False Step

by Victoria Helen Stone

  As a woman, she’d been taught by the world that she couldn’t have it all no matter how hard she tried. And she’d finally come to believe it. So she kept her life in little compartments. Everything in its place. At least until Micah had mixed her world up tonight.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the faint rumble of male voices in the other room. It was less a sound than a steady vibration. A low roll that barely managed to penetrate the walls that hid her.

  She should take another quick shower. Instead she stayed sprawled on the icy tile and smiled. Maybe Micah’s feelings for her weren’t fading after all. Maybe the passion would keep them going another year. Two years. However long she needed it.

  “Please,” she whispered to whatever god of infidelity might be listening.

  When her neck began to ache, she stretched hard and forced herself to stand and get back into the shower. She cleaned up quickly, then dried with her damp towel before rubbing lotion into her skin with a secret smile.

  Was Micah gone now or was he lingering? It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going back out to the living room, not with those assholes there. She wanted to stay hidden and secret. Alone with the blur of what had just happened, the feel of him still on her skin.

  But she loved the thought of Micah on the couch, ears straining for the sound of her coming down the hall as his mind flashed with images of what they’d just done.

  She loved having secrets. She loved that no one in her life knew everything about her. She was a puzzle, and only she had all the pieces.

  The bedroom felt cool and crisp, a different ecosystem from the humid pool of the bathroom, and a little of her dreaminess faded as she finally slipped on the T-shirt she’d dropped on the bed.

  When her head popped through the fabric, an unexpected square of light caught her gaze: her phone screen glowing on the dresser when it should have been asleep. She leaned closer to read the alert. She’d missed a call while in the bathroom, but whoever it was had just wrapped up a message. Not a number she recognized, so she had no idea what to expect when she played it, but as the words tumbled into her ear, she realized she never could have braced herself for this.

  Veronica’s legs, still a little weak from the latest illicit activity, gave out and dropped her onto the mattress with a whoosh.

  Maybe her secrets wouldn’t stay secret for much longer.

  CHAPTER 9

  “At your convenience,” the woman on the voice mail had said. But not quite at her convenience. “Before ten a.m. would be great.”

  And so Veronica was walking into a police station for the very first time in her life at eight thirty in the morning. Another secret. She didn’t even know why she was keeping this one. Why she hadn’t told Johnny.

  Still, it was only a quick stop before work; no big deal. Except it must be a big deal, because she could smell her own panicked sweat as a slim African-American woman strode forward with her hand outstretched.

  “Hi, I’m Detective Reed. It’s great to meet you.” She said it so casually. As if they were friends. But then she added, “Thank you for coming in. We’d like to establish all the facts up front so no one has any questions later.”

  Her tone was cool and she kept her expression very blank and careful. It was the exact same sentence she’d said when Veronica had returned her call the night before. It seemed to be a reasonable explanation. She shouldn’t be feeling so afraid. Should she?

  Veronica followed the detective to her cubicle, then waited for her to begin, studying her broad brown face, her high cheekbones, the short natural curls tipped with auburn. Her straight spine and set shoulders gave a promise that she could see through crap to the dirty truth beneath. Veronica desperately wanted to keep all of her dirtiness deeply buried.

  Unable to stand the silence a moment longer, Veronica cleared her throat. “I’ll answer any questions I can,” she said. “But of course I wasn’t there. When he found the little boy.”

  “Right.” Reed picked up a pen. “Where were you, exactly?”

  “I was working. Someone posted the video online, I guess. The video of Johnny carrying him. One of my coworkers recognized my husband and played it for me. I tried to call him right away, but I think he was busy talking to you. I mean the police. Not you personally, probably. Or maybe. I’m not really sure . . . ,” she trailed off, worried that even the simplest question was sending her scrambling for the right words.

  Detective Reed wrote in tight blue script on a notebook for a few moments before looking up.

  “Did he call you back?”

  “Johnny? Yes. He called back later to tell me he’d found him.”

  “‘Him’?”

  “Tanner Holcomb.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “Just . . . just that he was hiking near Kittredge. He mentioned a trailhead. I can’t remember the name. He said he was hiking and Old Man—that’s our dog—Old Man started going crazy. That’s how Johnny found the boy.”

  “On the trail?”

  “Yes. Or not exactly. Not on the trail. Off the trail somewhere, I think. He said he’d never have found him if Old Man hadn’t started barking. He had to walk down into a little gully, maybe?”

  Detective Reed kept writing.

  Veronica clenched and unclenched her hands. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine,” Reed responded, still writing.

  “Is this normal? These kinds of questions? Because he found that boy in the woods and that’s a good thing, and it feels like . . .”

  Reed looked up, her eyes sharp as onyx, but deep and liquid. Endless pools. “Feels like what?”

  Veronica shifted. She swallowed. She felt glad she wasn’t a criminal, because this woman would immediately intimidate a confession out of her. But what Veronica was hiding wasn’t a crime, so she forced her body to still and made her eyes meet the other woman’s gaze as steadily as she could. “It feels like you’re spending a lot of time asking questions about a happy accident.”

  “That’s our job.”

  “Okay, but . . .” But you’re supposed to investigate crimes. That was what she wanted to say. You’re supposed to investigate crimes, and this was just a lost child who was found. But she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything, because she was too anxious and paranoid about her own sins.

  Reed nodded as if they’d reached an agreement. “What can you tell me about Friday? The day the boy disappeared.”

  “Friday?” She shrugged. “It was a normal day. I work half days every other Friday, and that was one of those days, actually. I get off early and then I work a few hours on Saturday with the new intakes—”

  “So you were home when on Friday?”

  “In the afternoon. I came home before noon, and Johnny made lunch. Then he picked up Sydney at school.”

  “What time?”

  “Three.”

  She wrote for quite a while before nodding. “Tell me, were you following the story on the news?” she asked.

  “On Friday?”

  “Last week in general.”

  “Not closely, but sure. I saw it all over local news feeds. Not on TV, I mean. I can’t remember the last time we watched the ten o’clock news. Well, we watched it after all this happened . . .” She felt herself babbling and couldn’t stop it. It felt like she was about to blurt out the truth about Micah at any moment, unprompted.

  “So you and your husband were following the story?”

  “Yes. I mean, I don’t know. I’m sure we mentioned it to each other at some point.”

  “What did he say about it?”

  “About Tanner?”

  “Yes.”

  Veronica shrugged. “I can’t remember. We talked about how awful it was, I think. We’ve hiked all over the foothills. We used to take Sydney along in a pack when she was little. When she got older, we talked to her about what to do if she ever got lost or . . .” Her words trailed off under Detective Reed’s steady gaze. “I remember now. I said, ‘I
hope they told that little guy to stay put if he got lost.’ But he was only three. That’s so young.”

  “Did your husband help with the search?”

  “No.”

  “You said he was familiar with the area. But he didn’t offer to help in the search?”

  Veronica felt her face snap to a frown despite her efforts to remain serene. “I don’t know that he’s familiar with the area. I mean, I don’t know. He hikes a lot.”

  “But he didn’t join the search.”

  “Johnny works most weekends and he doesn’t get sick days. He’s paid by the appointment. On school days he has to be home by three to pick up our daughter.”

  “But on Tuesday he was free. He was hiking right there.”

  “Sure. I guess.”

  “He said he’s hiked the Kittredge area a lot.”

  Veronica paused. What did a lot mean? As far as she knew, he hadn’t been there for years, but they’d gone once or twice when Sydney was younger. She finally settled on “I can’t really say where he hikes when he’s on his own.”

  “So you’ve never been there together?”

  “No, I’ve been there.”

  “Often?”

  “No.”

  Detective Reed jotted down another note.

  “These seem like strange questions . . . ,” Veronica tried again.

  “Sometimes people try to insert themselves into a case. These are standard inquiries after an incident like this.”

  “Oh. I see. He definitely didn’t try to insert himself. We hardly talked about it. And no, he didn’t volunteer to search. I don’t know why. He gets a little distracted this time of year because it’s his slow season. He worries.”

  “About money?”

  “Yes.”

  “So he’s been acting worried lately? Stressed?”

  “I don’t . . . I mean, yes, he’s been stressed, but just the normal amount.” But had it been the normal amount? He’d been grumpy because money was tight. A little snippy, sure. But nothing worth even starting a fight over.

  The detective began writing again and her left hand spread out a little on the desk. Veronica noticed she was wearing a wedding ring. Did she have kids? Or was she too dedicated to this job to carve out time for a family? Veronica squirmed again, not sure why. When she noticed her own shifting, she took a deep breath and forced her body to stillness. Looking up, she found Reed watching closely.

  “I hope I’ve been able to help,” Veronica offered, trying to prompt an ending.

  “He’s done quite a few news interviews.”

  Her throat clenched. Her stomach burned. Yes, Johnny would keep himself in the press as long as possible. She nodded. Then shook her head. “Maybe. I don’t know. They wouldn’t leave him alone. Reporters were camped outside our house.”

  “Yeah. They like to do that.”

  “I had to sneak out the back door to get my daughter from school.”

  “You said your husband normally picks her up?”

  “Yes. He said he was still answering police questions. I left work early. Everything was crazy.”

  Reed nodded and her cutting eyes finally softened a little before drifting down to her notes. “What time did he get home the day he found Tanner?”

  The burning rose to her throat. Acid from her stomach, eating away at soft linings. Another nonsensical biological response. What purpose could this possibly serve in stressful situations? A reminder that things that were bad could always get worse? “On Tuesday? I think he came home around four thirty. It wasn’t late.”

  The detective made another note. “Any strange behavior?”

  This time what rose up in her throat was a wild bark of laughter. She slapped her fingers to her own mouth in shock. Reed’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Sorry. I just . . . It was a very weird day for all of us. Obviously. So everything was strange. But no, there was nothing in particular. Johnny was excited and relieved and happy. That was all.”

  “And in the days before?”

  Her body could sustain tension for only so long, and it was beginning to evaporate, leaving a gritty coating of anger in its wake. Johnny had been stressed. Most people were stressed about something. “Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Everything was normal ‘in the days before.’ My husband found a little boy in the woods and helped him. The media mobbed us afterward. That’s it. What the heck do you want from us?”

  The detective only nodded again, her lips pressed tight together in something that wasn’t a grimace or a smile. It was more like . . . cynicism.

  Veronica felt immediately guilty. This woman dealt with horrible crap all day, every day. That was her job. She probably felt more stress on her best day than Veronica had felt in all of this week.

  “I’m sorry,” she offered.

  Detective Reed held up a hand. “I get it. I think we’re done here. But if you think of anything you forgot to mention, give me a call, all right?”

  “Sure,” Veronica said in a voice that wasn’t sure at all. What could she have possibly forgotten? There hadn’t been much to remember in the first place, but she took the card Reed offered. “Thanks.”

  She rose, and Reed stayed at her desk, turning to her computer. She started typing before Veronica even walked away. She’d been dismissed.

  But not quite. “Oh, Mrs. Bradley?” Reed called when Veronica was only three steps toward freedom.

  “Yes?”

  “Who were you with when the child was found?”

  “I was at work. I was with a client.”

  “Can I get her name, please?”

  By the time Veronica walked out of the station, she was sweating again. Not a healthy kind of perspiration, but the pungent sweat of fear that chilled your whole body into shivers, because you hadn’t been warm enough to need cooling in the first place.

  Fear of what, though? Something felt so strange, but nothing she could put her finger on. Her own guilt was stirring up paranoia.

  But why hadn’t she told Johnny about the call from the detective?

  When she reached her car, she got in and sat there, keys in her hand. Her first appointment at the care center began in fifteen minutes. She needed to get on the road. But she didn’t move.

  Last night she’d frozen up. She’d stood in the hallway and listened to Johnny and his friends, their laughter and the low words she couldn’t quite make out. If they hadn’t been there, she would have marched right out and told Johnny about the detective. But she’d felt too vulnerable to walk into that den of artificially enhanced testosterone. Or too resentful of their presence. Which was it?

  Johnny had agreed that he wouldn’t invite Trey over anymore. The guy had given Veronica a bad vibe from day one. He and his friends treated women like crap and bragged about it constantly. She suspected having the last name Swallow had scarred Trey and he’d spent his whole life overcompensating for the homophobia that had been bullied into him.

  She’d disliked Trey from the moment she’d met him. She’d made her irritation clear every time he dropped by the house or invited Johnny out for a drink. But when she discovered Trey was dealing steroids at the gym, she’d put her foot down. Not hard enough, apparently. He was back. Because Johnny was back in his prime. He felt powerful and triumphant. He was the man of the house again, and he could invite whomever he wanted into his castle.

  So last night she’d stood there and let resentment build in her, and she’d decided Johnny didn’t deserve to know what was going on in her life. But now, in the bright light of day, should she tell him?

  She should. If only to let him know that the detective was still checking up on him.

  After taking a deep breath, she touched his name on her phone and let it ring. And ring and ring. He was with a client. Or a journalist. Or the police. Or maybe a woman. She cleared her throat and left a message.

  “Hey. The cops wanted to talk to me. Detective Reed? Maybe you know her? So they asked me to come in and answer some questions about when I heard from
you on Tuesday and if we were following the case. I don’t know. It was weird. I dropped in on my way to work. Everything went fine, I think. I guess some people get involved in these kinds of things for attention. I’m not sure. Anyway, I’m on my way to my first appointment.”

  Once she ended the call, there was nothing to do but drive to work. She put on music to distract herself, loud music that reminded her of dancing in clubs during college. Before she’d met Johnny, but after too. She’d been an introvert, but she’d had good friends. Friends who’d dragged her out of the house for a night of fun once or twice or three times a week.

  Johnny had loved going out with her and her friends. She’d never met a man like that. Someone who liked her friends as much as she did. He’d been so much fun. Everyone had adored him.

  It had felt damn special to be chosen by Johnny Bradley. After all, she hadn’t been a sorority girl or a homecoming queen or anything more than a slightly nerdy student who had to be talked into putting down her textbooks for a night on the town. Johnny had liked that she was smart and “low-key.” That was what he’d called her. Low-key.

  She’d liked that he was . . . well, Johnny.

  She knew she was the one who’d changed since then. Johnny was the same as he’d always been.

  She’d isolated herself. She’d become smaller to make room for his presence. She’d given up her friends. It had been her own doing.

  She’d told herself it was because she’d become a mom just when her friends were starting careers and moving away. They were still single and dating, and she was caring for a baby. Of course they’d grown apart.

  But that had only been the beginning of it. Because then Johnny had screwed up. That’s what he’d called it. “Screwing up.” But he’d really screwed in, right into a little redhead he’d met at the gym. That was when women had become competition instead of allies. And now Veronica was just . . . lonely.

  She indulged in one of her frequent fantasies about how happy they would be apart. They’d both date other people. They’d be civil and polite and supportive of Sydney. He’d have to get a roommate to afford a decent place, but he wouldn’t mind that much. He liked being around people. She could see Micah even if it never got more serious.