The Perfect Couple (17 page)

Although they'd probably been aware of each other all along, that awareness had definitely been very much in the background. Since arriving at the hotel, however, he'd felt a marked change.

"Fine?" Skye echoed, obviously surprised that he didn't launch into an accounting of the day's events. "Does Ely have Samantha or not?"

"No, Ely's blissfully unaware of regular life. He's been in rehab for the past month."

"Blissfully? I doubt it. But at least he's not in jail. Rehab's a good alternative."

"Except I was hoping he had Sam. Our other options aren't nearly as attractive."

"He can't tell you anything? He hasn't heard from her?"

"According to the woman who's been getting his mail, he hasn't received a letter from Sam in weeks."

"So you didn't meet with him?"

He adjusted the time on the room's clock radio, which was wrong by more than four hours. "No. Zoe was afraid he'd drop out and go on a bender."

"Well, she is the one who knows him."

"I'm guessing her decision has more to do with her than him. She's too 110

fragile to deal with the issues between her and her father in addition to the current crisis."

"You have to start looking at Sam's biological father, Jon," Skye said.

"I know." He put the clock back. "I'm on it."

"Have you found him?"

Resting his elbows on his knees, he stared at the gold-colored carpet.

"Not yet. But I've done some checking. I think he's in San Diego."

The shower went off and he pictured Zoe getting out and toweling herself dry. Then he rolled his eyes at his own response. What was wrong with him? He was in love with Sheridan, had been for years.

But he was tired of waiting for a woman he wasn't going to get. And Zoe's beauty and vulnerability drew him like a magnet.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to block out his growing attraction. "As soon as we get up in the morning, I'll--"

"Who's we?" she cut in.

"I've got Zoe here with me."

The volume of Skye's voice instantly switched to loud. "You're not taking her to find Franky Bates!"

"Of course not."

"Good." There was a short pause. "So what are you doing?"

Trying not to think of her in a sexual way. Trying to remind myself that she only wanted to share my hotel room because I seem like her safe, trustworthy helper. Trying to keep in mind that her saying I'm nice can't be construed as an invitation...

Because even if it was an invitation, she wasn't in any condition to be making that decision.

"I'm doing what I can while I'm here."

Zoe came out of the bathroom and steam billowed out with her.

Jonathan allowed himself a quick peek and saw a strip of golden skin above a pair of pink pajama bottoms that rode low on her hips, bare arms and shoulders and a hint of cleavage showing above a spaghetti-strap top. Her long hair was wrapped in a towel.

Sucking in a deep breath, he quickly shored up his restraint with one word that was pretty much a shortcut to all the rest: engaged. "I'd arrange a flight for her in the morning, but that would take more time than simply having her wait at the hotel while I pay a visit to Franky's mother. We don't have the luxury of wasting any time."

He'd been talking to Skye, but Zoe turned to face him. "You're not leaving me anywhere."

He couldn't answer without giving away her proximity. Fortunately, 111

Skye was talking and hadn't heard her. "You think Franky's mother will tell you where to find him?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"She might be too protective."

"I gotta start somewhere."

Frowning at him, Zoe toweled off her hair, and the scent of shampoo reached his nostrils.

Eager to get off the phone before Zoe spoke up again, he said, "I've gotta go. I'm beat."

But Skye wasn't quite done. "Wait a sec. Where's Zoe now? I'd like to talk to her."

He debated his response--and settled on the first lie he'd ever told her.

Well, besides the one about his feelings for Sheridan. "She's in another room," he said. "You'll have to try her cell."

Fortunately, Skye didn't question it. "Will do. 'Night."

With a sigh, he punched the End button, tossed the phone aside and headed for the bathroom. He told himself to ignore Zoe, to stay focused on his destination. But he didn't. He looked up as he passed her, and their eyes locked in the mirror.

"Why'd you just say I have my own room?" she asked.

Lying about being together made it far less innocuous than it'd seemed in the lobby. He understood that. But did she really want others to know?

He leaned one shoulder against the wall and let his eyes range over her. She lowered her lashes so he couldn't read her reaction, but her lips parted and the rise and fall of her chest quickened. She was feeling the same excitement that sizzled through his veins.

To prove it, he stepped up behind her, rested one hand on the curve of her waist and lightly brushed his mouth against the side of her neck.

She didn't turn and fall into his arms, but neither did she stop him.

"Feel that?" he murmured when she shivered.

Swallowing, she watched him with more desire than trust, but she nodded.

"That's why," he said. Then he forced himself to go into the bathroom and close the door.

"What will we do?" Tiffany asked. She'd been agitated all evening, ever since they'd heard that Rover had been flapping his big mouth. But now that the eleven o'clock news was over and they'd seen the whole segment, complete with shots of a now-comatose Rover in the hospital, surrounded by his concerned family, she was almost frantic. "Colin, I don't want to go to 112

prison like my brother!"

"You're not going to prison, so shut up," he said. "Rover's in a freaking coma!"

"He could wake up."

"He's not going to wake up. You heard what the doctor said. He has brain damage, maybe a twenty percent chance of survival." Stretching out his legs, Colin propped them on the coffee table. He had work to do, research for a litigation case he hadn't been able to finish at the office, but he didn't feel like tackling it.

"What if he tells the police what kind of car we drive? His school's right down the street from your father's place."

"Get me a beer," he said.

She didn't move, but when he narrowed his eyes, she got up and hurried to the kitchen. He heard her open the fridge, then a cupboard.

Seconds later, she was back with a cold one, which he accepted, but only after knocking her hand away when she tried to run her fingers through his hair. "Leave me alone."

"I'm your wife," she said. "You don't want me to touch you?"

"I'm not in the mood."

"So you are worried."

Not really. If Rover did wake up, he probably wouldn't be able to give a decent description or even remember his own name. Colin was more angry than frightened. He'd wanted to see Zoe tonight. He'd had it all planned out, everything he was going to tell her. He'd imagined them sharing another secret cigarette, a sympathetic hug, an innocent kiss, a less-than-innocent grope--

"Colin? We're not going to do anything about it?"

"What can we do? This isn't some TV show where we can sneak into his hospital room and smother him. Besides, there's no need. He won't come out of it. I hit him with a bat. His brain is mush."

"You have to at least consider the possibility."

"Why? What good will that do? Live for today, right? It's all part of the risk, the price we pay for fun."

"But I don't want to go to prison," she repeated.

Tiffany was getting on his nerves. He wasn't interested in Rover anymore. Rover was old news. He had Samantha now. And that brought Zoe to her knees--metaphorically speaking, of course, but he longed for the day when that might actually happen.

"Colin?"

"What?" he snapped.

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"Don't you care if we get caught?"

"Will you drop it already? We won't get caught, not that easily."

"He knows our names. Our first names, anyway. Maybe we made him call us Master and Mistress, but I'm sure he overheard us talking to each other once in a while."

"He was stoned most of the time we were with him. He can try to describe us, but you've seen as many cop shows as I have. They can't find jackshit unless there's an accident or coincidence that makes some piece of evidence too obvious to miss. They work their shift and go home. They don't really care about the Rovers of the world. They only care about their next paycheck."

"Not all cops are like that."

"I'm telling you, they're idiots. How often have we heard the narrator on A&E say that if it wasn't for some piece of information--which happened to get overlooked but was in the file the whole damn time--such and such a killer would've gotten away?" He sucked the foam off his beer. "It's a miracle they catch anybody, Tiff. Even if they know you're guilty, they have to prove it beyond a reasonable doubt, and there's no proof to back up Rover's story." He scowled. "We wouldn't have hurt him if he hadn't refused to take off his pants. You know what happens to me when I get angry.

Sometimes I can't help myself."

She sank down on the couch beside him. "He spent a lot of time with us. Who knows how much we revealed? We weren't expecting him to get away."

"But even if he says something to make the police focus on us, they'll have to prove we're guilty."

"They could come here and search--and then they'd find Sam. I say we get rid of her."

"We will. But there's no hurry."

"How will you know when we should do it?"

"Because I'll be paying attention."

She nibbled on her swollen lip. "I wonder if he can give them the make and model of our car."

"Quit worrying."

"Maybe we should trade it in."

"And replace it how?" Their budget was too tight. He made a decent salary, but not nearly as much as the senior partners. And Tiffany earned a mere pittance. "Maybe if you had an education and were worth more than ten dollars an hour, that'd be an option, but you're practically worthless." He grabbed her chin so he could examine her injury. "Speaking of money, 114

you're going to work tomorrow."

"But my lip hasn't quite healed."

"I don't care. It doesn't look so bad now, and you're out of sick days."

She didn't say anything. He knew she hated changing bedpans, but why should he be the only one to slave away day after day?

"Are your friends coming over on Friday?" she asked.

"Of course." The question annoyed him at first, but it also reminded him that there were better ways to spend an evening than sulking on the couch.

"Take this off," he said, tugging on her blouse.

Obediently, she lifted it over her head, revealing one of the lacy bras he'd picked out at the mall the last time they went. He always bought her bras one size too small so they forced her breasts up and over the top.

"Nice." He ran a finger along the swell of her cleavage, over the tattoos of his name. Maybe tonight didn't have to be miserable after all. He could tie Tiffany to the bed--facedown--and pretend she was Zoe.

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Zoe was still shaking when she got into bed. What had just happened?

One minute she'd been thinking about Franky Bates, which never failed to leave a heavy, unyielding lump in her stomach; the next, Franky couldn't have been further from her mind. When Jonathan touched her so tenderly, she'd been consumed by a passion unlike anything she'd ever experienced before.

Was it simply the famous lure of "forbidden fruit"? What would she have done if he'd continued? If that hand that'd rested so lightly on her hip had slipped up to curve around her breast?

Stifling a groan, she pulled the covers over her head. She would've shoved him away, of course. And if there was any chance she wouldn't have done that, she didn't want to know about it. She felt bad enough that she'd enjoyed the sample.

Stop it. Her reaction didn't really mean anything. It was minor amidst a plethora of more critical concerns, like getting Sam home safely. Zoe wasn't herself, would never be herself again, until her daughter was safe.

"Forget it," she whispered, but try as she might, she couldn't forget.

She kept imagining the smooth muscle she'd felt when she touched his arm earlier, the warmth of his breath stirring the tendrils of hair at the nape of her neck, the tingling sensation that'd ripped through her when his lips moved across her skin--

Throwing back the covers, she sat up and grabbed her cell. She had to call Anton. She'd checked in with him periodically throughout the day, knew he would've called her if anything had changed, but she needed to talk to him again, if only to remind herself of their relationship. Since Sam's disappearance, she didn't feel connected to anyone. But that was no excuse.

She had to say no to more regret, no to another breakup, no to another move.

Stability. That was the goal. What her father had never been able to provide. Anton was a decent man, a steady man. She'd made the decision when she moved in with him that this was forever. She needed to remain committed.

The call-waiting feature on her cell phone beeped. She knew without glancing at caller ID that it was Skye. But she didn't switch over. She could call her in the morning. Right now, she needed to talk to Anton.

When her fiance finally answered, he sounded as tired as she felt.

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"Sorry, I was on the other line with Detective Thomas," he said of his delay.

"Do you want to call me back?"

"No, it's okay. He's gone."

Zoe leaned against the headboard. "What'd he have to say?"

"Not much." He sighed loudly. "He's as baffled as we are. There've been a few leads trickling in, but none of them have panned out."

Far colder than she'd been a moment before, she burrowed beneath the blankets. "I can't go on like this," she said.

"Unfortunately, you don't have any choice, Zoe. No one ever asks for this kind of trouble. Sometimes it just...happens."

He sounded like her father, not her lover. Couldn't he be more intimate in his support? Couldn't he tell her he was there for her? That he'd always be there for her? That they'd get through this together?