In Confidence. Karen Young

spent five years wishing he could turn back the clock, wishing especially that he wasn’t haunted by that last telephone call from Jack.

      It had been late at night and he’d been in the throes of his usual deadline angst, trying to work through a book that was giving him problems. He’d rewritten the dialogue of the killer at least four times, trying to get it right. It was a crucial scene, one that would shed a glimmer of understanding about a man who had murdered half a dozen teenagers in the local lover’s lane of a small town in California. The crime had actually happened, and only God—or the devil—knew for certain what the killer said or thought as he prepared his young victims for sexual torture and death. Cam’s extensive research into the case had provided a lot of facts, but little psychological insight. If he’d pulled the story out of his imagination, he could invent whatever drove a monster to kill. But his genre was true crime, and his evaluation of the killer’s psyche had to be solid. After three bestsellers, nothing less for his next book would satisfy his fans or Cam himself.

      In the back of his mind, he’d heard his phone ringing but ignored it. Everyone knew to leave him alone when he was working to a deadline. The book had to be on his editor’s desk in two weeks, and even working fourteen-hour days, he’d have to push to get it done. It was on the fifth ring that the answering machine picked up.

      “Hi, Dad. It’s me.”

      Jack. Cam dropped his head and groaned. It was the third time this week that his son had called, and Cam was still clueless over the reason for the calls. Lately when Jack phoned, he seemed to have something on his mind besides playing ball and the latest movie or rock group. When Cam tried probing deeper, all he got was evasion or Jack suddenly had to hang up.

      Now Cam turned to look at the answering machine, silent except for Jack’s breathing. It could simply be that Jack wanted to see Cam, whether in a visit to New York or in Texas, where he lived with his mother. He hadn’t come out and said so, but that had to be it. He knew it was not possible. It was the middle of the school year. Besides, he knew Cam was on deadline. Jack understood these things. Or he used to understand these things.

      “Dad, will you pick up?” There was urgency in his tone now. “I need to talk to you.”

      Maybe it was Cara. Now that Jack was in the full throes of adolescence, maybe they were at odds over some things. Girls. Sex. Algebra. But, hell, it would kill Cara if Jack actually pushed to come and live with Cam in New York and leave her.

      “I know you’re on deadline, Dad, but—” Jack’s voice caught on something that sounded like a sob.

      Cam picked up. “Hey, Jack. What’s up, son?”

      “Not too much.” Cam heard a sniff, then in a muffled tone, Jack said, “I guess you’re working, huh?”

      Cam looked at the blinking cursor on his monitor. “I’m trying to wrap this one up, yeah, but maybe taking a break’s a good thing. How’s it going with you, son?”

      “We had a game tonight. I scored eighteen points.”

      “Well, hey! Next year, you’ll make the varsity team in a cakewalk.”

      “If I don’t break a leg or something.”

      Cam smiled. “It’s hard to break a leg that’s only fifteen years old. Now, you take my legs—”

      “Nah, Dad, thanks. You can keep both of ’em.” Jack laughed, but to Cam’s ears, it seemed shaky, not quite right.

      “Is something wrong, Jack? Everything okay with your mom?”

      “Mom’s okay. I think she’s serious about this guy Anthony.”

      “You like him?”

      “He’s cool, I guess.”

      “How about school? Those grades went a little south last term. Are you having a problem?”

      “It was my own fault, Dad. I just…f—ah, messed up and it got away from me. I’ll bring ’em around next term, okay?”

      “I know you can do it, son.” Cam rubbed a hand over his face, knowing he should be the one helping Jack, but how the hell could he when they were separated by the breadth of the whole country? It had been a stupid idea for Cara to move back to Texas after the divorce. What the hell had she been thinking? Why had he let her do it?

      “Dad…”

      “Yeah?”

      “I—ah, I mean, I wish we could—” Jack made a strangled sound. “When do you think you’ll finish your book?”

      “Couple of weeks, Jack. I’ve run into some problems with this one, but I’ll work them out eventually. Soon as it’s done, I’m outta here and coming to see you.” Using the mouse, Cam idly scrolled back to the chapter he’d written the day before and scanned the text. After a second or two, inspiration struck. Suddenly he knew how to write the scene he’d been wrestling with.

      “…some trouble with the guys on the team,” Jack was saying. “I was thinking maybe you could come down and—”

      “Hold a second, Jack.” Cam clicked the mouse and wrote a couple of phrases before losing his thought. “Now, what’s that you were saying?”

      “It’s—oh, nothing, Dad,” he replied in a deflated tone. “I guess you need to get back to work.”

      “I can tell there’s something on your mind, son. The minute this book’s done, I’ll get on a plane and be there. We can talk it over.”

      “You really think it won’t be too long, Dad?”

      “Two weeks, maximum, Jack. I promise.”

      “Well—”

      “I’ll get this thing in the mail and we’ll spend some real time together. You know your grandparents’ house is empty now they’re gone, so I don’t see why I can’t arrange to stay for the summer. No reason why I have to be here in New York. How ’bout that?”

      “It’s great, Dad.” Jack spoke quietly and Cam thought he heard a break in the boy’s voice again, but the line went dead before he had a chance to reply. And he was soon lost in the scene that had been giving him trouble.

      It was three o’clock in the morning when his phone rang again. Groggy from a sixteen-hour marathon at his computer and disoriented, he didn’t pick up until it finally penetrated who was speaking on the answering machine.

      “Cara, what in hell—”

      His ex-wife’s reply was muffled with sobs. Cam sat up then and said in a voice sharp with alarm, “What’s wrong, Cara?”

      “It’s—it’s Jack, Cam. Oh, my God, it’s Jack.” She made a small, despairing sound. “He’s gone. Oh God, oh God, oh God, I can’t bear it.”

      “What do you mean, he’s gone? He’s run away?”

      “C-Cam…”

      “Come on, Cara. What about Jack?”

      Her voice steadied slightly as she managed to pull herself together. She breathed in and said dully, “Jack is dead, Cam. He’s committed suicide.”

      He realized he was still standing on the porch, still focused on the two women with the pain of losing Jack a deep, black hole inside him. His life had been forever changed with that phone call. And what he wouldn’t give to have what Forrester was idiotically jeopardizing. Still, it was none of his business and he’d already broken one of his hard-and-fast rules by even acknowledging Rachel’s situation. He hadn’t expected to find her sitting with her mother when he dropped off Dinah’s jewelry, otherwise he’d have put off returning it. Then he’d compounded his mistake by apologizing. But he’d been out of line attacking her at the ER and he’d been out of line offering advice. Another stupid error. He’d made every mistake in the book handling his divorce and its consequences, so what could he offer that her vast circle of friends and