by Brenda Novak
Finding her seductive expression lacking after the time he’d spent with Zoe, he scowled. “I’m eating. Can’t you see that?”
She ducked her head as if he’d slapped her. “But…you’ve never gone a whole day, let alone two.”
She was feeling neglected. “I’m saving up,” he said.
“For what?”
“I’ve got the boys coming over Friday night.”
“You’re going to—to prostitute me to your friends?” she asked, belting her robe.
“It’s just sex, Tiff. It doesn’t mean anything. I want to show you off. Because I’m so proud of you.”
“But I don’t have any desire to—to be with them.”
“I’m not talking about an affair. I’m talking about a gang-bang party. You’ll be so high you won’t even care.”
She didn’t respond.
“Come on, don’t be a downer. I’ve already promised the guys a treat.”
A pitiful expression claimed her face. “Do I have to do it, Colin?”
With a curse, he knocked the cereal box off the counter, flinging Wheaties all over the floor. “Why are you doing this? Why do you have to ruin it for me?”
She’d covered her head at the outburst. “I only want to make love with you,” she said as she peeked out from between her arms.
“If you won’t show my friends a good time, you’ll never be with me again,” he said. “Now clean up this mess. I gotta shower or I’ll be late for work.”
* * *
“I brought you something.”
Samantha huddled in the corner, watching as Tiffany came into the room, locked the door behind her and slowly advanced. She was holding a tattered blue blanket, the kind someone would throw away or allow a dog to maul and chew. But even an old rag appealed to Sam. She had no idea what the weather was like outside. There was no way to tell without windows. But she was freezing. Tiffany had left her in the urine-stained bikini bottoms, probably as punishment for wetting herself. She’d asked for clothes, but they hadn’t provided anything else for her to wear.
“What day is it?” She was beginning to lose track of time. She spent almost every minute curled up, trying to deal with the cold, her constant hunger and the terrible fear that Anton had already convinced her mother they were better off without her.
“It’s Wednesday. Colin just went to work.”
Sam hated Colin. She didn’t want to hear about him. But it was good to know he was gone. Last night had been so freaky.
“Aren’t you excited?” Tiffany frowned, obviously disappointed by Sam’s response. “Colin told me I could reward you with this if you’ll recite the rules to me.”
Reward her? More pet stuff. If Tiffany was crazy, Colin was even crazier.
Sam hugged her knees to her chest, for warmth as much as cover. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“Colin thought I should give my lip another day to heal,” Tiffany explained with a shrug. “It’s practically healed, don’t you think?”
“I think you should leave him.”
The smile disappeared from Tiffany’s face. “Don’t say that. He’s my husband.”
“I don’t care. He’s not nice to you. He’s not nice to anyone.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. He loves me—he’d walk through fire for me.”
Samantha jutted out her chin. “What about your lip?”
“We bumped heads, that’s all.”
“He told me he’d smash my face like he did yours if I didn’t quit crying.”
Tiffany arranged an errant curl. Her hair was nearly perfect. She had makeup on, too. “You’re a smartass, you know that? Here I am, being good to you, and look how you’re acting.” She tossed the blanket toward the door. “Colin would never allow me to give this to you now.”
Instantly regretting her behavior, Sam tightened the grip she had on her legs. “Wait, I know the rules.” She hated to cave in so quickly. Maybe she wouldn’t have if she’d been fully dressed. But she longed to cover herself almost more than she longed for human food.
Tiffany tilted her head in consideration. “Are you asking me for another chance?”
Samantha remembered how hard it was to get underneath the bulky mattress. What would happen when she got well and Colin was no longer afraid to touch her? “Yes.”
Tiffany’s eyebrows rose in challenge. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Yes, Mistress,” she repeated, but inside she was chanting, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.
“Fine.” Tiffany was smiling again. “Tell them to me.”
Samantha hadn’t eaten any of the pellets Tiffany had poured into the bowl by the door, but she felt like throwing up anyway. “I’m to address him as Master and you as Mistress.”
Tiffany laughed. “I guess I gave that one away. What else?”
Sam stared at the litter box in the corner. “I’m to use that—” she pointed “—for a toilet and clean it myself every other day.”
“And?”
“If I behave, I’ll be rewarded.”
“With what?”
“Regular food. Treats. Better clothes. A chance to see the sun.”
Wrinkling her nose, Tiffany used the toe of her shoe to push the kitty-litter box farther into the corner. “Did he say that? About the sun?”
“He said I’d get to do chores.” But to work she’d have to leave this room, and the other rooms had windows. That was what she focused on—the chance to see the world outside: her street, her house, her mother.
“And if you try to escape?”
“He’ll kill me,” Samantha replied. “If I make any noise, he’ll kill me. If I don’t do exactly what he says, he’ll kill me. If I don’t do what you say, he’ll kill me.”
“Perfect.” With a sigh, Tiffany dragged the blanket over to Samantha, and Samantha scrambled to cover herself with it.
Tiffany studied the food in the dog dish. “You’re not eating.”
Samantha glared up at her. “Would you?”
“You have to eat. At least some of it.”
The feel of the blanket brought such relief Sam wanted to cry, even though she’d already cried so much she didn’t see how there could be any more tears inside her.
“Samantha? I’m talking to you. Do you want me to take that blanket away?”
No! She’d do anything to keep the blanket, anything to stop the cold and provide a barrier against the fear. “N-no, Mistress.”
She was trembling all of a sudden, and she had no idea why.
“Look at you,” Tiffany said, as if the sight sickened her. “You’re going to wet yourself again if you don’t settle down.”
Fresh tears dripped from Sam’s chin. “I c-can’t st-stop.”
A hint of kindness entered Tiffany’s eyes. “I’ll tell you what. If you eat some kibble, just to make yourself start getting used to it, I’ll bring you a sandwich later.”
Was this a trick? Samantha thought it might be but changed her mind when Tiffany spoke again. “If you ever tell Colin I gave you anything but that dog food, you’ll never get another morsel out of me, do you understand?”
Hope flared in Samantha’s chest and the shaking began to subside. Was it possible that Tiffany might become a friend in this hellish place? “I w-won’t tell him,” she said. “I swear.”
“Okay, then. Make me one more promise.”
“What’s that?”
Drawing close, Tiffany lowered her voice. “You won’t resist Colin no matter what he does.”
Samantha twisted her fingers into the torn blanket. “Why not?”
Tiffany’s stare drilled into her. “He’ll kill you,” she said without blinking. “He wasn’t lying about that.”
CHAPTER 11
Jonathan woke with a start. He hadn’t realized he’d nodded off.
Blinking, he scraped a hand over his stubble-covered chin and checked his watch. It was after nine, and he was still at the kitchen table with his laptop, where he’d been sitting
since he’d walked Kino late last night.
“Shit,” he muttered through his fingers.
Kino, who’d been napping at Jonathan’s feet, whined in response and got up, eager for another walk, but Ronnie would have to take him. Jonathan had to find something that might lead him to Zoe Duncan’s father. And he had to do it fast. Time was slipping away….
He’d already spent hours searching various databases, including LexisNexis, for information on Ely Duncan. But everything that came up was so dated he didn’t believe it’d be relevant.
He decided to switch to the phone, to develop a chain of people to follow—someone who’d heard some gossip and was willing to share it or who could point him in the direction of a friend or relative who might tell him more.
Using a crisscross directory, he got the telephone numbers of Ely’s neighbors, but the ones he was able to reach wouldn’t talk to him. They didn’t trust him, even though he told them he was working for Ely’s daughter.
He figured he could continue to call, but he didn’t feel optimistic. These weren’t the kind of people who’d be forthcoming with details about anyone, and it probably didn’t help that the police had already come by. He suspected that Ely’s neighbors had spent a good portion of their lives avoiding school counselors and teachers, then cops and probation officers, possibly even bounty hunters.
He would’ve thought Ely himself had jumped bail. That would certainly explain why his neighbors were so tight-lipped. But Jonathan had checked for an open court case and hadn’t found one.
Yawning, he leaned back in his chair and dialed Zoe’s cell phone.
She answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
He winced at the eagerness in her voice, knew what she was hoping to hear. “It’s me. Jonathan.”
“Do you have anything?”
Nothing on Ely, but in the wee hours of the morning, he’d gone to the trouble of searching for a few details on Franky Bates. He had Franky’s mother’s address in San Diego. Chances were always good a mother could locate her son. He also had proof that Franky had applied for a job at a restaurant in the same city—a job he hadn’t got—and even tried to get a credit card at the local Macy’s. “I’m afraid not.”
He waited a moment, giving her time to deal with the disappointment, then continued. “I pulled up the addresses directly surrounding the one you gave me for your father. I’ve called at least ten of his neighbors. Most don’t answer.”
“Anything before noon is too early.”
They didn’t have the luxury of waiting. “I managed to rouse an R. Butler.”
“R?”
“He told me his first name was Rhett, but he was chuckling when he said it.”
“Rhett Butler. Funny guy.”
“He thought so.” Frustrated by his lack of progress, Jonathan got up and began to pace.
“I take it he wasn’t cooperative.”
She sounded so despondent he hated to tell her any more, but he needed her help. “Not that you’d notice. He told me he’s never met your father. I also spoke to a Tilly Smith and a Heather Hatfield. Any chance you know either of these folks?”
“No. What’d they say?”
“Pretty much the same thing.”
“The people who live at Mount Vernon Mobile Home Park don’t like strangers snooping around. They have too many of their own secrets to guard.”
He paused to gaze out the window over his kitchen sink—and saw a yard that’d gone mostly to weeds. When had that happened? How long had it been since he’d taken time to mow?
With a grimace, he turned away. His neighbors were probably getting impatient, but the lawn would have to wait another few days. “I definitely got that impression.”
“So you can’t find my father.”
Let alone Sam. “I haven’t found him yet. But I won’t give up. I’m going to L.A.”
“You think that’ll make a difference?”
“I do if you’re with me.”
There was a moment of surprised silence. “But I’ve been away from that area for so long. I doubt I know anyone.”
“You’ll have a better chance of getting through to the neighbors than I will, or the police.”
“But the people you spoke to might tell me the same thing. It’s entirely possible they really don’t know my father. The population rises and falls depending on when the cops come through on a drug bust.”
He couldn’t imagine her as a little girl, growing up in all of that. The person she’d become didn’t even hint at such a beginning. Unless you were talking about the distrust that lingered in her eyes, and a tendency to hold the world at arm’s length. How long had she been running from the trailer park? Probably since well before she’d actually left it. Now, here she was, living at the opposite end of the spectrum in a respectable, upper-middle-class neighborhood, a perfect example of minivan, soccer-mom suburbia. “I understand, but I think it’s worth the chance. It’s only an hour’s flight. Let’s hop on a plane, pound a few doors, get folks talking.”
“I can’t leave Sacramento. What if Sam…I mean, she could come home and—”
“You have a cell. Anton can head up the search efforts in your absence. You trust him, don’t you?”
She didn’t answer.
“He’s your fiancé.”
“But we’re talking about my daughter. No one cares about her as much as I do.”
“We’re working against the clock, Zoe. We’ve got to trust him and the police on this end. Meet me at the airport, and we’ll get on the next available flight. This is too important to leave to anyone else.”
“Okay,” she said at length.
“Is there someone, a friend or relative who can help Anton?”
“There’s Colin, I guess.”
“Colin?”
“My neighbor. He’s doing what he can.”
“If they find her, someone will call you.”
“I know. It’s just…it’s so hard for me not to be here.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll turn around immediately if there’s a reason to do so, even if it means I have to rent a car and drive you back. I think we have to visit L.A.” And maybe San Diego. As long as Franky was close and accessible, Jonathan figured he might as well look under that rock and, if possible, determine whether or not Sam’s biological father was involved. He had no plans to take Zoe with him on that little side trip, however, so he saw no need to make the situation any worse for her by mentioning it. “Can you reach the airport in forty-five minutes?”
“I’ll try. Should I pack anything?”
“Bring some clothes. Depending on what we find, and the availability of flights, we may have to stay over.”
“Stay over?”
“Depending on what we find,” he reiterated.
“Hopefully, that won’t be necessary,” she said.
Someone in the background—probably Anton—said, “What’s going on?”
She covered the phone to respond. But Jonathan could still hear. “I’m going to Los Angeles with Skye’s investigator.”
The other voice grew louder and, at that point, Jonathan knew for sure it was Anton. “The man who was hugging you in my backyard?”
* * *
By the time Zoe arrived at the airport, Jonathan had purchased her ticket. He’d called while she was en route to tell her they’d be leaving from the new terminal. He was waiting by the skycaps in front when they pulled to the curb in Anton’s Escalade.
Anton wasn’t pleased that she was going. He’d scarcely said a word the entire ride over and grew even more morose when he saw the man who’d be escorting her. As she got out of the SUV, he came around to hand her the small carry-on bag he’d retrieved from the backseat, his jaw clenched.
She hated that he was making this harder on her than it already was. She wasn’t even sure she was doing the right thing. Sam could be close, and in trouble. But it’d been two days since her daughter disappeared. Maybe Sam wasn’t in Sacramento anymore; she co
uld be anywhere.
Holding a stack of flyers, Zoe scanned the crowd, searching, just in case. She wasn’t thinking coherently anymore; she’d been without sleep for too long.
Jonathan studied her for a moment, wearing a frown. “You look tired,” he said.
She had her hair pulled back and was wearing some makeup, but she hadn’t been able to conceal the dark circles under her eyes.
“Thanks,” she muttered.
He didn’t apologize. “Have you gotten any sleep since Sam went missing?”
Her smile felt so brittle she wondered why she bothered. “I can sleep once we find her.”
Anton gave her a quick hug. “We’ll get through this,” he said tersely, but she got the impression he was trying to convince himself more than her.
His embrace didn’t make her feel any better. It was too mechanical, too strained. And there were so many people. She had to check every face—the businessmen, the tourists, the families and all the children. Especially the children.
“Zoe?” Anton prompted.
She blinked, shifting her attention. “I’ll call you later.” She was acting almost robotic, but a more genuine response required thought and feeling, and she didn’t want to break down. She had to carry on at all costs. For Sam.
He squeezed her arm and left without even speaking to Jonathan. Embarrassed by the all-too-obvious slight, Zoe avoided the private investigator’s gaze by turning to see the people behind her.
“Let’s go,” he said and started off.
She hurried to catch up and, when she did, almost slipped her hand in his. He’d seen devastation before. She’d gathered that from the world-weary mantle he always wore. He wouldn’t rebuff her—because he understood. But it was a strange impulse for an engaged woman to have, especially with a man she’d barely met.
“I hope we’ll be able to locate my dad.” Feeling like a completely different person without Samantha, she moved through the crowd, wheeling her bag behind her. He looked down the line of people waiting to clear security. “We’ll give it our best shot.”
“How did you get my ticket?” Belatedly, she realized that this wasn’t the way air travel worked in the age of terrorism. “Didn’t you need my ID?”
