Chapter 1 - The Smooth Road
Daniel Mercer had driven the Pacific Coast Highway hundreds of times.
He knew where the pavement buckled.
Where the road narrowed.
Where the wind coming off the ocean could push a delivery van sideways if you weren't paying attention.
That afternoon, however, the road ahead was almost perfectly smooth.
Which was why he noticed when the van moved.
Not a pothole.
Not wind.
A distinct rocking from somewhere behind him.
Daniel tightened both hands around the steering wheel.
He glanced at the rearview mirror.
Boxes filled most of the cargo area.
Between two stacks, beneath a gray moving blanket, sat his son Ethan and Daniel’s young wife, Maya.
Too close.
Much too close.
Maya was twenty.
Ethan twenty-one.
Daniel had spent the previous year explaining that awkwardness between them was natural.
Ethan resented his father marrying someone almost his own age.
Maya tried too hard to make Ethan like her.
Arguments followed.
Then silence.
Then an unexpected truce.
Daniel had been relieved.
Now, looking in the mirror, relief began turning into something else.
Maya was sitting almost on Ethan.
Her cheeks were flushed.
Ethan’s hand disappeared beneath the blanket.
Daniel forced a smile.
“Why is my van shaking?”
Movement stopped instantly.
Ethan grabbed the blanket tighter.
“Bad road.”
Daniel looked through the windshield.
Flat asphalt.
Blue sky.
Ocean glittering beyond the guardrail.
“The road’s fine.”
Behind him, Maya whispered something Daniel couldn't hear.
Ethan leaned close to her.
The van moved again.
Then stopped.
Daniel slowly eased off the accelerator.
“Then why did it stop when I asked?”
Silence.
Ethan’s expression disappeared in the mirror.
Maya stared straight ahead.
Daniel did not turn around.
He did not accuse anyone.
He drove another eleven miles until he reached a scenic turnout.
Then he parked.
Engine off.
Ocean roaring below.
“Everybody out.”
Ethan laughed nervously.
“Dad, seriously?”
“Yes.”
Maya moved first.
The blanket slipped.
Nothing obvious underneath.
No proof.
Just two people suddenly unable to look at him.
Daniel stepped from the van.
“What exactly was happening back there?”
Maya folded her arms.
“We were sitting.”
“On each other?”
Ethan stepped between them.
“Drop it.”
Daniel stared at his son.
That tone.
Defensive.
Protective.
Not of himself.
Of Maya.
A horrible possibility formed.
Then Daniel’s phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph.
Taken from outside Daniel’s house three nights earlier.
Maya entering Ethan’s car at 1:12 a.m.
Second photograph.
Maya leaving at 3:47.
Then a message:
YOU’RE ASKING THE WRONG QUESTION ABOUT THE VAN.
Daniel looked up.
Ethan had gone pale.
Maya had too.
Daniel showed them the screen.
“What should I be asking?”
Neither answered.
May you like
Then another message arrived.
ASK WHY YOUR WIFE HAS BEEN PAYING YOUR SON $4,000 A MONTH.
