Chapter One
Oh, shit. Jarrett Brandtducked behind a large, snow-caked fir tree. His parents, his high school sweetheart, and a child stood at the top of the hill with their backs to him. How had he not seen them before now? Should he go? The open road beckoned beyond the low rolling hills and tombstones of the cemetery. But he’d already come so far.
Damn you, Joel. You had to be a fucking hero.He tunneled his gloved hands through his hair. Weak morning sunlight pierced the dreary December sky in hazy golden hues as snow flurries blowing from the mountaintops dusted his hair and clothes.
If only the pristine white could cleanse the blot from his soul.
As Harold and Linda Brandt descended the hill, Marissa and the boy remained at the graveside.
Jarrett slunk farther behind the tree and winced as sharp needles swatted his cold face. His stomach churned. Would the crackers he’d eaten for breakfast return?
“Ahh!” His mother skidded into view.
“Easy, there.” His father caught her by the waist before she could fall. After she steadied her feet, he tilted the large black umbrella over her to shield her from the flurries.
Whew. He released a long breath, unaware he’d seized up when she tripped. The air leaving his mouth puffed white like a damn beacon.
“Thank you, dear. I didn’t see that patch of ice.” Linda clutched a folded American flag to her chest—likely given to the family in honor of Joel’s military service. “Oh, God.” Her wet eyes widened. She veered toward Jarrett with open arms and a smile.
Harold pulled her to a stop and whispered something Jarrett couldn’t catch in her ear. The brightness of her smile dimmed as she squeezed the flag again. They approached him as though he was a wild animal that might flee at any moment—too badthatoption vanished as soon as they spotted him.
He wiped snow from his shaggy hair and met them halfway. “Dad.” What could he say to the man he’d always disappointed?
The last time they’d spoken, Jarrett punched him in the face. In return, his dad had bloodied Jarrett’s nose.
“Hi, Mom.” He locked his hands behind his back to keep from hugging her and focused on the retired police lieutenant. “I found Joel’s obituary online last week. I’m sorry. He deserved better.”
He’d never checked up on his family before the shit hit the fan in New Mexico. The guilt already weighing on his shoulders would surely last a lifetime, so thank God he hadn’t known about Joel’s murder when it happened five years earlier. He couldn’t have returned home then—his responsibilities wouldn’t have allowed it.
Harold stood stiff and tall with tears in his eyes—the macho prick would never let them fall—but the deep lines carving his face smoothed out. The snow had some nerve flecking his crisp dress uniform and sullying his hard-as-nails image.
“He did, but Joel still did great things with his life.” Harold stroked the flag in Linda’s arms and pulled her closer. “Did you know he served a tour in the Middle East? After a raid on his caravan, he saved two injured comrades from certain death and returned home with an honorable discharge. Even though he had a pronounceable limp, he worked hard and joined my old unit in the police department. He made detective a month before he died.”
Harold patted Linda’s hand before he released her to cross his arms over his chest. “What about you, Jarrett? Have you done anything important with your life?” He shook his head without waiting for an answer. “No, you’re nothing like your brother. So how many arrests are on your record? How many years have you spent in prison? Where the hell are you staying—at a halfway house?”
His mother grimaced as if she believed the accusations.
Every man in the Brandt family joined the police force after high school. His perfect brother had one-upped everyone and joined the army first—big surprise there. Joel always sucked up while Jarrett reveled in pissing their dad off. The old man’s expectations had driven him so far away from Siltan, Washington that he never looked back. If not for saying goodbye to Joel, he wouldn’t be there now.
Jarrett cocked his head. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“What am I to expect? My son ran away like a coward, doped up on drugs. You never called. Never came home. You were a disgrace.” He scowled at Jarrett’s wool-lined denim jacket, sweater, and jeans. “You still are. When was the last time you shaved? A week ago? Are you living out of that backpack?” He nodded to the khaki pack slung over Jarrett’s shoulder. “Ridiculous. You show up unannounced, after a damn decade, with the gall to show your face here on all days. Anyone could come by to pay their respects and think you’re Joel. Have you no respect? Your face is liable to give someone a stroke.”
The line of questioning chafed his ass, but what had he expected? It didn’t matter that his father had retired from the force. Once a pig, always a pig. He rubbed his bristled jaw.
Shaving had been the last thing on his mind as he fled New Mexico with the scum of the earth chasing him. Though he tried to reach Washington State from San Francisco the previous night, the sleet forced him to stay in a fleabag motel room. At least he’d showered before he left.
Harold’s cheeks mottled red as he fisted his hands. “The only son I claim is dead. Joel saved an old woman from an armed mugger, off duty without a weapon, and died for his efforts. It took courage to intervene, something you don’t possess.” He trembled and stomped forward. “You should have died, not him, but you’re no hero. You’re trash, just like the mugger.”
Linda gasped and covered her mouth with both hands.
“It’s all right, Mom. The bitter old man can think whatever he wants.” He smirked as Linda twisted her arm around Harold’s to hold him back. “You think my life is nothing but a waste? Fine, believe it, but I would never harm an old woman or stand by while someone was in trouble. I wish you believedthat.”
Harold hissed between his grinding teeth. He stalked away, pulling Linda with him across the snowy lot and down the sidewalk toward a minivan.
Jarrett seethed. Fuck it. He’d make peace with Joel’s death in his mind—no need to see the damn tombstone. He trudged back through a few inches of snow and strode down the cracked sidewalk. Rock salt crunched under his boots.
“Jarrett, wait!”
