The Perfect Couple

by Brenda Novak

  He started toward the entrance, and she fell in step with him. “No comment?” she prompted.

  “Who knows what we would’ve done,” he said.

  The man in the SUV was obviously in a hurry. Wearing a silly grin and carrying a bouquet of flowers, he cut in front of them as if he hadn’t even seen them. They stopped abruptly to avoid a collision. “New father,” Zoe murmured.

  Too intent to be distracted, Jonathan ignored the stranger. “So where’d you stay last night?”

  “Near the airport.”

  His phone rang again. He glanced at the number on the caller ID, saw it was Robbie Babcock, the bail bondsman he’d been assisting in tracking down a skip, and silenced it. He’d return the call later.

  “You’re not going to take that?” she said.

  He didn’t answer her question. “Do you have a room for tonight?”

  “Not yet. But I’ll get one.”

  He decided to let her do exactly that. She had too many scars. And so did he.

  They stepped on the sensor that made the automatic doors whoosh open. “Now tell me why we’re here,” she said.

  “I read an article in the paper this morning that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.”

  She faltered, then took two quick steps to catch up with him. “What was the story?”

  He was a little concerned about how she’d react to this news, but he couldn’t shield her. And by marching to Franky Bates’s door, she’d already proven that she was tougher than he might have thought. “There was a fourteen-year-old boy found wandering in the woods near Placerville. He was abducted more than two months ago.”

  She stopped. “He’s alive? I bet his parents are so relieved!”

  He nodded. “But he was naked and badly beaten.”

  Her eyes were riveted on his. “What makes you think he has any connection to Sam?”

  “There’s not a lot,” he admitted. “He turned up the day she went missing. That could easily be a coincidence, but it stood out to me. And because he’s a similar age, and this type of thing is so unusual here in Sac, I called Skye’s husband.”

  “He’s a detective with the Sacramento police, right?”

  “Right. He was nice enough to place a few calls to the sheriff’s department and get us some more information.”

  “You don’t think the same man took Sam.”

  “Not necessarily. Like I said, it’s a long shot but…worth investigating.” And they didn’t have anything else.

  “So what did you learn?”

  He nearly cursed when his phone went off again. Robbie Babcock wasn’t giving up easily. He wanted to get paid for hauling in a man who’d jumped bail for armed robbery. But this time Jonathan turned off his phone. He couldn’t leave it that way for long—it was his conduit to the world—but he needed a few uninterrupted minutes. “The poor kid was in shock and babbling incoherently when they found him,” he told her. “They couldn’t get him to focus long enough to answer a single question, but every word he spoke seemed to revolve around the same theme.”

  She brought a hand to her chest. “What?”

  “Someone he called ‘Master’ treating him like a dog and making him wear a collar that choked him.”

  The color drained from her face. “Where’s he from?”

  “His family lives in Antelope, only he wasn’t taken from the house. He went missing while on his way home from school.”

  She shook her head. “Antelope’s not far from where I live, but I don’t see the connection to Sam. As you said, the fact that he was found the day she went missing might mean nothing. And—”

  Jonathan raised a hand. “I’m not done. The deputy who rode in the ambulance with him kept asking for a name. ‘Who did this to you?’ He was afraid the boy would die and the case would go unsolved. And knowing there was a cruel son of a bitch out there who needed to be caught, he kept pushing.”

  “Did he get a name?”

  “No. Just more babble—until he asked where he could find this ‘Master.’”

  Zoe’s eyes grew round. “And then?”

  “The boy assumed a deep voice and spoke his only complete sentence: ‘Not just any bastard can live in this part of Rocklin.’”

  * * *

  Toby Simpson, the boy Jonathan had told Zoe about, was lying unconscious in intensive care with his parents by his side. After Jonathan had explained why they’d come and received permission, Zoe stepped in for a brief moment, took one look at his bruised and battered body, and all the tubes hooking him up to various machines, and felt her heart break.

  Live, she prayed. Fight back. Help us beat the monster who put you here.

  Tears slipped down her cheeks, but only a few. She was becoming accustomed to the nightmare. The hurt was quickly being replaced by a white-hot anger that transformed itself into raw determination. She would never give up, she promised herself. If the man who’d done this had also taken Sam, she’d spend every dime she could scrape together, every moment of the rest of her life. She’d search until she finally found him—and made him pay.

  Mr. and Mrs. Lyle Simpson, the boys’ parents, stood silent while Zoe gazed down at their son, then they followed her into the hall.

  Zoe felt guilty for disturbing them in their grief. They’d been through so much. The last thing they needed was to have strangers show up at the hospital and bombard them with questions. But she also believed they all had to pull together to put an end to the suffering, to reclaim their children and protect others. She had no idea if her daughter had been taken by the same man, but the fact that both children were connected to an affluent part of Rocklin made it likely. This kind of crime wasn’t common, and Rocklin wasn’t that big.

  “Was he conscious when you got to the hospital?” Jonathan asked the boy’s parents.

  “For a few minutes.” It was a pasty, tired and shell-shocked Mrs. Simpson who answered. The weariness even showed in her voice.

  Jonathan slid his hands into his pockets. “Did he say anything that might help determine who did this to him? A name, a characteristic?”

  “No.” This time Mr. Simpson, a stocky, balding man who was several inches shorter than his wife, provided the answer. “We tried to ask him, but he clung to my hand and—” He choked up and couldn’t finish, so Mrs. Simpson filled in.

  “Started to cry.” She blinked repeatedly, fighting her own tears. “And then he slipped into a coma.”

  A muscle flexed in Jonathan’s cheek, and Zoe knew he was having the same reaction she was. He wanted to put a stop to the man, whoever he was, responsible for inflicting such senseless pain.

  “What do the doctors say?” Zoe asked.

  Mrs. Simpson exchanged a worried glance with her husband. “They’re not making any promises.”

  Jonathan had given Mrs. Simpson his business card when they first arrived. “If something changes, will you contact us? Please?” he asked.

  The woman wiped her eyes and nodded. “I’ve got your number in my purse.”

  “I’m sorry we had to intrude at a time like this,” Zoe whispered and began to move away, but Mrs. Simpson caught her arm.

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “We’ll do whatever we can to help you. Someone needs to stop ‘Master’—in case…in case he hurts another child.”

  Zoe nodded. That child could be hers.

  CHAPTER 20

  “We now know two things we didn’t know before,” Jonathan said as they walked out of the hospital.

  The anger pounding through Zoe was so strong she couldn’t keep her voice level. “What’s that?” She swung open her car door with more force than necessary. “That whoever did this is a sadistic bastard?”

  He seemed to consider her response. “Okay, I guess we know three things. But two of them are good.”

  She dug through her purse, searching for her keys. She wanted to get away from the hospital. Away from the broken boy. Away from the grieving parents who’d made such a deep impression on her.
Because watching them wait and hope was too hard. In two or three months, maybe sooner, she could be them. If she was lucky enough to find her daughter alive.

  “Good?” she echoed. “I guess I missed that part.”

  “Think about it.” Resting one hand on her door, he stood in the opening. Had he been any other acquaintance, it would’ve seemed casual and nonthreatening, but his body penned her in and he was close enough that she immediately got behind the wheel to put some space between them. She didn’t want to feel what she was feeling for Jonathan. Not in the midst of so many other turbulent emotions. As bad as she was at relationships, why ask for more trouble?

  “I don’t want to think about it.”

  “We’ve limited our efforts to the Rocklin area,” he said.

  “If we’re looking for the same man.”

  “We could be.”

  “Even so, it’s not as if the police will start searching houses.”

  “They can’t stop us from knocking on doors. It’s a small geographic area. And whoever took Toby has some privacy because he keeps his victims for a long time, which rules out Anton, Franky and your father, even if other information hadn’t already done so.”

  “We know three people it’s not. That’s supposed to make me happy?”

  “Happy is a relative term. I’m telling you we’re better off today than we were yesterday. The fact that he hangs on to his victims, that he likes to play with them, tells us something about the type of person he is.”

  Frustrated because she couldn’t immediately locate her keys in the jumble of things she’d dumped in her purse, she dropped it in her lap and stared up at him. “That’s not enough. Did you see that boy?”

  His eyes met hers. “He’s alive, Zoe.”

  “Barely. You might not be able to say that tomorrow. I’m willing to bet there were a lot of times over the past few weeks that he wished he was dead.”

  “My point is this abductor had him for more than two months. That’s an extraordinarily long time to keep a victim. Most stranger abductions end in death within the first few hours. I’ll have to check with Jasmine—”

  “Jasmine?”

  “Skye’s former partner. She’s one of the founders of The Last Stand and has become an excellent profiler. She got married not too long ago and moved to Louisiana, but she still does freelance work and consulting. I think she might be able to help us figure out what kind of individual we’re dealing with.”

  “‘Master’ suggests a man.”

  “A sadistic man, as you said. But we need more information.”

  Zoe shrugged despairingly. “We’re not dealing with a man at all. We’re dealing with a devil.”

  “But the particular type of devil he is means there’s hope that Sam’s still alive.”

  Zoe wasn’t feeling much hope at the moment, just a powerful thirst for vengeance. It was the only way to compensate for everything she’d lost, the only way to remain strong and keep fighting.

  Grabbing her purse, she rummaged for her keys again. “I want Sam back. But even if I don’t get her back—” she looked up at him “—I won’t rest until this bastard’s in prison.”

  “We’ll catch him,” he said.

  Her fingers finally encountered her car keys. “The sooner the better.”

  “What are you planning to do today?”

  She put the key in the ignition so she could roll down her window, and he stepped back and closed the door. “I’m going to the media.” She’d been planning to solicit Skye’s help. Now she knew she didn’t need it. The Simpsons’ story provided more fodder for her own. “Then later I’m having dinner at the Bells’. What about you?” she asked.

  “Your former neighbors?”

  “Colin is putting together a search party for Saturday. We’ll be creating the routes.”

  Jonathan turned on his phone and winced at the number of calls he’d missed. He didn’t really have time to take on this case and yet, except for a brief meeting this morning, he’d wiped his schedule clean. Now he was further behind than ever. “I’m heading back to your old neighborhood to ask around some more. Because Sam was home by herself for so many days before she went missing, and wasn’t seen out and about, I think the kidnapper was someone close.”

  “But the police have approached everyone. You’ve already spoken to a lot of my neighbors, too. What good does talking do? Whoever it was won’t simply admit it.”

  “I know it seems like a long shot. But everything is. I’ll explain what happened to the Simpson boy, which will convince anyone who doubted the danger. Maybe they’ll remember some detail they didn’t consider significant before. You have to keep working the mine, Zoe.”

  “The first night I met you, you said Sam probably knew her abductor.”

  “I still believe that.”

  She shivered. “Then he has to be close….”

  Leaning on her window ledge, he bent down to peer into her backseat. “So are you coming over later?”

  She started the engine. “No. I don’t even know where you live.”

  He took out his card, wrote on the back and handed it to her. “There’s a key under the mat if I’m not around.”

  “I’m not coming over,” she said, but when she put his card in her purse, he offered her a knowing grin.

  “The dog’s friendly.”

  “Jonathan, I don’t even know who I am anymore. I can’t get involved with anyone.”

  He straightened and stepped away so she could leave. “I have a spare bed.”

  The question was whether or not she’d use it….

  * * *

  Something was up. Samantha knew it instantly.

  She’d expected Tiffany to be angry after their earlier fight, to follow through on her promise not to be nice. But here she was, with what appeared to be another treat. “Drink this,” she said matter-of-factly and shoved a tall glass at her.

  Sam relieved some of the tension in her collar, but she couldn’t widen it very much. The padlock made that impossible, or she would’ve slipped it over her head and gotten out of it. “What is it?” Was Tiffany going to kill her? Was she going to do it with poison?

  “I don’t have time for this,” Tiffany replied. “It’s better than dog food, okay? That’s all you need to know.”

  Sam took the glass because her stomach was growling too much to refuse it. The drink looked and smelled like a strawberry smoothie. Strawberry was her favorite.

  She dipped her tongue into the cool iciness. Delicious. But after dog food, Raid would probably taste good. “Why’d you make me this?” she asked.

  “It has nothing to do with being friends. After this morning, we’re not friends.”

  Then there was another reason, and Sam could easily guess what that might be. The smoothie wasn’t necessarily poisoned, but there was some type of sleep medication in it. Likely the same stuff Colin had given her before. It was the only other time they’d brought her a drink other than the water in her bowl. It’d made her so tired she couldn’t even lift her arms.

  If they weren’t trying to kill her, they wanted her to sleep. Why?

  Her stomach growled as she eyed the glass. “Are you going out tonight?”

  “That’s none of your freakin’ business, okay? I’m not going to forget how you treated me, you know.”

  Sam wasn’t sorry in the least, but she knew it would be smarter to pretend she was. “I should apologize for that. I—I was upset.”

  Tiffany glanced at the place where Sam’s chain was attached to the ring in the floor. “You want me to let you off that chain, that’s all. Even when it’s not choking you, it’s heavy, huh?”

  “How would you know?” Sam asked.

  Tiffany didn’t answer. “You’re not getting off it.”

  “What if I promise to be nice?”

  She seemed tempted but ultimately shook her head. “I don’t have any choice. Not tonight.”

  “What’s happening tonight?”

  “Woul
dn’t you like to know.” She scowled at Sam’s lack of progress. “Are you going to stare at that all day or drink it?”

  “My stomach’s upset. I’m not sure I can get it down.” She tried to give the glass back, but Tiffany’s scowl deepened.

  “No! You have to get it down.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t you want it?”

  “I want it. I just…I’m sick.”

  “So? Do it! You have to.”

  “But I can’t.”

  “If you don’t, Colin will knock you out some other way,” she warned.

  It was as she’d thought. Someone was coming over, and they didn’t want her to make any noise. “Are you having company?”

  Tiffany stepped closer, looming over her. “Shut up and drink it.”

  “I told you, I’m sick.” And the reeking kitty-litter box was proof. She wasn’t sure how Tiffany could stand it, except that she was more preoccupied than usual.

  “Drink it anyway! Or would you rather I choked you again?”

  Sam was pushing her luck, but she knew this might be her only chance. “C-can you give me a few minutes?”

  Tiffany’s sneer wasn’t pleasant. At least her perfume improved the smell in the room. “I don’t have a few minutes.” She snapped her fingers. “Come on!”

  “I can drink it if you’ll give me some time. Why don’t you do whatever you have to do and come back for the glass later?”

  Tiffany laughed. “So you can dump it? I’m not that dumb.” With a curse, she picked up the chain, obviously determined to force the issue, and Sam began gulping as fast as possible.

  “Oh, so now you’ll cooperate,” she said, her words dripping with sarcasm as she dropped the chain.

  The smoothie felt so good going down that she almost couldn’t endure the thought of throwing it up.

  “There.” Wanting to get rid of Tiffany before her stomach could absorb any of the drug, she handed Tiffany the glass.

  Fortunately, Tiffany was in a hurry and didn’t seem to think twice. She took it and hurried out, and Sam slid over to the kitty-litter box. Although she’d never made herself throw up before, she’d seen a friend do it in the bathroom at school, and it’d seemed pretty easy.