The Perfect Couple

by Brenda Novak

  Colin tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “You’ve been out to get me for a long time.”

  “Only because I’ve been expecting something like this. Years ago, I promised myself that if anything ever happened to any member of the family, I’d look to you first.”

  “Would you listen to yourself? You’re crazy, you know that? Any normal mother would assume the best of her son.”

  “Those mothers don’t have a son like mine.”

  “How do you know? How can you be so sure that I’m different?”

  “Because you’ve been different from the day you were born, Colin. The first words out of your mouth were a lie, and you haven’t stopped lying since. I tried to remedy that by taking you to church. I thought religion might help you develop the conscience you lacked. But you simply played everybody—church leaders, your schoolteachers, even your father.”

  “If I’m screwed up, it’s your fault! You were abusive!”

  Laughter filtered through the phone, as derisive as it was incredulous. “I was abusive? Because I tried to discipline you? Because I refused to let you manipulate me? Sure, I spanked you. There had to be some consequences for your behavior, and I didn’t know what else to do. I was at my wits’ end and was still fighting to save a son I wanted to love. I believed if you could only learn to take responsibility for your actions and to respect the rights and feelings of others, you’d be okay. But it was no use. You were purposely cruel to your little sister. And you turned Paddy and me against each other, broke up what would’ve been a happy marriage. You even convinced your teachers and coaches, the parents of your friends, that I belonged in an asylum.”

  It had almost worked, too. He’d nearly had his mother committed, right after her nervous breakdown. They’d tried that on each other. “That is where you belong. What mother could do what you did?”

  “Disappear with Courtney? It was my only choice. I had to save the one child worth saving.”

  “Go to hell,” he said and almost hung up, but her next words made him freeze.

  “I’m calling the cops, Colin. And I’m telling them that I think you’re dangerous.”

  “If you do that, you might find out how dangerous I can be,” he said.

  “Is that a threat?” she countered.

  He jammed a hand through his hair. He had to be careful, couldn’t let his temper get away from him. She could be recording this call. “Of course not. I’d never hurt you or anyone else. You just…get me so angry that I say stupid things. You always knew how to push me to the point of lashing out.”

  “Tell me what you did to Paddy, Colin.”

  “I didn’t touch him!”

  “He loved you, you know. The poor bastard loved you, more than he loved me or Courtney, or he and I would still be together. You owe him a lot for his blind faith. I hope you haven’t repaid him the way I think you have,” she said and hung up.

  Colin’s heart and lungs were pumping as fast as if he’d run five miles. “That bitch! God, I hate her!” He threw his phone against the dash. “She’s still making my life miserable!”

  Tiffany had overheard enough that her face had gone pale. She didn’t even pick up his phone, which had ricocheted and hit her before landing at her feet. “How does she know?”

  “She doesn’t know. She can’t hurt us. Even if she gets the police involved, they won’t be able to prove anything. All I have to do is fight fire with fire.”

  Tiffany’s eyes were as round as silver dollars. “What does that mean?”

  “Don’t worry.” He breathed in through his nose, held the air, then let it go, twice, and soon a steely calm came over him. “I’ve gone up against my mother in the past, and I’ve won every time. Bottom line, I’m better at eliciting sympathy than she is. And these days, the poor child is always right.” If she gave him any trouble, he’d claim she was out to get him—and he’d be able to show a documented history of it.

  CHAPTER 30

  The Simpsons weren’t in the room when Zoe and Jonathan arrived at the hospital. A nurse stopped them at the entrance to the intensive care unit and asked their names. Then she placed a call before giving them clearance to go in.

  The blinds were open, admitting the sun, and there was a radio playing, as if Toby’s parents didn’t want him left in silence. The flowers on the bedside table created a cheerful effect, but from what Zoe could tell, Toby’s condition hadn’t improved.

  It was painful for her to see the boy still lying in the same bed, hooked up to the same machines, because every day he remained in this state made it less likely he’d ever come out of it. But at least the Simpsons knew where their son was. There had to be some small measure of comfort in that, in knowing Master couldn’t hurt him anymore.

  “You’re one hell of a bastard, Master,” she muttered under her breath as she took the boy’s hand.

  Jonathan stood at her elbow. He tried to put his arm around her, to show her some support, she supposed. But she avoided his touch by crowding closer to the bed. She couldn’t let herself lean on him again; she knew where it would lead. Memories of last night intruded almost every time she looked at him. Commitment or no commitment, their lovemaking had possessed a spiritual dimension she’d never experienced with anyone else.

  But that was the problem. She couldn’t allow Jonathan to be the thread that made the rest of her unravel.

  “We’re going to get you,” she promised Toby’s attacker.

  Hearing a noise at the entrance, Zoe turned. Mr. and Mrs. Simpson were coming in, carrying a bag of takeout. The smell of Chinese food filled the room as they slipped around the foot of the bed to the other side.

  Zoe didn’t want to intrude on their privacy. She started to apologize for stopping by unannounced, but at Mrs. Simpson’s twinkling eyes and wide smile, she stopped in midsentence.

  “What?” she asked curiously.

  The other woman exchanged a glance with her husband. “Lyle didn’t want me to call you, but now that you’re here, I’m telling you anyway.”

  “Theresa—” he began with a note of admonishment, but she ignored him.

  “Toby squeezed my hand this morning!”

  The breath whooshed out of Zoe’s lungs. “He what?”

  “He squeezed my hand!”

  “Honey, you know the doctor told us not to get too excited. It could’ve been a reflexive action. That’s why I asked her not to call you,” he added apologetically to both Zoe and Jonathan. “I didn’t want you to…get your hopes up if…well, you know.”

  “I know.” Zoe understood completely. But adrenaline, triggered by his wife’s excitement, was already pouring into her bloodstream.

  “I don’t believe it was reflexive,” Mrs. Simpson argued. “Our boy’s mind is clicking away in that slumbering body. He was trying to tell me not to give up on him. I said, ‘It’s Mother’s Day, baby. Come back to me.” Her voice cracked, but she cleared her throat and forged on. “And he gave my hand a squeeze. I swear it happened at that very moment. The timing couldn’t be a coincidence, whether the doctors believe that or not.”

  “Honey, we spent over an hour trying to get him to repeat the action or to respond in some other way, but…nothing,” Mr. Simpson said.

  Just the possibility made Zoe’s heart beat faster. But…did they dare read more into that than the doctors suggested?

  Taking the boy’s hand between her own, she leaned close. “You’re going to be fine, Toby. You have a family who loves you, and they’re waiting for you. They’re right here,” she told him and, unlikely though she knew it was, she couldn’t help wishing he’d squeeze her hand—or give her some other small token on which to hang all her hope.

  He didn’t move. It wasn’t until hours later, after she and Jonathan had returned from creating a new flyer—one advertising the reward sponsored by Franky Bates—that they received a call from the hospital.

  “He just opened his eyes!” Mrs. Simpson screamed into the phone.

  “Can he t
alk?” Zoe asked, but that was all the news she could get because the poor woman was crying too hard to say more.

  * * *

  “I’ve met Sheridan.”

  Jonathan glanced over at Zoe, who was walking beside him, and guided Kino away from the neighbor’s yard so they could cross the street. Except for a few streetlights, it was dark and colder than it had been for the past week or so. Zoe was wearing one of his sweatshirts to ward off the chill, but she wouldn’t let him touch her. He’d tried a few times. He didn’t know why.

  “At the victim support group?” he said, but only because it seemed like the most innocuous response. He didn’t want to talk about Sheridan, especially to Zoe. Considering he’d made love to Zoe last night but admitted his feelings for Sheridan this morning, it wasn’t the most comfortable topic.

  “Yeah.”

  He was hoping they could let it go at that. But Zoe spoke again. “She’s a nice person, Jon. And very pretty.”

  She was no prettier than Zoe, but he knew Zoe wouldn’t believe him if he said so. He tried to change the subject. “I’m so relieved that Toby’s out of his coma.”

  Turning back the sleeve of her sweatshirt, which hung down to her knuckles, she checked her phone for missed calls. Never mind that she’d been holding it ever since she’d talked to Mrs. Simpson and would’ve heard it ring if someone had tried to reach her.

  “I wonder if he’ll be…you know, all there,” she said, her voice worried.

  They hadn’t received a full report. Mr. Simpson had called back to say that Toby recognized his name, and that was the last they’d heard from the family. To avoid bothering them repeatedly, Jon had called Detective Thomas, and Detective Thomas had contacted the doctors at the hospital. But they were being typically cautious. The official word was that it would be a few days before they’d know how well Toby would recover.

  That didn’t stop him and Zoe from wishing it would be much sooner, however. And Jonathan had an extra reason to be glad of this positive turn of events. Earlier, Zoe had mentioned that they needed to get home in time for her to move into a motel. He’d expected her to leave as soon as she had the chance, but so far she hadn’t acted on that comment. She was preoccupied with waiting. It was easier to wait with someone than to wait alone.

  “I saw a Dateline once that featured a girl who’d been in a coma for five weeks,” he said. “It took some time, but she recovered completely.”

  “I hope Toby can do the same….”

  Kino did his business on a tree and sniffed a gopher hole before they headed down the sidewalk on Jonathan’s usual circuit. “Even if that happens, it might be touchy getting information from him about what he suffered,” he said, concerned that she might be hoping for too much.

  Zoe frowned but nodded, and they walked in silence until they came to the corner, where Jonathan held Kino on a tighter leash so another dog and his owner could pass without an overenthusiastic greeting.

  “So how long have you known Sheridan?” Zoe asked when they resumed their walk.

  Stifling a groan, Jonathan kept his gaze on the sidewalk in front of him. “About four years.”

  “Did you ever date?”

  “For a while.”

  “What went wrong?”

  He blew out a sigh. “She liked me, but I broke it off because I wasn’t all that into her. Then I liked her, but she broke it off because she wasn’t all that into me.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been involved with her for a long time.”

  He shot her a quick look. “Do we have to talk about this?”

  “Aren’t we friends?” she asked.

  It was tough to think of her as a friend when he kept imagining her soft body pressed up against his, kept replaying that moment last night when she’d moaned his name. But what could he say? “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  “I was hoping that two or three orgasms moved me out of the ‘just another client’ category, at least.”

  He grimaced. She was striking out, but he deserved it. “You’re not just another client. You never were.”

  “Thank you.” She gave a little bow. “And you’re not just another P.I.” She laughed, but he didn’t think her comment was funny. “Anyway,” she went on, “if you’re so heartbroken over Sheridan that it hurts to talk about her, I—”

  “It doesn’t hurt,” he interrupted, irritated without really understanding why.

  “Then what’s the big deal? She knows. I know. We all know how you feel.”

  But it wasn’t Sheridan on his mind. It was Zoe. The longer he went without touching her, the more he wanted to. And he knew his chances of making love to her again were diminishing by the second—if he’d had any to begin with, after this morning. “My relationship with Sheridan isn’t important. She’s married. We’re coworkers. That’s it.”

  “Have you ever made love to her?”

  “Zoe—”

  “It’s okay, you can be honest. I wanted you so badly last night I probably would’ve done what I did despite Sheridan.”

  Did that mean she didn’t want him anymore? Because repeating the experience was all he could think about.

  “I’m equally to blame for what happened,” she was saying. “And it’s not as if I was expecting any sort of commitment.” She raised her hands. “I don’t know why I let it bother me.”

  Although he wasn’t willing to speculate on exactly why, he liked it better when it bothered her.

  “I mean, it’s not as if it was anything special,” she said. “I’m sure you were thinking about Sheridan the whole time.”

  Now she’d gone too far. Stopping, he faced her. “If you’re trying to let me know I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting in your pants again, consider me notified,” he said and cut the walk short.

  * * *

  Zoe had made her point. Maybe she’d driven it home a little too hard, she thought as she took a hot shower. Still, Jonathan hadn’t tried to touch her since their walk. It was safe to stay with him—for a night or two, anyway. She couldn’t impose on him any longer than that. She wouldn’t be here tonight except that she couldn’t deal with pacing the floor of some nondescript motel room, wearing a hole in the carpet as she hoped and prayed that Toby would recover fully—for his sake as well as Sam’s.

  Grabbing a towel as she stepped out, she dried off and donned the pajama bottoms he’d lent her and her own T-shirt. After she’d brushed her teeth and used a blow-dryer, she left the bathroom, expecting to find Jonathan at his computer. He spent a lot of time at the kitchen table, working. But he was lying on the couch with a remote in one hand, watching TV—and wearing a scowl.

  “Anything good on?”

  His eyes flicked her way, focused pointedly on her braless chest, then moved to her face. “Nothing better than that.”

  She covered her breasts with her hands to stop them from tingling. “I’m sorry. Would you rather I wore something else?”

  “If you’d rather I looked somewhere else,” he said.

  She thought about his response but ultimately shrugged. What she was wearing wasn’t particularly revealing. Besides, it seemed a bit pointless to become modest after the fact. He’d already seen her breasts, touched them, kissed them. “It doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.”

  One eyebrow slid up but he made no further comment. He turned back to the TV and didn’t deign to notice her again. Until the program went to a commercial. Then she spoke up, which drew his attention. “Where did Sheridan meet her husband?”

  “We’re not talking about Sheridan!” he said, his words clipped.

  She saw the hard set to his jaw and realized he was angry. She couldn’t seem to maneuver them into a place where they could both feel comfortable. Sheridan was the only topic that seemed to diminish, at least to a small degree, the sexual tension between them. There were simply too many erotic memories, too much desire.

  Maybe she’d been wrong to think she could stay….

 
; “I should leave,” she said, standing.

  “That isn’t the problem.”

  “What is the problem?”

  He got up and came close, his eyes riveted on hers, and the tingle she’d felt in her breasts went through her whole body. She told herself not to back away, although her instincts were screaming for her to do just that. Retreating would only let him know that she was still affected by him.

  Slowly, his palm cupped her breast over her shirt, gently teasing her nipple, and his mouth lowered to hers.

  His kiss was a slow exploration, achingly sweet. Zoe told herself to pretend indifference, but she was sure he could feel the way her body responded to his touch. “What you do to me. That’s the problem,” he said and left her standing in the living room.

  CHAPTER 31

  Should she go to her bed? Or his?

  Several minutes passed as Zoe deliberated.

  He was in love with someone else.

  But that person was married. Happily married.

  She had no business taking this kind of risk. She wasn’t herself these days, wasn’t in control.

  But would it really hurt to be with him while she had the chance? Wouldn’t there be plenty of time to be alone later?

  Sitting on the edge of an old green ottoman, she waited for her body to settle down. Hormones must be clouding her judgment because earlier she’d had lots of reasons sleeping with Jonathan again wouldn’t be a good idea.

  Funny, she couldn’t seem to think of any that mattered more than feeling his hands on her.

  Maybe it would be okay, now that she was better informed. Maybe it could be casual. People had casual sex every day, didn’t they?

  Yes, they did. But she didn’t. She’d been in a committed relationship with every single boyfriend. This was her first experience with wanting a man who didn’t really care about her in return.

  She’d just remind herself of that, she decided. During every minute in his bed, she’d silently chant, “He loves Sheridan…he loves Sheridan…he loves Sheridan.” Then there’d be no way she could forget.