Dark Debts by Karen Hall Read Free Book Online

that theory much; it would have deprived him of the right to feel superior.
    Well, none of that mattered now. The accident waiting to happen they’d called a family had exploded. Jack and Cam had been the surviving debris, hurled in opposite directions, landing intact, but not whole. Now Jack spent his days going through the motions of living, never really sure why he bothered. And somewhere out there, Cam was busy turning his life into a quest for vindication. Maybe he’d even gotten it. Well . . . fine. Good for him.
    The drizzle had turned into a steady rain, and Jack could feel the wet chambray of his work shirt sticking to his back. He’d be drenched by the time he got home. What the hell. This day had never had any intention of being on his side.
    Suddenly it flashed back to him. The thing that had been different about the dream last night. He didn’t know why it had left him so upset, but he knew what was different. Last night, for the first time, Cam’s body had been lying there, too.

THREE
    R anda managed to get a couple of hours of sleep before it was time to go to work. She woke with a fuzzy knowledge that something horrible had happened, but she couldn’t remember what it was. When she did remember, she had a moment of hope that it had been a nightmare. She saw the jeans and blouse she’d worn draped over the chair and that hope dissolved, leaving her with only the crushing reality.
    Cam was gone. Even more gone than he had already been. She wondered how many years it would take before she wouldn’t even remember what he’d looked like, or the sound of his voice. Or the tiny scar on his chin she’d never asked him about. Or the way he crinkled his nose when she said something that annoyed him. Or the way he stared at his hands when he lied.
    She wished, like she’d wished a year ago, she’d had a chance to say good-bye. The man from the coroner’s office had told her they wouldn’t release Cam’s body until after they had spent a reasonable amount of time trying to find Jack, so Randa knew there was no funeral planned. There would probably be some sort of a memorial service that she could go to if she made an issue of it, but whenever she imagined it, she could see herself alone in a corner, watching people console Nora. No thanks.
    She decided to go to work, since the alternative was sitting around in her apartment making herself crazy. She showered and dressed in layers of black—black leggings, black boots, black oversized turtleneck sweater. The contrast between the dark clothes and her crop of shoulder-length wheat-colored hair might compensate for something. She stared in the mirror at her pale, sleep-deprived skin and exhausted eyes and decided any energy spent on makeup would be wasted. She brushed some peach-colored blush over her cheekbones and said to hell with it.
    She dialed the paper and asked to speak to Roger Eglee, the managing editor. She had to start somewhere, and Roger was a friend. At least, he seemed to be. She no longer put her faith in things like that. “Okay,” Roger said as soon as he picked up the phone, “what creative excuse have you come up with for missing the staff meeting?”
    â€œIt’s pretty creative,” she answered in a flat voice. “Cam’s dead.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHe killed himself. Last night.”
    â€œOh my God.” In addition to writing a column for the paper, Cam was also one of Roger’s poker buddies, although he’d been quick to side with Randa when everything had blown up. “Oh, my God. Randa. I can’t believe it. What happened?”
    She proceeded to tell him the whole story, including the part about the police station and the liquor store, which sounded even more preposterous as she recounted it. She asked him to spread it around the office before she got there so she wouldn’t have to go through telling it again. Told him