Concrete Evidence Read online

  Copyright © 2013 Rachel Grant

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10: 0989301001

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9893010-0-8

  Cover art and design by Naomi Ruth Raine

  Copyediting by Linda Ingmanson

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation with the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For Dave,

  Because you always believed in me.

  PROLOGUE

  November 1952

  US Army Garrison Fort Belmont, Maryland

  HE ARRIVED AT REGINA GUERRERO’S house at the usual time. As he walked up the front path, he waved to her son, Ricky, who played in the yard. The four-year-old grinned, his wide brown eyes the only part of his face not covered in dirt. Gina needed to take better care of that kid.

  She met him at the door, then stumbled as she led him into the living room of her cramped army house. Dammit. She was already drunk. He’d wanted to talk to her about their future, but when she was drunk, the sex was quick and she usually passed out afterward.

  Moving boxes were stacked against the wall. An agonizing surge of hope brought him to a dead stop. “You changed your mind. You’re leaving Claudio and coming with me when my transfer goes through.”

  “You silly boy.” She laughed, a cold, hard sound, and walked into the kitchen, probably to refill the empty glass in her hand.

  He followed, his face burning at her insult.

  She reached for the bottle of whiskey on the counter and filled her glass. Sipping her drink, she studied him over the rim, then reached for his pants. “We don’t have much time. My sitter for Ricky canceled.” She felt his hard-on and smiled. “Sometimes your age is an advantage.”

  He never should have told her he’d lied about his age to get into the army. Now that she knew he was only sixteen, she was always making cracks about his age, no matter what he did to prove he was a man. He pushed her away. “We need to talk.”

  “I didn’t invite you here to talk.” She reached for him again.

  He closed his eyes as her hand cupped him. They could talk later…

  No. Regina would pass out, and he’d end up babysitting Ricky. Again. He opened his eyes and stepped away from her. “Why are you packing?”

  “We’re going to live with my parents in Montreal while Claudio is in Korea.”

  Her words crushed his ridiculous hope. “But I’m being transferred to San Diego. I want you to come with me.” Wanted. Needed. He was sick with the idea of being forced to live so far away from her.

  “We’re going to stay with my parents.” She downed her drink in one long swallow.

  “Please, Gina. I love you. I can take care of you and Ricky. You can get a divorce, marry me, and we’ll be happy.”

  “Claudio will never let me take Ricky away from him. And he won’t let me leave when he needs a mother to raise his son.” Through the kitchen window, her gaze fixed on the boy. “As long as I have Ricky, I’m trapped.” When she faced him again, her eyes were moist with tears. He pulled her into his arms.

  Her kisses were as violent as her hands, and he wondered if sex was supposed to be so combative. She perched on the kitchen counter and bit down hard on his ear as she came, while her son played right outside the window.

  After she finished, she pushed him away and slipped off the counter. “I need to lie down,” she said and wobbled into the bedroom.

  He zipped up his pants and stared though the window. The boy, completely covered in mud, played with the garden hose. He pushed up the pane of glass. “Ricky,” he said. “You need to take a bath. Your mom wants me to take you to the movies.”

  Thirty minutes later, Ricky was clean, dressed, and on his way out to the truck while he looked in on Regina. She was sound asleep, her mouth wide open. He wrote a note saying they’d gone to see Cinderella.

  “Cine?” Ricky said, after they’d been driving for a half hour.

  It took him a moment to figure out what the boy was asking because he spoke Spanish and French better than English. “Instead of the movies, we’re going someplace very special.” He hoped the boy understood him, but it didn’t matter.

  They drove for another hour before he turned at the weathered sign that marked the driveway for the Carleton School for Indian Boys. He headed down the long drive and parked in front of the old building. The Pennsylvania boarding school was a dumping ground for Indian orphans and the perfect place for Ricky Guerrero. This way Gina could leave Claudio without fear, and they would no longer be stuck with a kid she didn’t want.

  The headmaster, a gaunt older man, met them at the front door. “Is this a new student? I can’t take boys younger than five.”

  “He’s five,” he lied. “He’s small for his age.” He held his breath, praying the boy wouldn’t speak and ruin everything. But Ricky just looked confused. He nudged the boy forward.

  “Is he an orphan?”

  “His parents died in a car accident two weeks ago.”

  The headmaster didn’t bother to look at the boy again. “What’s his name?”

  His name? Shit. He needed something that sounded Indian and scanned the entryway. The school crest was mounted above the front door: an eagle ready to land, wings extended, talons out. “Talon,” he said, then struggled for a first name. Who was that famous chief? Oh yeah. Joseph. “Joseph Talon.”

  The boy spoke in a combination of high-pitched Spanish and French.

  The headmaster frowned. “We don’t allow Indian languages to be spoken here.”

  “He seems to understand English but doesn’t speak it.”

  “What tribe is he from?”

  “Menanichoch,” he said easily, naming the tribe that had once occupied Fort Belmont land.

  The headmaster nodded. “Does he have a birth certificate?”

  He shook his head. “He was born in a teepee. No papers.”

  The headmaster looked at him strangely, and he realized he’d made a mistake. Hell, should he have said wigwam? Igloo? Hut? What the hell did the Menanichoch live in? “He doesn’t have any family, and the kids at the orphanage were picking on him for being a redskin. The State of Maryland thought he’d be better off here, with his kind.”

  “No one called me.”

  He shrugged. “Someone screwed up. Look, I’m just the delivery guy. My instructions were to bring the kid here, and I did.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait. I’ll take him, but I need you to sign a form swearing he’s Indian, or the government won’t pay for his upkeep.”

  Another student meant a bigger budget to skim. He suppressed a smile. One of his fellow soldiers had escaped from the Carleton School; you never knew when information overheard in the mess hall would come in handy.

  He filled out the form, then signed a fake name at the bottom. He’d given Joseph Talon a white mother and an Indian father to explain why he didn’t look exactly Indian.

  He patted the boy on the head and walked toward his truck, hardly able to believe it had gone so smoothly. Then the kid started to cry and ran after him. Ricky—Joseph now—wrapped his arms around his leg and clung to him. He pulled the boy’s small hands apart, feeling sorry for him, but there wasn’t any other way.

  On the drive back, his mood lightened. Their
problems were solved. Gina was better looking than Rita Hayworth and his sergeant’s wife combined, and Gina would come with him to San Diego, and all the soldiers there would respect and admire him because she was his. He laughed out loud and wished he’d thought of taking Ricky to the school sooner. For weeks he’d been sick with anxiety over losing Gina.

  She was kneeling in front of a cardboard box when he returned. Her dress was crisp, her hair and makeup perfect, the redness in her eyes the only sign she’d been drinking earlier. “Where’s Ricky?” she asked idly, her attention on the books she was packing.

  “Outside.”

  She stood and brushed wrinkles from her skirt. Not only did she look like a movie star, she moved like one.

  “Good. I’ll get you a drink.” She headed into the kitchen.

  He followed her, hardly able to believe she would be his forever.

  She handed him a glass. He took a large gulp and nearly spit it out. It was straight booze and burned all the way down.

  She grinned.

  She was always doing shit like that, trying to make him feel like a kid. As if at twenty-three she was so much older and wiser. If she was so smart, how come he had to solve her problems for her?

  He’d been tested his whole life by the meanest son of a bitch there was. Gina Guerrero was no match for his father. He chugged the drink and set his empty glass on the counter.

  She laughed, and her eyes lit with admiration.

  He felt a burst of pride, and the words he’d been dying to say came rushing out. “Your troubles are over. I’ve found a home for Ricky. You can come with me to San Diego.”

  “I told you, we’re going to live with my parents.”

  She was so simple sometimes. So dense. “You don’t need to worry about Ricky or Claudio.” He spoke slowly so she’d understand. “I’m taking care of you now.”

  “You? You’re just a boy. You can’t take care of us.”

  He felt a flash of anger, the kind he’d worked so hard to control when his father told him he was stupid and useless. “Pigs are cleaner than your son.”

  She slapped him, a quick hard slash of her hand, just like his old man.

  He raised his arm to strike her but checked his swing and shook his head, trying to force back memories of hard fists and leather belts. He would not become his father. He was a man now, a soldier. “You love me, Gina. I know you love me.”

  “For a whiz kid on the officer fast track, you sure are stupid. I don’t love you. You’re just a fuck while Claudio is away.”

  That had to be the booze talking.

  “You fumble in bed and come too soon. You’re not a man like Claudio.”

  You’re not a man. He heard his father taunting him. Something inside snapped. He hit her, the entire weight of his body behind his fist when it slammed into her jaw.

  She spun backward and crashed into the refrigerator. Her head hit the handle, and she slowly slid to the floor. A streak of blood ran from the silver handle, down the white door, ending where her head leaned against the refrigerator at an unnatural angle.

  “Gina!” He touched her face, then straightened her slack neck as if that would fix her. “I’m sorry!”

  Her eyes went blank.

  A sob rose up in his chest. “I love you, Gina. I love you.”

  But he knew she couldn’t hear him. Christ, what was he going to do?

  CHAPTER ONE

  July 2011

  Bethesda, Maryland

  MUSIC PULSED THROUGH ERICA KESLING’S headphones as she thrust her foot high, hitting the hanging punching bag right where Jake Novak’s face ought to be. Her gloved fists found the same spot, two blows in rapid succession, guaranteed to shatter Jake’s imaginary nose. The next kick connected with his groin. In her mind, he doubled over and begged for mercy.

  She showed him the same measure of mercy he had shown her. If this were real, the roundhouse kick would have finished him off.

  The repeated kicks rubbed the skin on her foot raw until streaks of blood marred the blue bag. She ignored the pain. Each sore, each bruise, only made her stronger. She would be ready when she faced the thieving treasure hunter again.

  As she abused the imaginary Jake, she felt real hope, a first since walking out of the jungle a year ago. She’d just kicked Jake in the stomach when the door opened and a very tall man in workout gear entered the room. He nodded to her and went straight for the free weights.

  She acknowledged him with a tip of her head, annoyed her private workout time had ended. She’d never seen him in the company gym before, but Talon & Drake employed over two hundred people in Bethesda and several hundred more in other offices. He could be the hydrologist from the Boston office who was supposed to help out in Bethesda for a month. One of the chemists had told her the incoming hydrologist was hot and had called dibs.

  She felt his eyes on her as he lifted weights. She waited until he looked away before she checked him out. Impressive delts and triceps, a nice complement to his handsome face. He hadn’t shaved, and his short, light brown hair was mussed in a way that made her think he’d come here straight from bed. He had to be the hydrologist, because even his messy hair and stubbly jaw were sexy.

  She looked back at the bag and planted another kick in Jake’s abdomen. The guy might have a nice face and body, but she still wished she had the employee gym to herself.

  She kicked and punched until she was dripping sweat and her breathing was ragged with exhaustion. From the corner of her eye, she saw the guy put away the weights and approach her. She twisted and kicked the bag from behind. He stopped on the opposite side of the bag and held it. He was imposing, even taller than she’d thought at first.

  “You should take a break,” he said.

  With a gloved hand, she tapped her headphones and lied, “Can’t hear you!” She kicked left, then spun around and kicked right, in the zone, her blood pumping, her aggression high. No one would tell her when she was done.

  Her foot came dangerously close to him, but he didn’t budge. “I’d like a turn with the bag,” he shouted.

  “I get the bag every morning until seven.” Distracted, she missed her target and just glanced the slippery vinyl with her foot. Momentum sent her to the floor, hard. The headphones clattered to the mat next to her. Crap. Could I look any more ridiculous?

  She caught her breath and winced, then tried to sweep her hair from her face, but the thick foam glove was awkward and made her feel even clumsier, answering her own question. Defeated, she blew her hair from her eyes and looked up at him. “And sometimes the bag gets me.”

  Warm hands encircled her wrists just below the gloves, and he pulled her to her feet, the light in his eyes hinting at a smile. “It’s not your fault. The bag jumped out of the way.”

  “Damn thing has it in for me.”

  He picked up her fallen headset and used the cord to reel her to him. His actions were smooth, confident. She didn’t hesitate to step closer and couldn’t fathom why.

  A scant foot separated them when he said, “You have a fantastic ass. It’s a shame to see you fall on it.” His eyes lit in playful challenge—daring her to object?—as he grinned, then placed the headphones over her ears and walked away.

  Stunned, she stared after him. If it weren’t for the teasing grin, she’d be offended. Turnabout was fair play, however, and she paused to admire his ass, which was damn fine in her estimation. She shook her head as if to clear it. She had artifacts to find, a reputation to redeem, and a treasure hunter to put in jail. Juvenile flirtation with the new hydrologist ranked dead last on her list of priorities.

  She escaped to the shower. A half hour later, dressed and ready for work, she headed to the juice bar in the lobby of the large office building and treated herself to a smoothie. The five-dollar drink was extravagant, but today was special. Or at least it would be, if her boss gave her the Thermo-Con Environmental Assessment for the Menanichoch Tribe.

  Drink in hand, she took the elevator to the eighth fl
oor and headed straight to her boss’s office. She paused in the open doorway and took a sip of the smoothie for courage.

  “Oh, good, you’re here,” Janice Rabinowitz said. “We need to talk.”

  Janice’s tone caused a surge of fear. If Janice had learned about the mistakes she’d made a year ago, she would fire Erica. She took a long, slow breath, forcing herself to appear calm. “What’s going on?”

  “A new archaeologist is starting today. Or tomorrow. To be honest, I’m not really sure.”

  Okay, Janice didn’t want to talk about Mexico, but her relief was only marginal. Gossip on the archaeology grapevine was perpetuated by dig bums—archaeology’s version of itinerant field-workers. A new archaeologist—especially if they were from the West Coast—could have heard Jake’s twisted version of what happened in Mexico.

  Jake couldn’t tell the truth without implicating himself, but the truth would ruin her just as thoroughly as his lies had. So far, those lies hadn’t crossed the Rockies and made it to Janice’s ears. Thanks to the disconnect between coasts, and the fact that underwater archaeologists didn’t play in the same sandbox with their land-based peers, Erica had lasted six months at Talon & Drake, and now, when the project she’d been waiting for was finally within her grasp, a new hire could get her fired. “You hired someone over the weekend?”

  “He’s being foisted on us by the home office. He’s scheduled for a six-week internship. I want you to supervise him. He’ll share your office.”

  An intern was unlikely to have field experience and probably wouldn’t have heard of her. But sharing her office would seriously hamper her plans. “I don’t have time to train a spoiled intern. I’m swamped with cell towers, and frankly, I was hoping you’d give me the Thermo-Con Environmental Assessment.”

  Janice adjusted her glasses. “That’s why you need an assistant, Erica. I’ve been hesitant to give you the Menanichoch EA because of your workload. But the intern can help. Train him to take over the cell tower projects.”