"Have You Seen Her?" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rose Karen)

Chapter Seventeen

Wednesday, October 5, 6:00 P.M.

It got dark too damn early. Well, technically it got dark the same time as it had the night before, Steven thought, but the night before they hadn't mobilized twenty cops, forty-odd volunteers, and a canine cadaver unit to search for what in all likelihood was a very dead teenaged girl.

"There's two hundred acres of wooded land inside the circle you drew," said the local sheriff, a big burly man named Rogers. Rogers tapped the map they'd laid out across the hood of Steven's car. "It'll take us three days to cover that much ground, even with the dogs. You sure you boys can't narrow the field a little bit?"

"We could call the killer and say pretty please, can you give us better directions," Harry said sarcastically. Sheriff Rogers glared and opened his mouth to say something uplifting, no doubt.

"Harry," Steven cautioned.

Harry made a face. "I'm sorry. I interviewed sex perverts all day and I'm no company for decent people."

Sheriff Rogers relaxed. "Who said I was decent people?" he asked kindly. "It would help if you boys could get a chopper in here. You could see the clearings, assumin' that's where he's put her."

"That's where he put the last one, and where he probably intended to put this one last Friday," Harry said. "Except he was interrupted by the old man's dog." He looked over at Kent who was staring at the map. "How is the dog, by the way?"

Kent looked up and pushed his glasses up his nose. "He'll pull through."

"You've been keeping tabs on the dog?" Steven asked, surprised.

"He's been keeping tabs on the lady vet that sewed up the dog," Harry corrected with a smirk and Steven watched Kent's cheeks redden. "Cute little thing, she is," Harry added with a sly wink and Kent's cheeks went even darker.

"Back off, Harry," Steven said mildly, although the tone of his voice belied the turbulence inside him. Harry's careless comment sent his brain flying to the mental picture of Jenna he couldn't erase from his mind. Was she okay? He'd planned to call her this evening, to see if he could stop by and discuss the night before… Heat spread through him despite the chill in the air. Just as heat had spread through him each time he thought her name. This was ridiculous.

So why couldn't he make it stop and concentrate? On his job? On Brad? On anything other than the kaleidoscope of emotions she made him feel? From undeniable want to a guilt that gnawed at him every time he remembered the hurt look on her face when he walked away last night.

He had to fix that. Make her bewildered hurt look go away. His mind flashed to the belligerent contempt he'd seen in Brad's eyes this morning. He had to make that go away, too.

Dammit, he had to fix something in his life.

He forced himself to focus on the map spread out on the hood of his car. Rogers was indeed correct. There was no way they'd search the entire area on foot in anything less than three days. "I'll call in a chopper at first light tomorrow morning," Steven said. "For now"-he pointed at the lower left corner of the circle on the map-"we keep searching here. Everybody's got flashlights. I've got a spotlight in my trunk, so when we find her, we can light up the area. We can at least keep the animals away until morning." He set his jaw. "If she's here, we need to find her."

"Before every wild animal in the forest does," Kent said.

Harry grimaced. "I-"

Steven's cell phone jangled and he pulled it from his pocket and checked the caller ID, motioning Harry toward the woods at the same time. "Check on those volunteers, Harry. I don't want them trampling anything important." He put the phone to his ear. "Hey, Helen. This really isn't a good time. Can I call you back later?"

"No, Steven," Helen said, her voice shaking. "This is important."

Dread had him standing straighten "What? What's happened?"

"Brad's run away."

Steven sagged back against his car. "How do you know?"

"He left a note."

Like mother, like son. Another goddamned note. "Did he say where he was going?"

"No, no he didn't." Her voice wobbled and he knew she was crying. "Steven, I need you here."

He looked around and made a decision. Harry was ready for an increase in responsibility. And even if Harry wasn't, he'd have to become ready pretty damn quick. "I'll be home in half an hour."

Wednesday, October 5, 6:30 P.M.

Wednesday was meat loaf night at the Llewellyn house. Allison's meat loaf recipe had belonged to her mother. The dear, departed Mrs. Llewellyn must have been a god-awful cook too.

Jenna looked down at the generous helping of meat loaf topped with ketchup and felt her stomach roll. It looked a little too much like… dead possum readkill. She swallowed hard and heard a snicker to her right.

Charlie nudged her. "Possum pie," she whispered with a grin.

Jenna swallowed again and frowned. "How do you know about that?"

"I heard about it from kids at school." She lifted a shoulder philosophically. "You know how gossip is. It was all the talk in the cafeteria." She grinned again, wider this time, the light from the chandelier glinting off her braces. "Especially since today the cafeteria ladies made goulash."

Jenna grimaced and pushed her plate away. "That's it. I'm done."

Allison frowned from across the table. "You haven't even started yet."

"I'm sorry, Allison. I just don't have a lot of appetite today." Jenna nudged Charlie less than gently when the little girl snickered again. "Shut up, Charlie," she gritted through clenched teeth.

Allison looked from Jenna to her daughter suspiciously, then set into her own meat loaf with fervor. "I suppose that's understandable, under the circumstances."

Jenna looked at Charlie who shook her head and shrugged. "What circumstances?"

"Well, Saturday, of course," said Allison impatiently, then true horror flooded her face when Jenna made no show of understanding. "You've forgotten about Adam? Jenna, how could you?"

Saturday. October eighth. The day of Adam's "passing." Jenna closed her eyes as guilt layered over all the other emotions churning in her gut. How could she, indeed'' But somehow between the revulsion at the gift left swinging from her ceiling, frustration at all the antics of Rudy and his friends and Blackman's unwillingness to stop them, combined with a healthy shot of sexual frustration over Steven… she'd forgotten.

She heard the sound of Allison's fork clattering against her plate.

"I think it's just disgraceful," Allison said, anger tightening her voice.

"Allie," Seth started, but Allison cut him off.

"Disgraceful, Dad," Allison repeated with disgust. "Let-ting that man… that policeman she's only known a week- not even a week! Coming to her apartment, staying until midnight last night. She's let him make her forget about the man she was supposed to marry! I call that disgraceful."

Jenna's eyes flew open and immediately fixed on Seth's face. He looked very guilty.

"Mrs. Kasselbaum," Jenna said darkly. She could see the chain of events clearly now and it pissed her off. Temper flared and she was just too damn tired to clamp a lid on it.

"You know what a gossip she is," Seth said weakly.

"I know what a gossip you are," Jenna shot back, anger making her tongue loose, not caring when he flinched and hurt filled his eyes. She turned to Allison, fury making her body tremble. "And, Allison, even though it is absolutely none of your business, I made the man dinner last night."

Allison's lips thinned in disapproval. "At midnight?"

Jenna lurched to her feet, her palms narrowly missing her plate of meat loaf as she slapped them down on the table. "Yes, at midnight. As you so noted, he is a policeman. He got called to a case, so I made him dinner later so he wouldn't go hungry. Although if we'd screwed like weasels on Mrs. Kas-selbaum's welcome mat it wouldn't have been any of your damn business."

Allison's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Charlie's eyes widened. Garrett looked like he'd swallowed his fork.

"Jenna," Seth started and Jenna held up her hand to stop him.

"I'm not finished. You say you want me to get on with my life. But the first chance I get, I'm disgraceful," she sputtered, then pointed her finger at Seth. "I am tired of your gossip and meddling." She turned her finger to Allison. "I am tired of your bossiness." She felt a sob building in her chest and fruitlessly battled it. "And I am tired of your damn Wednesday meat loaf." Leaving the table in stunned silence, she rushed out, managing to grab her purse as she barreled through the front door and down the steep driveway. She held off the tears until she got to Adam's car.

No, not Adam's car. Adam was dead. D-e-a-d, dead. Two years ago this Saturday. This was not Adam's car. This is my car. "My car," she gritted aloud. My car. My life. Her hands shook as she tried to put the key in the lock and the sob broke free. She leaned her forehead against the car and felt the waves of emotion crash in her head and the tears come. And come. And come.

My life. My totally out of control life.

A hand gently pulled the key from her fist and turned her body into his. Jenna felt Seth's arms wrap around her shoulders and his head pushing her cheek into his shoulder. And she cried.

Seth held her as she cried, rocking her, stroking her hair as her own father would have done. She cried over Adam, over the boys at school, over Steven. She even cried over the stupid meat loaf. And when her tears were spent, Seth held her a little longer, still stroking her hair.

"I understand you've had a rather taxing week, young lady," he said gently and she nodded, her cheek still pressed to his shoulder.

"My life sucks," she moaned and he chuckled. For some reason that made her feel better.

"You know, you've made me work pretty hard this week," he said and she pulled back to look at him. He pulled a cotton hankie from his pocket and she took it, mopping her wet face.

She sniffled. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, you told me about the tires and your ankle. But the rest I had to find out from Mrs. Kasselbaum and-" He closed his mouth. "And others," he added.

Her eyes narrowed. "What others?" she asked suspiciously.

His white brows lifted. "1 don't disclose my sources," he said loftily, then he sobered. "Why didn't you tell us about the problems at school, Jenna?" he asked. "The vandalism to your classroom. The water in your gas tank. The possum. We're your family. Why didn't you tell us?"

Jenna dropped her eyes. "I didn't want to worry you."

"So instead you keep it all in until you explode all over Allison's meat loaf?" he asked, a smile in his voice, and her lips quivered.

"That was bad of me," she admitted. "You are a meddling gossip and Allison is bossy, but I shouldn't have let it come out like that. I'm sorry, Dad."

"Accepted." Then he grinned. "But I didn't hear an apology about the meat loaf."

"I couldn't pull that one off with a straight face," Jenna returned, her own grin wobbly.

"Come on back, Jenna. You have a family that's worried about you." He lifted her chin so that she looked up the driveway to where Allison, Garrett, and Charlie stood watching intently.

So she climbed the driveway to the people that cared about her. They were her family. Despite their eccentricities and terrible food.

"I'm sorry, Jenna," said Allison and Jenna felt tears well again. Allison had been crying, too.

"I'm sorry I called you bossy," Jenna said and hugged Allison tightly.

"What about the meat loaf?" Charlie asked and Jenna hic-cuped a laugh.

"Shut up, Charlotte Anne," Jenna and Allison said in unison, then they both laughed and Jenna felt true peace for the first time in days.

And then, of course, the phone rang. Garrett answered it, his expression puzzled. "Yes, she's here." He cupped the phone. "Jenna, it's for you. It's a Father Leone and he says it's urgent."

The peace fizzled abruptly as she listened to Father Mike ask her to meet him at his parish.

Wednesday, October 5, 7:30 P.M.

"Where are we going?" Jenna asked after she'd strapped herself into Father Mike's car.

"Out past Shotwell Crossing," he answered, turning out of the rectory driveway. "We should just beat Steven and Brad there."

"So let me get this straight," Jenna said, holding up her hand. "Brad runs away." She ticked off one finger. "So Helen calls Steven who, thankfully, agrees to leave his job and come home." She ticked off another finger.

"So you've noticed Steven's propensity to work," Father Mike said, looking straight ahead.

"I've noticed Steven hides from his kids. I don't know why." Jenna studied Father Mike's profile. His perfect poker face. "And you're not going to tell me, are you? Even though you know."

"No."

Jenna sighed. "Okay, fine. So moving right along, Steven starts for home, but on his way Helen calls him back and tells him Brad's grandmother on his mother's side has called and Brad is there." She ticked off a third finger.

"Right so far."

"So Steven gets mad, surprise, surprise, and decides he'll go get Brad and teach him a lesson by, of all things, making him volunteer in the search for this missing teenager." She ticked off a fourth finger and frowned. "What is the man thinking?"

"That Brad needs to grow up and stop throwing childish tantrums," Father Mike responded.

"Hell of a way to grow up," Jenna said, then bit her tongue. "Sorry, Father. I just don't believe searching for a girl who's likely a corpse is the best way to effect maturity."

"And on that we agree," Father Mike said, maneuvering his car onto the highway.

"So wrapping things up"-she ticked off her thumb- "Helen gets upset and calls you. She tries to call me, thinking I have some magic wand I can wave to make Steven behave, and though I'm not home somehow she manages to figure out where I am. I still want to know how she tracked me down. And what possessed her to believe he'll listen to a blessed thing I have to say."

"He, Steven, or he, Brad?"

"Either. Both."

Father Mike glanced over. "Did you learn more than counting when you got your Ph.D.?"

Jenna smiled. "They taught me lots of stuff, but frankly, none of it of any great use lately."

"Your parents must be proud."

Jenna raised a brow. "If that's your way of inquiring into my past, you don't have to be so clever. I'll tell you what you want to know if you tell me how Helen tracked me down."

Father Mike grinned. "Fair enough. Where did you grow up?"

"Maryland suburbs outside D.C. Lower middle class. My dad worked for the government."

"Doing what?"

"Don't know."

Father Mike looked over in surprise. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know. Dad worked for the Department of Defense. He took an oath of silence or something. I know what building he worked in, but that was all."

"That must have made for an interesting childhood."

Jenna pursed her lips. "You could say that."

"So what about your mother?"

Jenna carefully considered her response. The man was a priest after all. "She didn't take an oath of silence." she finally answered.

"Hmm, I see," Father Mike said. "A tad dominant? Demanding?"

"A tad," Jenna said dryly.

"Made you an overachiever?"

Jenna didn't have to think back. She could hear her mother's voice in her mind as clearly as Father Mike's. Demanding straight A's, saying her classes were too easy when she brought home perfect report cards. Critical. Always critical. "I was the valedictorian in high school, graduated top two percent from Duke, magna cum laude from Maryland, and with honors from UNC."

"And your mama never said she was proud of you."

Jenna was annoyed to feel a lump in her throat. She didn't like to think about her mother, much less feel wistful that she'd never gained her mother's approval. "No."

"And you were your daddy's girl?"

"Down to my Mary Janes."

"Which you could see your face in."

Jenna smiled ruefully. "If she weren't dearly deceased, I'd swear you'd met my mother."

"I've met enough mothers like her. And fathers too. Any brothers or sisters?"

"None that I know of," Jenna replied cheerfully. "Just little old me."

"Little old you that goes on to get a bunch of degrees, then goes to work teaching high school kids." He looked thoughtful. "I have to admit I haven't figured that one out yet."

Jenna shrugged. "No secret. I met a man in the doctoral program at UNC. Fell in love, got engaged. The two of us went to work doing pharmaceutical research. Then he got sick and died. I'd taken leave to care for him, but afterward, I didn't want to go back to research. It reminded me too much of him. My best friend is an English teacher at Roosevelt High and knew they needed another science teacher. Presto, chango, and voila! I am now a science teacher."

"Who flunks quarterbacks."

Jenna's lips thinned. "Yep, that's me."

"And reaches out to bright kids that flunk chemistry."

Jenna softened. "Yep, that's me, too."

"Well, I'd say that was the reason Helen thought Brad would listen to you. I think you know why she thought Steven would listen to you."

Jenna thought of Steven's face as he walked away the night before, so angry. And only God knew why. Her eyes narrowed. Or maybe Steven's priest. "Shows how much you know," she muttered. "Exactly how much do you know?"

"Nothing," Father Mike replied. But she saw his jaw tighten.

"That's what I thought," Jenna said, then shrugged. "So how did Helen track me down?"

"You'd be much easier to find if you had a cell phone," Father Mike replied.

"No welching, Father. I kept my end of the bargain. How did she track me down?"

"Ready to count on your fingers again?" he asked with a grin. "Okay. Matt's best friend on his soccer team has a big brother at Roosevelt who has… noticed you. From afar of course."

Jenna felt her cheeks heat. She was aware of the stares of the adolescent boys, which was one of the reasons she always wore business suits-to be as unsexy as possible. That didn't extend to her underwear, though, which was the only place she could be truly feminine. Which nobody knew about. Except Steven. She cleared her throat. "Of course."

"Matt's friend's big brother told Helen your best friend was Miss Ryan, the English teacher."

"But Casey's unlisted."

"This is true. But enter Steven's trusty assistant Nancy, add one simple search of the Bureau of Motor Vehicles, and presto, chango, voila! Miss Ryan tells us you routinely have Wednesday meat loaf with your former fiance's family, who, incidentally, she finds 'totally weird.'" He punctuated the air. "Her words, not mine."

"It's a fair cop," Jenna said. "Except I didn't have meat loaf tonight."

"What did you have?"

"Nothing." To her surprise her stomach growled. "And I'm starving.'"

"Well, we're coming up to our exit and they have one of every fast-food joint there is. What's your pleasure, Dr. Marshall?"

The answer was simple. "Anything that doesn't look like possum roadkill."

Father Mike choked on a laugh. "I don't want to know. Truly do not want to know. You do realize that you've just eliminated nine out of ten of the fast-food places on the pike."

Jenna looked at the upcoming throng of neon arches and crowns. "At this point I'd be satisfied with loaves and fishes."

Father Mike grinned. "I like you, Jenna. I have no idea what you see in Steven, but I know what he sees in you.

There's a fish place about a mile from here that looks like a dump but has good fish and buttermilk biscuits to go." "Then lead the way, good Father. My treat."

Wednesday, October 5, 8:00 P.M.

If looks could kill, they'd both be dead, Steven thought grimly, pulling the Volvo alongside Harry's Toyota. Brad sat sullenly staring ahead.

"Unbuckle and get out," Steven said, jerking at his own seat belt.

"Or what?" Brad asked, his voice sharp as a knife. "Or you'll lock me up?"

Steven twisted in his seat to study Brad's profile. The profile of a total stranger. "Do I have to? Do I have to lock you up to keep you from running away again?"

Brad turned to look at him, defiance in his eyes. "I'll be eighteen in four months."

Steven clenched his teeth. "I know when your birthday is, Brad."

Brad looked away. "Yeah, I guess you do," he muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steven asked sharply.

Once again his son met his eyes and this time Steven saw contempt mixed with the defiance. "Just that you should know my birthday. It's nine months to the day of your senior prom."

Steven felt the blood drain from his face. "Your mother and I never made any secret of the… circumstances of your… conception. You were free to figure it out from the day you learned how to add and subtract."

Brad's smile twisted. "The circumstances of my concep-tion. I like that. Very good, Dad." He looked out the window. "You are such a damn hypocrite."

"Don't take that tone with me, Brad." Steven drew a breath and counted to ten. In Latin. Backward. "I don't know what your problem has been this last month or who the hell you think you are, but I have news for you, son. I am your father. And I will continue to be your father in the four months until you reach the sacred age of eighteen. And I demand respect for no other reason than I am your father."

"Yeah, you brought me into this world, you can take me out," Brad said bitterly.

"I have never, never said that to you," Steven gritted. "In your seventeen years I have never, never laid a hand on you. Although at this moment, the idea holds considerable appeal.'" He reached over Brad, pulled the door handle, and pushed the door open, letting in the cool night air. "Now get your defiant ass out of this car or I may give in to my desire to whip the shit out of you."

"Why, so I can participate in the family business?" Brad asked with a sneer and Steven saw red.

"No, son. I don't need your help. I don't even want your help. What I do want is for you to take a look over there." Steven pointed at twenty bobbing lights in the distance. "Do you know what those volunteers are doing?"

"Looking for a body."

"Dammit, Brad, no. They are not looking for just a body. They are looking for a human person. They are giving of themselves. And that's something I haven't seen you do in weeks. Do you know who they're looking for? Do you even care?"

Brad's defiance faltered and Steven watched his son swallow hard. "A sixteen-year-old girl."

"Yes. A girl whose parents loved her. Who for some reason nobody may ever know left the safety of her bed in the mid-die of the night to find something. Excitement maybe. Who knows? Instead, we're looking for her with cadaver dogs, Brad. Do you know what that means?"

Brad swallowed again. "That she's probably dead."

Steven nodded, his heart in his throat. "So you get the Kewpie doll. I am sick and tired of watching you mope around. I am sick and tired of you not bathing or shaving or studying, but most of all I'm sick and tired of what you've done to our family."

Brad's jaw clenched. "What I've done to our family?" he asked softly, then laughed and the sound sent chills down Steven's spine. "You have one hell of a lot of nerve, Dad." He got out of the car. "I'll help those men search, because I want to. Not because I give a damn about you."

Clutching at the steering wheel, Steven watched his oldest son walk away, tall and slender. In every physical way totally the same as he'd been two months ago. In every other way, a total stranger. Brad reported to Sheriff Rogers who, after glancing over at Steven for an okay, handed him a flashlight and walkie-talkie and pointed him to the woods.

Steven closed his eyes and shuddered out a breath. Then breathed in again and knew he was hallucinating. Her perfume. As real as if she was sitting next to him.

"Steven."

His eyes flew open. She was sitting next to him. Dressed in a conservative suit with her hair down around her shoulders. Instantly he remembered the last time he'd seen her, not twenty-four hours before. The heat, the greed that hadn't yet subsided. It had been embers all day, embers that now fanned into a full-fledged flame. His body responded. Of course. His hands clenched the steering wheel harder to keep from grabbing her where she sat.

"What are you doing here?" he asked slowly, carefully.

She blinked those violet eyes, moistened her full red lips, tucked a stray lock of black hair behind her ear. "To be honest, I'm not really sure. But your aunt and your priest believe I have some influence over your logic, which at the moment seems very flawed."

His aunt. He should have known.

His priest. Who Sandra was investigating at this very moment for possible murder.

God, his life really, truly sucked.

He shifted, stretching out his arm along the top of the steering wheel so he could see her face. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, the smoothness of his voice at odds with the temper he felt simmering inside, "but I have every confidence you will fill me in."

Jenna sighed. "Steven, when did you see your first dead body. On the job, that is?"

It was his turn to blink. It was not the question he'd expected. "My second day. It was a suicide. Guy ate his gun."

She winced. "And you still can see the picture in your mind," she said softly.

He could, as clearly as if it were before him at that moment. He could see it and smell it and taste it. Death. The terrible sight, stench, taste of death. He'd woken in a cold sweat for weeks.

"How you discipline your son is nobody's business but your own," she said and gingerly laid her fingertips on his arm. His muscles clenched and quivered at her touch. "But what would happen if Brad actually stumbles on that young girl's body? The first girl was stabbed, wasn't she?"

Steven nodded, the idiocy of his actions closing in. "Viciously."

Jenna swallowed hard. "Do you expect to find this girl stabbed as well?"

"Yes."

"Then is that an image you want in your son's mind for the rest of his life?"

Steven looked away. Dammit, she was right. He'd been totally wrong. He hated to be wrong.

"I'll go now," she murmured. "Should I take Brad with me?"

He jerked a nod and watched as she gracefully slipped from the seat and nodded to Mike, who'd been standing in the shadows. She hesitated, then leaned into the opening of the door. The dome lamp threw her face into shadow, but even in the muted light he could see the concern in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Steven."

Once he'd welcomed her concern, but tonight it was a bitter pill.

"Just go," he said, his voice raspy. "Please, just leave me alone."

When she was gone, when she'd climbed into the car with Mike and Brad, he pulled himself out of the Volvo and approached Harry who'd been silently watching the entire exchange. "Well," Steven asked, silently daring Harry to say anything remotely funny or personal, "where are we?"

Harry looked subdued. "Same place as before. Nothing. We did chase away a reporter."

Steven's hackles went up. "Big guy? Dark hair, late thirties, denim jacket, teal Dodge Neon?"

Harry's eyes widened. "That's him."

"I don't suppose you got his license number."

"Actually, I did." Harry rattled it off. "I'll have Nancy run a check. Who is he?"

"I don't know," Steven said. "But I have a feeling that sooner or later I'm going to find out."