The Perfect Couple Read online

  Jonathan planned to take him for a walk, even though it was nearly eleven. But first he wanted something to eat. “Chill out for a second,” he told the dog before returning to his conversation. “Sam knew whoever it was.”

  “So there was no sign of a struggle,” Skye was saying.

  “None.” He rummaged through his refrigerator. “And since she believes her father was killed in a car accident, I don’t think she’d welcome some stranger who claimed to be dear old dad.”

  “I wondered how Zoe had handled the story of Sam’s conception, but I didn’t want to pry.”

  Jonathan tossed two of three to-go containers in the trash because the food had gone bad, found the leftovers from last night and put them in the microwave. He wasn’t in the mood for lasagna, but he didn’t dare trust anything else in his fridge—except maybe the ketchup, mustard and pickles. “She’s kept a very tight lid on it. Only her father knows.”

  “Anton doesn’t?”

  If Skye had met him, she wouldn’t be surprised. “No. And Zoe didn’t act as if she wanted him to learn.”

  “The more people who know, the greater the chance Sam will find out.”

  He bent to watch the food turning on the carousel. “But if you can’t trust the man you love, what does that say for your relationship?”

  “Maybe they’re not that close.”

  “They’re engaged.”

  “Engaged doesn’t seem to mean as much as it used to.”

  Crossing his arms, he leaned against the counter. “I doubt she’d tell him even if she married him. I think she’s afraid he’d look down on her. Or hold it over her head. She doesn’t want to give him that much power.” He took his food out, but it was still cold so he put it in for another two minutes. “Or maybe it’s just that he already has no respect for her father. Knowing what happened on Ely Duncan’s watch would only make that worse.”

  “Sam could’ve opened the door to Franky,” Skye argued. “Some kids will open the door to anyone. They don’t realize how dangerous it is. They’ve been taught to be polite, so they respond to any knock with a smile.”

  “The front door was locked when Lucassi came home. It was the back gate that stood open.”

  “So what’s your point?”

  Feeling the effects of another fifteen-hour day, Jonathan glanced at the coffeemaker. He’d never sleep if he succumbed to the temptation, but…until then he could use the caffeine boost. “I think it’s more likely to be Lucassi than Franky.”

  “But he has no criminal record.”

  “That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. If it was a stranger, she would’ve screamed for help. It’s reasonable to expect that someone would’ve heard her. The next-door neighbor was home all day.” Purposely ignoring the blinking light on his answering machine—probably calls on his other cases that he no longer had time to worry about—he picked up the photo of Sam that Zoe had given him.

  “He certainly would’ve had the opportunity,” she agreed.

  “If someone was taking her by force, if she tried to get away, there should’ve been a chair or table knocked askew.” He held the picture closer, studying the missing girl. “Her drink wasn’t even spilled. And whoever took her wasn’t interested in her iPod. It was right on the table, in plain sight.”

  “Okay, so maybe you have to take a closer look at Lucassi. But you can’t eliminate Franky Bates as a possible suspect.”

  “If I spend the next few days tracking down this ex-con and it’s a false lead, we’ve lost a lot of valuable time. You know what they say about the first forty-eight.” He thought of Zoe, how beautiful and fragile she was and, oddly, how good she’d felt in his arms. It’d been years since he’d noticed a woman in that way, a woman besides Sheridan, and it made him feel hopeful and creepy at the same time. Zoe was already committed. What was it with him?

  “Ignoring Franky is a big risk,” Skye said.

  He set the picture on a stack of files that represented some of his other cases. “I know. But this business is about risk. I have to follow my gut—and move fast.”

  “So you think it’s Lucassi?”

  “Or the grandfather. Sam was on friendly terms with Ely, even though he and Zoe are somewhat estranged.”

  “Don’t tell me Zoe finally wrote off her old man.”

  “No. Nothing that permanent. She wouldn’t allow Sam to visit him alone last summer, for obvious reasons, and it made him mad. That’s all.” The microwave beeped. He opened the door to remove his dinner—and nearly dropped it when it burned him. “Shit!”

  “What’s wrong?” Skye asked.

  Kino tilted his head, watching him as if to say, “How stupid can you be?”

  “What’re you looking at?” he grumbled.

  “Excuse me?” Skye said with a laugh.

  He opened the cardboard lid of the container and waved away the steam. “I’m talking to Kino.”

  “Jon, you really gotta find a woman.”

  His mind instantly conjured up an image of Sheridan cuddling with her husband. “I’m too busy.”

  She lowered her voice, giving it a meaningful inflection. “Now that Sher’s married, maybe you can move on.”

  Jonathan stifled a groan. Apparently, Skye hadn’t missed as much as he’d hoped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, really? Then what’s going on between the two of you?”

  He scowled at Kino, who tilted his head in the other direction. “Nothing.”

  “Jonathan, she’s heartbroken.”

  Did he want to hear this? No. Sheridan couldn’t feel any worse than he did.

  Getting a fork from the drawer, he poked at his lasagna, but he’d apparently turned it into a substance tougher than rubber.

  So much for dinner, he thought, and tossed it in the garbage. “She’s happily married. She’ll get over it.”

  “And you?”

  He grabbed a piece of bread and motioned his dog toward the door. “I’ll get over it, too.”

  * * *

  The sound of the lock turning sent Sam scrambling to get under the mattress. If she didn’t want Colin to see her in her swimsuit, it was her only option.

  She’d heard about men who wanted to touch little girls in inappropriate places. It was all she’d been able to think about since Colin had come into the room last time. Anton called them pedophiles. Her mother called them scum, the lowest of the low. Colin seemed like scum to her. But Sam wasn’t sure he was a pedophile. Could pedophiles be handsome young lawyers? Did they have beautiful wives like Tiffany?

  Sam had seen part of a news show about older men who got in trouble for trying to hook up with girls her age over the Internet. Some of those men weren’t completely ugly. She wished she could remember more about it, but she’d instantly put the whole idea out of her mind because she’d been so positive it could never happen to her. Sex was too gross to think about, even with a boy her age. And she hadn’t been worried about Internet stalkers. Her mother wouldn’t even let her have a MySpace page or go on Facebook.

  The door opened and Sam caught a glimpse of a large dark shape before Colin blinded her by snapping on the light.

  “What are you doing trying to hide?” he demanded.

  Squinting against the brightness, she watched him come in and lock the door behind him. He had something in his hand….

  Her heart dropped. It was a whip!

  “Wh-what’s that for?” she asked and felt tears immediately fill her eyes.

  He caressed the leather handle. “This? Just for fun. Does it look like fun to you?”

  “N-no. Not if—if you’re going to hit me w-with it.”

  “That’s the good news. Whether or not I use it is entirely up to you.”

  She pressed her palms into her eyes, trying to stop the tears. She couldn’t sit there and blubber like a big baby. She had to convince him to let her go. “How is it—how is it up to me?”

  “If you do as I say, I won’t be forced to use it.�
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  Oh, no. The lump in her throat grew to the size of a grapefruit. He was a pedophile. She could tell by the way he was looking at her, the way he was smiling.

  “Please,” she murmured. “Just leave me alone. I’ve never done anything to you. If you let me go, I swear, I-I’ll never tell them it was you and Tiffany who…who locked me up. I’ll say it was someone else, someone who…who was wearing a mask.”

  “Right. You’ll blab it all as soon as you feel safe.”

  “I won’t!” she said.

  “Quit with the bullshit. You’re not going anywhere. Now get out from under that mattress and let me take a look at you.”

  She didn’t move. Her skin crawled at the thought of what he might do if he liked what he saw. “Why—why do you want to k-keep me here when you have such a—such a pretty wife?”

  “That’s a good question. I’ve asked myself that many times. But…I don’t know. I guess it’s for the same reason I own a whip. Because it’s fun. Now get up!”

  “I can’t. I’m s-sick. And if—if you come too close—”

  “You’ve already warned me. So let me warn you.” He kicked the mattress off her, and she instinctively curled up and tried to disappear into the seam between floor and wall. “If you refuse to respond to a direct command ever again, you won’t have to worry about being sick because you’ll be dead.” He cracked the whip against the wall beside her, and the sound made her cry out.

  “Shh,” he snapped. “That’s the first rule I’m going to teach you. No matter what, you have to be quiet.”

  Was there a chance anyone would hear her, even if she screamed?

  He cracked the whip again. The tail of it flicked so close she could feel the air stir above her head. This time, she was too frightened to voice more than a terrified whimper. But even that was too much.

  “I said be quiet!” His voice was a threatening growl.

  The whip arced through the air again. Sam was sure it would hit her. She saw it coming and braced for it by covering her head. Don’t make a sound. Don’t make a sound….

  She heard it snap and waited for the pain to follow. She didn’t see how he could’ve missed. But he had. Even he seemed surprised by that.

  “You’re lucky,” he said. “My aim’s not so good tonight.” The leather slipped through his hands as he coiled it back up.

  One tear after another streaked down her face. She couldn’t stop them so she didn’t try. “Why do you want to hurt me?” she whispered.

  “You can’t guess the answer to that?”

  “No.” She shook her head, helpless.

  “And here I thought you were smart.” His mouth twisted in a mean sort of grin. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s the same reason I own a whip.”

  “B-because it’s fun?” she said, her voice trembling.

  “There you go!” He put the whip under one arm so he could clap. “Excellent. You and I will get along fine. I can already tell.”

  “Colin?” Tiffany interrupted by knocking at the door.

  “What do you want?” he hollered back.

  “Your father’s on the phone.”

  “Tell him I’ll call later.”

  There was a slight pause. “Are you sure? I was thinking it might be better if he believes you’re available, that tonight is like any other night. You know, until the flap dies down. It is late…”

  He folded his arms and just stood there for a few seconds, staring at Sam. “Every once in a while she shocks me by proving she has a brain,” he said.

  Sam didn’t respond.

  “I shouldn’t be in here, anyway. All it does is make me crave what I can’t have—not yet.”

  “Colin?” Tiffany said again.

  “I’m coming.”

  At that point, Tiffany must’ve left because she didn’t speak again. Colin rattled off a list of rules, said Sam would be tested and that she’d better not forget a single one. Then he added a promise that really frightened her, more than the whip.

  “You’ve got two weeks to get over…whatever illness it is you have,” he said.

  “Mono.”

  “Yes.”

  “Or what?” she whispered.

  He laughed softly. “Do you really want to know?”

  “No.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  When he was gone, Sam memorized what she’d been told. She didn’t want to give Colin any reason to use the whip he thought was so much fun. But, to her relief, the minutes dragged into hours and he didn’t come back.

  * * *

  It was late, after midnight, but Zoe couldn’t sleep. She sat on the front porch, cradling the cordless phone in her lap and watching the dark street, listening for the sound of her daughter’s feet hurrying down the sidewalk or Sam’s voice calling out a relieved “Mom!”

  But nothing happened. Just like the night before.

  At least Anton had gone to bed. Zoe wasn’t sure how much more of his companionship she could take. No matter what he said or did, it hit her wrong. Or maybe her irritation came from the odd little resentments that had suddenly sprung up, resentments she hadn’t even known she was harboring. Over Sam’s dog. Over the way Anton protected himself and his belongings. The house had never felt less like her house. Even the way he represented Sam’s grandfather bothered Zoe, despite the fact that it was true. She could list Ely’s faults, but Anton couldn’t, not without making her mad.

  Zoe wasn’t sure if she was fed up, or simply stressed, but it felt a lot like fed up and that complicated everything. “Fed up” meant she’d have to leave Anton as she’d left every man who’d come before him….

  Where would she go this time? She’d sold her furniture when she moved in. He’d expected her to contribute to the household expenses, which were higher than she’d ever faced in the past, so she turned her entire paycheck over to him every two weeks and had absolutely no savings. She hadn’t planned for the worst because he was supposed to be her knight in shining armor, the one man who could be the father she’d always wanted for Sam.

  Instead of realizing that dream, she’d stripped herself of her ability to make it on her own. She’d even quit her job.

  But she couldn’t leave this place, anyway. Not now. Not without her daughter. Just the thought of Sam returning to find her gone sent pain lancing through Zoe’s already aching heart.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she didn’t wipe them away. She was too tired to fight the emotion that welled up. This helplessness was almost as bad as the fear. Zoe felt as if she was sinking in quicksand. She couldn’t rush around and search as she would’ve imagined herself doing—if she’d ever imagined herself in such a situation—because she might miss the knock or call that would bring her daughter home. The moment she left her post, she worried that she should’ve stayed on guard. Yet, sitting here, she wished she could be out looking, taking aggressive action.

  So she remained in limbo, caught between the fear of leaving and the fear of staying—and felt the quicksand rising ever higher.

  She stood abruptly and went inside for her keys. If she didn’t fight the crippling shock and panic, she was afraid she’d soon be incapable of anything. But the ticking of the pendulum clock, the only sound to break the silence in Anton’s otherwise still house, reminded her of what her fiancé would think of her driving around at this hour—that she was acting rash, that she was being impetuous not to stick to their original plan. He’d promised her they’d get up at first light, create flyers with Sam’s photograph and organize a search party. He’d insisted the police were doing all they could and she should trust Detective Thomas to do his job. The media had already picked up the story and had run a short piece on the news asking anyone who might’ve seen Samantha to get in touch with the Rocklin Police Department.

  But even with all of that, their actions seemed puny against the potential horror. They had to do more. The most random detail might be the one to unravel the mystery.

  Praying for added streng
th, she returned to the rocking chair on the porch without her keys. But in her current state she had no idea how she’d survive until the sun came up.

  The smell of a cigarette drew her attention to the house next door. Someone had come out in the few seconds she’d been gone.

  Straining to see, she searched for the source of the smoke drifting toward her and spotted her neighbor, Colin, sitting on his front step.

  “I didn’t know you smoked,” she said.

  She didn’t need to raise her voice. Sound carried easily on the cool night air.

  Colin got up and crossed to the split-rail fence that separated their two yards. Dressed in a pair of faded jeans, a sweatshirt that was on wrong side out and fur-lined slippers, he looked more casual than she’d ever seen him, nothing like the dapper attorney of daylight hours. “I don’t, normally.” He flicked his ashes off to one side. “Just when I’m restless.” He took a long drag. “Tiff and I have been hoping to start a family. I would never have believed it’s not safe here.”

  Sam’s disappearance was making everyone feel vulnerable. “It’s…” So many words crowded Zoe’s tongue, but they were equally inadequate. “Shocking,” she finished.

  “Of course it is. If I’m this upset, you must be…beyond miserable. I saw it on the news tonight.”

  The sympathy felt good. She needed it, but, for some reason, she couldn’t accept it from Anton. She couldn’t even let her fiancé touch her right now. “I’m completely…” Again, she struggled for the right word, but this time she found the perfect one to describe how she felt. “Lost.”

  He walked around the fence and approached the porch. “I’m so sorry.”

  His commiseration made it even harder not to cry. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  The end of his cigarette glowed eerily in the dark, lighting the lower portion of his face as he brought it to his mouth. “What can I do to help?”

  “We’ll be having flyers printed in the morning. Could you circulate some?”

  She must’ve been staring at his cigarette because he offered it to her, and she surprised herself by taking it.