The Perfect Couple (19 page)

She'd put on her own sunglasses and, once again, he got the impression they helped create a barrier between her and the rest of the world. "Ready."

He hesitated before shifting into Reverse. "There's one other risk."

"What's that?"

"If he's not the one, if he doesn't already know about her, he will after today."

He wished he could see what was going on behind those glasses, but he couldn't.

"I know."

Somehow Zoe had always intuitively understood that the day would come when she'd have to face Franky again--if only because she'd developed such a fear of him. His actions suggested that what he'd done hadn't been premeditated. He'd raped her because she was home alone and he was on drugs. The crime was opportunistic. At least that was the argument his attorney had claimed at his trial. Franky hadn't stalked her, and he hadn't tried to contact her afterward.

The D.A. who'd prosecuted him had even admitted that he seemed contrite once he came to his senses. But contrite held no meaning for Zoe.

She'd only been fifteen when he'd forced her into her room and pulled up her skirt. She supposed it was natural to think he'd do it again if given the chance, to fear he might start harassing her if she reminded him of her existence.

They stopped at the curb in front of his mother's house and the radio fell silent as Jonathan cut the engine. Zoe wiped her sweaty palms on her dress and reached for the door latch.

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Jonathan stopped her. "Why don't I go up first?"

"No," she said and got out.

The house wasn't really a house. It was one-half of a duplex in a run-down part of town. The yard had no plants, just patches of crabgrass where foot traffic hadn't worn it into the dirt. An old couch sat on the front porch. It sagged in the middle and had an ashtray on one arm.

"How long has his mother lived here?" she murmured as Jonathan came up behind her.

"Deed I pulled up said she bought it in '64, so...a while. Why was Franky at your father's?"

"His girlfriend lived in the park, in unit 5."

"And he busted into your father's trailer because he knew you were there?"

"No. Initially, I don't think it had anything to do with me. He was stoned and looking for more drugs."

"Your father was selling at that time?"

"He certainly wasn't working a regular job."

"Gotcha."

When he lifted his hand to ring the doorbell, she nearly stopped him.

She needed another minute to prepare herself. But Sam was out there somewhere. She didn't have the luxury of extra time, so she made no move.

A shrunken woman, no more than five feet tall and maybe eighty years old, came to the door wearing a pair of bifocals, a purple polyester shirt with matching pants and orthopedic shoes.

"Mrs. Bates?"

Jonathan did the talking. Zoe's mouth had gone too dry to speak.

The woman at the door glanced from one to the other. "I'm Eva Norris, Sandra Bates's mother."

"We're looking for Franky."

Her eyes, the color of melted chocolate, grew darker with worry.

"What do you want with him?"

"A young girl's gone missing. We'd like to see if he knows anything about it."

"He couldn't," she said. "He wouldn't jeopardize his freedom. He's straightened out."

"We just want to talk to him," Jonathan said. "Can you tell us where to find him?"

She didn't answer.

"A child's life is in danger," he emphasized.

Her gaze shifted to some point behind them, far away on the horizon.

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Then she yelled into the house. "Franky!"

The answer was immediate. "What, Gran?"

"Get out here."

This was the moment. Zoe was about to come face-to-face with Sam's father. The man who'd raped her.

Filled with sudden panic, she longed to grab Jonathan's hand but didn't. She had Anton to think of. She had to do this on her own.

He glanced at her, no doubt checking to see how she was holding up.

But there was no time to speak. A second later, Franky Bates stood behind his shriveled "gran" and Zoe couldn't breathe. He looked completely different than she remembered--taller, broader, better groomed. And the shape of his mouth and chin! It was so much like Sam's!

"What's up?" He questioned Jonathan first, even accepted a business card but didn't look at it. His gaze traveled to her, then his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in disbelief.

"What are you doing here?" he breathed, his cheeks mottled.

Jonathan spoke before Zoe could respond. "I'm a private investigator from Sacramento. I'm here to--"

"Did you take her?" Zoe cut in, too impatient to wait through the explanation.

He raised his eyebrows. "Take who?"

"My daughter." She wasn't remotely tempted to say our daughter, despite the marked resemblance....

He lifted both hands as if she held a gun. "I don't know what you're talking about. I did you wrong thirteen years ago. I--I've often hoped I'd have the opportunity to apologize for that, to tell you I'm sorry. Really sorry."

She was finally able to draw enough breath to respond, but he pressed on before she could summon the words.

"I don't expect you to forgive me, but...there wasn't a day in prison that I didn't regret it. I was messed up or I never would've done it." No doubt his grandmother heard the contrition in his voice because she put her arm around him, and he acknowledged the gesture with a sad smile. "I'm not saying that as an excuse, but I served my time, and--and I'm hoping for a second chance."

"Have you been to northern California since you got out?" Jonathan asked.

"No." He shook his head, adamant. "I haven't been anywhere but here.

Ask Gran. My grandpa passed away ten days ago. The funeral was last week. Since then I've been looking for work." He pointed at a relatively new 126

Ford F-150 parked in the driveway. "Gramps left me his truck so I could continue applying for jobs--you know, get a start. That's all I been doin.'"

Visibly relieved by Franky's apparent sincerity, Gran nodded. "It's true."

Franky was still nervous, but not the kind of nervous that made Zoe disbelieve him. He felt awkward, remorseful. Licking his lips, he talked faster, trying to convince her. "I wouldn't target you or--or hurt you again. I didn't even know you had a daughter--"

Suddenly it seemed to occur to him why they might be contacting him, and he staggered back. "Wait...she's not mine, is she? I mean, that's not why you're here."

Pivoting, Zoe walked away before the tears welling up could spill over her lashes. He didn't have Sam; he hadn't even known Sam existed, just as she'd thought. This trip was a complete waste. Her chest constricted and she had difficulty breathing. It'd been three days since she'd seen her daughter. Where could Sam be?

"Ms.... I don't know what you call yourself these days. And I don't want to disrespect you by using your first name, but I'm sorry."

Zoe didn't respond. Jonathan exchanged a few words with him. It sounded as if he was taking down Franky's number. Then he followed her down the walk.

"Is she mine?" Franky called out as they reached the car.

"Of course not," she said, but she refused to turn around. She didn't want to see him, didn't want to give him any more information.

"She is, isn't she!"

"No." She opened her door.

"If I don't have a kid, what's all this about?"

"Nothing that concerns you anymore." Jonathan went around to the driver's side.

Franky squeezed past his grandmother and came halfway down the walk. "What happened to her? Is she okay?"

If only Zoe knew.... "Good luck finding a job."

"Tell me what's going on! What can I do to help?"

"Nothing. There's absolutely nothing you can do," Zoe said and closed the car door.

Shoulders slumped, he shoved his hands in his pockets. "You can't drop a bomb like that on me and then just drive away!"

His words filtered through Jonathan's open door. "If you're truly sorry for what you did, that's exactly what you'll let us do," Jonathan said and got in.

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"Call me," Franky yelled after them, his voice fainter now that the door was shut. "I'll help if I can. Just...one of you call me."

The radio came back on as Jonathan started the engine. Now it sounded far too loud, but he drove off before lowering the volume. "You okay?"

"We've got to get back to Sacramento," she said.

"We're going to the airport right now."

She cleared her throat. "He gave you his number?"

"He did. Do you want it?"

"No." She had nothing more to fear from Franky Bates. She could close that chapter in her life. But what would have once been a tremendous relief brought little consolation. She wasn't any closer to finding Sam. She shouldn't have come here, shouldn't have wasted the time.

Jonathan took her hand. She knew better than to allow him to comfort her. There was too much going on between them under the surface--too much that confused and tempted her. But somehow the connection felt absolutely vital, and she couldn't make herself let go, especially when she glanced up and saw him watching her with such an intense expression.

"We can be friends," he said as if holding her hand was no big deal, as if justifying the contact somehow made it right.

"We can be friends," she repeated, but that changed nothing. The way he threaded his fingers through hers felt possessive, deeply personal...even sexual. And, at that point, she knew it was a very good thing that they were heading home. She couldn't fight the attraction between her and Jonathan, not while she was so frightened, so worried about Sam. Without her daughter, she didn't care enough about her own self-preservation to hang on to anything else. Including her dignity.

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Getting home was worse than being gone. The house where she'd lived for ten months looked even more foreign to Zoe than it had yesterday, as foreign as the rest of the houses on the street, most of which were dark because it was nearly midnight on a Thursday. She'd once felt so proud to be part of this neighborhood, this community. She'd studied style magazines, changed her appearance and thought she'd finally "made it."

Smiling bitterly at the shattered illusion, she collected her purse as Jonathan put the transmission in Park. Because he'd left his car in long-term parking at the airport, he'd offered her a ride. She'd accepted with the excuse that it would save Anton from having to leave the house so late. But the ride wasn't about convenience. She wasn't ready to say goodbye to Jonathan. Or maybe she wasn't ready to see Anton. She couldn't decide which.

A light gleamed through the living-room window. Her fiance was waiting up for her. She supposed it was nice of him, but she wished he hadn't bothered. Maybe by morning she'd be able to figure out why she was so drawn to Jonathan instead of the man she'd agreed to marry.

Was it hero worship? Admiration because he seemed to be so much more capable of helping her find Samantha? Raw physical attraction?

Whatever the reason, she wanted him in a way she hadn't wanted a man in a long time. And that only compounded her problems.

How was this unexpected attraction seeping through the haze of shock and pain when nothing else could? That confused her most of all.

"Good night," she said as she got out.

He didn't attempt to touch her. He hadn't touched her since he'd taken her hand for those few minutes after leaving Franky's place. "Don't give up hope," he said with an encouraging smile.

"No," she murmured. But if her daughter was still alive, why hadn't they found some trace of her? Received a ransom note? "Thanks for everything."

"I'll be around tomorrow. I've got an early appointment on another case, but then I'll be talking to your neighbors, Sam's teachers at school, the kids whose parents will allow me to meet with them, anyone who might have an inkling of where she might be."

If he did track her down, would she be dead? Would they discover her body tossed in a field or a Dumpster?

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Despite the macabre image that thought raised in her mind, Zoe managed a fleeting smile before closing the door. Then she stood and watched as he drove off. It wasn't until his taillights disappeared around the corner that she started toward the front door.

"Who was that?"

The voice came from the dark stoop of her neighbor's house. "Colin?"

She squinted, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the moonlight.

"Yeah, it's me. Sorry if I scared you. I heard the car and thought maybe you'd found her." The slurring of his words indicated he'd been drinking.

"No."

"No new leads?"

"No old ones, either. At least none Detective Thomas hasn't ruled out." Her small suitcase had wheels, but she was reluctant to set it down. She didn't want a conversation with Colin right now. Especially if he was drunk.

She had to go in and face Anton.

He clicked his tongue. "That's too bad."

"I'm sorry to be unsociable, but I'm exhausted. I hope you'll forgive me if..." She made a move for the house, but he stopped her.

"Hey, not so fast. I've been waiting all night."

"For...?"

He didn't clarify. "Who's that guy you were with?"

He'd definitely had too much to drink. He and his wife threw an occasional party. Zoe and Anton had heard the loud music that sometimes pounded late into the night, but it didn't happen often, and Colin and Tiffany seldom invited more than a friend or two, so it hadn't been a problem.

Maybe they'd had one of their parties tonight....

"Jonathan's a private investigator," she explained. "He's helping with the search."

"His name is Jonathan?"

She hesitated, unsure of Colin's suspicious tone. "Yes. Jonathan Stivers. Have you heard of him?"

"Not until now. But...he's a nice-looking man, I'll give him that."

How was she supposed to respond? "How'd you see more than a glimpse of him?"

"He was here the other night."

"Oh, right." She transferred her suitcase to her other hand as Colin came toward her. Once he stepped out of the shadows, she could tell that he wasn't wearing a shirt or shoes, just a pair of sweatpants. And his hair was mussed as if he'd shoved his fingers through it a few too many times.