Mr. Perfect (Page 80)

"Okay, I’ll let you go." Shelley sounded defeated. "I tried."

"Bye," Jaine said thickly, and fumbled to return the phone to its hook, but couldn’t quite reach it. Sam leaned forward to do the honors, and the movement pushed him so deeply inside her that she shrieked and climaxed. When she could speak, she pushed her hair out of her face and said, "You’re evil." She was panting and weak, unable to do anything except lie there.

"No, babe, I’m good," he countered, and proved it. When he was lying beside her, sweaty and limp, he said sleepily, "I gather we almost got BooBoo back."

"Yeah, and you weren’t helping matters," she grumbled. "She knew what you were doing, too. I’ll probably never live this down."

The phone rang again. Jaine said, "If it’s Shelley, I’m not here."

"Like she’ll believe that," he said as he groped for the receiver.

"I don’t care what she believes, as long as I don’t have to talk to her right now."

"Hello," he said. "Yeah, she’s here."

He extended the phone, and she took it, glaring at him. He mouthed, "Cheryl," and she sighed with relief. "Hi, Cheryl."

"Hi. Listen, I’ve been trying to call Luna. I have some photos of Marci that she wanted to have copied, and I wanted her address to mail them to her. I was just there yesterday, but who pays attention to street signs and numbers? Anyway, she isn’t answering her phone, so do you have the address?"

Jaine sat upright, a chill roughening her bare skin. "She isn’t answering? How long have you been trying to call?" "Since eight, I guess. About three hours." Cheryl suddenly got it, and said, "Oh, God."

Sam was out of bed, pulling on his pants. "Who?" he asked sharply, and turned on his cell phone. "Luna," Jaine answered, her throat tight. "Listen, Cheryl, maybe it’s nothing. Maybe she went to church, or out to breakfast with Shamal. Maybe she’s with him. I’ll check and have her call you when I find her. Okay?" Sam punched out numbers on the cell phone as he pulled a clean shirt out of the closet and shrugged into it. Carrying his socks and shoes, he left the bedroom, talking so quietly into the little phone she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

To Cheryl she said, "Sam’s calling some people. He’ll find her." She hung up without saying good-bye, then vaulted out of bed and began fumbling for her own clothes. She was shaking, the tremors growing worse by the second. Just a few minutes ago she had been so blissed out, and now this awful terror was making her sick; the contrast was almost paralyzing.

She stumbled into the living room, fastening her jeans, as Sam was going out the door. He was wearing his pistol and his badge. "Wait!" she cried, panicked. "No." He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "You can’t go."

"Yes I can." Wildly she looked around for her shoes. They were in the bedroom, damn it. "Wait for me!"

"Jaine." It was his cop voice. "No. If anything has happened, you’ll only be in the way. You wouldn’t be allowed inside, and it’s too damn hot to sit out in the truck. Go over to T.J.’s and wait there. I’ll call you as soon as I know something."

She was still shaking, and now she was crying, too. No wonder he didn’t want her along. She swiped her hand over her face. "P-promise?"

"I promise." His expression softened. "Be careful on the way to T.J.’s. And, babe – don’t let anyone in the door, okay?"

She nodded, feeling worse than useless. "Okay."

"I’ll call," he said again, and was gone.

Jaine slumped down on the sofa and cried in raw, ragged gulps. She couldn’t do this again; she just couldn’t. Not Luna. She was so young and beautiful, that bastard couldn’t have hurt her. Luna had to be with Shamal; she had been so luminously happy at his sudden turnaround that they were probably spending every spare moment together. Sam would find her. Shamal’s number was unlisted, but cops had ways of getting unlisted numbers. Luna would be with Shamal, and then Jaine would feel silly for panicking this way.

Finally she stopped crying and mopped her face. She had to get to T.J.’s, to wait for Sam’s call. She started to the bedroom, then abruptly turned back and locked the front door.

She arrived at T.J.’s twenty minutes later, having done nothing more than brush her teeth and hair and finish dressing. She leaned on the doorbell. "T.J. it’s Jaine! Hurry!"

She heard running footsteps, the cocker spaniel barking; then the door was wrenched open and T.J. ‘s worried face swam before her. "What’s wrong?" T.J. asked, jerking her inside the door, but Jaine couldn’t tell her; she couldn’t get the words out. Still barking hysterically, the cocker spaniel, Trilby, jumped up on their legs.

"Trilby, hush!" T.J. said. Her chin trembled, and she swallowed. "Luna?"

Jaine nodded, still unable to talk. T.J. put her hand over her mouth as awful, gut-wrenching cries tore from her throat, and she fell back against the wall. "No, no!" Jaine managed to say, putting her arms around T.J. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – " She took a deep breath. "We don’t know yet. Sam’s on his way over there, and he’s going to call here when he knows – "

"What’s going on?" Galan asked in alarm, stepping into the foyer. A section of the Sunday paper was in his hand. Trilby ran over to him, her little stump of a tail wagging ferociously.

That damn shaking had started again. Jaine tried to control it. "Luna’s missing. Cheryl hasn’t been able to get her on the phone."

"So she’s gone grocery shopping," Galan said, shrugging. T.J. gave him a look of such fury it should have scorched his skin. "He thinks we’re hysterical and Marci was lolled by some doper."