tomorrow. Guaranteed delivery.
Perfect. The question was, where exactly would he strap the camera? He’d have to find the right angle—but if he set the camera too far back, the image would be too small or grainy and wouldn’t be of much use. He fired back a response.
Thanks. UPS or FedEx?
He didn’t have to wait more than thirty seconds.
Sheesh, Parker . . . what’s next—need the tracking number? Stop worrying. You’ll get the camera. ADS.
Okay. She sounded a little testy. What was bothering her? Maybe he was asking for too big of a favor. And ADS? Normally she was really particular about typos. He’d take that as UPS.
He waited to see if she’d say anything else—and with every minute that passed, he was sure she was miffed about something. He had no idea what—and wasn’t sure he wanted to ask.
Parker read her last text again. Maybe she wasn’t upset. Maybe he was imagining it. He could put out a feeler to see.
Thanks again for doing that. I owe you. And how are you doing?
He added that last part as a test.
He watched the dots blinking on the screen while she responded to his text.
Oh, so you DO care about how I’m doing? I thought you only cared about the camera. But I can’t talk now. Let’s catch up tomorrow—after you get the trail cam.
So that was it. Just because he got right down to business without checking to see how she was doing first? And she didn’t even have time to talk anyway. Girls could be complicated.
Another text popped up.
And Parker . . . you’re absolutely right.
He had no idea what she was talking about. Maybe she was baiting him to talk more . . . which was fine with him. He’d bite. Until the stakeout tonight, he had nothing better to do.
About what?
The response came back so quick—like she’d been waiting for him to ask.
You DO owe me—and I’m going to collect.
Parker laughed—and wasn’t even going to try imagining what she had in mind.
Mom knocked on his door and stepped inside his bedroom. “Dad’s ready.”
She had that look on her face—like she wished she could talk him out of going.
Parker pretty well knew what she needed to hear—and it wasn’t that he’d strapped Jimbo to his calf. “I’ll be careful, Mom. I won’t take any stupid chances. And I’ll be with Dad, so everything will be safe.”
“Actually, it’s Dad I’m worried about.” She wagged her finger at him and smiled in her teasing way. “You’d better keep him out of trouble, or I’m going to put the kibosh on this whole thing. You’ll both stay home next time—and I’ll make you watch Hallmark Christmas movies with me.”
Parker groaned. “Not that—anything but that. That’s got to be some form of child abuse.”
“Then you’d both better come home in one piece, hear?” She wrapped her arms around him.
He could see over her easily now, something he hadn’t been able to do when they lived in southern Florida. “It’s just a stakeout.”
She gave him a squeeze. “That’s what I keep telling myself.”
CHAPTER 40
Friday, June 10, 9:20 p.m.
HARLEY HAD THE DIVE SHOP SWEPT AND LOCKED UP fifteen minutes after his uncle left for Gloucester to get himself slopping drunk. If his uncle made it home before morning, he’d never notice if Harley was there or not. Perfect. Hopefully he’d be just as undetected by anyone else that night—especially the black-hooded guy who sent him for the swim in Rockport Harbor.
Harley had never been hit like that in any game he could remember. The guy was a human battering ram . . . if he was human at all. Harley had gotten such a creepy feeling when he’d planted the evidence in Parker’s garbage. Had Black-hood been watching him, even then? Harley was sure of it.
Harley had tried aborting the plan for tonight. “This Black-hood guy knows where I live. We gotta lay low.”
Scorza hadn’t let him back down. “Stop whining. This is part of Rockport High’s Star Quarterback Summer Football Camp. You be there.”
It was the first time Harley had ever detected a threat in Scorza’s voice—at least directed at him. Harley wasn’t afraid of Scorza, but it moved a “got-your-back” dial in Harley’s mind—the wrong way. It seemed that questions about what kind of friend Scorza really was were coming more and more often now.
“You planted the evidence, but the cops didn’t haul Buckman in. So we do it again and again until they do,” Scorza said. “Gatorade loses his job, his boat slip, and his BFF status with the girl. That’s what you said you wanted, Harley, and I’m trying to give you that. But you can’t be yo-yoing on this.”
He went to the Hangar and sat on Kemosabe, started it up, and wiped it all down again. He was killing time, and he knew it. Maybe if Ella saw him on the Sportster someday she’d let him take her for a ride. Maybe she’d like it so much she’d stop going out on Gatorade’s boat, and ride on Kemosabe instead.
He kept an eye on the clock and locked the shed back up again just before the rendezvous time. He grabbed his gear and met Scorza on the rocks at Front Beach, in the shadows of the Captain’s Bounty motel. Together they jogged uphill through the Old First Parish Burying Ground and made their way to within fifty yards of Steadman’s rental on Mills. They slipped on their hoodies—and full-face nylon masks. They looked like faceless identical twins. Or maybe like a couple of demons. Without a word they stretched their hands into latex gloves. They were getting better at this.
And more aggressive.
This was the last time Harley was going to let himself get talked into this—so he was pulling out all the stops. This time they’d do some damage—and they weren’t going to stop at just one house. The plan was to hit both of Steadman’s places in the same night—and plant more evidence at Parker’s before it was over. And this time, it was going to work.
CHAPTER 41
Friday, June 10, 10:15 p.m.
ELLA WOULD HAVE FELT A WHOLE LOT BETTER being on the stakeout. Everybody was in place. Had been for over an hour. Parker and his dad were hunkered down behind some stone wall by Steadman’s rental on Mills Street. Bayport. Steadman himself was doing the stakeout at Bayview, his other rental. She was pretty sure he wasn’t hiding outside behind some wall, though. He was inside—just hoping he’d get his hands on whoever was behind the break-ins.
Ella’s “post” was her own house. Which made some sense, actually. She didn’t want Grams left alone—especially since they had a renter tonight. But she felt out of it here. Like everyone else was out doing something important, while she patrolled the house.
And patrol was the right word for it. Every few minutes she walked the house. Every light upstairs was on—and all the yard lights were blazing. Ella stopped at every window—like a full stop. She used her artist eyes to take in every detail in the yard outside. To be observant. Looking for anything that seemed out of place.
Right now Ella wished she had a weapon. Something that would scare—or stop—an intruder long before they got close to her.
If anybody saw something suspicious, they were to send a text. They were all on the same thread. Ella. Parker. Steadman. Parker’s dad and mom.
If Gramps were still alive, he would have been out there too, wouldn’t he? For sure. She stared across the patio to the rental. “I miss you, Gramps.”
Grams insisted on staying up with Ella until the stakeout was officially over—however long it took. But she’d drifted off in Gramps’s recliner downstairs just after ten o’clock. Ella had no intention of waking her. With all the worry about losing the place, Grams hadn’t been sleeping much at night.
She finished her rounds on the second floor and tiptoed down the staircase. Grams’s hearing wasn’t what it once was—so the risk of waking her was remote. But still, Ella didn’t want to take the chance. In a house that was over 150 years old, she’d learned the dance of getting down the stairs with minimal squeaking of floorboards.
Every door and window was locked—and double-checked. But still, she gave each one a quick visual as she passed. The kitchen window absolutely gave her the creeps. She’d scrubbed the warning off first thing this morning—every bit of it—but she could still picture it there.
Ella gripped the cross dangling from her necklace like she was some kind of vampire slayer. Shadow-man had gotten into—and out of—Parker’s bedroom undetected. Nobody found ladder marks on the ground below his window, either. Why was it so hard for them to believe this thing wasn’t from their world?
And with absolute heart-crawling-up-her-throat positivity she knew something else, too. Whatever the thing was, it was going to make another appearance tonight.
CHAPTER 42
Friday, June 10, 10:20 p.m.
PATIENCE WAS THE KEY. Rush into something too fast, and it leads to mistakes. He was staying a safe distance from Steadman’s place until he was sure nobody was there—or waiting in ambush.
“Are we going to do this—or are you still building up the guts?”
Harley motioned for Scorza to shut up. On the field the QB called the plays—and everyone moved on his count. But it was getting old off the field.
Scorza signaled for a huddle-up, which Harley ignored. There was no need to talk over anything. They had the whole thing worked out. Harley would be the inside man while Scorza stood guard. It made sense that Harley would be the one to go in. He was the one who wanted to get Gatorade out of the way. He didn’t argue with Scorza’s plan, but still, it felt a little weird that Scorza wasn’t going in with him this time. Again.
“Hey, I agreed to be the one going in. I’m not going until I’m sure this isn’t an ambush. Don’t rush me.” Would Scorza back him up if Harley ran into trouble? Of course he would. Right?
The house was dark, but he could see the windows well enough. If one drape moved, they’d book. There had been enough break-ins to put everyone on the lookout. Every time they did this, they’d be upping their chances of getting caught. So they’d take it slow and careful before going in. If he were Steadman, Harley would park his truck far from the home—and be waiting inside the dark house. Steadman would be at one of the rentals for sure. It was just a question if he was at this one. A fifty-fifty chance.
It was insane to hit this place again. Absolutely crazy. Scorza insisted that this was exactly what made it a brilliant move. Nobody expected the same place to get hit two nights in a row.
A muffled snapping noise drew his attention. Scorza was on the move. In a half crouch, he darted through the shadows on the opposite side of the house from the neighbor with the security lights.
What was he doing? But Harley knew. He was calling the plays again, and he obviously expected Harley to follow his lead. He growled inside. Part of him wanted to ditch Scorza, but that would be missing the whole point, right? He had to try this one more time. Hit Steadman’s homes. Pin some evidence on Gatorade. Force the police to take action. Ella wouldn’t want to hang around a guy like that. She’d be looking for a new friend—and Harley would be there.
Scorza motioned him over.
Harley climbed over a granite rock wall that looked like it had been in place since the Revolutionary War. He worked his way across the yard silently, with his peripheral “game vision” fully activated. He’d always been able to see a defender rushing toward him from practically any angle except directly behind him. If anyone was around tonight, they’d hidden themselves well. The place seemed as lifeless as the burial ground.
Scorza stood beside a dark window and motioned him to put it in high gear. No going through the back door this time.
“About time.” Scorza grinned. “We good?”
No apology for rushing him. Just an expectation that whatever the QB did was okay. Harley gave him a thumbs-up—even though he felt like sacking the QB. He handed Scorza a glow stick and kept one for himself.
“Gatorade is going to lose some serious yardage tonight,” Scorza said.
Scorza had left his signature football at home this time, but the first-floor window didn’t need more than a jab from Harley’s elbow to drop the pane to the floor inside. A moment later he reached inside for the latch and raised the window.
Harley boosted himself inside and dropped into a crouch.
“Go to the kitchen and unlock that back door,” Scorza said. “I’ll be there, standing guard. If I see anything, I’ll duck inside to warn you. Then we’ll fly out the front door together.”
They’d been over the plan. Harley didn’t need a recap except for one little detail Scorza kept ignoring.
“And if Steadman is in here waiting for me?”
“He’s not.”
Harley put his back to the wall and kept an eye on the dark room. “And what about Shadow-man?”
“Look, I’ve got your back. You’ll find an opening or blow right through him. You always do. Or do you want me to do this?”
Harley shook his head. “Just keep your eyes open.” Maybe it was the fact that he was alone in the house. Maybe not. But he had a really bad feeling about being there.
CHAPTER 43
Friday, June 10, 10:28 p.m.
PARKER STRAINED TO SEE THROUGH A GAP between the granite stones. Had he heard glass breaking, or was it his imagination? The wall gave them perfect cover, and they had a clear view of the back of the house. Even though Dad and Parker had agreed they weren’t going to play supercop, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t try to slow down Shadow-man’s escape until the police arrived. They’d used 25-pound rated fluorocarbon fishing leader to set up trip wires. One behind them in the woods. The other in front of the house—actually across the street. Each zigzagged from tree to tree, about six inches off the ground. The fishing line was clear—so nobody would know it was there until it took them down.
A hooded figure seemed to materialize from the shadows on the far side of the house. Parker reached over and gripped his dad’s arm.
“I see him,” Dad whispered.
Parker shifted to a crouching position. Felt the prickling as the blood worked its way back into his numb legs. This was it. What they’d been waiting for. Thank you, God!
Dad put a finger to his lips and picked up his phone. “Texting Steadman.”
Shadow-man edged his way to the back stairway. He took one step. Then a second. Slowly—and without a sound. He moved different than he did before. More catlike. Way more guarded. The last time Parker saw Shadow-man there, he’d been standing tall like he didn’t care who saw him. And he didn’t look as big as last time—but maybe that’s because Dad was here with him.
Dad’s phone vibrated—which sounded way too loud in the dead air. Shadow-man hesitated. Cocked his head.
Could he possibly have heard?
After what seemed like a full ten-count, Shadow-man was on the move again.
Dad tucked his phone back in his pocket. “Steadman’s on his way—and he’s calling Rankin.”
Perfect. Perfect. They’d catch the guy—and maybe Grams and Ella would have a fighting chance to keep their place.
Shadow-man was at the top of the stairs. He peered inside. Appeared to be trying the lock.
