Because of a Girl (13 page)

He unbuckled his seat belt and shifted in the seat to look at her. “Will you listen to me?”

She held on to the steering wheel for dear life, refusing to look at him. “Your frozen food is melting. You'd better get going.”

“I didn't mean it.”

“Please go,” Meg whispered.

He didn't move for an excruciating moment. Then he said roughly, “I'm sorry, Meg,” and opened the door.

The moment he closed it, she drove away.

* * *

J
ACK
COULDN
'
T
BELIEVE
he'd lashed out like that. Despite first impressions, he knew Meg Harper wasn't anything like his mother, not in the important ways. He'd seen how deeply she loved her daughter. He'd been there when Meg stormed into the police station and tried desperately to persuade them to start looking for a missing girl no one else gave a damn about, including the girl's mother. He'd been captivated by Meg physically, but also by her determination, her fervor.

She was a woman who cared, who made commitments and kept them. The very qualities that made her different were part of what drew him to her. That knowledge disturbed him anew.

At the town house he called home, he pulled into the garage and carried his groceries in, filling his freezer first. Meg was right; all those less-than-inspiring microwaveable meals were defrosting fast.

Kicking the freezer door shut, he put milk, eggs and cheese in the refrigerator, brooding the whole while.

Bad enough that he'd taken his rage at his mother out on Meg, but he had to wonder if something else hadn't been moving beneath the surface.

Was he afraid of what he had started to feel for her?

Jack wanted to scoff at the idea, but couldn't. He'd long since recognized he had some trouble with trust when it came to women. Nothing subtle about that. He'd loved his mother deeply; she'd ditched him. He hadn't had a grandmother, a sister, an aunt to fill the void. That kind of wound stuck with you. Usually it wasn't an issue. He had never come close to being serious about any of the women he'd been involved with.

He wasn't involved with Meg.

But I want to be.

Unlike with those other women, whom he had met in casual circumstances, he had spent time in Meg's house, eaten food she'd prepared, talked at length with her daughter.

Remembering how reluctant he had been to leave a couple of times, the excuses he had made to himself to go over there in the first place, he went completely still. Cold air poured out of the refrigerator, but he didn't notice.

He'd known the truth all along.
I felt at home. I wanted to belong.
And, yeah,
that
scared the crap out of him.

He found he was standing in the middle of his kitchen, staring blankly toward the grocery bags on the counter. They were still half-filled, but with stuff that didn't have to be refrigerated.

Suddenly restless and frustrated, Jack had to get out of there.

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

J
ACK
'
S
FIRST
THOUGHT
was to call around until one of his buddies agreed to get his ass kicked at racquetball, but it wasn't physical restlessness driving him now. To hell with taking the day off. Look how well that had gone so far.

Sunday afternoon might be good timing to catch the Zacapa boy at home.

The sight of the aging, run-down houses on the outskirts of town that housed a transient population of mostly vineyard workers infuriated Jack every time he had occasion to come out here. None had more than two bedrooms, one bath. He knew most were shared by at least a couple of families, or up to ten single men, many of whom would have to sleep on the floor. The landlords, probably all Caucasian, raked in bucks renting shacks without offering a pretense of upkeep. Because too many of the tenants were here illegally, nobody dared take the greedy sons of bitches to court.

On a rusty mailbox, he found the address listed on Alejandro Zacapa's school records. Jack's knock on the door was answered by a plump woman with thick, dark hair threaded with gray. Her gaze went straight to the badge and gun he'd snapped onto his belt before going out the door, and the initially friendly expression changed in a heartbeat to alarm. She issued a shrill spate of Spanish over her shoulder, assuming he didn't understand.

Rustles and scrapes made him think of rats in the walls. If the boy had taken off out the back door...

In Spanish, he said, “Senora Zacapa? I won't ask for papers to prove you are in this country legally. I don't care. I'm here to talk to Alejandro. Is he your son?”

She gripped the door. “He's a good boy. Why would a police officer want to talk to him?”

“He's not in any trouble,” Jack assured her, doing his best to sound soothing. “I'm searching for a missing girl named Sabra Lee. Perhaps he has told you about her? I'm hoping she said something to him that might help me find her. Is he home?”

Her suspicion had been gradually lessening. Finally she said, still grudgingly, “
Sí
, Alejandro is home. I will ask him to talk to you.” She called the boy's name.

Apparently the family—or Alejandro—had huddled just out of sight because he appeared promptly.

No more than five foot eight or nine, he was a good-looking boy Jack might have guessed to be as old as twenty.

“I'm Alejandro,” he said in English, his accent slight.

Jack held out a hand. “Detective Moore, Frenchman Lake PD. Do you have a minute?”

“Yes. Please come in.”

The sagging couch in the small but very neat living room reminded Jack of the one at Meg's house, but he sat on it with thanks. Alejandro chose a chair facing him. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack could just see Mrs. Zacapa hovering suspiciously in a doorway.

“I'm worried about Sabra Lee,” Jack began. “She may have run away—”

The boy shook his head decisively. “No. Why would she? She had a safe place to live until she and her boyfriend could get married. She wasn't...” He paused, as if searching for a word, finally saying in Spanish, “
Rebelde.
You understand?”

“Rebellious,” Jack translated. “You speak English well. Sabra was your tutor?”

Alejandro nodded readily. “Yes, but not for speaking, although sometimes there are words I don't know. To write and read, those are harder for me.”

“How often did Sabra work with you?”

Usually twice a week, Alejandro explained. Tuesdays and Thursdays, after school. Yes, she sometimes made excuses and they canceled, but because he worked after school the other days, they could rarely reschedule. She was fun; he liked her. He thought they were friends.

“You had no idea she intended to leave?”

The boy shook his head, expression troubled. “The day before she was gone, we met after school. She was like always.” He shrugged.

“Alejandro.” Jack leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “This is important. Did she ever talk about her boyfriend? The father of her baby?” He watched for a betraying flicker of expression, but he knew it wouldn't come. It hadn't taken him more than a minute to see that this was a boy—a young man—who would take responsibility for his child. His family would expect that of him, whether they were happy with him or not.

“She said he wasn't a student at the high school,” Alejandro said in answer to his question. Only then did he hesitate. “I think—I don't know why—he's older. Maybe in college?” He shrugged.

“You didn't ask?”

“
Sí
, I mean yes, I did, but she said she wasn't supposed to talk about him.”

“Wasn't supposed to.” Jack frowned. “That's a strange way to say I don't want anyone to know who he is yet.”

“
Sí
, I thought so, too. But I don't think she was afraid. It was more...” Whether Alejandro was gathering thoughts or only the English words to express them, Jack couldn't tell. “As if he was somebody very important,” the boy said at last. “A rock star. A movie star. She thought other girls would be...
envidia
?”

“Envious? Jealous?”

His face cleared. “
Sí.
Yes.
Muy celosa.
Jealous,” he added carefully.

That was only a different way of saying what Meg and Emily both had: Sabra was smug about her boyfriend and her future.

A few celebrities did maintain weekend houses in Frenchman Lake, which had become increasingly chic as the local wineries built their reputations, winning gold medals in prestigious competitions. It wasn't a thought that had occurred to Jack before, but if this boyfriend was famous, that would explain a lot. He couldn't offhand think of one who wasn't at least in his forties, however, and although men that age often liked young girls, it was hard to imagine a pretty teenager like Sabra having stars in her eyes for a dirty old man.

A rich dirty old man, one whose picture might appear in the tabloids? It was known to happen.

He nailed down the specific hours Alejandro and Sabra had met on those Tuesdays and Thursdays, established that, no, Alejandro had never seen her on Fridays or weekends, and finally sighed.

“Thank you, Alejandro.” Jack rose to his feet. “You've been a big help.”

The boy's eyes met his. “Sabra didn't have to help me. Other kids said they would help Spanish-speaking students with their English but quit coming. Sabra almost always did. My grades are better because of her. I graduate in June, and will go to the community college. I don't like to think something bad happened to her.”

“I don't, either.” Jack gave him a card, and they shook hands again. He thanked the boy's mother for her cooperation and left, no more settled in his mind than he'd been when he arrived.

He'd wanted to learn something important. A clue that would have given him reason to go to Meg and Emily, to make sure they knew he really did care.

In his SUV, engine running, he frowned ahead at the street, wondering if he hadn't taken too literally the idea that “someone important” in Sabra's mind was a teen idol, an actor, a multi-millionaire. Wouldn't a senior jock qualify? The quarterback of the football team, the leading scorer on the basketball court, the pitcher who'd taken the high school baseball team to state last year? The theater program was big at the high school, too, as it was at both the community college and Wakefield College. Frenchman Lake High School might have its own leading man heartthrob.

Yeah, but that took Jack back to the big question: Why was the guy a secret? Or maybe more important, why was Sabra smug, sure she'd be getting married?

Jack considered and discarded ideas. Remaining secret was the guy's idea. Had to be.
He
didn't want anyone to know he'd gotten this girl pregnant. Somehow he'd convinced her he would soon be free to marry her...which meant there was currently an impediment. Parents who'd quit funding his education if they found out? Another girlfriend who'd throw a fit if she discovered Sabra was carrying his baby?

Jack shook his head at that one. From all he'd heard, she was too fiery to put up with that kind of crap.

Okay.
The guy, presumably over eighteen, had a chance at a good job. What employer wouldn't disapprove of statutory rape?

Reluctantly, he worked his way back around to his least favorite option, which also fit the circumstances best. The father of Sabra's baby was already married, but he'd convinced her he would leave his wife for her.

Only what if she'd run out of patience with being strung along and threatened him with exposure?

Jack swore.

* * *

M
ONDAY
,
ALL
ANYONE
on the bus and at school could talk about was a party held at an empty barn behind a vineyard. Even kids who hadn't been there acted like they had. Supposedly, it had been a kegger, but there'd been wine, too—Jason Weller had raided his parents' wine cellar—and there were whispers about people snorting coke, too.

On the bus, Emily heard about hookups, and how everyone played hide-and-seek among the rows of vines, crashing through them just for fun. Someone had a box cutter to slice through the wires, too.

Dominic had been there with a freshman girl named Amy Harris, who had really big tits and a fabulous singing voice that had won her the lead in the fall musical,
The King and I
. Plus, supposedly her mom had done makeup in Hollywood for all these big stars, so she knew everyone and talked about how she couldn't decide whether to go to LA after she graduated, or New York and try for theater roles.

Emily hated her even more now.

But the worst part was they'd all forgotten Sabra.

None of them were Sabra's best friend. And...
they
didn't have to feel guilty if something bad had happened to Sabra. Emily did. Because all the little lies she'd told for Sabra would make it partly her fault.

What she hated to think about was how mad she was, too. Sick-to-her-stomach mad. Because the best-friend part? She didn't even know if it was true, not when Sabra hadn't trusted her to keep her secret.

Sitting at her desk in math, shoulders hunched while voices rose around her as the other kids came in, Emily felt a scalding of more shame when she let herself admit one more thing. What if she was so determined only because she wanted to prove
she
knew how to be a best friend, even if Sabra didn't?

But even if it made her a crummy person, she wouldn't give up.

She didn't hear Sabra's name until lunchtime, and then it was from Asher. Having brought a lunch from home, she'd grabbed a table at the back and intended to save places for friends who were in line for the gross cafeteria food. She was unwrapping her sandwich when someone slid onto the bench across from her. She lifted her head to say “That place is taken,” only it was Asher.

“Um, hi,” she managed instead, not knowing why she felt shy.

He nodded and dumped out the contents of a brown paper bag onto the table. Ripping open a bag of chips, he said, “I wondered if you found out anything.”

She rolled her eyes. “You mean, about who snorted coke Saturday?”

He shook his head. “If they're that stupid, they deserve what they'll get.” He popped a couple of chips in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “I was talking about Sabra.”

Probably he wanted to make sure people weren't still talking about
him
having something to do with Sabra disappearing.

“You know the detective? I told him about the rumor, and he said Ms. Guzman never said anything like that.”

His gaze locked on to hers. “Did you believe him?”

Emily nodded. “Afterwards, he asked Ms. Guzman about it. She said she hadn't even looked out the window that morning.”

He didn't react as if he was relieved because he was off the hook. Frowning, Asher said, “So you still don't know what happened to her.”

Emily hadn't even taken a bite. She clutched half of her egg-salad sandwich and studied him. “Why do you care?”

He gave a one shoulder shrug. “I guess 'cuz I used to like her. She made last summer good. Plus, she's your best friend, and I know you're worried.” He turned his head to scan the lunchroom. “Nobody else cares.”

Tears threatened, and Emily blinked hard. “They've all completely forgotten about her.”

“I noticed. But I figured you wouldn't, so...” Peering into his bag of chips as if he were counting how many were left, he let his words trail off.

“So?” she challenged him, suddenly not feeling shy at all.

“So...” He met her eyes, then looked away, like he had to watch people sitting at the next table who weren't doing anything but eating. Was he blushing? “I can help if you want. I mean, asking questions, or... I have a car. So if you need to, I don't know, go look somewhere, I could drive you.”

Emily stared at him in amazement. Her eyes stung again, and her chest felt tight. Was he hinting that he sort of liked her, or was it mostly Sabra he cared about?

Did she
want
him to like her?

Um...maybe?

“That would be great,” she said quickly. “Especially the car part.”

“Yeah, have you even taken driver's ed yet?”

Two of her friends were heading her way with their trays. Seeing Asher, they grinned and veered off to another table. She should have waved them over, but it was as if she and Asher were in a bubble, just like last time. And...she liked it.

“I meant to take it this semester,” she said. “Practically all my friends are. But then I couldn't do after-school stuff. Anyway, I wouldn't be old enough to get my license. Mom says I can do it this summer instead.”