Breathing Room

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Go!”

  “You’ve got it! As soon as I say good-bye to the kids, I’m out of here.” He kicked aside the laptop case and stalked away.

  Tracy dropped into the chair and began to cry. She’d finally done it. She’d finally driven him off for good.

  “Tell me, Tracy. What can I do to make you happy?”

  For a moment she wondered if Isabel had gotten to him, too. But no, his question had been a whiplash. Still, she wished she’d told him the truth.

  Love me, Harry. Just love me like you used to.

  Harry found his oldest son and youngest daughter in front of the villa. As he pulled Brittany down from one of the statues Jeremy had dared her to climb, he realized he was sweating underneath his shirt. He couldn’t let his children see his despair, and he forced a smile. “Where’s Steffie?”

  “Dunno,” Jeremy said.

  “Sit down, guys. I have something to tell you.”

  “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” Jeremy’s bright blue eyes, exactly the same color as his mother’s, regarded him accusingly. “You’re going back to Zurich, and you and Mom are getting a divorce.”

  “We’re not getting a divorce.” But that was the next logical step, and Harry’s chest hurt so much he could barely breathe. “I need to get back to work, that’s all.”

  Jeremy looked at him as if Harry had shot out the sun.

  “It’s no big deal. Really.” Harry hugged them both and drew them down onto one of the benches, where he said all the right things, except he couldn’t tell them when he’d see them next or whether it would be here or in Zurich. He couldn’t plan, couldn’t think. He hadn’t slept well in months. The past two nights, with the kids curled against him, he’d been able to sleep a little, but it hadn’t been that deep, peaceful state he could fall into when Tracy threw her arms over his chest and his dreams held the sweet, exotic scent of her wild black hair.

  “I’ll be seeing you again before you know it.”

  “When?” Jeremy had always been more like Tracy than Harry. His oldest son had a tough exterior, but beneath that he was emotional and very sensitive. What would this do to him?

  “I’ll call you every day,” Harry said, giving him the best answer he could.

  Brittany stuck her thumb in her mouth and kicked off her shoes. “I don’t want you to go.”

  Thank God Connor was still asleep. Harry couldn’t have borne the feeling of those trusting little arms wrapped around his neck, those sticky kisses plastering his jaw. All that unconditional love from the son he hadn’t wanted. How could he expect Tracy to forgive him for that when he hadn’t forgiven himself? And the new pregnancy had stirred it all up again.

  He knew he’d love this baby once it was born. Damn it, Tracy understood him well enough to know that, too. But he hated the fact that only more children could make her complete. Never just him.

  He needed to find Steffie, but he dreaded breaking the news to her. She was a natural worrier like him. While the other children clamored for his attention, she held back, a little pucker of concern on her forehead, as if she weren’t sure she deserved her place with the rest of them. Sometimes she broke his heart. He wished he knew how to toughen her up.

  Jeremy started kicking the bench. Brittany pulled on her sundress. He couldn’t think about what he was doing to either of them right now. “Go look for Steffie, will you? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  He gave them a reassuring smile and set off for the farmhouse and Tracy’s ex-husband. He should have done this two days ago, but the son of a bitch had been elusive.

  Ren stood by the farmhouse door and watched Harry Briggs coming toward him. The rain had cooled the air, and Ren had been about to go for a run, but it seemed that would have to wait.

  He’d always had a secret admiration for guys like Briggs, mathematical whizzes with high-powered brains and low-key emotions. Men who didn’t have to spend their workday digging into their internal cesspools looking for memories and emotions they could draw on to help them convince an audience they were capable of murder. Or of molesting a child.

  Ren pushed the thought aside. He’d simply have to find another way to look at it. This evening he’d sit down with his notebook and get to work.

  He met Harry next to Isabel’s Panda. Harry wore a pin-striped shirt, slacks with a knife-edge pleat, and polished loafers, but there was a smudge on his glasses that looked like a tiny thumbprint. Ren slouched like a badass against the side of the Panda just to irritate him. Since Briggs had made Tracy miserable, he didn’t deserve anything better, the cheating bastard.

  “I’m going back to Zurich,” Briggs said stonily. “But before I leave, I’m warning you to watch yourself. Tracy’s vulnerable right now, and I don’t want you doing anything to upset her.”

  “Why don’t I just leave that up to you?”

  The cords in Briggs’s neck tightened. “I mean it, Gage. If you try to manipulate her in any way, you’ll regret it.”

  “You’re boring me, Briggs. If you cared so much, you wouldn’t have screwed around on her, now, would you?”

  Not even a flicker of guilt crossed his face, which seemed odd for an uptight guy like Briggs. Ren remembered that Isabel had reservations about Tracy’s story, and decided to poke around a little. “Funny, isn’t it, that she came running to me when she started to hurt? And you know what else is funny? I might have been a shitty husband, but I stayed away from other women when we were married.” Pretty much anyway.

  Harry began to respond, but whatever he’d been about to say got lost as Jeremy shouted from the top of the hill. “Dad, we’ve looked everywhere, and nobody can find Steffie.”

  Harry’s head shot up. “Did anybody check the pool?”

  “Mom’s there now. She said to come right away!”

  Briggs started to run.

  Ren took off after him.

  16

  Steffie wasn’t in the pool or hiding in the gardens. They fanned out to search every room of the house, including the attic and the wine cellar, but she wasn’t anywhere. Harry’s complexion took on an ashen hue as Ren made the call to the local police.

  “I’ll take the car and look along the road,” Harry said after Ren had hung up. “Jeremy, I need another set of eyes. You come with me.”

  “I’ll search the grove and the vineyard,” Ren said. “Isabel, maybe Steffie’s hiding in the farmhouse. Why don’t you check that out? Tracy, you have to stay here in case she comes back.”

  Tracy reached for Harry’s hand. “Find her. Please.”

  For a moment they simply gazed at each other. “We’ll find her,” he said.

  Isabel had her eyes closed, so Ren knew she was praying, and for once he was glad. Steffie seemed too timid to wander off. But if she hadn’t wandered off, and there hadn’t been some kind of accident, that left only one alternative. He pushed away the ugly thoughts that had started working overtime in his brain. The Night Kill script was doing a number on him.

  “She’ll be fine,” Isabel whispered to Tracy. “I know it.” With a reassuring smile, she set off for the farmhouse.

  Ren headed through the wet garden toward the vineyard, the muscles in his neck growing more tense with every step. That damned script . . . He reminded himself that this wasn’t the city, where predators skulked in alleyways and hung out in abandoned buildings. They were in the country.

  But Kaspar Street had found one of his victims in the country, a seven-year-old girl, riding her bicycle down a dirt road.

  It’s a movie, for chrissake!

  He forced himself to concentrate on the real instead of the imaginary and mentally divided the vineyard into sections. It was barely three o’clock, but so cloudy it was hard to see. The mud from the earlier rainstorm tugged at his running shoes as he began making his way along the rows. Tracy said Steffie had been wearing red shorts. He kept his eyes peeled for a flash of color. Wherever she was, he hoped there weren’t any spiders.r />
  Street would have used spiders.

  The back of his neck tightened. He absolutely could not think about Street now. Come on, Steffie. Where are you?

  Tracy gave Bernardo a photo of Steffie she kept in her wallet when he showed up in response to Ren’s call. She asked Anna to stay by her side as an interpreter so there wouldn’t be any miscommunication. Occasionally she stopped to reassure Brittany and cuddle Connor, but nothing could keep her terror at bay. Her precious little girl . . .

  Isabel searched the farmhouse, but no child had hidden herself away there. She checked the garden, peered beneath the wisteria that grew over the pergola. Finally she grabbed a flashlight and headed for the pie-shaped section of woods that ran close to the road, between the villa and the farmhouse. As she walked, every step she took was a prayer.

  Harry inched along the road, with Jeremy keeping watch on the right while he watched the left. The clouds had begun to boil in the sky, and visibility was growing more limited by the minute.

  “Do you think she’s dead, Dad?”

  “No!” He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. “No, Jeremy. She just went for a walk and got lost.”

  “Steffie doesn’t like walks. She’s too afraid of spiders.”

  Something Harry had been trying to forget.

  A splatter of raindrops hit the windshield. “She’s fine,” Harry said. “She’s just lost, that’s all.”

  The rain was coming down so hard that Ren wouldn’t have noticed the storehouse door if a bolt of lightning hadn’t flashed just as he slogged past it. Two days ago it had been locked. Now it wasn’t shut all the way.

  He swiped the rain from his eyes. It was unlikely that a child with a fear of spiders would go inside, at least not voluntarily. He remembered how the door had dragged in the dirt. She wouldn’t have been strong enough to open it herself. But someone else could have opened it and carried her inside. . . .

  Kaspar Street had him spooked. He headed for the door. As he pulled on it, he noticed it didn’t drag nearly as much as it had. The rain must have washed away some of the dirt. He pushed it back on its hinges.

  Inside, it was dry and dark as hell, even with the door open. As he skirted a pile of boxes, he wished he had a flashlight.

  “Steffie?”

  There was no sound except the thud of rain. He banged his shin against one of the wooden crates. It shifted on the dirt floor, making just enough noise that he nearly missed it.

  The sound of a sniffle.

  Or maybe he’d imagined it. “Steffie?”

  There was no response.

  Resisting the urge to push through the clutter, he stayed where he was and let several seconds tick by, until he finally heard it again, a muffled sob coming from the back, just off to his left.

  Relief shot through him. He started to move, then hesitated. He didn’t know what he’d find, and if he weren’t careful, he’d frighten her more. God, he didn’t want to do that.

  “You don’t want to frighten the little ones. Not until it’s too late for them to get away.”

  His stomach lurched. He’d read the script only once, but he had a good memory, and too many lines had stuck.

  “Steffie?” He spoke softly. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  He heard a rustle, but no response. “It’s all right,” he said. “You can talk to me.”

  A tiny, frightened whisper traveled through the gloom. “Are you a monster?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Not now, sweetheart, but give me another month. “No, honey,” he said quietly. “It’s Ren.”

  He waited.

  “P-please, go away.”

  Even in the face of her terror, she’d remembered her manners. “Polite little girls are the easiest victims,” Street said in the script. “Their need to please outweighs their survival instincts.”

  He was cold and clammy from the rain, but he started to sweat. Why did he have to be the one to find her? Why couldn’t it have been her father or Isabel? He moved as quietly as he could. “Everybody’s looking for you, honey. Your parents are worried.”

  He heard something shift in the dirt. She was moving also, too frightened, he suspected, to let him come closer. But what had frightened her?

  He hated the feeling that he was stalking her. Even more, he hated the way he automatically added that emotion to the teeming garbage heap inside him that made up his actor’s stockpile—the place he visited when he needed to access the ugliness of the human condition. Every actor had one of those stockpiles, but he suspected that his was more squalid than most.

  Only an act of desperation could have forced her in here. Unless she’d been given no choice. . . . “Are you hurt?” He kept his voice calm. “Did anybody hurt you?”

  Her breath caught on a soft, frightened hiccup. “There are . . . lots of spiders in here.”

  Instead of going after her and upsetting her more, he moved back toward the door so there was no chance she could slip past him. “Did you . . . did you come in here by yourself?”

  “The d-door was open, and I squeezed in.”

  “By yourself?”

  “ ’Cause I was afraid of the thunder. But I didn’t know it would be so . . . dark.”

  He couldn’t shake off the shadow of Street. “Are you sure you didn’t come here with somebody?”

  “No. By myself.”

  He let himself relax. “That door’s pretty heavy. How did you close it?”

  “I pulled real hard with both hands.”

  He drew a full breath. “You must be really strong to do that. Let me feel your muscles.”

  A sucker was born every minute, but she wasn’t one of them. “No thank you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because . . . you don’t like kids.”

  You’ve got me there. He was definitely going to have to work on his relationship with children before the cameras started to roll. One of the things that made Street such a monster was the way he could enter their world. They didn’t sense his evil until it was too late.

  He forced himself back to reality. “Hey, I love kids. I used to be a kid myself. I wasn’t a good kid like you, though. I got into a lot of trouble.”

  “I think I’m going to be in trouble.”

  You can bet on that. “Naw, they’re going to be so happy to have you back that you’re not going to be in any trouble at all.”

  She wasn’t moving, but his eyes had adjusted enough for him to see a dim shape huddled near what looked like an overturned chair. One more time, just to be absolutely certain. “Tell me again, honey. Are you hurt? Did anybody hurt you?”

  “No.” He saw a slight movement. “Spiders in Italy are very big.”

  “Yeah, but I can kill them for you. I’m good at that.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  While Steffie made up her mind about him, Tracy and Harry were going through the torments of the damned. It was time to get serious. “Steffie, your mom and dad are really scared. I need to take you back to them.”

  “No thank you. C-could you please go away?”

  “I can’t do that.” Once again he started toward her, taking it slow. “I don’t want you to be scared, but I have to come and get you now.”

  A sniffle.

  “I’ll bet you’re hungry, too.”

  “You’re gonna r-ruin everything.” She started to cry. Nothing dramatic. Just a few miserable gulps that tore at him.

  He stopped to give her a little time. “What am I going to ruin?”

  “E-everything.”

  “Give me a hint.” He slipped sideways between some crates.

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  He was nearly close enough to touch her now, but he didn’t. Instead, he crouched in the dirt about five feet away, doing his best to compress his height. “Why is that?”

  “J-just because.”

  He was overcome by his own inadequacy. He didn’t know a damn thing about kids, and he had no idea how to handle this
. “I’ve got an idea. You know Dr. Isabel? You like her, don’t you? I mean, a lot better than you like me.”

  Too late, he realized that probably wasn’t the best way to phrase a question for an overly polite little girl. “It’s okay. My feelings won’t be hurt. I like Dr. Isabel a lot, too.”

  “She’s very nice.”

  “I was thinking . . . She’s the kind of person who understands things. Why don’t I take you to her so you can tell her what’s wrong?”

  “Would you go get her for me?”

  Tracy hadn’t raised a fool. This was going to take a while.

  He propped himself against one of the wine crates. “I can’t do that, honey. I have to stay with you. But I promise I’ll take you to her.”

  “Would my d-daddy have to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “No thank you.”

  What was this about? He kept his manner casual. “Are you afraid of your dad?”

  “My daddy?”

  He heard the surprise in her voice and relaxed. “He seems like a pretty nice guy to me.”

  “Yes.” The word held a universe of misery. “But he’s going away.”

  “I think he just needs to get back to his job. Grown-ups have to work.”

  “No.” The word trailed off on a wispy sob. “He’s going away forever and ever and ever.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I heard him. They had a big fight, and they don’t love each other anymore, and he’s going away.”

  So that’s what this was about. Steffie had overheard Tracy and Briggs fighting. Now what was he supposed to do? Hadn’t he read somewhere that you should help kids verbalize their feelings? “Bummer.”

  “I don’t want him to go,” she said.

  “I’ve just met your dad, so I don’t know him real well, but I can tell you this: He’d never leave you forever and ever.”

  “He won’t leave at all if I get really lost. He’ll have to stay and look for me.”

  Bingo.