by Brenda Novak
CHAPTER 8
Colin hovered at the window, peeking through the blinds, just as he’d done for much of the previous night. Watching the activity at the Lucassi household proved fascinating, better than anything he could’ve anticipated. Loath to miss a single thing, he’d had trouble making himself go to work today and had hurried home as soon as possible. He’d never been this close before, never been able to witness firsthand the chaos caused by his actions.
Technically, in this instance, they were Tiffany’s actions. But she’d taken Samantha for him, and he wasn’t unhappy about it. He wasn’t even worried about Rover anymore. If Rover had been capable of revealing any damaging details, the cops would’ve knocked on his door already. The only police officer Colin had seen was the investigator who’d stopped by earlier this evening to ask if he’d seen Samantha Duncan.
“What’s going on?” Tiffany asked.
The television blared behind him. Colin spoke over the actors’ voices. “Someone’s over there.”
“Another cop?”
“No.”
“Probably a friend or family member. People have been coming and going all day, bringing food and being supportive.” She smiled as if she shared his enthusiasm for the drama playing out next door, but he knew she didn’t. Fortunately, he didn’t care. She did what he needed her to do. What did it matter whether she liked it or not?
“Any of the neighbors stop over?” he asked.
“A few, why?”
He leaned against the wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of the people inside the Lucassi house. “Zoe moved in a couple months after we did. I didn’t think she knew anyone well enough to have them gather round her. She’s certainly never been very warm with us.”
“She hasn’t been unfriendly.”
“She’s been a cold, aloof bitch, and don’t try to tell me differently. I’ve barely been able to get her to say two words to me the entire time she’s lived there.”
Tiffany seemed torn as to how to respond but ultimately backed off from whatever she’d been tempted to say. “I’m sure the neighbors are sympathetic because of the situation. And Anton’s been living here a lot longer.”
“Who else came by?”
“His pastor, his parents, his secretary.”
He’d expected her to say something like, “A man in a white SUV, a lady in a red Audi.” “How would you know his pastor from his tailor?”
“I could hear Anton talking as he walked people to their cars.”
Straightening, Colin folded his arms. “You were close enough to hear that?”
“I was out front, weeding. I figured since I was home I might as well do some yard work.”
Appearances mattered. The neighbors were less likely to pay attention to them if they kept the place up. But he’d made Tiffany call in sick for a reason. “If I didn’t want the nosy busybodies at that nursing home making a big deal about your lip, what makes you think I want the neighbors to see it?”
Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. She was so powerless against him. It turned him on, made him want to take what she’d offered last night. But ever since he’d learned about Samantha, he’d been too preoccupied to even touch Tiffany.
Later, he promised himself. There was always later. That was the great thing about marrying someone like her, someone overlooked by others, someone whose gratitude for his love made her more loyal than a dog. She’d never leave him, no matter what he did.
“No one saw my face,” she said. “I kept my head down the whole time, didn’t speak to anyone.” She gave a little laugh. “I don’t think they realized I was there. They were too concerned about Samantha.”
Irritation combined with arousal to make his muscles tense. But the activity next door was more exciting than the prospect of a bondage session with his wife, so he let it go. For now. “Who do you think is driving that old Mercedes sitting out front? That piece of shit’s got five hundred thousand miles on it if it’s got ten.”
She went to the window on the other side of the fireplace and peered through the blind. “I’ve never seen that car before. It wasn’t there earlier.”
“The driver’s maybe six-two, around two hundred pounds. Athletic build. Definitely needs a haircut.”
She raised both palms. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
The man he’d just described suddenly walked through the gate, coming from the backyard of Lucassi’s house. “There he is!” Colin whispered, and Tiffany, who’d started to turn away, changed direction.
“Could he be a detective?” she asked, squinting out at him.
Colin made a noise of disgust. “You were here when the investigator showed up last night, Tiff. You know what he looks like.”
“But…there could be others, couldn’t there? Maybe the police put together a task force.”
“Not this fast—especially when they still think she might be a runaway.”
“Shows what they know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She wouldn’t run away from a mother who loves her that much.”
He didn’t react to the wistful note in her voice. Tiffany had never been loved by anyone. Her mother, shot to death five years ago by Tiffany’s brother, had been an even worse bitch than his own mother. His mother used to beat him on a regular basis, but Tiffany’s had ignored her. After seeing that neglect take its toll through all the years they’d gone to school together in Modesto, he’d decided extreme indifference was worse than abuse, at least abuse that stopped short of permanent physical damage. “They don’t know Zoe. And neither do you. My mother made sure no one ever saw my bruises. Maybe Zoe’s the same way. Maybe she’s not nearly as nice as you want to believe.”
“She’s nice,” Tiffany insisted.
The phone rang, but he didn’t move. Tiffany would answer it. She did anything she could to make his life more comfortable. That was the price she paid for being wanted.
“Hello?”
He listened with half an ear while watching the man outside search the ground. Then Lucassi’s guest looked in his direction, and he jumped away from the window. Colin doubted he could be seen; regardless, he wasn’t about to take the chance.
“Colin?” Tiffany said.
He didn’t want to be bothered. “What?”
“Tommy needs to talk to you. He said you never called to tell him what time to come over tonight.”
Torn by his fascination with his neighbor’s guest and the obligation to respond to his friend, he hesitated. Realizing he wouldn’t be able to figure out the identity of the guy next door simply by spying, he walked over to accept the handset. “’Lo?”
“Hey, man, what’s up?”
“Nothin’.”
“We playin’ poker tonight?”
Colin had never revealed any of his pets to his buddies and he wasn’t about to start now. But he was willing to have some fun with Tiffany, maybe even let them have some fun with her. They talked about her hot body, what she’d become since he’d married her, as if they dreamed about her all the time. But if they came over, he’d have to account for her busted lip. And if the drugs they’d given Samantha wore off and she started screaming again, the noise could be difficult to explain.
With all the activity next door, it was too risky. “No, I’m swamped. I had to bring home a shitload of work.”
“You sure you can’t carve out an hour? I rented the best porno you’ve ever seen, man. I know James will get off on it big-time.”
“Not tonight.”
Disappointment filled a short pause, but Tommy tried to cover it. “Okay, no problem.”
“You can come over on Friday,” Colin said. By then things should be safe enough to party. “And I’ll have better entertainment than a damn movie.”
“What’s better than a skin flick?” Tommy said with a laugh.
“Actual skin,” he replied. “You bring pizza and beer, have James bring the rest of that baggie he’s been saving and I’ll provide the fun.”
Tiffany was staring at him when he hung up. He could sense her misgivings, but he didn’t care. She’d enjoy herself. He’d make his friends beg for her, do anything she asked, let her be in charge. By the time it was all over, she’d probably ask if they could do it again.
“What?” he said, challenging her stare.
She ducked her head. “Nothing.”
He went back to the window. He could no longer see the man poking around next door, but the old Mercedes was still at the curb.
Who the hell was this guy? Something about him put Colin on edge. He was younger than the detective Colin had met, and he seemed so…intense. Determined. “There’s no way anyone can trace Sam to our place, is there?” He’d asked before, but he wanted to make sure Tiffany was telling him everything.
“None,” she said. “She came over on her own.”
“Did anyone see her?”
“I don’t think so. But even if someone did, all we have to do is say she left a few minutes after she stopped by. Just because she was here doesn’t mean we did anything to her. We don’t have criminal records or any motivation that they know of. You’re an up-and-coming real estate attorney. I have a respectable job. We have excellent credit. We keep our place clean. They’d need more than a brief sighting of her going in our house to get a search warrant, wouldn’t they?”
She was only repeating what he’d told her in the past, but she was right. They’d need a damn good reason to search his home.
But that guy next door bothered Colin.
“When’s the last time you checked on Sam?” he asked.
“I fed her before you got home.”
He twisted around to arch an eyebrow at her. “What’d you give her?”
She answered so low Colin couldn’t make out the words.
“What did you feed her?” he asked again, letting her know by his tone that she’d better speak more clearly.
Her sheepish expression made her seem almost childlike, especially with that busted lip. “The leftovers from last night.”
He propped his hands on his hips. “My food?”
“You don’t like to eat the same meal two days in a row.”
“But that’s not what she’s supposed to get. This isn’t some damn luxury hotel.”
“I—I didn’t know if I should feed her the same stuff I did Rover or…or if she was going to be a different kind of pet.”
“I like dogs best,” he said.
“So…you want me to feed her the rest of what we have in the garage?”
“Of course. Why waste it?” He went back to the window. It was getting dark. Once the light went on in Lucassi’s kitchen, Colin could see Mr. Lucassi speaking to his guest. Where was the pretty Zoe? “When it’s gone, let me know and I’ll buy another bag,” he added.
Tiffany perched on the edge of the couch. “Okay.”
“She feeling any better?”
“I couldn’t tell. She didn’t say much. When I brought the food, she asked if she could go home. That’s all she ever asks. When I told her no, she rolled over and went to sleep.”
“She didn’t eat?”
“Not a bite.”
“She’ll be sorry for that.” Colin could no longer see anyone in Lucassi’s kitchen. They’d moved to another room, out of range.
Giving up his vigil, he decided to go upstairs and look in on his new pet. Now that his friends weren’t coming over, he’d have some time to train her.
* * *
Samantha’s room was spotless. Her clothes hung in color-coded groups in the closet, with her shoes neatly paired below. The bed was made, her drawers were neat, her jewelry rested inside a wooden jewelry box on the dresser. The only juvenile aspect in this room was the bulletin board that leaned against the dresser mirror. Jonathan guessed Lucassi had refused to let her hang it on the wall. A man so concerned with objects wouldn’t want to hammer an extra hole in the Sheetrock simply to display what he would consider “junk.”
Pausing in front of the bulletin board, Jonathan examined the items he found there: photographs of Samantha with another young girl, Samantha at Disneyland with an older man who had a Sam Elliott mustache, Samantha with her mother. There were pictures of Sam and Zoe with Lucassi, too, but they were positioned so that Lucassi didn’t show. It could’ve been inadvertent, but Jonathan thought it probably wasn’t. Hiding Lucassi’s image revealed Sam’s desire to erase him from her life.
“See? There’s nothing in here.” Lucassi spoke from where he’d taken a seat at the girl’s desk, which held one schoolbook and a sheet of paper with yesterday’s date written above answers to several algebra problems. There were undoubtedly more personal items in the drawers—she had to put her stuff somewhere—but this book was the only item out of place in the whole house. Obviously, Samantha had spent some time studying before going out to the pool.
“Who’s this?” He held up the picture of Sam with the older man.
“That’s her grandpa, Ely Duncan. And if you haven’t figured out from that ridiculous mustache and all those tattoos, he’s not like most grandparents.”
“How’s he different?” Jonathan had heard a little already, but he wanted to see what Lucassi had to say on the subject.
“He’s an old biker, has a record, can’t seem to keep himself out of jail.”
“Does he care about Sam?”
“I don’t think he cares about anyone but himself, or he would’ve given Zoe a better childhood.”
“He cares.”
Zoe stood in the doorway, her face freshly washed, her hair in a ponytail. She was trying to rally. “He’s just—” she searched for words “—too dysfunctional to live life any differently.”
Jonathan brought the picture closer, studying the hard-bitten man who was Zoe’s father. “Where is he now?”
“L.A.”
“If he’s not in jail somewhere else. She hasn’t heard from him since she moved in with me,” Lucassi added.
“He’s not in jail,” Zoe said. “Detective Thomas, who’s been assigned to Sam’s case, has already checked into it. He’s even had someone from the Los Angeles police go by the trailer, but…so far, nothing. No one knows where he’s at.”
Jonathan spoke to Zoe. “How many months has it been since you’ve had contact?”
“About nine.”
“Is that normal?”
She motioned as if to say it was as normal as not. “Communication between us has been spotty for years. But this is longer than usual.” She paused. “We got into an argument last summer.”
“Over…”
“He wanted Sam to stay with him for a week so he could take her to Disneyland.”
“He’s taken her there before, I see.”
She inclined her head. “Once. Two years ago. I was there, too.”
“You refused to let her go again?”
“I refused to let her travel to southern California alone. I didn’t trust him to provide a safe environment. And—” she paused again “—I was starting a new job, so I couldn’t go with her.”
Considering what’d happened to Zoe while she was in the care of this biker dude, keeping Sam home made sense. “Have you notified him about this?”
“I’ve left messages. Several, in fact. I…haven’t received a response.”
“He’s probably lying in an alley, on a drunken binge.”
Jonathan ignored Lucassi. “And this is Sam’s best friend, Marti?” He pointed to another photograph.
“That’s right.”
“Can you give me her parents’ contact information? I’d like to talk to her, with their consent.”
“Of course.” She knew the girl’s address and telephone number by heart. She dictated it to him, and he recorded it in his BlackBerry.
“If it helps, the police have already questioned her,” she said. “She claims Samantha wasn’t acting any differently and that she hadn’t met anyone new, that she would never run away.”
“Have the police
canvased the neighborhood?”
She nodded. “This afternoon.”
“No one saw anything,” Lucassi said. “It’s as if she just…disappeared.”
“The gate was standing open when you found her gone.” Jonathan had asked about that when they were out back.
“That’s right.”
“She didn’t disappear,” he said. “Either she walked away, or she knew her abductor and welcomed him in.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“She wasn’t dragged out of here.”
“She wouldn’t walk away,” Zoe said.
Jonathan agreed. That was what scared him. Sam’s actions weren’t consistent with those of a runaway. There’d been no inciting event. She hadn’t confided in her best friend or packed a single item of clothing. Beyond that, she’d been ill, and had been doing her homework. If she was planning to take off, why would she bother completing her school assignments?
But if she knew and trusted her abductor, the culprit was more likely her derelict grandfather or her mother’s self-righteous boyfriend.
Jonathan pinned his hopes on Ely Duncan. If it was Anton Lucassi, a man who could sit in her room and pretend such concern without a flicker of regret, Sam was already dead.
CHAPTER 9
“So what do you think?” Skye’s voice sounded tinny as it came through the phone.
Jonathan stood in the kitchen of the two-bedroom, two-bath fixer-upper he’d bought off Broadway. The house had potential, but it’d been thirteen months since he’d taken ownership, and he still hadn’t found time to make a single improvement. Because he usually worked while he ate, his kitchen had become more of an office than the spare bedroom, where he had an old desk and all his files. “I don’t think it’s the rapist father.”
“Why not?”
Jonathan’s dog, an Akita named Kino, nudged his hand, demanding attention. The woman next door dog-sat while he worked; Akitas required a lot of social interaction and wasn’t a good breed to leave home alone for long periods of time. But Ronnie, short for Veronica, had to go to San Francisco today, so Kino had been cooped up and was eager to go out.
