The Perfect Couple (Last Stand #4)(45)
Author: Brenda Novak

"How do you like that?" she taunted, yanking it still tighter.

Sam couldn’t answer. Spots danced before her eyes, and in the next instant, she saw nothing at all.

It wasn’t the first time Zoe had slept in her car. When she’d left home at seventeen in the old VW bug her father had bought her, she and Samantha had spent more nights in the backseat huddled up for warmth than they had in a hotel or apartment. Without a high-school diploma, Zoe couldn’t get much of a job, and she hadn’t had anyone to take care of Sam even if she could’ve found work. So they’d bounced around the state, living out of her car or in shelters–when she wasn’t with a boyfriend who could help her provide a more stable existence. If that boyfriend was trustworthy and willing to watch Sam, Zoe worked in fast-food places at night. But her relationships never lasted long enough for her to get ahead. She’d always been attracted to rebels, or artist types with big dreams but little sense of responsibility–the exact opposite of Anton Lucassi, which was why she’d expected that relationship to work. He was what every mother told her daughter to look for.

Maybe she and Anton would’ve been more compatible had there been less of an age gap, had her background been different, had he not been jaded by the residual damage left by his first wife. He was too cautious to really love again, and she was too distrustful to love at all.

So here she was, in the middle of another breakup. She was sort of relieved she wouldn’t have to listen to Anton’s constant, and sometimes nagging, advice. He could be such a know-it-all. But it was discouraging to think she couldn’t seem to make any relationship succeed.

Sitting straight, she stretched a painful kink out of her neck, then took inventory of what she had in her purse. She had to rally, stave off the pain of her current situation by being practical. This wasn’t the first time she’d been down and out. She’d overcome it, regroup. But how? What assets did she possess that she might use to find her daughter and build a new life?

Her wallet contained a couple of hundred bucks, and she had a Visa card with three thousand in available credit–provided Anton didn’t shut it down. His name was on the card, too, as the primary; chances were, he’d close the account as soon as his conscience would allow it. She could’ve rented a cheap motel room, but if he didn’t close the account, every dollar spent on herself was a dollar less to put toward the search for Sam.

With a sigh, she twisted around to gaze at the garbage bags stuffed in her backseat. Together with the suitcases in the trunk, they held everything she and Sam owned. But even if she sold it all, together with her engagement ring, she’d never make enough to offer a sizable reward.

Pawned engagement rings and used clothing didn’t go for a premium.

She’d thought of going to Jonathan. But they’d barely met. She didn’t want to jump from one relationship to another, not when she was in this state. It wasn’t fair to expect him to help her. So…

"What now?" she muttered, staring dejectedly out the window. After leaving the house, she’d driven to the airport, where she’d gotten through the rest of the night by pretending she’d found Sam and they were about to take off on a vacation to Mexico. It was light now, but she refused to let go of that dream. She stared at the planes, imagining it all….

Mesmerized by the sound and movement, she continued to watch; she wasn’t sure how long. The sun was quite a bit higher in the sky when she finally dragged herself out of her lethargy. She couldn’t sit here and do nothing, she told herself, couldn’t collapse beneath the despair. Sam was counting on her.

Silently promising her daughter that she’d hold tough, Zoe retrieved her cell phone from where it had gotten wedged between her seat and the console, and called Detective Thomas.

He wasn’t in. It was after eight o’clock, but just barely, and that was obviously too early. Other people still had regular lives.

She pictured him sitting at breakfast with his wife, enjoying a second cup of coffee before heading in to the office, and couldn’t help resenting him for not being available. She had no right to expect more than he was doing.

He’d been responsive, was checking out every lead, keeping an eye on the shelters, talking to the neighbors. But it was just a job to him. Sam’s case wasn’t very different from all the others that needed to be solved.

Curling her fingernails into the palm of her free hand, Zoe called Skye. She hated to ask her friend for more help. The Last Stand was already paying for Jonathan and had funded their trip to Los Angeles. But she knew she’d do anything, even beg in the street, if it meant finding her child. She needed to get more media coverage. Someone had to have seen her daughter.

Maybe Skye had contacts who could help them distribute a new press release, get Sam’s picture on TV again.

The phone rang three times, but at that point a beep signaled an incoming call. Expecting it to be the detective she’d just tried to reach, she switched over.

"Hello?"

"Hey, how’s it goin’?"

It wasn’t Thomas; it was her former neighbor, Colin Bell.

The sound of his voice immediately evoked the memory of his drunken behavior last night.

"I’m fine," she lied. Because she no longer trusted his motives, she no longer wanted his help or support. She’d do this herself, which was what life always came down to for her, anyway. "How’re you?"

"Embarrassed and worried."

She didn’t want to hear why. Despite that one bright spot when he’d gone with her to create the flyers, she preferred to avoid him. But he charged ahead before she could respond.

"I’m sorry about my behavior last night, Zoe. Tiffany told me I was acting like a lecher, and it probably frightened you. I don’t know what got into me."

"I’d say it was one drink too many."

"It was several drinks too many," he said. "Sometimes I let the pressure at work bother me and I drink too much. But that’s no excuse for making what you’re going through worse."

If he’d acted cavalier about his behavior, she would’ve remained perturbed, but he seemed so earnest. "Apology accepted."

"Really?" he said. "You’re not just saying that? I feel like such an ass."

She smiled. Her neighbor’s overfriendly behavior wasn’t one of her bigger concerns. At least he acknowledged that he’d crossed the line.

Considering his contrition and the fact that it was unlikely to happen again now that she wouldn’t be living next door, there was no point in harboring a grudge. And knowing his wife was aware of his behavior was comforting.

"Forget it. You weren’t yourself."

He gave a low whistle. "You’re as generous as you are beautiful, you know that? But I don’t mean anything inappropriate by it, so don’t go all silent on me."