by Harlan Coben
'Hello?'
For the first time since David's disappearance, tears suddenly came to her eyes. Her father's voice was like a time machine. She fell back over the years, wanting to wrap herself in the past, wanting to wrap herself in her father's strong and confident voice where she had always been safe and warm.
'Hello, Dad.'
'Laura? How's everything going over there? How's Australia?'
She did not know how to start. 'It's beautiful. The sun shines all the time.'
'Well, that's great, honey.' His tone grew businesslike. 'Now why don't we cut through all the red tape, okay? What's up?'
That was her father. Enough haggling and small talk. He wanted to get to the bottom line. 'Something's happened to David.'
His voice was as authoritative as always. 'What, Laura? Is he okay?'
She was very close to crying now. 'I don't know.'
'What do you mean you don't know?'
'He's missing.'
There was a long silence that frightened Laura.
'Missing?'
His voice was more full of dread than real surprise, like when you hear your friend who smokes three packs a day has developed lung cancer. Tragic and yet obvious. She waited for him to say more, to request all the details like he usually did, but he remained quiet. Finally she spoke.
'He left me a note that he had gone swimming. That was two days ago.'
'Oh God,' he mumbled. His words formed into a sharp needle that punctured Laura's skin. Gone was the confident voice that was her father's trademark. She could feel him struggling to regain his normal tone, but the sound was hollow, distant. 'Why didn't you call sooner? Have you contacted the police?'
'They're looking for him now. I called T.C. He arrived a few hours ago.'
'I'll catch the next flight. I'll be there -- '
'No, that's okay. There's nothing you can do here.'
'But -- '
'Really, Dad, I'm okay. But please don't tell Mom.'
'What could I tell her? She doesn't even know you're in Australia. Everybody's wondering where you and David are.'
'Just keep the elopement a secret for a little while longer. Is Mom there?'
Dr Ayars froze. 'No.'
'Where is she?'
'She's in Los Angeles for the week,' he lied. 'Laura, are you sure you don't want me to fly out there?'
'No, really, I'll be fine. I'm sure we'll find him soon. He's probably just pulling another stunt.'
Again, there was silence. Laura waited for him to agree with her, to say of course he'll be back, to tell her to stop worrying like a typical wife. But he didn't. Where was his comforting voice of reason? Where was the man who was supposed to be strong for everyone else? Her father, the man who was always calm, always in control, the man who had seen death and suffering on both a professional and personal level for his entire life and had never let it affect his cool exterior, was strangely without words.
'I'll call you as soon as I know something,' she said while a small voice in her head told her that her father didn't need to be informed, that he already knew what the outcome was going to be. But that was silly. She was just overtired and frightened. This whole episode was turning her brain into mush.
'Okay,' Dr James Ayars replied, defeated, crushed.
'Is there something else, Dad?'
'No,' Dr Ayars said mechanically. 'I'm sure everything will work out for the best.'
Laura listened to his words, puzzled. The best? She suddenly felt very cold.
'Is Gloria around?'
'No, your sister's working late again. You should be very proud of her.'
'I am,' Laura replied. 'When's Mom going to be home?'
'A few days. Are you sure you don't want me to fly over?'
'I'm sure. Goodbye, Dad.'
'Goodbye, Laura. If you need anything . . .'
'I'll let you know.'
Laura heard her father replace the receiver.
She tried not to let the conversation bother her. After all, there was nothing specific in his words, nothing concrete her father had said or done that she could truly call troublesome. And yet, the feeling that something was wrong -- very wrong -- lay like a heavy weight in her stomach. She opened her purse, rumbled through its contents, came up empty.
God, why did she ever quit smoking?
Again she glanced out the window, away from the beach and toward the start of the Australian Bush. She remembered once when she and David had decided to slip out of their city-slicker facade and head out into the New England Bush. Growing up in Michigan, David had had some experience with camping out. He enthusiastically billed it as a weekend away from the world. Laura, who had been a content city dweller all of her years, saw it as more of a chance to sleep in the dirt with a lot of bugs.
'You'll love it,' he insisted.
'I'll hate it.'
They drove up to Vermont where they strapped heavy knapsacks onto their backs. They walked through the muggy forest for what seemed like a millennium until, mercifully, they arrived at their secluded camping site. Laura cleaned herself off in the nearby stream, unrolled her sleeping bag, and climbed in.
Then David began to join her.
'What do you think you're doing?' she asked. 'I thought you had your own sleeping bag.'
'I do. But we have to cuddle for warmth.'
'Body heat?'
'Exactly.'
'One problem.'
'Oh?'
'The thermometer reads ninety-five degrees.'
'That warm?'
She nodded.
David thought a moment. 'Then I suggest we sleep au naturel.'
Their lovemaking was fierce, frightening in its intensity, and afterwards, they lay naked in each other's arms.
'Wow!' David managed, finally beginning to catch his breath.
'What?'
'I just love being in touch with nature. I don't know, Laura, these surroundings . . . they make me feel so alive, so one with nature, so . . .'
'Horny?'
'Bingo.'
'I'm becoming a bit of a nature lover myself,' Laura pronounced.
'I noticed. But you have to be more careful.'
'Why?'
'That screaming of yours, woman. You'll scare our furry friends to death.'
'You love it.'
'True.'
'Besides, you were hardly Marcel Marceau.'
'Moi?'
'That was some moose call. I kept waiting for the female to emerge from the bushes.'
'No such luck. I guess you'll have to do.'
'Vicious, David.' She reached into her crumpled jeans and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
David groaned. 'Are you going to smoke those?'
'No. I'm going to feed the animals.'
'Smoky Bear says people start forest fires.'
'I'll be careful.'
'Listen, Laura, I don't mind when you smoke back home -- '
'Bullshit.'
'Okay, bullshit. But out here in the wilds, we have to think of our furry friends.'
'Why do you hate my smoking so much?'
David shrugged. 'Aside from the fact that it's disgusting, terrible for your health and a habit without one redeeming quality, I guess I just don't like french-kissing an ashtray.'
'But I have an oral fixation.'
'I know. It's one of the reasons I love you.'
'Pervert. You should be used to smoke by now. You lived with T.C. for four years. And what about Clip? The two of them are always smoking those stinking cigars.'
'Yeah, but I rarely french-kiss those two. I mean, maybe T.C. every once in a while . . .'
'I suspected as much.'
'Plus T.C. could never survive without his cigars. They're a part of him, a personality appendage, so to speak. And Clip is both seventy years old and my boss. We don't make it a habit of criticizing our boss. Besides, I like it when Clip smokes.'
'Why?'
'The Victory Cigar. It means we're about to win a
game.'
She wrapped her arms around him. 'My cigarette is kind of like a Victory Cigarette.'
'Oh?'
'Clip likes to smoke them after a game. I like to smoke them after an especially powerful org -- '
'Keep it clean, Ayars.'
'Sorry.'
David sat up. 'Do you want to know the real reason I want you to quit?'
She shook her head.
He held her, his hand gently stroking his hair. 'Because I don't want anything bad to happen to you,' he said softly. 'And because I want to be with you forever.'
She looked at him hopefully. 'Do you mean that?'
'I love you, Laura. I love you more than you can ever know.'
Two months later, she had quit. She had not even thought about smoking since -- until now.
A loud knock on the door jarred her back to the present.
'T.C.?'
'Yeah.'
'It's open.'
He came through the doorway, his face drawn. 'Some civilization. No MacDonalds. No Roy Rogers.'
'Anything new?'
Laura watched T.C. shake his head, his movements oddly jittery.
'What is it?' she asked.
'Nothing. I guess I'm just a little tired and hungry.'
'Order some room service.'
'In a little while.'
'Why wait? If you're hungry -- '
The phone rang.
T.C. quickly reached over Laura and grabbed the receiver. 'Hello?'
Laura tried to read his expression, but T.C. turned away, his face hunched over the receiver like a bookie at a pay phone. Minutes passed before T.C. finally said, 'Right. I'm on my way.'
'What's going on?'
'I'll be back in a little while, Laura.'
'Where are you going? Who was that on the phone?'
He started toward the door. 'Just a potential lead. I'll call you if it turns into anything.'
'I'm going with you.'
'No, I need you here. Someone else might call.'
She grabbed her purse. 'The receptionist can take a message.'
'Not good enough.'
'What do you mean? I can't do any good here.'
'And you certainly can't do anything but get in my way out there. Look, Laura, I want to get all the facts. I don't want to have to worry about coddling -- '
'Coddling?' she interrupted. 'That's a lot of bullshit, T.C., and you know it.'
'Will you let me finish? One of these Crocodile Dundees sees the new bride and clams up or softens his words.'
'Then I'll stay in the car.'
'Just listen to me a second. I'm expecting an important call in a little while and I need you here to answer it. I'll call you as soon as I know something. I promise.'
'But -- '
He shook his head and hurried out the door. Laura did not chase him. In Boston, she would never have tolerated such brusque and patronizing treatment by any man or woman. But this was not Boston. T.C. was David's closest, most trusted friend. If anyone could bring him back safely, T.C. was the man.
On the other end of the line, the caller listened to T.C. hang up and then waited. The dial tone blared its monotonous trumpet of noise but still the caller stood mesmerized and did not replace the receiver.
It had been done. T.C. had been notified. Everything was moving forward. There was no turning back.
When the phone was finally hung up, the caller fell onto the bed and started to cry.
Laura sat alone in the hotel room, her mind hazy and confused. The phone did not ring. No one knocked on the door. Time trudged forward at an uneven, unhurried pace. She began to feel more and more isolated from the world, from reality, from David.
Her eyes skittered around the one-time beautiful suite, finally resting on an object they found soothing, familiar, comfortable. A pair of David's size twelve-and-a-half green hi-top sneakers, extra sturdy in the ankle since he had broken his right one while in college, lay sprawled on the carpet. One was tilted over like a capsized canoe; the other stood upright, perpendicular to its partner.
She could clearly make out the Svengali label on the right sneaker. On the left, the label was blocked by a sweat sock. Her eyes swerved and found the other sock about a yard away, twisted on the carpet like a man sleeping in a fetal position. David was not the neatest man she had ever met. He used chairs and doorknobs for hangers. The carpet made a perfect bureau for sweat-shirts and pants, while the bathroom floor tiles served as an underwear, sock and pajama drawers. His personal appearance was compulsively clean, but his apartment looked more like a fire hazard than a human dwelling.
'It's homey,' he would argue.
'It's messy,' she'd insist.
Once again, a knock made the images of the past flee from her mind.
Laura glanced at her watch and saw that T.C. had been gone for almost two hours. She could hear the wild birds of the Australia coast cawing outside her window, the sun still potent despite the hour.
'Who is it?' she called out, although she knew it was T.C.
'It's me.'
T.C.'s voice made her stomach churn painfully. She stood and walked mechanically toward the door. She passed a mirror, caught her reflection in the corner of her eye, and realized she was wearing one of David's button-down shirts with her Svengali jeans. She wore his clothes all the time, his Celtics practice sweatshirt on cold Boston nights, his pajama tops as a nightshirt. Odd for a woman who ran a fashion empire. She shook the thought out of her head, puzzled by how her brain could focus on something so inane at a moment like this.
She had another second to wonder if her thoughts were a defense mechanism, blocking out the grim reality, and then she swung open the door.
Her gaze instantly locked onto T.C.'s, but he looked away as if scalded by her eyes. His vision sought the floor to escape her onslaught of hope. T.C.'s face was now completely covered with patches of stubble.
'What is it?' Laura asked.
T.C. did not step forward. He did not speak. He just stood in front of her without movement, trying to sum up some inner strength. With great effort he raised his head, his soulful eyes hesitantly meeting Laura's expectant ones.
Still no words were spoken. Laura stared at him, tears swelling in her eyes.
'T.C.?' she asked, her face bewildered.
T.C. raised his hand into her line of vision. Her look of bewilderment crumbled into one of sheer anguish.
'Oh God, no,' she cried. 'Please no.'
T.C. held David's multicolored swimming trunks and clashing green Celtics shirt.
They were both shredded.
Chapter 3
Gloria Ayars closed her briefcase, turned out the lights, and headed down the empty hallway. The company's other executives had gone home hours ago. But that was okay. They had all paid their dues already. Gloria had not.
She glanced at her watch. The digital numbers read 11:12 p.m.
'Good night, Miss Ayars,' the security guard called to her.
'Good night, Frank.'
'You've really been burning the midnight oil, huh?'
She smiled brightly. 'Sure have.'
Gloria walked toward her car. She shook her head, the smile still toying with the corners of her lips. It was still so hard to believe. Gloria had heard the whispers before Laura left on her trip (honeymoon, actually, but that was a secret). Don't do it, her cohorts had warned her. You'll ruin your business. But Laura had ignored them and taken the risk. A big risk. She had decided to leave Svengali in Gloria's hands during her absence -- a move that had stunned even Gloria. Has Laura gone crazy, Gloria had wondered, leaving the controls of a multi-million dollar company in the hands of someone like me?
But now Gloria knew that the answer was no. Laura's confidence had been well placed.
As she continued to stroll down the sidewalk, men in passing cars slowed down to whistle or at the very least, roam her body with their eyes. Gloria was used to the ogles of men. She was by no means as beautiful as her sister, but Glor
ia was still capable of making any man's blood race. There was an innocence about her looks, a gentleness to a world that had constantly punched and abused her. Worse still, all that sweet innocence lay locked in a body that could only be defined as a Marilyn Monroe-type sexual dynamo, a body that was all voluptuous curves, a body that, no matter what she wore, screamed rather than hinted sensuality.
She hopped into her car, adjusted the rear-view mirror and glanced at her reflection. She smiled again, wondering if she was really looking at the same Gloria Ayars who until very recently had been a heroin addict, a cocaine-snorter, a pothead, and an easy lay for any man who had wanted to exploit her. Hard to believe that it was not so long ago that she was jamming needles into her veins and on the verge of making porno films.
As she drove home, Gloria silently thanked Laura for the millionth time for saving her. If it had not been for her younger sister, Gloria would almost certainly be dead by now. Dead or worse. She pushed the thought from her mind and pulled into the Ayars' driveway. She parked her car next to her father's and took out her house key. A minute later, she was in the front foyer.
Not so long ago, Gloria would not have been welcome here. There was a time when her father's face would turn red with rage at just the mention of her name, a time when she would have been thrown out of the house in which she'd been raised.
And she would have deserved it.
She put down her briefcase in the darkened hallway, took off her coat and put them both in the hall closet.
'Dad?' she called out. There was no answer. She began to walk toward his study. He never went upstairs before midnight; plus, her mother was away in Los Angeles for the week, so lately he had been working even later than normal.
The door to the study was open, the desk lamp illuminating the nearby hallway. She walked into the study and quickly scanned the room. Her father was not there. She turned out the lamp and moved toward the stairs.
