The Perfect Couple (Last Stand #4)(75)
Author: Brenda Novak

"Don’t," she said. "It’s over, it won’t happen again and I don’t want to talk about it." If she was going to do a better job of protecting herself in the future than she’d done in the past, she had to take a firm stand. She’d lost focus, given in to the need to feel loved. But she’d improve.

"I’m sorry if…if I’ve somehow made your situation more difficult," he said.

He was determined to get that apology in there, but she couldn’t let it matter, or she’d be right back where she’d been before–open to letting him comfort her, letting herself need him.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." She threw him a careless smile.

"My situation couldn’t possibly get any worse."

"I guess not."

She got up and started toward his car, telling herself that if he was anyone special he wouldn’t be driving a beat-up Mercedes. Those thoughts should’ve made it easier to forget that last night had been one of the best nights of her life. But she recognized such criticism as a mere echo of Anton’s opinions about being a productive citizen–a flimsy attempt to make Jonathan seem less special. It didn’t work because she knew Jonathan’s financial situation had nothing to do with a lack of character. It was all about priorities, and she couldn’t help admiring the fact that he didn’t feel the need to prove himself by acquiring possessions the way Anton did.

She reached the car before realizing he wasn’t behind her. Retracing her steps, she found him at the corner of the building, talking on his phone.

"I’m with her right now," he was saying. "Where are you…? That’s not far from Sunrise Mall. Why don’t we meet there…. Okay, see you in fifteen minutes."

"Who was that?" she asked as he pushed the End button.

He slipped his BlackBerry in his pocket. "Franky Bates."

She’d assumed that encounter in San Diego would be an isolated incident. What was this? "It sounded as if he’s here, in Sacramento."

"He is."

"Why?"

"He claims he’s putting up a ten-thousand-dollar reward for Sam."

That couldn’t be true. "There’s no way. He just got out of prison and is staying with his grandma. He doesn’t have any money."

"He says he does and it’s in cash. He’s planning to give it to you.

Unless you’d rather I met him alone."

Zoe considered her options. What had happened in that trailer had left deep emotional scars. She wasn’t eager to have Franky back in her life. But the man she’d met in southern California hadn’t been the frightening monster she remembered. And seeing him as he really was, a man like any other, had been cathartic.

"Is this for real?" she asked.

"We won’t know until we get there, but it sounds pretty real to me."

She’d never expected to get anything positive from Franky and was hesitant to accept his help, even if he was sincere. But she definitely wanted to offer all the incentive she could to get people looking for Sam.

It couldn’t hurt to meet him, could it? Not with Jonathan there.

She hiked her purse higher on her shoulder. "Let’s go."

Chapter 29

Franky looked exhausted. Dressed in a white T-shirt and a pair of baggy jeans that hung low on his hips, he had a dark shadow of beard covering his jaw. And he seemed even more nervous than tired. Zoe saw him wiping his palms on his pants and rocking onto the balls of his feet as they pulled up. A taxi, idling a few feet behind, was waiting for him.

Taxis weren’t a common sight in Sacramento, especially in the suburbs.

"Did he fly?" she asked Jonathan as he shifted the transmission into Park.

A frown of confusion made grooves in Jonathan’s forehead. "He told me he drove."

They didn’t have the chance to say more. Franky was watching them.

Zoe figured it was time to see if he was sincere about the reward. With a deep breath, she got out of the Mercedes.

Franky didn’t walk toward her. He was standing beside a large brown sack while holding a smaller one and seemed afraid to move for fear he’d scare her off. He kept his focus on Jonathan, as if he found it too difficult to look at her. Every once in a while his gaze would slide her way, but the moment he saw her looking at him, his eyes would dart back to Jonathan, and his face would go red.

Before they could greet him, he pulled a big wad of cash from the smaller sack. "I’ve got the money," he announced.

He held the bag and the money out to Jonathan, but Jonathan didn’t take it. "Where’d you get that?"

"Don’t worry. I didn’t do nothin’ illegal." He fanned through some of the bills. "It was a clean deal. It’s all good."

"Then tell me where you got it," Jonathan said.

Franky gestured to the taxi driver, asking him not to leave. "My grandpa had a collection of really old coins. Some of ’em dated back to the Civil War. It was really cool, something we used to look at together. He left it to me when he died. Along with his truck," he added.

"You sold the collection?" Zoe asked.

"I had my grandmother pawn the coins and wire me the money while I took the truck to Cars for Cash." His voice turned apologetic. "I’m still a little shy of the ten thousand you wanted. But this is close. Nine thousand two hundred and forty dollars," he said. "I had to keep a hundred and sixty to fly home."

Zoe couldn’t believe it. He’d sold his two most precious possessions, the only things he owned of any value, to provide the reward money?

"Here you go," he said when Jonathan still made no move to take the sack.

Obviously, he wanted to hand over the money and go. Being in her presence was too uncomfortable for him. But Jonathan didn’t make it easy.

He jerked his head at Zoe. "It’s not for me. Give it to her."

It was still quite obvious that Franky didn’t even want to meet her eyes. But he was so happy to be able to offer her this gift that he shuffled closer and, staring down at the pavement, held it out to her. "I hope you find your daughter," he mumbled.

Tears blurred Zoe’s vision as her hand closed around the sack. Nine thousand, two hundred and forty dollars. He’d kept only enough to get home.

"Thank you," she said.

He nodded, then lifted up the bigger sack. "My grandmother sent you this. If you don’t want it, that’s okay. It’s just…some banana bread and other stuff she made."

Their hands brushed as Zoe accepted it. His skin was dry and rough, a typical blue-collar man’s hand, but the contact confirmed what she’d come to believe in San Diego–he was as human as she was. After all the time she’d feared him, that realization put the man who’d hurt her in perspective for good. So did the tears filling his eyes.