After it happened, Nick felt like a dope for getting himself into a situation where two goons could bushwhack him. He was pedaling along with the cantaloupe and strawberries, congratulating himself on playing the role of peacemaker by talking Ward out of a lost cause—going over to beg Kristin’s forgiveness—when he looked over his shoulder and saw the pickup.
Whoa, he thought, way too close. And he hadn’t worn a helmet, getting out of the garage too fast to take time to put it on. He turned back for another quick look, but the sun was reflected on its windshield, almost blinding him. Without a doubt the driver was crowding him. Dumb ass, was his fragmented thought as he made a wild maneuver off the shoulder, skirting a ditch that was pretty steep. Another look and his eyes went wide with shock as he realized the pickup meant to use him as a hood ornament. It was either jump or be mowed over, so he leaped from his bike, flying over the handlebars just as the truck’s bumper struck. He tucked instinctively into a body roll, but he hit the ground hard, anyway, bouncing his head off something that rang his bell, big time.
He lay for a minute with the wind knocked out of him, seeing stars and thinking he was maybe dying. While he struggled to breathe, he thought about the cantaloupe and strawberries and figured they were history. As he’d nearly been. Then, as his breath returned and his head cleared, he realized he was flat on the ground and two men were standing over him. Two really big dudes.
But he must have got a serious knock on the head because he couldn’t make out their faces, only that they looked strange, like aliens. Then he figured out why. Although they each wore baseball caps, they had stockings pulled over their heads mashing their faces flat. Okay, he was hallucinating because when you were in an accident, people were supposed to help you. Instead, these two stood there as if lending him a hand was going to be a committee decision, like not happening.
“He’s coming around,” the biggest of the pair said. “Guess he coulda broke something.”
“We were told not to mark him,” the other said, sounding ticked off. He wore a Harley Hog T-shirt and looked mean. “You can be the one to explain when he asks what happened. And we gotta hurry before anybody drives up. Just because it’s Sunday doesn’t mean somebody won’t come along.”
Big Guy ran his hands over Nick’s arms and legs. Still dazed, Nick wasn’t able to object. “He’s all right. Gettin’ his wind back now.”
Harley Hog peered over in the ditch where the remains of Nick’s bike lay. “Get the fuckin’ bike,” he ordered his partner. “Throw it in the truck and let’s get this little prick back home to his mommy before somebody shows up and wants to help.”
“You gonna deliver the message?” Big Guy asked, making no move to get the bike.
“Yeah, I’m gonna deliver the message,” Harley said sarcastically, “but not until he’s able to listen. He’s still groggy. Plenty of time since we’re gonna drop him near his house on account of you catapulting him into the ditch.”
“What’s…” Nick, up on one elbow now, spat out a mouthful of grass and grit. “What’s going on? Who are you?”
“Bitchin’ already,” Harley said with disgust. He grabbed Nick’s elbow and jerked him up on his feet. “You’ve been a pain in the ass, Forrester. Get in the truck.”
In spite of the whirling landscape, Nick preferred taking a chance on making it back on his own to hitching a ride with these two. “Thanks, but I think I can make it.”
“How? Ridin’ this?” Big Guy emerged from the ditch carrying the bike. The back wheel was bent at a crooked angle and the broken chain dangled from the crank set like a dead snake. “I don’t think so.” He tossed it into the truck.
“Get in the truck,” Harley repeated in an “or else” tone.
Limping and truly scared now, Nick did as told. A hand at his butt boosted him and he found himself crunched between the two men. So far, he had no idea who they were or what was going down. Or why. He had a wild thought that he was being kidnapped, but these two didn’t seem like kidnappers. Besides, there was no reason to kidnap him. His mom hardly had enough money to pay their bills. But what was that about giving him a message? From who? About what?
Harley, now driving, said, “We’re two minutes from your house, asshole. So, listen up. You went to the party at Sims’s place this weekend. You had a good time. You did not see anything that you didn’t love. You gettin’ the picture?”
“Aah…”
Big Guy gave his shoulder a hard shake. “You get the picture?”
Wincing, Nick managed to nod.
“You recognized no one,” Harley said, eyes straight ahead on the road. “You could not name the guests if asked, because if you did, you would never be able to play baseball again.”
He wasn’t going to play baseball anymore, anyway, Nick thought. Not after what he saw Coach doing. “Okay,” he said. “Not a problem.”
“No, I don’t think you get it, asshole,” Big Guy said, as if talking to a nitwit. “You couldn’t play baseball or football or even qualify for the swim team because of a terrible accident where you broke all your fingers and toes.”
Nick gulped hard. “I—okay.”
“Let’s hear some enthusiasm in that answer, boy.”
“I understand. I g-get the picture.”
“Because if you don’t get it,” Harley said, continuing in a softly menacing tone, “there’s no telling what might happen.”
As the pickup turned on to Gran’s street, Nick licked his lips and tasted blood from a cut inside the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to say any more,” he said. “I understand.”
“Could be,” Harley continued as if Nick hadn’t spoken, “that your little sister—what’s her name? Kendall, yeah, that’s it, Kendall. Could be Kendall might have an accident, too. Sort of like you did tonight.”
Nick’s heart was banging and he needed to pee. He had a brief flash of Kendy, bloody and broken in the road…all because of him. “I promise. I don’t know what else to tell you to convince you,” he told Harley earnestly. “I understand. Don’t hurt Kendy. I had a great time at that party and I don’t remember anybody who was there. If I’m asked, I—I…I have amnesia.”
“You especially will not talk to your friend, Mr. Ford.”
Oh, shit. “Okay.”
“See, the health of everybody you care about rests on your shoulders, boy.”
Big Guy turned and caught his face in his hand and squeezed it hard. “That includes your mom and your grandmother, but you guessed that already, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” It was hard to talk with his jaw in a vise grip.
“Smart. Very smart, Nicky.” Harley stopped the pickup two houses up from Gran’s house.
“I think he’s got it,” Harley told his pal. “Let him out.”
“You better pay attention, kid,” Big Guy said, reluctantly turning him loose. “Bad things can happen. You don’t want to wind up like Jack Ford.”
“Let…him…out!” Harley shouted, shooting a killing look at Big Guy.
And Nick was abruptly hauled across the seat by the tail of his shirt and shoved out of the pickup. He stood, unsteady on his feet, scared to believe they were truly done with him, but unable to make a run for it. Cussing, Big Guy lifted the bike out of the truck bed and tossed it at Nick’s feet. Then he climbed back inside and Harley made a quick three-point turnaround, gunned the pickup and left Nick standing in the dust, squinting to read the license plate.
Rachel passed a basket of muffins and bagels across the table to Cam and Pete. “Our strawberries and cantaloupe are courtesy of Cam. Nick was supposed to pick them up but,” she said dryly, “apparently he rode his bike to Dallas and not the local Kroger store.”
Cam frowned. “Has he called?”
“No, but that doesn’t surprise me, either. He’s bored. He did his best to talk me into letting him out of the house this morning and frankly I was almost relieved to find a legitimate reason to send him to Kroger’s.”
“Couldn’t resist making a little side trip, huh?” Pete rooted through the basket before looking at Marta. “Where are those sausage biscuits we brought?”
“Here.” Rolling her eyes, Marta shoved a covered casserole dish over. “Your cholesterol is probably off the stick, Pete. Don’t you know that white carbohydrates make you lethargic?”
He bit into a sausage biscuit and said, “Have I seemed lethargic to you?”
Everyone laughed as Marta actually blushed. But she recovered quickly. “Make me even happier by eating an orange, too.” She took one out of the fruit bowl.
“Making you happy is my life, darlin’,” he said, winking at her.
“Did Nick take his cell phone?” Cam asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
“He never leaves home without it,” Rachel said. “I called him a few minutes ago and got his voice mail. He probably detoured to see Ward and find out how the date with Kristin went. I’ll check again in a few minutes.”
Cam patted the chair beside him. “Come and sit down. Pete’s done some digging into Tyson’s background. Now that we know what the coach is about, you won’t be surprised at what he found.”
Pete reached for another sausage biscuit. “The first job he had out of college was at an exclusive school for boys in Virginia. He resigned abruptly just before the end of the second semester two years later. There was nothing negative in the file as to why he would have cut out a month short of year’s end, so I called the school. Spoke to the headmaster, who’s still concerned for the reputation of the school. According to him, Tyson was a damn good coach. Had those boys winning everything in their division, but after due consideration, they decided not to renew his contract.”
Marta, peeling the orange, looked up. “Why? What was on his termination papers?”
“Budget constraints.”
“Uh-huh.” She broke the orange in half and put it on Pete’s plate.
“He had no arrest record,” Pete said, “and his career is a carbon copy of other sexual predators. Every job he took was rich with juveniles and opportunities to abuse them.”
“When was this?” Rachel asked.
“Twelve years ago.” Pete reached for a third biscuit, but Marta slapped his hand and he settled back to enjoy his coffee. “He went from there to a parochial school in St. Louis. Stayed only a year, then moved to the East Coast, where he coached briefly. That’s been his MO—one, maybe two years in a smallish school, then move on. Never stayed anywhere longer than two years.”
“Until he got to Rose Hill.”
“That’s right.” Pete flicked at a crumb on his shirt. “The only thing I can figure is that after that first abrupt termination in Virginia, he decided to minimize the risk of exposure by moving on before being outed by the boys he was abusing. At least, that’s the only reason I see that he escaped detection for twelve years.”
Cam laid his arm across the back of Rachel’s chair. “You’re thinking that his management style—strict discipline, swift punishment—kept kids from ratting him out?”
Pete shrugged. “It’s possible. But he’s been here in Rose Hill awhile. There’s bound to be a couple of boys he couldn’t hush up.” He hitched his chin toward Rachel. “How about doing a quick search of school records? Look for athletes who left abruptly.”
“I’m already doing that,” Rachel said. “It’s time-consuming and I haven’t found anything yet that appears suspicious.”
“If what we suspect is true,” Marta said, “Monk settled in at Rose Hill after perfecting his technique and began a cold-blooded, systematic pattern of sexual abuse.”
“Yeah. And he kept it within his own organization where he had complete control,” Pete said.
“Only athletes need apply,” Cam said.
Rachel pushed her coffee aside in disgust. “He kept them cooperative by showing them special treatment. A boy got star status in the school when he was singled out by Coach Monk. That’s very seductive among peers. Then, if an athlete had enough talent, there was always the promise of an athletic scholarship.”
“And if they acted reluctant about cooperating,” Marta said, “his power alone made it easy to intimidate them.”
“Or shame them,” Rachel said. “That’s another effective weapon in a sexual predator’s arsenal. I know it sounds incredible that he could get away with this for so long, but Texas has a strong sports tradition. Teachers learn quickly what the philosophy is at Rose Hill—it’s not how you play the game, but winning it. Monk happened to land in a town that was tailor-made for him.”
She gazed into her coffee cup, thinking of the young athletes Monk had undoubtedly placed on a road to fame and fortune, but it didn’t begin to excuse his fiendish behavior for the ones he abused. It was difficult to come up with a sentence severe enough for the pain and suffering he’d caused.
“What can we do to stop him?” Marta asked.
“Now that I’ve been told he used some of his bigger boys to enforce discipline,” Pete said, “I’ll be nosing around to find out who they are. See if I can get anything out of them. We’d be home free if a boy he’s abused would step forward.”
“Two thugs Tyson used to strong-arm kids still live in Rose Hill,” Cam said. He’d promised Jimbo he wouldn’t use his name, but there was nothing to keep him from passing on Jimbo’s information.
Pete nodded, but looked skeptical. “I wouldn’t count too much on them ratting out the coach if it implicates them.”
Rachel got up and walked to the door of the kitchen. “I need to call Nick’s cell again,” she said. “He really should be back by now.”
Inside, she picked up the phone and punched the programmed number for Nick’s cell. As she stood holding the cordless, she realized she was actually hearing the in-coming call jingle on Nick’s phone and the sound was coming from somewhere down the hall. Still holding her own receiver, she followed the sound.
The cordless was lying on Nick’s bed. She disconnected and saw his sneakers lying on the floor. Looking puzzled, she left his room, and when she heard the shower running, paused by the closed bathroom door.
“Nick?” she called after knocking. “Are you in there?”
Muffled sound of something dropped in the shower stall. “Yeah, Mom. I’m taking a shower.”
She stared in surprise at the closed door. “When did you get back? Did you bring the fruit?” When all she got was a mumble, she stepped closer. “Where are the things you were supposed to get at the store?”
“Nick.” She pressed fingers to her forehead. “You forgot?”
“Sorry, Mom. Actually, I didn’t forget. I had a little accident and the stuff didn’t survive.”
She frowned. “What kind of accident?”
“Took a tumble on my bike.”
She heard the water being shut off. “Are you hurt?”
“Just scratched up a little. I’m gonna crash for a while, okay?”
She rattled the door. “Nick, let me see where you’re hurt.”
He opened the door and stuck his arm through the crack, giving her a brief look at his elbow. “I’m gonna put stuff on it, don’t worry.”
“There’s antibiotic cream in the medicine cabinet above the sink,” she told him, after looking at the nasty scrape. “Was there anything—” But she was talking to the closed door, a frank signal that he no longer needed his mom to kiss his boo-boos and make them well.
When she returned to the patio, Marta had the table cleared and was sitting beside Pete in the swing. Cam saw her face and asked, “Were you able to reach Nick?”
“He was in the shower, if you can believe that.” She settled in the chair next to him, still puzzled. “Apparently, he crashed his bike somewhere between Kroger’s and here. I got a very brief glance at his skinned elbow and now he’s holed up in his room, probably with his headphones going full blast. The cantaloupe and strawberries were casualties of his accident, he claims.”
Cam again laid his arm across the back of her chair. “I’m glad he’s back, and frankly, it’s probably a good thing he’s grounded. I don’t like the idea of him being out just now. Stop and think about it. From Tyson’s point of view, Nick is a loose cannon. Tyson’s public image is vital to holding his position as a coach. If Nick says anything to screw that up, it would mean dire consequences to Tyson.”
“I think you’re right,” Pete said. “And I don’t know how far Tyson might go to do damage control.” He pushed the swing into gentle motion and said to Rachel, “To be on the safe side, I’d keep Nick’s activity restricted, just for a couple of days until I can get my ducks lined up. When we go public with this, it’ll go a long way to safeguarding Nick and other boys.”
She looked worried. “Do you think it’s okay for him to go to school?”
“Yeah, I think he’s safe enough there. Tyson will probably be nervous, but Nick should be cautioned not to do anything to spook him. I don’t want to show my hand until I have more evidence.”
“Be sure you don’t pull any punches when you tell Nick,” Cam cautioned Rachel. “Like Pete says, we don’t know what Tyson might do if he feels cornered.” He paused a moment, then withdrew his hand and said to the group, “So, if we’ve got that settled, I’d like to throw something else out. I have been told that my son despised the way Tyson abused his power. In Jack’s opinion, it was nothing short of rape. The same person who told me that said Jack was very frank in criticizing Monk Tyson.”
“I can believe that,” Marta murmured. “Jack had very strong convictions and he knew how to express them. He was a gutsy kid.”
“Exactly,” Cam said. “And that’s the reason I could never believe in my heart that he committed suicide.” He looked from one adult to the other.
Pete was nodding. “I bet I know where you’re going, Cam, but I’ll let you say it.”
“I think Tyson knew Jack was going to blow the whistle and so he had to silence him. The only way to do that was to kill him.”