Abduction (14 page)

No, Dad.
You’d better go catch those speeding criminals on Marshall Highway. Heaven
knows what crimes they’re committing at this very moment in their sports cars.

But JJ held
his tongue again.

Joe Johnson
nodded and walked away, leaving JJ chewing on his tongue until he drew blood.
Why? Why couldn’t his father respect what he did? Why did he always try to
humiliate him?

What did he
ever do that was so bad?

#

Keyes Shefford
shrugged out of the navy pinstriped suit coat and draped it over the back of a
kitchen chair. Pulling at his tie, he opened the refrigerator and scanned the
contents, looking for something to tantalize him into eating at home rather
than calling out for food again.

At fifty-seven,
Keyes might fairly have been described as attrac
tive, successful, and one of the most eligible bachelors in town. He
would have laughed at such a description. Oh, he made good money as the owner
of four real estate offices, but successful? Not in his eyes.

He once had an
overwhelming desire for more. He hadn’t been quite sure what
more
was,
but he did learn its cost: everything near and dear to him. An affair with a
coworker had sealed that fate.

At the time,
he’d shrugged the desire off, thinking that
more
was going to replace
her. And it wasn’t as if he’d lost his children. He’d been given liberal
visitation rights, even if he hadn’t found much time to take advantage of them.
Then Amy disappeared. Suddenly
more
seemed far less than what he’d had to
start with.

His wife, his
family, his dreams. Gone.

He’d never
felt so alone. Everything became crystal clear that night as he sat listening
to the police explain how sorry they were. He mourned for Amy, and he mourned
not being able to reach out to his wife and hold her. They could not grieve
together. He’d ruined all chances of that. She clung to Zoe. He clung to the
emptiness in his own soul and cursed his foolishness.

Keyes turned
his life around after that night. He stopped seeing Joan, spent more time with
Zoe, and tried to get his wife back. Denise eventually forgave him but wouldn’t
take him back. He never managed to earn her trust again. Or Zoe’s. It haunted
him every day.

He didn’t
remarry, holding out some foolish hope that one day Denise would relent and
take him back. Over the years, they’d regained some semblance of a friendship,
although they never discussed Amy. Denise never allowed him too close, so he
poured himself into his work. It made him a lot of money but did nothing to
fill the gaping hole in his life.

Denise had refused any of his money, other than
child support. Zoe, on the other hand, still took his monthly checks without a
word. He knew that she was, in her own way, trying to make him pay for his part
in Amy’s death by financing her work to find other missing children. Little did
she know that he’d paid with far more than money. If only money could have
somehow paid the debt and set him free.

Finding
nothing in the refrigerator to interest him, Keyes pushed the door closed and
reached for the phone. Intending to call his favorite deli, he was surprised to
hear Denise’s voice answer. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, trying to accept
that he’d called her number instead of Mario’s.

“Hello?” she
asked for the second time.

“Denise?”

“Keyes? Is
something wrong?”

Taking a deep
breath, Keyes leaned against the kitchen counter. “No. I’m sorry. I was hungry
and meant to call a restaurant. I guess I had you and Zoe on my mind and called
your number instead.”

“Bad day?”

Keyes closed his eyes, letting her voice wash over
him and sweep away some of the loneliness. “In some ways. How was yours?”

“It was okay.
We were a little busy.”

“How’s Zoe?”

He heard the
pause, the little intake of breath, and knew that something was bothering her.
“Denise? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,
Keyes. Wrapped up in another investigation. You know what it does to her.”

Keyes closed
his eyes, rubbing them with the tips of his fingers. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure
you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” He
reached for something to say. Anything. Just to keep her talking.

“Keyes?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you
come over? I made some pot roast and there’s plenty. I figured Zoe might drop
by, but I haven’t heard from her, and I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

“You sure?”
Keyes hoped he didn’t sound too anxious. Then again, whom was he fooling?
Certainly not Denise. She knew him too well. “I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll see you
in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Denise.” Keyes hung up the phone and
grabbed his jacket, feeling a hundred percent better than he had just five
minutes earlier. Snatching his car keys off the table near the front door, he
glanced in the mirror and frowned. His curly brown hair was receding, his
cheeks looked almost gaunt, and his gray eyes reminded him of an overcast sky
just before a miserable, rainy day. He didn’t want Denise to feel sorry for
him. He just wanted her to love him again.

He just didn’t
have the foggiest idea how to win her back. He’d run out of ideas years ago. It
was time to accept the way things were and move on.

#

JJ lay sprawled on the bench, pushing the bar of
weights high enough
to lock his elbows, hold it a few seconds, and then
slowly lower it back
down to the bar. Sweat
was pouring off his face. He ignored it. He
imagined that each time he strained against the weight, he was
push
ing out the anger and the frustration and the
hurt. He was a grown man; still reduced to a child each time his father hit him
with another slur.

“You aren’t
a man until your father says you’re a man.”
He was eight years old and full
of rage about the relationship he had—or didn’t have—with his dad.

“Dad is
never going to call me a man,” he had confided to his grandfather. “Never! He
hates me!”

“He doesn’t
hate you, Josiah. He just expects more of you than he does of himself, and that
bothers him. Make some allowances—your dad is doing his best by you.”

Make
allowances. Oh, how JJ had tried. For years he’d tried. But it all came down to
this: running to the gym every time he saw his father and abusing his body to
the point of physical pain to erase the emotional scars.

“You know
better, JJ. Never work this much weight without a spotter.” Carl Fenlowe, the
owner and manager of Weigh It Out, stood there with his hands on his hips and a
scowl on his face. He was a small man in his late forties, but you’d never know
it to look at him. His body was the envy of most thirty-year-olds. He had
shaved his head, just for the fun of it, and wore a tiny diamond stud in his
right ear. A tattoo of a wolf’s head on his upper arm drew almost as much
attention as his mischievous dark blue eyes. No humor was in those eyes this
time. “I told you before, you keep this up, and I’m going to revoke your
membership.”

JJ dropped the
bell on the bar and sat up, snatching the towel off the bench and wiping his
face. “I didn’t see anyone around.”

Carl looked
over to where three men were working out not ten feet from JJ, and then at two
more who were on the treadmill. “Yes, I can see how empty this place is.”

“They just
came in.”

“JJ,” Carl
sighed heavily, “you could have asked me.”

“You were
busy.”

“I’m never too
busy to make sure one of my customers doesn’t kill himself. It’s just a little
quirk I have.”

Carl leaned
against the machine behind him. He was dressed as he always was in jogging
pants and a sleeveless muscle shirt with the name of the gym on the front.
“Just saw the news. Must have been bad.”

JJ rolled his
shoulders to ease the tension. “Bad enough.”

“They say you
have a psychic on the team.”

JJ swung his
leg over the bench and stood up. “That’s a rumor. And the truth.”

“You kidding?”
Carl followed JJ to another machine and watched as JJ lay down on his stomach
and hooked his feet under the bar. “You really using a psychic?”

JJ slowly
lifted his feet, pulling his leg muscles so tight they strained visibly. “Not
my idea, believe me. Some quack higher up got it in his head that she could
actually help.”

He slowly
lowered his legs, his face tight.

Carl sat down
on the machine next to JJ. “You think we have a serial killer on the loose?”

JJ stopped. He turned his head and stared up at
Carl. “Honestly?”

“Wouldn’t have
asked if I didn’t want an honest answer.”

“Yeah. I think
we do. He’s already taken two little girls. I think there were others. And if
we don’t stop him, there will be more.”

“Two? I
thought there were three.”

“Two. The baby
is a different case. She doesn’t fit the profile. The others were little girls,
both over five years of age. Matthews was a baby. Just seven months old. My gut
tells me it’s different.”

“What is this
psychic woman like?”

JJ slowly
started lifting leg weights again. “She faints at the sight of a body bag.”

chapter
12

Tuesday, April 18

F
ainting
was embarrassing enough. Worse still, it had been captured on camera.

And now it was
on the front page. Right there with the sensational story describing her
discovery of Gina Sarentino. Or more accurately, Gina’s body.

Zoe tossed the
paper on the table and walked over to pour herself another cup of coffee. It
was bad enough that she usually got lightheaded and passed out after finding a
body, but to fall into the arms of a man who detested her, that was too much.
She could imagine him smirking as he lifted her into the squad car.

At least he’d
been considerate enough to have someone else drive her home so she could avoid
the further embarrassment of facing him afterward.

Taking a deep
breath, she sank into a chair and glanced at the paper again.

Psychic
Falls for Detective after Finding Missing Child.

Zoe growled
and swept the paper to the floor. She wasn’t falling for anyone, least of all
that arrogant. . .

That wasn’t
fair and she knew it. He was just a wounded soul,
searching for some peace in his life. For a way to prove that he was
n’t
what he really thought he was.

The back door
squeaked open. “Zoe?”

“In here,
Daria.”

Zoe’s best
friend stuck her head around the corner. “Hey, girl. Up for company?”

Zoe waved her
over. “Come on in. Coffee’s on if you want any.”

Daria picked
the paper off the floor and dropped down in the chair next to Zoe, tossing her
handbag on the table. “I guess you aren’t as crazy about the guy as they say.”
She grinned in that irrepressible way that usually brought a smile to Zoe’s
face. When it came to fun, Daria was first in line.

They had known
each other since high school. Short and perky, Daria had dark hair in a spiky
cut that made her appear fairy-like. Her flashing brown eyes never seemed to
see the bad in anyone. She loved people, loved her salon, loved to talk, loved
to laugh, and was the perfect friend for Zoe, whose life often crossed a line
from which only Daria could bring her back.

“I think it’s
safe to say that he and I are not on the best of terms.” Zoe wrapped her hands
around her coffee mug. “Why aren’t you at the shop?”

“I’m going to
work eleven to closing. Should be a light day. I don’t think I have more than a
couple of cuts, a perm, and two frostings scheduled.” She reached over and
fingered the ends of Zoe’s hair. “Speaking of which, aren’t you due for a
trim?”

Zoe shrugged with indifference. “I guess. I leave
that stuff to you.”

Daria frowned.
“You have a few split ends. I’ll drop over soon and trim it for you.”

“Whatever’s convenient for you.” And convenient
was not always easy to manage for Daria. In addition to running her own salon,
she also dabbled in photography for salon magazines. When she wasn’t at the
shop, she was in her studio, managing temperamental models and stubborn
lighting. She’d been begging Zoe for years to model her hair, but Zoe wasn’t
interested.

Daria dropped
Zoe’s hair and folded her arms on the table in front of her. “Now tell me how
you really are.”

“Angry at
myself for picking that exact moment to pass out.”

“Like you can
control that.”

“Upset about
the little girl.”

“As you should
be.”

“And ticked at myself for saying something to JJ
that I should
n’t have said.”

Daria tilted
her head. “Who is JJ?”

Zoe nodded
toward the paper. “The detective.”

“
You’re on a first-name basis with the guy?”
Daria’s surprise lifted
her eyebrows. “Since when do you get that close
to the police?”

“I’m sure he
doesn’t think I’m on a first-name basis with him. He still calls me Miss
Shefford in that icy voice of his. He has nothing but disdain for me, and I
only made matters worse.”

“How?” Daria
reached over and picked up the paper, studying the man a little more
critically.

“I saw
something about his past and threw it in his face.”

Daria dropped
the paper as if it burned her fingers. “You? Since when do you use what you see
against someone?”

“Since he made
me angry.”

“Since when
can anyone make you
that
angry?”