by Brenda Novak
“And…”
“He found God while he was in prison.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Most of them do. But the devil’s still their best friend the minute they get out.”
Skye shifted some files so she could sit on the corner of her desk. “Zoe’s beside herself. I really hope we can help before…”
She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Before it’s too late. That was what they always hoped. “I’ll have to talk to her.”
“Of course.” Twisting around to grab her message pad, Skye held it out to him. “I’ve got her address and phone number right here. Why don’t you put it in your database?”
He stored practically every piece of information he came across in the BlackBerry he pulled from the front pocket of his jeans. It was the only possession he prized because it facilitated almost everything he did. He figured he didn’t need a secretary as long as he had his personal digital assistant and a good computer at home.
After recording Zoe’s phone numbers and address, he gave the pad back to Skye. “Okay, I’ll do what I can.”
She followed him to the door. “What will you tell Zoe about the likelihood of finding Sam alive?”
“I hope I don’t have to tell her anything.”
“I avoided a direct answer, but I know she’ll ask you the same question.”
He hesitated with his hand on the knob. “It’s been more than twenty-four hours, Skye. If Samantha was abducted by a stranger—and in this case, I think her rapist father qualifies, despite your optimistic father-daughter-bonding scenario—you and I both know it looks grim. It’s probably over already. But I can promise to go after whoever took her.”
Skye gripped his forearm. “Zoe’s been through so much. I can’t stand the thought of her hearing that.”
“Then I’ll tell her the sooner I get the information I need, the better Sam’s chances will be.”
“Thank you.”
Keeping his head down to avoid another encounter with Sheridan, he walked out of the office. But once he reached his car, he sat behind the wheel, wondering whether he should go back in and apologize. If he couldn’t have Sheridan in a romantic sense, he wished their relationship could be the way it was before she’d gone to Tennessee.
“Yeah, her husband would like that,” he muttered and put the sticky note Skye had given him on his rearview mirror. A young girl’s life could be in danger. It was time to forget his own stupid problems.
CHAPTER 7
A tall, thin woman much younger than he’d expected, and prettier too, answered Jonathan’s knock almost as soon as he’d lifted his hand. Wearing a brown-and-blue sweat suit and fleece-lined slippers but no makeup, she swayed in the opening as if she’d dashed for the door at first sign of a visitor without taking time to find her balance. Obviously she’d hoped to see someone else on her doorstep, presumably someone with her daughter in tow.
“Ms. Duncan?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Jonathan Stivers.” He provided his business card. “Skye Willis from The Last Stand sent me over to talk to you about Sam.”
Before she could speak, a man came up behind her. “Zoe, damn it, what are you doing? You know I would’ve gotten it. You’re supposed to be lying down.”
The dark smudges beneath her eyes—amber-colored eyes that matched the golden brown of her long hair and would’ve been downright stunning if they weren’t so flat and hollow with pain—testified to the fact that she needed rest. But Jonathan knew there wasn’t any point in trying to force her. She couldn’t sleep. She was in the numb aftermath of tragedy—a place where people moved and breathed but had stopped living.
Resisting his efforts to guide her back to wherever she’d been “resting,” she tucked her hair behind her ears and opened the door wider. “Thank God you’re here. Please, come in.”
“Let me handle it,” the man said.
Jonathan wanted to believe this was Zoe Duncan’s father or brother. The age difference should’ve suggested such a relationship. But body language identified Mr. “I’ll Take Over” as the live-in lover Samantha Duncan hadn’t liked: Anton Lucassi.
“Zoe?” Lucassi pressed.
A spark of emotion lit her pale face. “No, Anton! I’ll take care of it.”
Clearly unhappy with this response, Anton shook his head. “You’re going to wind up in the hospital. And then what good will you be to Sam?”
As far as Jonathan was concerned, they could argue later. “You’re…”
“Zoe’s fiancé,” the man said.
Just as he’d suspected. “Great. Mr. Lucassi.” He smiled. “Let’s not worry about a nap right now, okay? We need to focus on the problem at hand. Could you both take a few minutes to sit down with me?”
A muscle twitched in Lucassi’s cheek. He didn’t like being overridden but eventually gave a curt nod and led them into a living room decorated in white and black with several art deco sculptures. It reminded Jonathan more of a high-rent office than a living room.
“Can I get you a drink?” Zoe asked. Her offer was polite, automatic, an attempt at normalcy. But Jonathan could sense how fragile she was. He had the impression her composure might shatter at any moment. And Lucassi wasn’t helping. Although he was clearly doing his best, the friction between them was as apparent as her desperation.
“No, thanks.” Jonathan seated himself on an expensive-looking leather couch. Taking a small recorder from his pocket, he situated it on the glass coffee table in front of him. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Anton said.
Jonathan felt his eyebrows slide up. “Is there a reason?”
Lucassi selected a chair opposite the leather couch. “I’m worried about Sam and what this is doing to Zoe. But everyone knows that in a situation like this, those closest to the girl are always the first to be investigated. I was the last person to talk to her, and found her gone. I’m guessing that I’m going to become a suspect at some point. And that makes me nervous.”
“Did you harm Sam?” Jonathan asked point-blank.
Lucassi rocked back. “Absolutely not!”
“Then relax and let me do my job. I was a cop here in Sacramento for six years before I hung out my own shingle. I’ve been through this a few times, and I’ve learned it’s best to record conversations that could reveal important information so I don’t lose any of it. It also helps to be able to watch the expressions of the people who are speaking, which is difficult to do while I’m writing.”
Anton shifted uncomfortably. “In case they’re lying.”
“Yes. But if you’re not lying, you don’t have to worry.”
“There’s been more than one innocent man sent to prison.”
“I’m not trying to pin this on anyone.” Jonathan held his gaze. “All I care about is finding Samantha.”
Lucassi blinked, then nodded, and Jonathan scooted forward. “I’m here to help you, okay?”
Zoe Duncan perched on the edge of her seat, her back straight, hands folded in her lap. “Don’t listen to Anton. He’s just…we’re both so…frightened and confused.”
“I understand.” What was this beautiful young woman doing with a man like Lucassi? He treats her better than any of the other jerks she’s hooked up with over the years, Skye had said. Considering Lucassi’s condescending manner, those previous relationships must’ve been bad indeed. Jonathan couldn’t have tolerated someone like Lucassi for five minutes. “For the record, could you both state your full names and birthdates?”
“Zoe Elizabeth Duncan. September 13, 1980.”
Nineteen-eighty. That meant she was Jonathan’s age. Briefly, he tried to imagine a girl in his sophomore class as a rape victim, having a baby at fifteen or sixteen—and keeping it. They’d been mere kids at sixteen. To top it all off, Zoe hadn’t had the support system he’d enjoyed. Knowing what he did about her father, he wondered how she’d gotten by in those early years.
But now
wasn’t the time to ask. He turned his attention to Lucassi. “And you, sir?”
“Anton Kenneth Lucassi. November 1, 1965.”
Fifteen years between them. Jonathan would’ve guessed at least that much. “Mr. Lucassi, you mentioned you were the last to talk to Zoe’s daughter, and the first one home. Could you tell me what happened yesterday?”
“I called Sam over lunch to see how she was. She said she was fine and—”
“Wait a second.” Jonathan held up a hand. “Over lunch? Yesterday was Monday. Why wasn’t she in school?”
“She has mono,” Zoe explained. “She’s been out of school for over a week.”
“I see.”
“So both of us have been checking on her quite often,” Anton continued. “But about three hours after I talked to her, Zoe called me at the office, worried because she couldn’t reach her.”
“Where were you?” he asked Zoe.
“Work.”
“This was about three o’clock?”
“That’s right,” Lucassi said. “She asked me to come home and check on her.”
“Which you did.”
“Reluctantly,” he admitted. “I couldn’t imagine that anything bad had happened to her. This is a nice neighborhood, you know? But when I got here—” he shook his head helplessly “—she was gone.”
Jonathan crossed his ankles and leaned back, hoping to encourage Zoe and Lucassi to relax by appearing relaxed himself. “And you, Ms. Duncan? When was the last time you saw your daughter?”
“Before work yesterday. I went in to her bedroom to say goodbye, as I always do.”
“Where do you work?”
She began digging at her thumb cuticle. “I used to work at Tate Commercial, but I don’t anymore. I quit yesterday.”
“When you found out your daughter was missing?”
“No. Before. Sort of,” she corrected. “I couldn’t reach her. I was distraught. My temper got out of hand.”
“I see.” So she was feistier than she seemed in this zombielike state. “Has your daughter ever taken off on her own?”
“No.”
Lucassi made a noise of disagreement. “Zoe, tell him everything.”
She covered her face as if trying to compose herself. But it didn’t make any difference. Tears spilled over her lashes when she dropped her hands. “She got angry when I decided to move in with Anton because it meant we had to give up her dog.”
“She took off running down the street, and we had to chase her in the car,” Lucassi added.
“Where was she going?” Jonathan asked.
“Nowhere.” It was Zoe who answered. “She was…running because she was upset. Any child would be upset over losing her dog.”
“She said she’d rather live on the street than let Peanut go.” Lucassi again.
Zoe wiped her tears. “But once I explained to her what this move meant to us, she eventually calmed down.”
“But she talked about running away again, in a note to her best friend,” Lucassi said.
Skye had mentioned only the letter to the grandfather. “Where did you find this?”
“In her backpack.”
“But you don’t think she was serious.”
Lucassi shrugged. “Who can say? It’s possible. I wasn’t aware of how she felt about me.”
Had he cared enough to notice? “And how did she feel about you?”
“We had Marti Seacrest over last night. That’s her best friend, her only close friend. Sam hasn’t been at this school very long, and at first, she was pouting over the dog so she refused to acclimate. Anyway, when we showed Marti the note, she finally admitted that Samantha was always complaining about how…uptight I am.”
“Do you consider yourself uptight?” Jonathan asked.
“Of course not.” He nudged Zoe’s knee. “Would you say I’m uptight?”
When she stared at him without answering, he frowned. “I’m not uptight. Sam just wasn’t used to having any rules.” He turned to Jonathan and lowered his voice as if confiding a great secret. “They’ve always lived in dumps, so they’ve never had to worry about taking care of personal property.”
“At least she could keep her dog in those dumps,” Zoe said.
“You’re blaming me for the dog? You’re the one who wanted to move in here. You liked the schools, the neighborhood.”
Anger flared in her eyes. “You forced me to choose.”
“And you made the right choice. Her education is more important than keeping a dog in the house, with all that hair and the smell.” He wrinkled his nose. “The dog’s fine, by the way,” he added. “I made sure it went to a good home.”
“I still don’t understand why Peanut couldn’t have lived in the backyard,” she said.
“Because we have landscaping back there. And the damn thing wouldn’t quit barking.”
Jonathan coughed discreetly. “Can we move on?” They fell silent, and he continued. “In what condition did you find the house when you arrived home yesterday, Mr. Lucassi?”
The two exchanged sulky glances but stopped bickering. “No different than it is now,” he said.
As far as Jonathan could tell, there wasn’t so much as an out-of-place magazine or a gum wrapper to disturb the pristine cleanliness. He couldn’t imagine a child living in such a mausoleum; it wasn’t any surprise to him that a dog would be out of the question. But that was none of his business. “Were any of the doors open? Was the shower running, the TV on? Did you notice anything at all? Describe the scene for me.”
Growing more agitated, Lucassi rubbed his hands back and forth on the arms of his chair as he spoke. “The doors were all closed and locked, except the one leading to the pool. She’d been tanning when I called, so I walked outside, expecting her to be asleep on the chaise. Instead I found the iPod we gave her for Christmas, a towel and a book.”
“Any food?”
“Food?”
“A brand of soda you might not have purchased? A Starbucks coffee cup even though Sam hates coffee? Anything like that to indicate she might’ve had a guest?”
“Nothing.”
Nothing wasn’t helpful. Stifling a sigh, Jonathan stood. “Would the two of you walk me through the house?”
Lucassi jumped to his feet, but Zoe said, “I’ll do it.”
Her fiancé might’ve argued with her about that, too, but the phone rang. Glancing at a set of double doors that probably led to a den of some sort, he nodded and went to answer while Zoe took Jonathan out to the pool through the kitchen.
“You have a nice place,” he said as they stepped onto the patio.
“That’s what I thought,” she said. “I saw what Sam never had, what I wanted to give her—the success, the better schools, the safe environment.” She laughed bitterly. “The safe environment,” she repeated on a little sob.
He touched her arm to gain her full attention. “This isn’t your fault. It could’ve happened anywhere.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “But it wasn’t supposed to happen here. That’s why I went along with giving up Peanut.”
“I know,” he said.
She took a deep breath. “Will you level with me?”
A warning prickle traveled down his spine. He knew what she was going to ask and didn’t want to answer that particular question. “I’ll be as honest as I can,” he hedged.
“It’s been over twenty-four hours. What’re our chances? Will we ever find my daughter alive?”
Squinting into the setting sun, he studied the pool area. He needed some detail, some clue. Soon. If Sam had been abducted, her chances dwindled with every passing minute. “That depends on a lot of factors.”
“Like…”
It was his turn to draw a deep breath. “Do you think it’s possible the man who raped you might’ve taken her for revenge?”
What little color she had in her face drained away. “No! He’s in prison.”
Far from eager to dispel that assumption, Jonathan clea
red his throat. “Not anymore.”
She gaped at him for several seconds. “He’s out? Already?”
“It’s been almost thirteen years. That’s actually better than the average.”
She shook her head. “He doesn’t even know about her.”
“Could he have found out? From a friend of your father’s perhaps?”
“No.”
“What about your mother?”
“She’s never been part of my life.”
“How did Franky know you in the first place?”
“He didn’t. Not really. Anyway, I don’t want to go into it. He’s not aware Sam exists, okay? Please don’t mention it again.” She glanced over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “Anton doesn’t know. No one does, except my father, and only because I was fifteen and living with him at the time. Sam thinks her dad died in a car accident before she was born. I—I wouldn’t want her ever to learn the truth. She might assume that—” she broke down, the sentiment she was trying to express too painful “—that maybe I didn’t want her.” Bringing a hand to her chest, she continued to force words through tears. “It might make her doubt…my love…or think she’s…not as good as—” she sniffed, struggling to go on “—other girls…or some craziness like that…you know?”
Jonathan had no idea what made him do it. Probably the rawness of her need. But the next thing he knew, he had her in his arms and couldn’t let go because she was clinging to him and sobbing quietly into his shoulder.
“We’ll find her,” he whispered. “You’ve gotta hang on for her sake.”
It didn’t matter that they’d just met. Empathy made the physical contact seem completely natural—until Lucassi stepped outside.
“Do you comfort all your clients with such tenderness?” he asked.
Jonathan felt Zoe go stiff. When she pulled away, she seemed to stagger, and he wished he could’ve consoled her for a few minutes more. At the same time, he could understand why Lucassi might not like what he’d seen. “Only those who aren’t getting it elsewhere,” he said and strode to the side of the pool.
“Ask for anything you need and stay as long as you’d like,” Zoe said. Then she must’ve gone inside, because when he turned back, Lucassi was standing on the patio alone.
