The Perfect Couple (Last Stand #4)(41)
Author: Brenda Novak

"No."

"No new leads?"

"No old ones, either. At least none Detective Thomas hasn’t ruled out." Her small suitcase had wheels, but she was reluctant to set it down. She didn’t want a conversation with Colin right now. Especially if he was drunk.

She had to go in and face Anton.

He clicked his tongue. "That’s too bad."

"I’m sorry to be unsociable, but I’m exhausted. I hope you’ll forgive me if…" She made a move for the house, but he stopped her.

"Hey, not so fast. I’ve been waiting all night."

"For…?"

He didn’t clarify. "Who’s that guy you were with?"

He’d definitely had too much to drink. He and his wife threw an occasional party. Zoe and Anton had heard the loud music that sometimes pounded late into the night, but it didn’t happen often, and Colin and Tiffany seldom invited more than a friend or two, so it hadn’t been a problem.

Maybe they’d had one of their parties tonight….

"Jonathan’s a private investigator," she explained. "He’s helping with the search."

"His name is Jonathan?"

She hesitated, unsure of Colin’s suspicious tone. "Yes. Jonathan Stivers. Have you heard of him?"

"Not until now. But…he’s a nice-looking man, I’ll give him that."

How was she supposed to respond? "How’d you see more than a glimpse of him?"

"He was here the other night."

"Oh, right." She transferred her suitcase to her other hand as Colin came toward her. Once he stepped out of the shadows, she could tell that he wasn’t wearing a shirt or shoes, just a pair of sweatpants. And his hair was mussed as if he’d shoved his fingers through it a few too many times.

"Don’t you trust the police to handle the investigation?" he asked.

"They’re doing what they can, but more help is always better."

"Actually, they’re useless." He scratched his bare chest. "But this Jonathan…he’s good?"

"I think so. He’s smart, thorough."

"You just said he hasn’t dredged up a single lead." He fingered one of his ni**les, which made Zoe squirm to get farther away. She’d never seen him without his shirt and it felt odd that he’d come outside to talk to her half-dressed. She supposed he’d been in a hurry, trying to catch her. But did he have to touch himself?

"It’s a difficult case," she said.

"You sound defensive."

She was defensive of Jonathan, which served as further proof of her infatuation with him. "I’m trying to be fair."

He dropped his hand and she staunchly ignored the puckering of his ni**les. "I doubt it’s as tough as everyone’s claiming," he scoffed. "It’s probably some registered sex offender living in our own neighborhood. I swear they should paint a big red X on each of their doors."

Could Sam be that close? It made sense, especially now that they’d eliminated Franky as a suspect and her father as a potential refuge.

She gazed down the dark street. "The police mentioned there are a few in the area." These days they were in every area.

"What are the police–or Jonathan–doing about it?"

"They’re interviewing each one and checking on their whereabouts."

"As if walking around and passing out cards will solve any crime."

Colin was concerned about Sam, too. She felt grateful for that. But she was too much on edge to tolerate his suggestion that the forces on her side were too inept or powerless to make a difference. Don’t give up hope….

As supportive as Colin was trying to be, he wasn’t helping tonight; she had to escape him before she fell to new depths of despair. "Good night."

"Where’d he take you, Zoe?" he asked as if she hadn’t just ended the conversation. Her name had come out more softly than the rest, so it sounded…intimate.

That’s the alcohol. It was making him act strange. She wanted to pretend she hadn’t heard him. But she couldn’t repay his kindness of the other night by being rude to him now, even if he was drunk.

Extending the handle on her suitcase, she finally put it on the ground.

"To L.A."

"What’s in L.A.?"

Zoe glanced over her shoulder. Where was Anton? Surely he’d heard Jonathan’s car pull up if Colin had. Why didn’t her fiance come to the door, take her luggage and welcome her home?

Maybe he’d tried to wait up but had fallen asleep…. "My father lives there. We were hoping Sam might’ve been in touch with him."

"Seems reasonable." Colin shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his sweats, causing them to dip low enough to suggest he wasn’t wearing underwear.

Zoe could barely stop herself from blanching. "Yes, well–"

"We certainly missed you around here."

Missed her? She’d only been gone one night. "That’s…nice." She inched toward the walkway, but he stepped over the fence and followed her.

"I have a question."

Scrabbling for patience, Zoe waited. "Yes?"

"Did you think about me while you were gone?"

The hair suddenly stood up on the back of her neck. "Excuse me?"

He gave her a calculated-to-charm smile. "You heard me."

"But I’m not sure what you mean."

His bark of laughter made her hope he was joking, but what he said next was even more confusing. "Oh, so we’re going to play that game."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

The porch light at Colin’s house snapped on and Tiffany poked her head out. "Honey?"

Zoe breathed a sigh of relief, but he didn’t even turn. "Your wife’s standing on your stoop," she said.

He scowled. "So?"

"She wants a word with you."

"And I want–"

"Colin?" Tiffany interrupted.

Her second call seemed to get through to him. "What is it?" he hollered, his voice impatient and overloud.

"You’ve had a little too much to drink tonight. Maybe you should come in."

He rolled his eyes. "She can’t get enough of me, if you know what I mean."

Zoe was afraid he might spell it out for her, but he didn’t. "She’s right.

You’d better go inside."

"Yeah, okay," he said. Then he shrugged and walked back to his own yard. "Yeah, yeah, I’m coming," he grumbled and threw Zoe a parting "See ya tomorrow."

"I hope not," she muttered as the Bells’ door closed and the porch light winked off.

Free at last, Zoe went inside her own house, rolling her suitcase behind her. But Anton wasn’t sleeping as she’d expected. He sat at the kitchen table, a drink at his elbow.