Free Depth Perception by Linda Castillo Page A

I'm not dead inside like you.
    "Jesus Christ," he muttered and scrubbed his hands over his face.
    But when he closed his eyes, it was his son's face he saw. Sweet, innocent Brandon with his bright blue eyes and hair as dark as midnight. He'd had a smile that could light up the darkest of nights. A face that could warm the coldest of hearts. A presence that could banish the deep ache of loneliness. He'd been purity and goodness, and Nick had always looked upon him in reverence, unable to understand how he and Tanya could have created something so utterly perfect. He'd loved that child in a way he'd never loved anything else on this earth. In a way he would never love again in his lifetime. Brandon had represented everything innocent and good in a world where such things were rare and many times false.
    "You look like you could use this."
    Nick started at the sound of the husky female voice. He looked up to see Pequinot's wife, Rita, standing at the door, offering a lit cigarette. He hadn't touched any kind of tobacco for going on a year, but he needed that vice now with the desperation of a man in the throes of withdrawal.
    "Thanks." He took the cigarette, drew hard on it.
    "She comes in here all the time," Rita said.
    "Yeah, Mike told me."
    "She's an alcoholic.”
    "She's a spiteful bitch."
    "Grief can do that to person, Nick. I'm not making excuses for her, but she hasn't been the same since your boy died."
    Surprised that she would touch on the subject of his son, Nick looked up at her. Rita Pequinot stared back at him with the shrewd eyes of a woman who wasn't afraid to speak her mind. She was a substantial woman. Not only in size, Nick thought, but in character, too.
    "Nobody's ever the same after something like that," he said.
    "She was out of line. I'll tell Mike to keep her out of the bar."
    Realizing he'd left Mike at the bar alone in the midst of a rush, Nick said, ''Tell him I'll be right there." But when he looked up, Rita was already gone.

 
    Chapter 7
     
    Nat had never been a good sleeper. even before that terrible night three years ago. she'd been prone to insomnia. Dr. Pettigrew had prescribed sleeping pills, but they made her groggy the next day, so she rarely took them. Herbs seemed to help her relax. Reading kept her mind from grinding. Driving helped when she was restless. Tonight, with the walls and memories closing in, she opted for a drive.
    She'd spent much of the evening rehashing her disastrous meeting with Nick Bastille. To say he hadn't believed her was a gross understatement. His reaction had been volatile. She'd seen his bands clenched at his sides, the fury in his eyes. The man had wanted to do physical violence to her.
    She wasn't going to let it keep her from what she needed to do. Nick Bastille might be hot-tempered and unpredictable and maybe even a little dangerous. But while any one of those things was reason enough for her not to approach him again, Nat knew they were also her best hope of getting him to listen.
    On the outskirts of town, she turned onto Pelican Island Road. The narrow road was shrouded with high weeds and overhanging branches webbed with Spanish moss and kudzu. Her headlights cut twin beams through the utter darkness, and she felt as if she were a diver spelunking in an underwater cave.
    The Blue Gator sat at the dead end of the road, a neon oasis surrounded by swamp. Nat wasn't surprised to find the lot packed with vehicles. She located Nick Bastille's truck at the rear and parked next to it. Trying not to think of all the reasons why she shouldn't be walking into a roughneck bar like The Blue Gator to try to convince an ex-con of something he didn't want to be convinced of. she started for the entrance.
    She knew broaching the subject of his son again so soon would be like thumping a beehive with a stick. She knew she was probably going to get stung. But Nat had known since the day she'd wakened from the coma and found her life in tatters that the task ahead of her