The Perfect Couple (24 page)

"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.

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"W e 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 157

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 158

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 159

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?"

"Wouldn'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 160

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.

Sticking a finger down her throat, she gagged, almost threw up but then chickened out. She couldn't do it. It was too painful, too gross.

But then the strangest thing happened. She didn't need to try anymore.

Just sitting there, leaning over the foul-smelling kitty litter with her stomach so unused to being full was enough. She began to retch and kept vomiting until she was sure there couldn't be anything left inside her.

Afterward she slumped onto the floor and listened. The walls in this room were thicker than usual. She couldn't hear much of what went on outside, at least beyond the hall directly in front of the door. But she'd finally realized that if she was very still and put her ear to the wooden floor, a few sounds drifted up from below. Faint though they were, she was learning to decipher the differences between the opening of the door, the phone, voices.

The house seemed silent, but she knew Tiffany or Colin would eventually come to check on her.

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After shaking the box to cover the vomit, she crawled back to the mattress, dragging the chain as she went, hoping the stench that had already filled the room would cover the smell of puke.

She prayed that she'd vomited soon enough and had gotten it all out.

She couldn't fall asleep. She had to remain aware, had to figure out who was coming over. Colin and Tiffany had to be expecting company. They wouldn't need to drug her if they were only leaving; they left all the time, and she'd never been able to get free.

Forcing herself to sit up, she hugged her knees to her chest and waited for sound or movement. If they came again, she'd pretend to be asleep so they'd stop worrying about her. Then, when it was clear their company had arrived, she'd use what little energy she had to cry out, rattle the chain, stomp--create enough noise to attract the attention of their guests.

But if Colin or Tiffany were the only ones who heard her, she wouldn't have anywhere close to sixty-six marks on the baseboard.

It was Tiffany who answered the door when Zoe got to the house.

"Hello." She smiled but seemed so reserved and aloof that Zoe stayed at the door instead of proceeding inside, even though Tiffany stepped back to admit her.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked.

Tiffany's effort to pump more energy into her smile was obvious. "Of course not. What makes you think that?"

"You seem a little...stressed."

"It's nothing. Just a bad day at work. And then your private investigator caught me as I got home to ask a few questions about Sam, so I'm running late." She fanned her face; Zoe assumed she'd been racing frantically to pull the meal together. "I didn't mind, of course," Tiffany went on. "But there's nothing I can do to help. And I already told the police that."

"I'm sorry. He's just...hoping that someone saw or heard something that's been overlooked. Especially since you were home that day."

"I wish I had heard something."

"I know. And I really don't mean to cause you extra work." Zoe wanted to either come inside or leave. She didn't want to remain standing on the stoop where Anton might see her. She wasn't sure how she felt toward him and didn't want to deal with any residual resentment or confusion. If not for Sam, she wouldn't have returned to the neighborhood at all. "Would you rather I came over after you and Colin have had a chance to relax and eat?

You don't have to feed me--"

"It's no problem," Tiffany cut in. "The food's almost ready." She 162