“I’m okay.”
He tugged her arm gently and led her to the couch. “I need your help. Fix the build scripts. Can I trust you to behave professionally?”
“You’re the boss,” she said, barely above a whisper. She woke her laptop and shuddered with a lingering sob.
He wiped his palms on his jeans, restraining the urge to hug her. “Doesn’t give me the right to yell and push you around. Can we forget it happened?”
Jen nodded and turned to her laptop. “I’ll need the wireless access key.”
“Sure.” Dave pressed the secure connect key on his wireless router and went to the kitchen. He spread mustard and mayonnaise on wheat bread and stacked lettuce, roast beef, and cheese. A slice of tomato and a few pickles. There, maybe she’d feel better after eating. The phone call had walloped him. But it was the same every year. Empty threats. Abby was mostly likely tucked inside a foreign estate with armed guards. He wouldn’t think of any sickening alternatives.
His cell chimed with a received text message. Dave slapped his forehead and groaned. Melissa expected gratitude from him. He hated to leave Jen alone, but she seemed to be into her work, and besides, her future also depended on Shopahol’s success. Greta could monitor her on video chat the entire time. He’d only need her until Black Friday. Then he could tip the police that she was with Rey at Il Forno the night of his death.
Dave poured ice into a small ice chest and filled it with bottled water and juice. He stepped into the living room and set the food and drinks in front of Jen. She was huddled over her laptop.
“Hey.” He sounded casual. “I have some things to do. Go ahead and use the video chat on your laptop, but don’t use my landline, okay? How’s your ankle?”
She glanced at him briefly and went back to her laptop. “It’s okay.”
He pointed to the short hall. “The bathroom’s over there. Help yourself to anything you need. Can you hand me your car keys?”
Her throat rippled and she kept her eyes downcast. “W-why?”
“I want you to be my guest. Then you won’t have to worry about driving to work or getting groceries. Sound good?”
“I won’t be too much trouble?” A hopeful expression that twisted his gut sparkled in her eyes.
He forced a grin. “Not at all. You deliver the build, and I’ll have a big bonus for you.”
She dug through her backpack and gave him the keys, her hand shaking. “Do they really have your daughter?”
He charged toward the door. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
* * *
Jen took a moment to catch her breath. His brooding glare had been accusatory. Good thing she deflected his questions about the code with a snide remark. Rey had said the code was for his daughter. Only one explanation. Someone was going to pay him for it.
She gazed at the front door. Six years ago, a baby had been kidnapped because of her carelessness. Leaving the key dangling in the lock was a sure invitation. Where could Abby be? Jen’s heart squeezed in on itself. It had all been her fault. How many times had she prayed for a do-over? But real life never offered second chances, at least not for her.
Jen went back to her messages. The filer was finally online, but the build scripts hadn’t been adjusted, and the builds were failing.
Instant message windows popped up all over her screen. Yes, yes, she’d get to it. Greta called her on video chat. Yes, yes. She’d have the builds going again if only everyone would leave her alone. Of course she didn’t express this to Greta. She just agreed to everything. She couldn’t hang up the chat window and Greta seemed inclined to stare at her.
She cut and pasted mount points into the script. Something nagged at the back of her mind. Rey’s last words about Rod’s death. What if Rey found the killer? And the killer planted the code on him to set her up. An icy finger scratched the back of her scalp. It couldn’t be Dave because he needed her for the builds. And he certainly wouldn’t have had that snooty woman hanging onto him if he were planning to commit murder that night.
Jen sat up straight, almost jumping off the couch. Claire Tyler, the woman Dave was making bedroom eyes at. She had met her with Greta while working on a remote server virtualization beta. Jen’s stomach twisted into Gordian knots. With such elegant women around, she didn’t stand a chance. He had only kissed her to keep her from calling the police. Nothing more. But if he wasn’t guilty, why the cover up? Unless it was for someone he cared about. Like Claire.
Greta’s voice barked from the video chat. Jen went back to the laptop, fixed the scripts and sent corrected config specs to the engineers. She begged off to go to the bathroom. Picking up her crutches, she hobbled to the hallway.
She emerged from the powder room a few minutes later. The nursery was next door. With a hammering pulse, she peeked in.
The crib was still there. Empty. A layer of cobwebs and dust clung to the changing table. Jen picked up the Raggedy Ann doll she had made for Abby. Its painted-on button eyes, triangular nose and gapped toothed smile reminded her of Abby’s playfulness. Her fingers had twirled through the red yarn hair, and her gums had chewed on the black felt shoes. Oh, how Abby had laughed when Jen made Raggedy Ann do all sorts of funny tricks. Raggedy Ann always ate her peas. Raggedy Ann drank an entire bottle of milk in one sitting, and Raggedy Ann took good, long naps. A tear crawled down Jen’s face. If only Abby had cried out that day. If only she had refused to take a nap. If only Jen hadn’t been foolish and believed someone cared for her. She clenched her fist and put Raggedy Ann back on the dresser.
The pinging of the instant messages drew her back to her laptop. Thankfully Greta had signed off. She let the tears drop onto the keys. No one saw her or cared. The nanny cam had been switched off, and they never found the baby or the kidnapper. And she had been upstairs, a lazy, fat slob, watching Tad Martin and Dr. Hayward duke it out on
All My Children
that fateful Monday before Thanksgiving. It would be six years this coming week. Abby, if she was out there, would be seven in March.
The build completed successfully. Praveena emailed her to let her know she and Holly were on their way to Jen’s apartment to pick up her stuff. Jen logged into her bank account and transferred December’s rent to her landlord. She picked up the sandwich.
The crack of shattering glass and a loud bang startled her. A hissing sound blew out of a canister. Jen scrambled to her feet with the help of her crutches. Her eyes watered and her lungs burned as if breathing in fire. Gagging and coughing, she stumbled out the front door and dove into the lawn. Her eyes stung, and she quickly plucked out her soft contact lenses. Male voices and footsteps approached.
Chapter 10
Three men stood over her. One man yanked Jen’s hair and grabbed her shoulders. Another kicked her in the ribs with his cowboy boots. Her stomach jolted with pain and nausea. A third man pushed her onto her back and jammed his knees between her legs. All three wore masks and knit watch caps and reeked of stale cigarette smoke.
“Where’s the code?” The man with the boots knelt and squeezed her face.
The tear gas searing her lungs, Jen shook her head and gasped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A slap stung her face. “Better tell us, or you’ll pay.”
“There’s no code.”
The man’s fingers dug like a lobster cracker into her cheeks. “Don’t play games with us, build bitch. Next time we ask, you’d better give it to us with a smile.”
He pulled out a pocket knife and flipped a blade in front of her eyes. “Shall we do a bit of cosmetic surgery or leave a message for your boyfriend?”
Jen held her hands over her face and trembled. “Please, no. I’ll give you what you want.”
The man holding her shoulders ripped her hands back and rubbed his masked face over her lips. “Wait ’til I get you alone, bitch.”
Boot Man opened each tool of the knife and flicked it in front of her eyes. “Screwdriver, blade, can opener. Oh look, the corkscrew.”
The man holding her legs snorted. “Let’s drag her to the bushes and screw her. I got a bigger tool than that.”
Boot Man made a twisting motion with the corkscrew right in front of Jen’s nose. “Wood saw, metal saw, awl, chisel or metal file. Pick one.”
“I’ll give you the code. I promise,” Jen squeaked.
“Sure you will.” Boot Man slapped her. “Close your eyes.”
Jen covered her stinging face and squeezed her eyes shut. They lifted her sweater and bra. Their rough hands groped her and unbuttoned her jeans. Whimpering, she dared not scream when the sharp tool plowed trails of fire across her belly.
* * *
Dave held a box of roses under his arm and knocked on a stained glass door featuring a knight and a green dragon. He ran the rationalizations through his mind. He was doing this for Abby. If his company succeeded, he’d have the money to get her back. But what if she weren’t even alive? What if he’d waited too long?
Can’t think about it, Dave,
his therapist’s voice echoed,
Whatever story you tell yourself, believe it and move on
. Dave no longer wandered around scanning faces, staring at families and looking for an out-of-place child. Parents had glared at him and shielded their little girls. He stopped going to church or driving by schools. There had been no ransom demands, no leads, no credible claims for the reward money—only the senseless phone calls every year. The police had all but given up. Without a body, they could only wait. And every time the authorities found a young girl’s remains, Dave would pray the DNA didn’t match Abby. So far it never did.
Melissa yanked the door open, startling him. Her sparkling blue eyes darted from the box of long stemmed roses to focus on his forehead.
Dave gave her the flowers and stepped through the door, hoping he looked sufficiently penitent. Although what he was supposed to be sorry for, he had no idea. Her glare continued to be centered on his forehead, and he wondered if his third eye, chakra, or whatever hocus pocus she was into this week was giving off a negative vibe.
“About time you showed up. You missed the tarot reading.” She swished her peasant skirt and walked barefooted to the kitchen, her steps toe-out like a ballet dancer. “I drew the knight of cups for you.”
“What does it mean?” He followed her and perched on a bar stool.
She floated over to him, her multiple beads, bracelets, and clutter jangling, and placed herself between his knees. “Romance in the air and an ocean of golden fishes.”
Dave pecked her lips. She pursed them for more, and he settled in with a wet kiss and an intrusion of his tongue. She wrapped her arms around him and wiggled her hips into his groin.
He pulled her poufy blouse down, freeing her bra-less breasts. “How many fishies?”
“A cool million into your company’s coffers.”
“Mmm… I love the sound of that.” He bent and trailed his lips from her throat chakra down to her breasts.
She yelped when his lips touched her nipple, and he wondered whether she learned this vocalization in yoga class or when she had stuck a bobby pin in an electric socket during kindergarten naptime. Goes with the frizzy hair.
He picked her up and set her on the island. She swiped backward across the butcher block counter, spilling wine glasses and sending a cutting board with a knife stuck through a slab of cheese flying onto the river-rock floor.
Dave gripped the side of the counter while Melissa latched her greedy lips over his. His knuckles tightened, and he forced himself not to pull away. She tasted like chocolate marijuana, and her tongue was rude and sloppy. Nothing like Jen’s tentative freshness—the first gentle shower of spring. He pictured Jen on his soft leather couch cuddled between pillows and a homemade afghan.
Melissa’s hands roved down his chest and tugged at his fly. Dave jerked back. “Not yet.”
He didn’t want Melissa to feel his distraction. Jen had held him to her breasts and comforted him. So intimate, yet not sexual. Empathetic, not demanding, just sweet. And she had acted as if she cared about him, about Abby.
Melissa spread her legs and flipped her skirt up. Of course, she wore no panties.
Dave’s cell buzzed.
“Ignore it,” Melissa panted while guiding his hands downward.
“Sorry, I have to get it.” He pulled away and answered it while looking at the caller ID. It was his next door neighbor, Saul.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“There’s a fire engine over at your house. I don’t see smoke, but a police car just arrived.”
“Holy shit! Did anyone get hurt?”
“Um… let me go up the driveway a bit. Yeah. There’s a man with a dog talking to the police, and the paramedics are lifting a young lady into the ambulance.”
Chills grabbed the back of his neck. Jen!
“Thanks. I’ll be right over.” He pocketed his phone.
Melissa sat on the counter with her arms crossed and a dreadful pout on her lips.
Dave tucked his shirt in. “There’s a fire engine at my house.”
“I’ll bet. Nice ploy.”
“I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”
She pulled her top over her breasts and straightened her skirt. “I shouldn’t have transferred the money so soon. Pete’s back tomorrow and staying until New Year’s.”
“Mel, you shouldn’t be jealous. You’re a married woman.” He handed her the box of roses she had dropped on the floor and backed toward the front door. “Pete’s worth more than I’ll ever be. There’s no way Shopahol will exceed OgleNet’s market cap. You know how gossip sells.”
She threw the box at him. “Don’t let the door slam you on the way out.”
* * *
Jen coughed and gasped while the paramedics placed a mask over her face. Her chest ached and sharp pains screamed over her stomach. The paramedics slapped on a blood pressure cuff and swabbed her wounds.
Everything had happened so fast. A dog barked and the men fled, and then the dog was licking her face and the owner whipped out his cell phone and stood over her. Jen tried to relax, and the flow of oxygen eased her lungs.
“The police will want a statement,” someone said.
“She’s in shock,” another person said. “They’ll have to wait. Let’s give her some fluids.”