“I do owe her an explanation.” He flicked the turn-signal and started toward Jen’s apartment. He might as well face her. Last night had been hell. He’d pulled out the old videos. Talk about an overdose of torture: his wedding, honeymoon, newlywed year, then Abby’s birth and homecoming. Her first smile, struggling to lift her little head, trying to crawl. Always in the background—Jennifer Cruz.
When they arrived at Jen’s apartment, Owen was supervising a cleaning crew.
“Jen’s in her room,” he said. “I don’t think she’s feeling well.”
“Sure, I’ll be going,” Dave said.
Christy rolled her eyes and barged into Jen’s room.
Owen gestured Dave to the kitchen. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but Jen’s up to something. She’s got a hairbrush she claims is Abby’s, and she’s going to order DNA tests.”
Sparks sizzled on the back of Dave’s neck. “The kidnappers told me they were providing me a DNA sample. Don’t tell me Jen’s working with them.”
Owen scratched his head, a look of confusion spread on his face. “You think that’s what she’s up to?”
“Isn’t it suspicious? They agree to DNA and now Jen’s collecting it? Where is it?”
Owen put a finger on his lips. “It’s in her room on a hairbrush. She’s got your blood on her sweater, and she’s determined to order a paternity test.”
Dave furrowed his fingers through his hair, skirting the bullet graze. “Let her do what she wants. You know what Phil said about the harassment.”
Owen loosened his tie. “You don’t believe it, do you?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I’m falling off a cliff. Everything changed when she stepped into my life. It’s like a fun-house mirror. I don’t know what I’m looking at. Why is she torturing me?”
Dave’s head pounded like the surf and his mouth tasted like sand. He didn’t want to believe it, but it was a heck of a lot easier than thinking she’d love someone as deranged as he—a man destined to eke out the rest of his damaged life, bitter and alone.
Owen wiped his forehead. “She’s not like that. I’ve known her a long time and I can tell you—”
“Owen?” Jen appeared behind them. Her face tightened when she spied Dave. “What are you talking about?”
Owen shuffled his feet and wiped his nose. “Nothing. Oh, look. The cleaners are done. Let me pay them.”
Jen grabbed his arm. “No, I’ll pay them. Go ahead and continue spilling my life like last week’s trash.”
The pain of a thousand throwing stars sliced through Dave’s chest and tore his heart. The hurt in Jen’s voice, the wild, fiery flash of her eyes, and the curl of her lip maddened him with a combination of desperate yearning and reluctant repulsion. Maybe she was innocent, had an explanation. But no, she was in cahoots with Craig and Greta. His chest tightened so much he thought he would faint.
Leave now, Dave. Don’t make a fool of yourself.
Jen counted out the cash to the cleaners and sent them away. Christy stood at the door. “Can we go to Mami’s storage room now?”
Jen glared at Dave and Owen. “Sure. We were just going, if you two don’t mind taking it outside.”
She pulled on a jacket, took her keys from the hook and headed to the door.
“Uh, Jen?” Christy tapped her. “Are we taking the bus?”
Owen rushed over. “I’ll take you.”
Dave gritted his teeth. “I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”
Jen shoved him in the chest. “Get out of my apartment. If you believe I’m harassing you, get the hell out of here and leave me alone.”
Owen touched her shoulder. “Hey, calm down. I’m sure Mr. Jewell was just leaving.”
“No, I’m not.” Dave pushed Owen away from Jen and grabbed both her arms. “How much is he paying you? Tell me.”
“Get away from me, man whore.” Jen kicked his shins. “I hate you.”
“Why are you doing this to me? What have I ever done to you?”
Owen pulled Dave’s arms. “Break it up, will you?”
“No. Let’s get this settled right here, right now.” Dave dragged her toward her bedroom.
“Take your hands off her.” Owen blocked his path.
“Stay out of it.” Dave felt like exploding. “It’s my life she’s playing with.”
Owen cocked his fist and drilled it into Dave’s jaw. A spark of pain exploded in his face. The roaring turmoil in Dave’s chest went into overdrive. He swung a right hook into Owen’s temple.
“Call the police,” Christy screamed.
Owen grunted and fell to the floor. A flush of heat flooded over Dave’s shoulders. What had he done?
Jen grabbed ice from the freezer and wrapped it in a towel, holding it against Owen’s head. She glared at Dave. “You asshole. Get out now!”
Christy sat on the kitchen floor breathing too fast and fanning her face. “Oh, oh, oh. Is he going to die?”
Owen moaned, but still had enough gumption to smile at Jen, his eyes worshipful.
Dave rubbed his knuckles as acid burned his heart. His Jen hated him. And he deserved it.
His iPhone rang. It was Alex’s mom.
Chapter 30
Jen’s eyes burned with tears and her hands shook as she pressed a paper bag to Christy’s lips to calm her hyperventilation. Poor girl had probably skipped breakfast and lunch. She set a bowl of oatmeal and raisins in the microwave for Christy and knelt on the floor to check on Owen.
He held the towel with ice against his face. “Think I deserve a kiss for that?”
She pecked his cheek and pulled him up. “Thanks for defending me.”
Owen straightened his clothes. “He was out of line. I don’t care how psychologically wounded he is, you don’t deserve him lashing out at you.”
She pretended to straighten the utensils on the dish rack. Wounded. She’d heard the anguish in his voice,
What have I ever done to you?
Owen put an arm over her shoulders. “Forget about him. He’s a womanizer. I bet he has another one on the hook. Did you see how quickly he left?”
“He’s got a lot going on.” She stepped out of his reach. Dave could be losing touch with reality, but she owed him. She had to find Abby. Bottom line.
Christy shuddered and sucked in her spit. “He might be hot, but he’s scary. Crazy scary.”
“No more talking about him.” Jen patted Christy. “You still up for going to the storage unit?”
They got into Owen’s car, and he dropped them off, promising to be back later when they were finished. Jen picked up a map at the front desk and walked with Christy past rows of squat orange corrugated doors. She found her mother’s unit at the corner, a small 5x10 with a rectangular swinging door.
She flipped on the lights. The dust irritated her throat, and an achy dullness clamped her chest. Mami’s treasures reduced to a room barely larger than a closet.
Christy picked up a box labeled Photos while Jen moved aside a trunk.
“When I was little she used to sit me on her lap and flip through my baby pictures,” Christy said.
“We can look at these later. Let me find the documents first. Mami labeled the boxes by date. Yours would be 1996-2000. Ah, here it is.” Jen unstacked the last box marked 2001-2005 and pulled off the lid. Her mother’s death certificate lay at the top. A lump crept up Jen’s throat. Cause of death: Respiratory failure, complications of metastatic breast cancer.
Christy took the 1996-2000 box and flipped through it.
Jen rearranged the pile to unearth the photo boxes behind the trunk. “Found what you needed?”
“Uh… yes, got it.” She stuffed the envelope in her purse. “Now, where are the baby pictures? Mami never did get a digital camera, did she?”
Jen looked over Christy’s shoulder as she flipped to the last family picture they took. Christy was about a year old, Jen was ten. Mami held Christy and Pop had his arm around Jen.
“It’s my fault,” Christy said. “He left because of me.”
“No, sweetie. They grew apart, that’s all.”
Christy turned the pages backwards. “They looked happy before I was born.”
It was a picture taken at the beach, her father with his arms around her mother over her pregnant belly, kissing her.
“They acted happy,” Jen said. “I was there. We’d go on these fun trips and pretend to be a happy family. Pop would treat me to salt water taffy and take me to the amusement park. Mami would rub his shoulders and kiss him. And they’d dance in the moonlight. But late at night, when they thought I was asleep, they’d fight.”
“What about?”
“Pop’s intensely jealous. And Mami won’t tour with him because of me. She taught school and wanted to give me stability. So it was my fault. Before I started school, we went from gig to gig, traveling on his band bus and sleeping in trailers.”
Christy pushed the album back. “I want to see their wedding pictures.”
Jen opened the trunk and unfurled the old wedding gown. “Mami was so petite. She had small bones, like you. Are you seriously going to marry Sammy?”
Christy fiddled with the blue sapphire ring. “Not until I’m eighteen. He wanted to reserve me for himself.”
Jen held the gown to Christy’s frame. “Don’t let him talk you into anything because he gave you a ring.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not so stupid.” Christy twirled around with the dress. “Think I’ll go for something more modern.”
Christy’s ring flashed in the slanted light of the storage unit. Jen cringed. Christy was beautiful, thin and popular. No reason for her to be stupid. Needing some comfort, she hugged Christy and spoke softly against her ear. “You have your entire life ahead of you. Make sure Sammy deserves you and that he respects you and treats you well.”
“Don’t worry about me. Sammy’s responsible and a real sweetheart.” Christy disengaged herself and turned to the pictures. “Pop used to be handsome before he got fat.”
Yep, fat. Jen glanced at the picture of her and her father overflowing their swimsuits and eating hotdogs. “Are we ready to go?”
“Sure,” Christy said. She replaced the photo album and dug through their mother’s letters and cards.
“Looking for anything in particular?” Jen asked. “If you want to read them, you can take a box home.”
“Nope, I’m done.” She fumbled with her purse, dropping a pen and her keys. “Got what I needed. Thanks.”
They replaced the boxes, and Jen locked the unit. Christy walked stiffly ahead of Jen to the parking lot where Owen waited. Christy was probably upset that Pop had taken off for good after her first birthday.
* * *
Dave’s feet ached as he walked Alex to his grandmother’s house. The kid was high on cotton candy and made animal noises. Dave had an enjoyable time at the zoo, but did not find any useful information. Alex claimed his sister’s father was a gangster and his was a prince. When asked for more specifics, Alex only waved his hands and told fantastical tales about castles and gunfights.
Alex’s sister peered through the screened window. Dave rang the bell. His pulse accelerated. She was the girl in the pictures. A wild hope jumped—how easily everything would be resolved if she
was
Abby.
“Just a minute,” the grandmother yelled from the back.
Alex poked his sister’s nose through the screen.
“Stop it. I’m telling,” she said.
“No you’re not. Gran says you’re adopted.”
Adopted? Dave’s palms moistened. Could it be true, or was Alex teasing? Boys in the program oftentimes made up stories about the fathers they did not know.
“No, you’re adopted,” the sister retorted.
Alex slapped the screen. “Your dad’s a greaser.”
“Is not.” She pouted, her lips pursed like a rosebud, like Jocelyn’s.
Alex’s grandmother opened the door. “Stop teasing your sister.”
“But I heard you talking about it on the phone.” Alex waved his half-eaten cotton candy.
The grandmother yanked Alex through the door. “Thank you, Mr. Jewell. I’m sure Alex had a wonderful time. Alex, say ‘thank you’ to Mr. Jewell.”
“My pleasure,” Dave said.
“Can Mr. Jewell stay for dinner?” Alex jumped up and down making baboon sounds.
“Well. Your mother’s busy and…”
“That’s fine.” Dave waved off. He peered around the grandmother’s legs as Alex’s little sister clung to her skirt.
Alex’s grandmother narrowed her eyes and stepped back, shooing the little girl away. Dave caught the suspicious glare before the grandmother thanked him again while scolding Alex for not removing his dusty shoes.
Waving goodbye, Dave watched her shut the door, a worried look and something more registering on her weathered face. Had that been a veil of guilt? Or was it deception? Why would a single-parent waitress adopt a child? Or even keep a kidnapped girl, unless… Dave scratched his face and tried to calm his overwrought imagination. He’d need proof before coming back. Otherwise they’d think he was a child molester.
He ambled back to the car and took a deep breath. Loneliness draped his shoulders and mocked his heart. Was he losing it? Every six or seven-year-old girl in the country couldn’t be Abby. Phil had already checked them out and found everything legit. Another dead end, except the kidnappers promised DNA and Jen thought she had some.
He braked hard and horns sounded behind him. Without looking back, he hung a U-turn and headed toward Jen’s place. She owed him answers, and this time he would not be distracted nor denied.
The evening skies darkened as he turned into her apartment complex. He parked behind a hedge and ran up the steps.
He leaned his forehead against the door, willing his breathing to steady, praying she would open the door. Chickening out, he called her cell. She answered right before it rolled to voicemail.
“Hey, were you asleep?” He softened his tone.
“No. Where are you?”
“At your door. Will you see me?”
“No. You hate me.” Her voice caught and triggered a spasm in his chest.
“Please, open the door.”
He waited, sure she stood inches away on the other side. He could hear her shallow breathing through the cell. Finally, the door cracked open.
Dave did not move, just stared at her as his eyes moistened and his gut ached. She swiped the iPhone’s screen and ended the call.
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.” She stepped back and gestured for him to enter. “Did you bring my luggage?”