by Brenda Novak
“It’s possible one of her friends came by on the way home from school,” Anton was saying. “There’s no reason to jump to conclusions yet.”
“I’ll call Marti’s parents.”
“Don’t do it from work.”
“For something like this? Why not?”
“I’ll take care of it. If you’re not careful, you’ll lose your job. Then how will you feel when you learn this was just some typical teenage stunt?”
Samantha didn’t pull stunts like this. But Zoe knew as soon as she launched that argument, Anton would bring up the time Sam had said she was going to band recital but went to a boy’s house with her best friend instead. Teenagers are teenagers, Zoe. You have a lot more of this kind of stuff to look forward to, he’d said then.
Was she being too protective? “I wouldn’t be so worried if she was well. But she’s not supposed to exert herself.”
It was a reasonable argument, one Anton would understand. But Zoe knew she’d be worried regardless. She’d had some pretty terrible experiences in her day, experiences she’d been working to protect Sam against. The rape that had resulted in her becoming pregnant at fifteen was one of them. Just imagining her daughter in the hands of a man like the one who’d forced her onto the floor of her own father’s trailer made her body go clammy with sweat. Had someone spotted Sam when she sneaked out to the store, thought she was pretty, followed her home?
Zoe didn’t realize she had her eyes shut until she heard Jan’s voice again. “What’s it going to take to keep you working today, Ms. Duncan?”
“I—” Swallowing hard, she looked up. “I’m having some personal problems.”
“We don’t have time for personal problems.”
“I’m afraid this can’t be helped. I know these…leases are important.” How? Why? They were nothing compared to what Zoe feared, but she didn’t want to overreact. Maybe Anton was right and Sam was merely acting out. “But could I…could I go home for an hour or so and come back tonight to finish up?”
“You want to leave in the middle of the afternoon, when you have a stack of work on your desk two feet high?”
“Yes.” Desperately. Sam was all she could think about.
Jan shook her head. “Women like you are all alike.”
“Women like me?” Zoe echoed.
“You come to the interview batting your eyelashes and showing that curvy figure off to best advantage in some short skirt—” she wiggled her flat-as-a-pancake behind as if imitating the way Zoe walked “—and then once you’re hired you want to spend all your time on the phone or painting your fingernails.”
“Meanwhile, more deserving but less attractive options languish at home, is that it, Jan? Options like your obese daughter-in-law?”
Zoe wasn’t sure who was more surprised—Jan or the secretaries sitting close by. All three stopped typing, and their mouths formed perfect Os.
Jan’s face went red and her eyes bulged. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” Zoe snapped. “And for your information, I didn’t bat my eyelashes or interview in a short skirt. And I’ve never painted my nails at work.”
“Neither have you done the job you were hired for!”
“That’s not true! If it was, you would’ve fired me long ago. You’ve been looking for any excuse since the day I started,” she said. Then she got her purse out of her desk, slammed the drawer and headed for the exit.
“Don’t you walk out of here,” Jan called after her. “If you do, you won’t be allowed back.”
Zoe turned at the door. “I won’t be coming back.”
She tried to appear calm and in control as she presented her back to the sprinkling of agents in the bullpen and the secretaries in the reception area. But inside she was quaking. Quitting her job would cause a major argument between her and Anton. If they broke up, she and Samantha would have to move out. Zoe couldn’t afford a place in this area, not on her own, especially now that she was out of a job. That meant Samantha would have to transfer to a different school, and the cycle would start all over—the same cycle Zoe had been trying to break. She’d just climbed a little higher on the ladder of success before falling on her ass again.
“Why did I let that bitch get the best of me?” she asked herself over and over as she stalked to her car. It kept her from focusing on the real problem, the fact that she still hadn’t heard from Anton. Why hadn’t he called?
She tried him four times in as many minutes, but kept getting the beep that told her he was on another line.
Who was he talking to?
He probably had Sam with him but was caught up on a business call. Otherwise, he would’ve switched over.
But when she got home, she discovered that wasn’t the case at all. She found her fiancé sitting on the front steps, his head bowed. As she drew closer, she could tell he was deep in conversation.
He was talking to someone at the police department, making a report.
Her hand went to her throat. “God, no!”
Concern etched deep grooves in his forehead as he looked up and covered the mouthpiece. “I can’t find her, Zoe,” he said. “She isn’t anywhere.”
Zoe fell to her knees on the rough cobblestone walk.
“But I’m getting help.” His eyes pleaded with her to understand how badly he felt about taking the situation too lightly. “That’s why I haven’t tried to reach you. I wanted to…to have something positive to tell you. I wanted to get a detective on this as soon as possible.”
“A detective?” she whispered, scarcely able to grasp that her daughter was missing.
“Don’t panic.” He asked whoever was on the phone to hold and set the cell on the ground. Then he hurried over and pulled her to her feet, supporting her until they were inside the house. “It’ll be okay,” he said, easing her onto the couch.
He returned to his call as if he could take care of it all. But if he couldn’t take care of it, nothing would ever be okay again.
CHAPTER 4
Samantha tried to peer through the keyhole of the door, but it was useless. She couldn’t see anything. She couldn’t hear anything, either. Had Tiffany left?
She hoped not. She needed to pee. She’d had to go for a while, but she couldn’t get Tiffany to respond. After helping her neighbor in from outside, she’d asked for a way to reach Colin, and Tiffany had said her cell phone was upstairs. Sam had gone up to look for it and Tiffany had followed, telling her it was in this room, the room over the garage. But there wasn’t anything in here except a bare mattress. When Sam had turned to question Tiffany about it, Tiffany had shoved her in and locked the door.
Why, Sam couldn’t imagine. Tiffany was obviously having some sort of mental breakdown. Maybe she’d actually gone crazy….
It was a chilling thought, perfect for the movies. Picturing herself at school, telling all her friends the dramatic story of how she’d been forced into a room by her neighbor who afterward had to be carted off to an asylum, had kept Sam intrigued for a while. At least the drama of the afternoon had broken up the monotony. But she’d been in here so long she was getting creeped out. Why wouldn’t Tiffany let her go home? And where was Colin? Shouldn’t he be back from work by now?
She was sure he’d be embarrassed once he knew, but she was afraid she’d wet her pants before he found her.
Groaning in frustration, she turned away from the door and paced another circle around the room. With their neat yard, preppy clothes and matching BMWs, she’d believed her neighbors had good taste. But this part of the house certainly didn’t show it. There was nothing wrong with the floor. It was the same hardwood her mother’s boyfriend had in his place. And the ceiling fan overhead was nice. But there was a questionable stain on the mattress, and the windows were covered by murals that looked like they’d been painted by a first grader.
Pausing in front of a scene showing several hay piles, more lemon colored than wheat colored, a blue sky and puffy cotton-candy clouds, she tried to wedge h
er hand behind the art. There had to be glass underneath; from the front driveway these windows looked like they had blinds. If she could reach the panes, there might be some way to break one and call for help. Then Tiffany would be in real trouble.
But the mural had been painted on thick pieces of wood hammered tightly to the wall. Sam had no chance of prying any of the boards loose and broke a fingernail trying.
“Ow!” She smacked the wood with her fist, then jammed her wounded finger in her mouth. Why would anyone want to block the windows? Anton had a bonus room over his garage, too, but he used it for a pool table, card table and minibar. “That’s what you do with a room like this,” she grumbled, shaking the sting away. “Only you allow people to use it,” she added.
Music, coming from downstairs, filtered up to her. Someone was home. Was it Colin?
Forgetting about her injury, she hurried to the door. “Colin?” She banged three times. “Hello? Hey, I have to go to the bathroom! Let me out!”
She had no idea how long she’d been locked up, but she knew it must be late. If she didn’t get home soon, her mother would return from work to an empty house.
“My mom will be home any minute. I have to go!”
Nothing.
“Tiffany?”
Approaching footsteps made Sam’s heart race. “Hello? Please, I need to use the restroom.”
“Sam?”
It was Tiffany, all right. “What?”
“I’m trying to cook a nice dinner and you’re really getting on my nerves. Will you shut up?”
A nice dinner? Tiffany seemed strangely calm. What’d happened to the panicked, crying woman Sam had seen in the backyard?
“Just let me out and I won’t bother you anymore. My mother’s going to freak if she finds me gone.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Why not? You don’t know how she is. She’s very protective. I can’t even watch HBO.”
“She sounds like a good mom.”
Zoe was a good mom. Suddenly it felt like an eternity since Sam had seen her. Heck, after the past few hours, Sam wouldn’t have minded Anton’s company. “Can you let me out?”
There was a slight pause. “I don’t think so.”
“But I’m about to wet my pants.”
“Oh…fine! Give me a minute, will ya?”
At last! While waiting for Tiffany, Sam shifted from foot to foot and breathed a huge sigh of relief when, once again, she heard movement in the hall. “Hurry, I can’t hold it any longer.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”
The lock clicked, but the door opened so hard and fast it hit Samantha in the shoulder. Then Tiffany tossed a metal bowl at her, which struck her in the head. She fell as Tiffany slammed the door and slid the bolt home.
Tears sprang to Sam’s eyes as she rubbed the painful bump on her temple. “Tiffany?” She sounded like a panicked baby, but she couldn’t help it. “I don’t understand. Why’d you do that? Aren’t you going to let me out?”
“I told you, I’m cooking dinner,” she called back. “We’ll go over the rules later. Just pee in what I gave you.”
Rules? Sam’s gaze shifted to the metal mixing bowl still rolling on its side. She couldn’t use it. It was too late. She’d already gone in her bikini bottom.
* * *
Tiffany felt better by the time she heard her husband’s car in the driveway. She’d showered and changed, and then burned the shirt with Rover’s blood on it in the fireplace. Now she was wearing nothing but a black lacy bra that barely contained her large breasts and a thong with a pair of six-inch heels. The scent of expensive perfume, Colin’s favorite, mingled with the warm garlic bread she’d pulled from the oven and the candles she’d lit on the mantel.
With a final glance at her preparations, she smiled. Everything was just right. She’d even managed to clean up most of the pots and pans so Colin wouldn’t have to look at a stack of dirty dishes.
He’d be so pleased.
“Tiff?”
As he came through the front door, she posed at the opening to the kitchen.
“Yes?” she said in her sultriest tone.
His eyebrows shot up. “Wow, what a greeting.” A lascivious grin curved his lips as he gave her the once-over. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I thought you might want to make another movie.” He enjoyed pretending he was a porn star. She suspected he shared the videos they made with some old friends of his, which bothered her, but she rarely permitted herself to think about it. If she questioned him or complained, she’d only start an argument. And what did it really matter? He was doing it to show off. She supposed she could allow him that. At the end of each session, he had her point to the tattoos that branded her his.
Anyway, tonight she’d do whatever Colin wanted. She needed to keep him happy, to soften his heart before telling him about Rover.
“Do I get to eat dessert first?” he asked.
She ran her hands over her breasts, then lifted them out of her bra. “Before and after if you want.”
“It must be my birthday.” As eager as he sounded, he took time to put his briefcase in the office off the main entrance.
She went back to stirring the pasta sauce so it wouldn’t scorch. “Hungry?” she called.
“For you.” She hadn’t realized he was so close. Coming up from behind, he hefted her breasts with his palms. “You smell so—”
When he fell silent, Tiffany’s stomach muscles tensed. Had she missed some detail? Forgotten and used that hairspray he’d told her he hated? What?
“You didn’t shave?” he said.
“Sh-shave?” She’d been in too much of a hurry. “I did this morning. You were in the shower with me, remember?”
“How many times have we gone over this? You have to do it morning and night.”
“I usually do, but it takes so long. And I couldn’t feel any regrowth. None.” She rubbed her arms and still didn’t feel the stubble that must’ve set him off. How had he noticed when she couldn’t? He was so much more sensitive to appearances, smells, tastes, every nuance.
“I wouldn’t ask you to do it if it wasn’t important.”
“Of course not. I know that. I just…I was worried about getting dinner ready before you got home.” She wouldn’t have had time to run to the grocery store and cook if she’d shaved. He made her remove all her body hair.
“Don’t give me excuses. Completely bald. We’ve talked about this.”
“I am bald where it really counts.” She tried to compensate by rubbing her hand over the zipper of his pants, but he stepped out of reach.
“You don’t want me very badly if you didn’t shave. Do you think I have any desire for a woman who feels like a porcupine?”
Did that mean he was going to make her sleep on the floor again? “I—” She searched for a way to distract him. She was sure the news that Samantha Duncan was upstairs would make him happy, but she had to save that surprise for later. She’d need something good, something better than good, to make up for letting Rover escape. “I made your favorite dinner.” She offered him her prettiest pout. “You’re glad about that, aren’t you?”
“I would’ve been if you’d shaved.” With that, he walked out of the kitchen and turned on the television.
Tiffany peeked out at him. “Can I—can I get you a glass of wine?”
“Sure,” he said, but when she brought it to him, he grimaced. “Put your damn tits away. I’m not interested in touching you if you can’t take care of yourself.”
This was their first night alone, and she’d ruined it. Why did she always have to screw up? He tried to teach her what he expected, but she never seemed to learn. “I’m sorry. If—if you want, you can spank me later.”
“And have you sulk for two days? No thanks.”
“I won’t sulk. I promise.”
He held up his glass, swirled the wine and took a sip. “Okay. But only if you let me film it.”
�
�Fine.”
“And show it to the guys with you present when they come over tomorrow night.”
Her eyes flew to his face. He’d never asked her to watch with them before. He’d hinted at it, let her know Tommy Tuttle from high school would probably get a kick out of a group evening. And his other buddy, James Pearson, would love to join the fun. Tommy had a bum leg and felt too self-conscious to approach women; James used to be married, but his marriage had lasted only a few months.
Tiffany didn’t like the idea, was afraid of where it might lead. But if she agreed, maybe Colin would go easier on her when she told him about Rover. “If that’s what you want.”
He waved for a coaster, and she nearly twisted an ankle trying to get him one. “That’s what I want. Now get dinner on before you put me in a bad mood again.”
Proud that it was almost ready, Tiffany returned to the kitchen to serve their meal while he watched the news.
“Come and get it,” she called five minutes later.
He sat at the dining table while she filled his plate. She did so very carefully, making sure no two foods touched. She hadn’t forgotten that lesson, not since he’d thrown his glass at her and broken her cheekbone.
Finished, she took her seat across the table and waited for him to sample his food. She didn’t have permission to eat until he gave the okay. Sometimes he was on dessert before he let her touch a single morsel, just to see if she’d eat a cold dinner rather than disobey him.
Tonight, she didn’t mind if he never gave the signal. She was too nervous to eat, anyway. And, as appetizing as the bread smelled, she couldn’t have garlic. She was afraid it would make her breath stink.
“How’d it go today?” he asked while he ate.
She swallowed hard. She wanted to tell him what had happened with Rover, get it over with. But she couldn’t do that now. He’d blame her for ruining his meal on top of everything else. “Fine.”
“Fine?” His fork stilled. “Last I heard you were in a panic.”
