by Brenda Novak
“She was gone when we got home from work,” he explained. “We can’t find her.”
“Have you called the police?”
Zoe spoke again. “Yes, we’ve been on the phone with them for over an hour.”
“But it’s not time to panic yet. She’s only been gone since this afternoon,” Anton chimed in. “They figure maybe she ran away.”
“She didn’t run away,” Zoe said.
“Sam recently told her grandfather she was thinking about running away, so we can’t rule it out,” Anton insisted.
Despite a visible effort to avoid an argument, Zoe succumbed. “Where would she go?”
Anton scowled. “Runaways usually don’t have a plan. That’s how they end up on the streets.”
Lifting her chin, Zoe addressed Colin. “The police are on their way. They plan to look into it. But…we thought we’d ask around ourselves, see if we can develop…some idea as to where she might be.”
“I see.” Colin rubbed his neck, drawing out his response to make it more believable. “Wow. I’m terribly sorry. I wish I had better news for you. Is it possible she’s just at the movies or off with friends?”
Zoe shook her head. “She’s not the type to leave home without notifying me—”
“That’s not always true,” Anton cut in.
She remained resolute. “She would’ve called me.”
“Whatever’s going on, she sounds like a great kid,” Colin said before they could argue some more.
“She is a great kid. And—” Zoe’s voice cracked again but she held up a hand to let Lucassi know she’d finish her own sentence “—and she has mono. She’s not supposed to exert herself, which only adds to my worry.”
“Of course it would. What parent wouldn’t be rattled?” Colin clucked his tongue in commiseration.
“What about your wife?” Zoe glanced behind him. “Do you think—”
“Tiff?” he broke in. “I doubt she saw anything. She’s been inside all day, a little under the weather herself. But I’ll definitely check and get back to you if she has.”
“Thanks.” Anton handed him a card. “Call us anytime, day or night.”
“Definitely. Now you’ve got me scared.”
Anton tried to lead Zoe away, but she wouldn’t budge. “I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. “But would you mind if I asked your wife? I—I have to hear her response with my own ears. Otherwise…” She let her words fall off.
Her persistence irritated Colin but he smiled as if he understood. “Right. No stone unturned. I get it. I should’ve thought of that.” He called over his shoulder, “Tiffany, babe, can you come here for a minute?”
“Yes?” She poked her head around the corner.
To him, her busted lip looked obvious, but she was keeping her distance, and he was fairly certain the shifting light from the candles on the mantel made it difficult to see her clearly. In any case, Zoe and her partner didn’t react to the injury. “Have you seen the neighbor girl? What’s her name…”
Zoe filled in his pause. “Samantha.”
“I know Sam,” she said. “But…I haven’t seen her today. Why? Is something wrong?”
“We hope not,” Anton said.
In her eagerness to press her point, Sam’s mother stepped forward. “If you run across anything that might help us find her—”
“We’ll call, of course,” Tiffany said.
Colin rewarded his wife with a smile, but then Tiffany surprised him by continuing the conversation. “What’s going on?” she asked.
Any concerned citizen would’ve asked the same. But Colin didn’t want the neighbors conversing with Tiffany. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain,” he said as if he was doing it to save them the grief of having to repeat their story.
“Thanks,” they murmured and started to walk away, but Colin called them back.
“If it comes to organizing a search party, please let us know. We’d be happy to participate.”
When they thanked him again, he smiled kindly into their grateful faces and shut the door.
“Do you think they bought it?” Tiffany whispered in the ensuing silence.
He grinned. “Hook, line and sinker.”
“She won’t be contagious forever,” Tiffany said, obviously hoping to placate him.
At first he’d been frustrated and disappointed to hear of Sam’s illness. He didn’t want to risk catching it. But the girl wasn’t going anywhere; they had plenty of time. “She’s part of the family now,” he said. “I can wait.”
CHAPTER 6
“Hey, I’ve been trying to reach you. Where the heck have you been?”
Jonathan Stivers immediately recognized the voice of the person he most wanted to avoid. Stifling a curse, he turned from riffling through his messages at the empty receptionist’s desk to see Sheridan Cole—Sheridan Granger as of three weeks ago—in her office doorway. With her dark hair pulled into a ponytail and a happy blush to her smooth skin, she looked even prettier than normal. But now that she was married, he didn’t want to feel that hitch in his gut anymore.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t any way to stop it. That was the reason he’d made himself scarce since she’d returned from her honeymoon. He ran his own business and worked out of his house, so it was possible to keep a safe distance—most of the time. He only helped at The Last Stand when they needed him. He was occasionally based out of their offices, of course, especially because they had volunteers who could take care of any clerical stuff related to The Last Stand’s cases. But today he’d waited until five to come in, assuming Sheridan would be gone.
“Sorry, been busy,” he said.
“Not with our cases. I’ve hardly seen you since I got back from Hawaii.”
“My real job’s getting in the way.” Although he didn’t mind his pro bono work, he had to take enough paying clients to cover his mortgage and expenses. She knew that. Occasionally, they paid him for his work, but only if the charity could afford it and only when he was putting in as many hours as they did.
But he realized it wasn’t what she’d meant.
She folded her arms. “You working on anything interesting?”
He forced his eyes down to his stack of messages so he wouldn’t stare at her—or wonder about the nights she spent in her new husband’s arms. “A sister searching for her little brother, who was adopted out at birth. A creditor looking to be paid by some loser who’s trying to disappear. A bail bondsman who wants my help tracking someone who skipped.” He shrugged. “The usual.”
“Sounds like you’re making the big bucks. And getting popular. Pretty soon you won’t have time for us.”
Part of him wished that was true. Not that he cared much about money. Beyond having a sufficient amount for his needs, he didn’t see the point of chasing the almighty dollar. He’d spend any extra on his pro bono efforts, anyway. He just knew it’d be easier on him if he didn’t have to confront Sheridan quite so often, or worry that Skye Willis or Ava Bixby, Sheridan’s two partners at The Last Stand, would guess how he felt. They’d know already if they weren’t so absorbed in their cases. He’d never met three women more driven by a cause. Of course, they had reason to be driven. But it was their passion for what they were doing that made it impossible for Jonathan to walk out on them. They were making a difference to victims of violent crime every day.
“Yeah, I’m stockpiling a ton of money right now.” He eyed a note from Skye that seemed urgent. She’d left three messages on his voice mail, too, which he’d ignored. That was why he’d finally dragged his ass in, hoping to avoid Sheridan, but hoping to see her, too. “I’m not ready to buy a Ferrari just yet, though.”
“You’ll never buy a fancy car. Even if you had the money, you’d give every last dime to some bum on the street before you ever got to a dealership.”
He thumped his forehead. “So that’s why I’m always broke.”
“Exactly,” she said with a chuckle. “Too many bums in your li
fe.”
“I don’t seek them out,” he grumbled.
“No, but you see them when most people turn a blind eye.”
When she said flattering stuff like that, it made him think she cared about him. But four years of working with her had taught him that the way he cared and the way she cared fell into two different categories. “You said you’ve been trying to reach me?”
“The number of messages I’ve left on your voice mail should’ve told you that.”
What’s going on? Why haven’t you responded? That was what she really wanted to know, but he ignored the unspoken question, feigning preoccupation. “So…what’s up?”
Her eyes widened at his lack of an apology or even an explanation. “I’ve just been…missing you. It feels strange to go so long without talking to my best friend.”
Friend. It’d be easier if they were enemies. At least then he wouldn’t feel guilty about wanting another man’s wife. “Yeah, well, you’ve been busy, too. Catching the man who shot you sixteen years ago. Finding the love of your life. Marrying him.”
“Do I detect a bit of jealousy?” she asked.
His breath caught in his throat—until her next words revealed what she really meant.
“You’ll find the love of your life someday. It always happens when you least expect it.”
It had happened to her. She’d gone to Tennessee to uncover the identity of the man who’d shot her when she was in high school and come home engaged to Cain Granger, the brother of the boy who’d been killed in the same incident.
“I’m not in the market for marriage,” he said.
She smiled dreamily. “You would be if you knew how great it was.”
God, was he going to have to sit through a recital of what she’d found with another man?
“I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, I’ve gotta go. Skye needs me.” He crossed to Skye’s office, one of four that branched off the reception area. He could hear her on the phone behind the closed door and was relieved that he’d soon have a distraction. But Sheridan spoke before he could escape.
“We’ve found a log cabin just outside Auburn we’re thinking of buying. It’ll be perfect for Cain. Plenty of room for his dogs. Lots of space. Mountains.”
“That’s good.” Jonathan wished she’d go back in her office and leave him alone.
“Cain and I are driving up there tonight. Would you like to come along so you can see it? We could have dinner afterward.”
He almost laughed out loud. “As much as I’d love to see Cain, I’m afraid I have to pass.”
Ignoring the confusion on her face, he knocked at Skye’s door. She called for him to come in, but he didn’t budge when Sheridan said, “You don’t like him, do you? That’s why you haven’t been returning my calls. Cain and I are a package now, but you won’t accept him.”
Jonathan grimaced. “You don’t need me to accept him, Sher. You don’t need me at all anymore.” Stepping into Skye’s office, he shut the door behind him. “What’s with the cryptic messages?” he demanded as soon as she looked up.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Hello to you, too.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m in a rush.”
“Is it something you can cancel?”
“Cancel?” he repeated in surprise. Skye was usually more respectful of his time, especially since he donated so many pro bono hours.
“I need the best. It has to be you,” she explained, and he realized that what he’d interpreted as being highhanded actually stemmed from panic.
He held out her message and read it again: Something’s come up. Please, please get in touch with me today—Skye. “I guess my other commitments aren’t so pressing that I have to leave right this minute,” he conceded and dropped into one of two bright pink, yellow and orange chairs across from her desk. “What’s wrong?”
She pushed whatever she’d been working on aside and rocked back. “A friend of mine called earlier, someone I met at a victims’ support group after Burke attacked me the first time.”
That was also where she’d met Sheridan and Jasmine, another partner who’d since left Sacramento. “A woman?”
“Yes.”
“Who is she? Do I know her?”
“I don’t see how you could. Her name’s Zoe Duncan. She’s never been involved with the charity. I’d actually lost touch with her until this morning. She saw the ad in the PennySaver a few weeks ago, recognized my name. She said she’d planned to call for social reasons, but that soon changed.”
Skye raked her fingers through her shoulder-length, choppy hair—the result of a recent cut. “Her daughter’s missing.”
He considered that for a moment. “What happened?”
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“How old is the girl?”
“Thirteen.”
“Was she troubled, likely to be a runaway?”
“The age might make you wonder, but she’s a straight-A student.”
“Smart kids run away, too, Skye.”
“Not smart kids who are at home recovering from mono. If she wanted out, she would’ve waited until she felt better. Besides, there were no serious problems at home.”
He ran a finger over his bottom lip. “She was living with her mother, then?”
“Yes.”
“What about her father?”
“He was released from prison about three months ago.”
Jonathan rested his elbows on his knees. “That’s an interesting coincidence. What was he in for?”
“Rape. One count. The woman he attacked was a fifteen-year-old girl. He served thirteen years of a twenty-year sentence.”
An ugly suspicion stole over him. “Don’t tell me…”
“Yes, Zoe was his victim. That’s how she got pregnant with Sam.”
His jaw dropped. “She had the kid?”
“Yep.”
The shock inherent in this information finally enabled him to push his encounter with Sheridan to a corner of his mind. “Holy shit!”
“Exactly.”
“I’m guessing she testified against him.”
“You guessed right.”
“Makes you wonder if this asshole got out, did a little research and swiped the kid for revenge.”
Skye picked up the photograph of her husband and two children prominently displayed on her desk and gazed down at it. “Yes, it does.”
“Does Zoe know he’s loose?” he asked.
“She didn’t mention it to me, so…I doubt it. Like most victims, she’d rather not look back.”
“It’s got to be him.”
“It might be. But if so, I’m hoping he just wants to see his daughter, be part of her life. He’d have to know Zoe wouldn’t be friendly to the idea. Maybe the desire was so strong it forced him to take drastic action.”
“Either way, sounds like a good place to start looking.” He rose to his feet. “I’m assuming the police have already been notified?”
“They have and they’re taking this seriously because of her age, but they’re not completely convinced we’re dealing with an abduction.”
“We just came up with at least two reasons she’s more likely to be a kidnap victim than a runaway.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t tell you that her grandfather isn’t much of a role model, either. He’s been in and out of jail most of Zoe’s life for petty crime and drug charges, but he was all she had so she more or less hung on to him. While he was going through Sam’s belongings this morning, the detective assigned by Rocklin PD came across a letter she’d written to her grandpa last week but hadn’t mailed.”
“And…”
“In it, she talks about how much she hates Anton Lucassi.”
“Who is…”
Skye drew a deep breath. “The man they’re living with. Zoe’s fiancé.”
“Has anyone spoken to the grandfather to see if he has the girl?�
�
“Zoe hasn’t been able to get hold of him. She’s left several messages, but he’s living in L.A., so it’s not as if she can easily drive over and check.”
Jonathan moved to the window and stared out at the parking lot. “What does Zoe have to say about the letter?”
“She claims Sam might not have been enthralled with Lucassi, but they didn’t have a bad relationship.”
“Meaning no abuse.”
“I spelled that out with her. Yes.”
“Have you met him?”
“No. But according to Zoe he’s very nice. He owns a tax-preparation company and treats her better than any of the other jerks she’s hooked up with over the years.”
That didn’t necessarily mean anything. “Does he have a record?”
“Not even a speeding ticket.” She cleared her throat. “So…are you interested in helping out? I’ll pay you as much as you need on this one, Jon.”
He refused the promise of money. He knew it was always in short supply at TLS. Sometimes he helped with the fund-raising that kept their doors open. “I’m fine for now. I’ll let you know when they’re about to repossess my car.”
She smiled for the first time since he’d walked into her office. “That old hunk of junk? No one would bother with it.”
“Hey, it runs,” he said. “My clients might think I’m overcharging if I had a fancy ride.”
“Who would ever believe you overcharge? You hardly even remember to bill.”
“Because I don’t have any clerical support.”
“Because you’re not concerned about money.” She sobered quickly. “So…are you on board for this?”
He adjusted the blinds. “Why not?”
“Thanks, Jonny.” Coming to her feet, she circled the desk to hand him a sticky note. “Here’s the name and last-known whereabouts of the ex-con.”
“Franky Bates,” he read. “Wasn’t the killer in Psycho named Bates?”
She was too preoccupied to respond to his trivia question. “I called Lancaster, where Franky served his time, just to get a feel for what he was like as an inmate.”
