The Perfect Couple (4 page)

"A detective?" she whispered, scarcely able to grasp that her daughter was missing.

"Don't panic." He asked whoever was on the phone to hold and set the cell on the ground. Then he hurried over and pulled her to her feet, supporting her until they were inside the house. "It'll be okay," he said, easing her onto the couch.

He returned to his call as if he could take care of it all. But if he couldn't take care of it, nothing would ever be okay again.

24

Samantha tried to peer through the keyhole of the door, but it was useless. She couldn't see anything. She couldn't hear anything, either. Had Tiffany left?

She hoped not. She needed to pee. She'd had to go for a while, but she couldn't get Tiffany to respond. After helping her neighbor in from outside, she'd asked for a way to reach Colin, and Tiffany had said her cell phone was upstairs. Sam had gone up to look for it and Tiffany had followed, telling her it was in this room, the room over the garage. But there wasn't anything in here except a bare mattress. When Sam had turned to question Tiffany about it, Tiffany had shoved her in and locked the door.

Why, Sam couldn't imagine. Tiffany was obviously having some sort of mental breakdown. Maybe she'd actually gone crazy....

It was a chilling thought, perfect for the movies. Picturing herself at school, telling all her friends the dramatic story of how she'd been forced into a room by her neighbor who afterward had to be carted off to an asylum, had kept Sam intrigued for a while. At least the drama of the afternoon had broken up the monotony. But she'd been in here so long she was getting creeped out. Why wouldn't Tiffany let her go home? And where was Colin? Shouldn't he be back from work by now?

She was sure he'd be embarrassed once he knew, but she was afraid she'd wet her pants before he found her.

Groaning in frustration, she turned away from the door and paced another circle around the room. With their neat yard, preppy clothes and matching BMWs, she'd believed her neighbors had good taste. But this part of the house certainly didn't show it. There was nothing wrong with the floor. It was the same hardwood her mother's boyfriend had in his place.

And the ceiling fan overhead was nice. But there was a questionable stain on the mattress, and the windows were covered by murals that looked like they'd been painted by a first grader.

Pausing in front of a scene showing several hay piles, more lemon colored than wheat colored, a blue sky and puffy cotton-candy clouds, she tried to wedge her hand behind the art. There had to be glass underneath; from the front driveway these windows looked like they had blinds. If she could reach the panes, there might be some way to break one and call for help. Then Tiffany would be in real trouble.

25

But the mural had been painted on thick pieces of wood hammered tightly to the wall. Sam had no chance of prying any of the boards loose and broke a fingernail trying.

"Ow!" She smacked the wood with her fist, then jammed her wounded finger in her mouth. Why would anyone want to block the windows? Anton had a bonus room over his garage, too, but he used it for a pool table, card table and minibar. "That's what you do with a room like this," she grumbled, shaking the sting away. "Only you allow people to use it," she added.

Music, coming from downstairs, filtered up to her. Someone was home. Was it Colin?

Forgetting about her injury, she hurried to the door. "Colin?" She banged three times. "Hello? Hey, I have to go to the bathroom! Let me out!"

She had no idea how long she'd been locked up, but she knew it must be late. If she didn't get home soon, her mother would return from work to an empty house.

"My mom will be home any minute. I have to go!"

Nothing.

"Tiffany?"

Approaching footsteps made Sam's heart race. "Hello? Please, I need to use the restroom."

"Sam?"

It was Tiffany, all right. "What?"

"I'm trying to cook a nice dinner and you're really getting on my nerves. Will you shut up?"

A nice dinner? Tiffany seemed strangely calm. What'd happened to the panicked, crying woman Sam had seen in the backyard?

"Just let me out and I won't bother you anymore. My mother's going to freak if she finds me gone."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why not? You don't know how she is. She's very protective. I can't even watch HBO."

"She sounds like a good mom."

Zoe was a good mom. Suddenly it felt like an eternity since Sam had seen her. Heck, after the past few hours, Sam wouldn't have minded Anton's company. "Can you let me out?"

There was a slight pause. "I don't think so."

"But I'm about to wet my pants."

"Oh...fine! Give me a minute, will ya?"

At last! While waiting for Tiffany, Sam shifted from foot to foot and breathed a huge sigh of relief when, once again, she heard movement in the 26

hall. "Hurry, I can't hold it any longer."

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

The lock clicked, but the door opened so hard and fast it hit Samantha in the shoulder. Then Tiffany tossed a metal bowl at her, which struck her in the head. She fell as Tiffany slammed the door and slid the bolt home.

Tears sprang to Sam's eyes as she rubbed the painful bump on her temple. "Tiffany?" She sounded like a panicked baby, but she couldn't help it. "I don't understand. Why'd you do that? Aren't you going to let me out?"

"I told you, I'm cooking dinner," she called back. "We'll go over the rules later. Just pee in what I gave you."

Rules? Sam's gaze shifted to the metal mixing bowl still rolling on its side. She couldn't use it. It was too late. She'd already gone in her bikini bottom.

Tiffany felt better by the time she heard her husband's car in the driveway. She'd showered and changed, and then burned the shirt with Rover's blood on it in the fireplace. Now she was wearing nothing but a black lacy bra that barely contained her large breasts and a thong with a pair of six-inch heels. The scent of expensive perfume, Colin's favorite, mingled with the warm garlic bread she'd pulled from the oven and the candles she'd lit on the mantel.

With a final glance at her preparations, she smiled. Everything was just right. She'd even managed to clean up most of the pots and pans so Colin wouldn't have to look at a stack of dirty dishes.

He'd be so pleased.

"Tiff?"

As he came through the front door, she posed at the opening to the kitchen.

"Yes?" she said in her sultriest tone.

His eyebrows shot up. "Wow, what a greeting." A lascivious grin curved his lips as he gave her the once-over. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I thought you might want to make another movie." He enjoyed pretending he was a porn star. She suspected he shared the videos they made with some old friends of his, which bothered her, but she rarely permitted herself to think about it. If she questioned him or complained, she'd only start an argument. And what did it really matter? He was doing it to show off. She supposed she could allow him that. At the end of each session, he had her point to the tattoos that branded her his.

Anyway, tonight she'd do whatever Colin wanted. She needed to keep 27

him happy, to soften his heart before telling him about Rover.

"Do I get to eat dessert first?" he asked.

She ran her hands over her breasts, then lifted them out of her bra.

"Before and after if you want."

"It must be my birthday." As eager as he sounded, he took time to put his briefcase in the office off the main entrance.

She went back to stirring the pasta sauce so it wouldn't scorch.

"Hungry?" she called.

"For you." She hadn't realized he was so close. Coming up from behind, he hefted her breasts with his palms. "You smell so--"

When he fell silent, Tiffany's stomach muscles tensed. Had she missed some detail? Forgotten and used that hairspray he'd told her he hated? What?

"You didn't shave?" he said.

"Sh-shave?" She'd been in too much of a hurry. "I did this morning.

You were in the shower with me, remember?"

"How many times have we gone over this? You have to do it morning and night."

"I usually do, but it takes so long. And I couldn't feel any regrowth.

None." She rubbed her arms and still didn't feel the stubble that must've set him off. How had he noticed when she couldn't? He was so much more sensitive to appearances, smells, tastes, every nuance.

"I wouldn't ask you to do it if it wasn't important."

"Of course not. I know that. I just...I was worried about getting dinner ready before you got home." She wouldn't have had time to run to the grocery store and cook if she'd shaved. He made her remove all her body hair.

"Don't give me excuses. Completely bald. We've talked about this."

"I am bald where it really counts." She tried to compensate by rubbing her hand over the zipper of his pants, but he stepped out of reach.

"You don't want me very badly if you didn't shave. Do you think I have any desire for a woman who feels like a porcupine?"

Did that mean he was going to make her sleep on the floor again?

"I--" She searched for a way to distract him. She was sure the news that Samantha Duncan was upstairs would make him happy, but she had to save that surprise for later. She'd need something good, something better than good, to make up for letting Rover escape. "I made your favorite dinner."

She offered him her prettiest pout. "You're glad about that, aren't you?"

"I would've been if you'd shaved." With that, he walked out of the kitchen and turned on the television.

28

Tiffany peeked out at him. "Can I--can I get you a glass of wine?"

"Sure," he said, but when she brought it to him, he grimaced. "Put your damn tits away. I'm not interested in touching you if you can't take care of yourself."

This was their first night alone, and she'd ruined it. Why did she always have to screw up? He tried to teach her what he expected, but she never seemed to learn. "I'm sorry. If--if you want, you can spank me later."

"And have you sulk for two days? No thanks."

"I won't sulk. I promise."

He held up his glass, swirled the wine and took a sip. "Okay. But only if you let me film it."

"Fine."

"And show it to the guys with you present when they come over tomorrow night."

Her eyes flew to his face. He'd never asked her to watch with them before. He'd hinted at it, let her know Tommy Tuttle from high school would probably get a kick out of a group evening. And his other buddy, James Pearson, would love to join the fun. Tommy had a bum leg and felt too self-conscious to approach women; James used to be married, but his marriage had lasted only a few months.

Tiffany didn't like the idea, was afraid of where it might lead. But if she agreed, maybe Colin would go easier on her when she told him about Rover. "If that's what you want."

He waved for a coaster, and she nearly twisted an ankle trying to get him one. "That's what I want. Now get dinner on before you put me in a bad mood again."

Proud that it was almost ready, Tiffany returned to the kitchen to serve their meal while he watched the news.

"Come and get it," she called five minutes later.

He sat at the dining table while she filled his plate. She did so very carefully, making sure no two foods touched. She hadn't forgotten that lesson, not since he'd thrown his glass at her and broken her cheekbone.

Finished, she took her seat across the table and waited for him to sample his food. She didn't have permission to eat until he gave the okay.

Sometimes he was on dessert before he let her touch a single morsel, just to see if she'd eat a cold dinner rather than disobey him.

Tonight, she didn't mind if he never gave the signal. She was too nervous to eat, anyway. And, as appetizing as the bread smelled, she couldn't have garlic. She was afraid it would make her breath stink.

"How'd it go today?" he asked while he ate.

29

She swallowed hard. She wanted to tell him what had happened with Rover, get it over with. But she couldn't do that now. He'd blame her for ruining his meal on top of everything else. "Fine."

"Fine?" His fork stilled. "Last I heard you were in a panic."

"I calmed down." She motioned to his pasta. "How is it?"

"Delicious. You hungry?"

She didn't want to ruin the enjoyment he received from denying her, from proving to himself how much she loved him, so she nodded.

"How hungry?"

"Starving."

"Stand up."

Surprised, she jumped to her feet.

"Come over here where I can see you."

She held her breath as he pulled her close, made her turn around and examined every inch of her. "Is something wrong?" she finally asked.

"You're getting fat."

In his vocabulary, fat was worse than ugly. She couldn't help wincing.

"But I--I weigh the same as I did yesterday."

"Don't argue with me! Nobody knows your body better than I do." He eyed the Caesar salad, garlic bread and fettuccine primavera she'd prepared.

"This shit has too many calories for you. Get a frozen dinner and nuke it."

She'd eaten frozen diet dinners so often over the past few years they all tasted like cardboard to her, but he generally praised her if she left food on her plate. At least that would be easy tonight.

By the time she returned, he'd finished his meal. Stretching out, he nursed another glass of wine while watching her eat, and she picked cautiously at her food.

"Very good," he said. "I like that. Delicate. Feminine. So many women eat like pigs these days."

When she smiled, he leaned forward. "Take your tits out again."

She hesitated. "Don't you want me to shave first?"

"No. I need that stubble or I won't be able to punish you like I've got planned."

See? He cared about her. She had to make him angry before he could hit her. "I understand, Master." She took out her breasts, even stroked herself to get him excited. Then she abandoned the rest of her meal so she could do the dishes and satisfy him that much sooner.