Bone Secrets 03 - Buried

with the bulls in Spain, check. Crab boat trapping in the Bering Sea, check. Infiltrate a Los Angeles biker gang for an exposé on crime, check. That one had nearly cost him his life. He still had the knife scars on his gut and an intense dislike of the harsh tequila that they’d all drunk by the gallon. No margaritas for him, thank you.
    “I know my parents cared,” he said. It felt like an over-spoken line in a play. Lifeless and meaningless. Deep down, he knew they’d cared, but for some twisted reason, they couldn’t show it. A therapist had once theorized that they were afraid of the pain of losing another child, so they tried to keep their distance, protecting themselves if something happened to Michael. And perhaps that was why he thrived on risk. Trying to coax a reaction out of his parents.
    Michael had stared at the therapist, pulled three hundred dollars out of his wallet, slapped it on the table, walked out, and never returned. Why pay money for what he already knew? What he wanted was someone to fix it. Fix them. Fix him. Give him the family he’d never had, the one that lived in movies and books. It existed; he just had to find it.
    Lacey Campbell was the closest thing he had to family. She was the little sister who mothered him when he needed it, sent him to get a haircut, and stocked his fridge when it only held beer and three-day-old pizza. They’d tried romance, but it’d failed. Miserably. Friendship worked best. For a long time, he’d pretended the friendship was fine with him, believing that if he stuck close and waited, it’d evolve into more and it’d be right the second time around. That dream had crashed and burned with the presence of her fiancé. He’d wanted to murder the man at first, but now…he accepted it.
    Michael stopped his vehicle in front of a squat brick building in the small town, a large sheriff sign over the door. The town was quiet, one main drag through a row of storefronts, a couple of people moving from store to store. A few empty storefronts echoed the recession that’d stomped on the nation in the last few years. He killed the engine and rolled down his window, surprised that it wasn’t as hot as he’d expected for the dry town in the middle of summer. The elevation must keep it a bit cooler. Jamie lowered her window, too.
    “Most parents care in one way or another,” stated Jamie. “But some just have a fucked-up time showing it. I’ve seen parents who can never look their child in the eye but threaten to kick my ass if their child flunks an assignment.” She rolled her eyes.
    Michael snorted. “I know my parents cared,” he repeated. Perhaps if he kept saying it out loud he’d really feel it. He shifted in his seat. He wasn’t ready to go into the sheriff’s office just yet. Jamie hadn’t moved either. There was an aura of openness in the vehicle that he didn’t want to lose. Jamie looked at the sign on the building, and her eyes softened.
    “Luna County. I love the sound of that. The word
Luna
sounds so much prettier than moon. I wonder if the moon seems bigger out here. I went camping in Central Oregon once. The sky seemed so big, the stars brighter, and the moon closer.”
    Michael stared at her profile. He grabbed every available chance to study her features when she wasn’t looking at him. The woman was gorgeous. Gorgeous in the way of fresh and healthy. Not because of makeup and hair product. She dressed minimally, shorts and tanks. Little makeup or fussing with her hair. She let the glow of her skin and toned muscles subtly grab attention. And her eyes…that color…outlined with the blacklashes. He could stare forever. He’d memorized the outside, now he wanted to know what was inside. He didn’t remember her from their private school. She had been several years behind him and too young to go on the field trip. Then her parents had yanked her out of school and homeschooled her after the children vanished.
    “What did your parents do that day?” he asked.
    Her gaze fell to her hands, playing with the hem of her shorts. “They were in shock. The school called and told my mother they were trying to find the bus. She simply sat by the phone for the rest of the day and stared into space. I remember watching cartoons, thrilled that she didn’t care how long I watched that day. Usually there was a strict time limit. That day she didn’t care. She called my father, but he couldn’t leave work. When he got home, he joined