Gone (2 page)

“Joe,” she said, her voice low and sultry, a signal—an invitation—that he hadn’t heard in two years, but that he’d never before ignored or denied. She looked at him with an unmistakable intent in her eyes.

“Marcie, this isn’t—”

She uttered a sad, small laugh. “Of course it’s not a good idea,” she murmured, looking up at him. “Right now, I don’t care. Do you?”

He looked down at her and knew exactly what she was doing. She was seeking a way to push aside the sadness and pain for a while. While it wasn’t a good idea, it wasn’t the worst thing they could do to each other.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. He knew her body as well as he knew his own and he recognized her awakening desire in the suppleness of her muscles, in the softness of her skin and the smokiness in her eyes. He knew as he always had, on a level much deeper than physical, how much she wanted him. “No, I don’t care,” he said and lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.

Once he’d guided her to the bedroom, they came together on his unmade bed with a frenzy that echoed the need and excitement of their first time long ago. They stripped off their clothes without speaking, and Joe pulled her to him. As their bodies melded together like two parts of the same whole, he sighed and heard her quickening breaths echoing his. He was already hard and when Marcie felt him pressed against her, she whispered, “Now, Joe. Now.”

“Not yet,” he answered, moving his hand down to caress her. To his surprise, she was ready.

“Now,” she whispered.

They made love quickly, greedily, like the long-lost lovers they were. It didn’t take long for either of them to reach their climax. Once they were done and heaving with exertion and the delicious fatigue of satiation, they still clung to each other.

After their breaths and heartbeats finally returned to normal, she curled up against him, her head in the spot between his chest and shoulder where it fit perfectly. He kissed her languidly then lay beside her, trailing his fingers along her spine. He drifted then woke, then drifted again. Each time he came awake, he found that his fingertips were still lightly caressing her lusciously smooth, firm skin. They dozed.

A long time later, she touched his cheek. “Joe?”

He heard her voice through a pleasant, drowsy haze. “Mmm?” he whispered, not willing to leave his half-asleep world, where dreams and reality swirled, forming a strange, exotic fantasy.

She put her lips close to his ear. “How long will it take you to run the license plate?”

His fantasy world crashed as he jerked awake. “What?” he muttered automatically, although he’d heard her loud and clear. He sat up and reached for his pants, pulling them on without bothering to buckle the belt. Then he turned to her. She was still lying there on her side, but she’d pulled the sheet up to cover herself. “Is that what this was about?” he demanded.

Her eyes widened. Then they slid away from his gaze to a point somewhere behind him as she sat up, pulling the sheet with her. “No, of course not,” she said, sounding hurt. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Marcie. I’ll get it, but I don’t know what you’re going to do with it. You can’t take it to the police. This will be the fourth time you’ve cried wolf.”

He pushed his fingers through his hair then wiped a hand down his face. “And when you’ve got the woman’s name, what are you going to do? Scream at her, like you’ve done before? Try to grab her child?” He laughed, a harsh explosion that hurt his throat. “You’re going to end up in prison—or the loony bin.”

“Stop it!” Marcie cried. She tossed aside the covers and got out of bed, quickly donning her clothes. “That’s not what I meant. I wouldn’t do that. I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay?” She grabbed her shoes and hurried from the bedroom into the living room.

Joe followed her. He didn’t know what to say—what to think even. The sex had been mind-blowing, as it always was between them. But had she really done it just to convince him to help her with the license plate? He’d never thought of her as a calculating or manipulative person. But he hadn’t seen her in a year.

During that time, she’d somehow managed to pull herself together, which seemed remarkable, given how sad and broken she’d been. What else had she learned in the past year? Was she transforming from grief-stricken mother to levelheaded supermom, resorting to anything, including sexual manipulation, to find her child?

When he stepped into the living room, she was fully dressed. Her hair, which had come out of its ponytail during their lovemaking, was sleek and neat again, and she regarded him with serene composure.

“I apologize, Joe. I didn’t—” She stopped and started again. “I’d better be going. When you run the tag, you have my phone number.”

“Yeah,” he said. He crossed his arms and stood stoically as she left, closing the door behind her. He didn’t move until he heard her car start and pull away from the curb. Then he went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face.

There for a moment, he’d thought that she’d finally come to terms with their loss. To look at Joshua’s disappearance, if not rationally, then at least with less debilitating emotion. She’d finally conquered the frantic desperation that had made her think every toddler she saw was her child.

But now he wasn’t so sure. She was a woman even before she was a mother, so maybe she’d done what women did. She’d used sex to get what she’d wanted. If she’d never done it before, maybe it was for the simple reason that in all the years they’d been together she’d never needed to.

So she’d seduced him and, of course, as soon as she beckoned, he’d followed her like a puppy starved for attention. What a stupid jerk he was.

Chapter Two

That night, Marcie couldn’t sleep. Every time she
managed to drift off, her mind started playing tricks on her. One time she
dreamed that she was running after the woman who had Joshua, but the police were
chasing her like the Keystone Kops, laughing and pointing and popping up
everywhere she turned. The next time she managed to relax, she dreamed of Joe,
his strong arms and gentle words surrounding her. But too soon, the Keystone
Kops were back and everyone was running in jerky circles like an ancient silent
movie on fast-forward.

Finally she got up, exhausted by the disturbing and conflicting
dreams, and went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

What had gotten into her, that she’d let herself get caught up
in Joe again? Natural, she supposed, given that she’d known and loved him for
almost half her life. But just because making love with him had felt natural and
familiar and as wildly exciting as ever, it didn’t make it a smart thing to
do.

His harsh voice echoed in her head.
Is
that what this was about?
His words had sounded angry, but his tone
also carried a note of hurt. Well, it had hurt her, too, that he would think
that of her.

When he’d agreed to run the license plate, she’d been so
grateful, so relieved. Stepping into his arms had felt like coming home. When
he’d embraced her and kissed her, she’d been so consumed with desire and love
that for those brief moments, the loneliness and grief of the past two years had
flown out of her head.

Now, sitting in the big, lonely house they had bought together
when they’d found out they were pregnant, she could see it all from Joe’s point
of view. His, to put it kindly,
unconventional
upbringing had instilled in him a distrust of women that had been a challenge
for her from the moment they’d met. Over the years, she’d convinced him that she
was nothing like his mother, and they’d had a happy marriage—or so she’d
thought.

After Joshua was stolen, Joe’s guilt had caused all his trust
issues to resurface. Marcie knew that. She also knew that the unbearable pain of
losing her baby had made her unfairly cruel and heartless toward him. She’d
spent the first heartbreaking months blaming him for Joshua’s disappearance. And
the awful thing was that he’d accepted all the guilt and blame. He had taken
everything she’d dished out.

They’d ended up so far apart that Marcie had been sure nothing
could bring them back together. And nothing had. Until today.

She had gone to see him for one reason only. He was her last
hope. He’d been right about the police. After she’d cried wolf so many times,
they’d never listen to her again. And her friends had either given up on her, or
had drifted away into the land of “call me if you need to talk.”

Had she made love to him to secure his promise to run the
license plate of that car? No, she told herself sternly. Not on any conscious
level. It had truly been a sweet and poignant, if frenzied, reunion of
long-estranged lovers. She shivered as her body tightened in memory of her
explosive climax.

If Joe thought she’d manipulated him, wasn’t that his problem,
not hers? She’d gotten what she’d needed. His opinion of her was secondary.
She’d been terrified that he would refuse to help her, but there had been no
mistaking the excitement and hope in his eyes when she’d told him about the
license plate and described the woman. He might act as if he were over Joshua,
but she was still his wife and she knew him. He was as committed to following up
on this crumb of hope as she was.

* * *

T
UESDAY
MORNING
,
J
OE
was in his office at the National
Center for Missing and Exploited Children. After training and working at the
headquarters in Alexandria, Virginia, for six months, he’d secured approval to
open a satellite office in New Orleans. He had a small staff and an even smaller
budget, but he believed in the center’s mission and purpose, and he felt as
though he were making up in a small way for the few seconds of inattention that
had allowed someone to steal his son from him.

His purpose hadn’t been entirely altruistic—maybe not at all.
He’d checked the reports and descriptions of rescued children, as well as
recovered remains, every week, scarcely able to breathe until he’d finished
reading each one.

He was staring at the computer screen, weighing the pros and
cons of entering his son’s name and description into the NCMEC database, when
someone knocked on the open door. He looked up. It was his mother. Kit Powers
had on a short black skirt, a sleek red jacket and red platform heels. She
looked like a million dollars, as she always did, and years younger than her
real age, which was probably early sixties. It occurred to him that he’d never
known for sure how old she was. “Kit,” he said, rising. “What are you doing
here?”

She glanced over her shoulder at Jennie, the young
case-analysis intern who was standing behind her with an openmouthed stare.
“Thank you, sweetheart. I’m going to tell my son to give you a raise.” She
looked at Joe. “Give her a raise, darling. She’s adorable.”

Jennie blushed a bright pink and backed away.

“Interns don’t make any money and
adorable
is not a job requirement,” he said. Why had she told the
intern that he was her son? She’d always told him and his younger brother,
Teague, to call her Kit, and she’d never introduced either of them in any other
way than “and this is Joe,” or “this is Teague.”

In her day, Kit Powers had been the most famous, most
recognizable exotic dancer in the French Quarter. Joe knew a lot about his
mother’s life after he was born, not so much from her as from the colorful
characters who had been her family, and therefore his. He’d been babysat by
transvestites in sequins and false eyelashes, street mimes, jazz musicians who
let him puff on a joint when he was too young to fix his own breakfast. And he’d
loved them almost as much as he loved Kit.

He knew that, no matter how much she needed money, his mother
had never danced nude, but he’d seen photos of the costumes she’d worn. She’d
appeared in some of the most beautiful and revealing costumes ever seen outside
of Lady Gaga’s closet. He also knew that she had a lot of money, probably from
her famous lover Con Delancey, because she’d used it to set up very large trusts
for Teague and him. Then, when Joshua was born, she’d done the same for him.

“What brings you out to Metairie?” he asked.

“Does a mother need a reason to come and see her son?” She
stepped over and turned her cheek for a kiss, then looked around. “I’ve never
seen your offices. Give me the tour.”

He gestured around him. “Well, this is
the
offices.
And that concludes the tour. Have a seat.” He grabbed a
stack of books from the only other chair in the room, but she waved a
beautifully manicured hand.

“No. I really don’t have time. I’ve got yoga this morning and
I’m taking a cake-baking class in the afternoon.”

Joe laughed. “You’re going to yoga dressed like that?”

“Don’t be silly. I have my yoga outfit in here.” She indicated
the large Coach leather tote over her shoulder.

“Okay. So, what’s so important you had to take time out of your
busy day to drive all the way out to Metairie?” he asked, smiling.

“It’s actually not funny, Joseph. I had a very odd visitor a
couple of days ago. Ethan Delancey.”

“Delancey?” Joe frowned. He, like most people in New Orleans,
knew that Kit Powers had had a long affair with the notorious Louisiana
politician Con Delancey. The affair had lasted until Con decided to run for
governor two years before his death. Up to that point, neither Con nor Kit had
ever tried to hide it, although they’d never flaunted it, either.

Most older folks in the area figured Delancey was entitled,
since rumors had flown for years that Lilibelle, Con’s wife, had locked her
bedroom door after the birth of their third child.

“What did he want?”

Kit glanced around, noticed Joe’s diploma and some other framed
documents on the wall next to the door and stepped over to examine them. She was
stalling, and that wasn’t like her.

“Kit, what’s wrong?” he asked.

She turned and clasped her hands in front of her. “You read
about the murder of Senator Darby Sills, I assume,” she said.

“Sure.” He frowned at her. She’d never made excuses for her
lifestyle, never acted ashamed or guilty about the lovers she took. He and
Teague knew men from every walk of life as friends of their mother, although few
of them had been more famous or more notorious than Con Delancey. Was Senator
Sills one of her conquests? “What about it?”

“Detective Delancey brought me something that was found in
Darby Sills’s house. He claimed he didn’t know how Sills had come across it, but
that it appeared to be the only copy.”

A bad feeling began in Joe’s chest, pressing down, making it
hard to breathe. “The only copy of what?”

She dug into the tote and pulled out a thin manila folder that
appeared to have only one sheet of paper in it. She handed him the folder and
turned to gaze at the framed documents on the wall again.

Joe waited for a few seconds, thinking she’d explain, but she
didn’t. So he set the folder squarely in front of him on his desk and, after a
bit of hesitation, made himself open it. The words he saw at the top of the form
added a hundred-pound lead ingot to the weight on his chest.

“What is this?” he asked rhetorically, as his eyes swept down
the form and back up. Of course, it was obvious what it was. The question he
should have asked rose like a lump in his throat when his gaze landed on a small
rectangle toward the top of the page. That tiny area contained a piece of
information he had never known, never asked for, never thought he’d wanted.

The form was his birth certificate and in the space for Father
was the name Robert Connor Delancey. He swallowed against a lump in his throat,
started to speak, failed, cleared his throat and started again. “Is—is this
true?” he croaked.

Kit turned around and met his gaze straight on for the first
time since she’d come into his office. “Yes,” she said. “That’s a copy of your
official birth certificate.”

“Why didn’t you—were you ashamed to tell me?”

Her eyes widened with surprise. “No,” she said, shaking her
head. “No, darling. Of course not. I loved Con Delancey and he loved me.
And
he loved you.”

“Then why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“You may not believe me and I know you probably won’t
understand, but it was out of respect.”

“Respect?” he said, cutting her off with a laugh. “For whom?
Must be the Delanceys, because
your family
can
hardly claim any respect.”

His mother drew herself up to her full five feet five inches,
tossed her head regally and glared at him. “Joseph, I loved your father. I never
wanted to wave my status as
the other woman
in their
faces. Con was Catholic and his church was important to him. He would never have
gotten a divorce, even if Lilibelle had agreed to give him one, which she
wouldn’t have.”

“How are you such an expert on the Delancey family?” he asked,
then answered himself. “Never mind. You were shacking up with the patriarch. Of
course you’d know all about them.”

“I don’t like your tone, young man,” Kit snapped.

He had to fight to keep his mouth from turning up in a sneer.
“Okay. I’ll just have to live with that, because I don’t like your lifestyle.
Never have. Never will.”

Kit Powers drew back her hand as if to slap her son, but he
stopped her with a glare. “I’m sorry. I really am. But answer this for me,
Mom.
You made a special trip out here to tell me that
Con Delancey is my father? Why now? Why today? I’m thirty years old. Did you not
think it could wait another minute?”

His mother’s face was pink with frustration and anger. “I’m not
sure why you’re so upset. I came out here to warn you. Detective Delancey told
me that he couldn’t guarantee who else saw the birth certificate. He’s expecting
the information to be leaked to the media, which is why he came to me as soon as
he could.”

“Wow,” Joe said, feeling mean. “I’ll be famous.” He mimed a
newspaper headline. “‘Joseph Powers, bastard son of the infamous Con Delancey,
let his own son be stolen at a local mall two years ago—’”

“Stop it!” Kit cried. “Stop that right now. You did not
let
him be taken.”

“Forget it,” he said, tired of the subject and tired of his
mother. “I don’t care who my father is or was. I never have. Now Teague—he’ll
get a kick out of being the bastard son of Con Delancey. What did he say?”

“Your brother is not Con Delancey’s son,” she said flatly.

“He’s not?”

She shook her head. “Con left me when he decided to run for
governor. I never saw him again. He moved back in with Lilibelle, three years
before Teague was born. He was present in your life until you were almost three
years old.”

“So who
is
—”

“Don’t even ask, because I’m not telling you. Either of you.
Just let it go.”

“So my brother—my
half
brother
—doesn’t get to know about his dad unless...I guess I should say
until
another Kit Powers scandal occurs? Great
job of being a mother,
Kit.
”

Her cheeks turned red as she looked at her watch. “I really
should be going. My yoga class—”

“Right,” Joe said, sitting back down behind his desk. “Well,
thanks for the update,” he said wryly.

Kit smoothed her skirt and her hair and started to turn toward
the doorway.

“Mom?”

“What is it?” she asked, peering at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Marcie thinks she saw Joshua.”