False Step

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False Step Page 12

by Victoria Helen Stone


  “I know that . . .” She had to swallow against a suddenly dry mouth. “I know it takes thirty-five minutes to get from here to that area of the foothills. And another thirty-five minutes to get back. I assume kidnapping a child would add at least another thirty minutes—”

  “Thirty minutes?” Reed interrupted sharply.

  “I have no idea!” Veronica said in a rush. “Thirty minutes? Four hours? A whole day? Whatever it is, Johnny was gone for an hour or maybe an hour and fifteen minutes. That’s it. He took a shower and he was playing video games with Sydney at five thirty. I remember the time because I told her she had to practice her ukulele for thirty minutes before dinner because she was the one who asked to take the class even though I warned her she wouldn’t like practicing. And Sydney . . .”

  She drew in a deep breath. Too deep. The sound of it filled the room, and Reed wasn’t scratching anymore; she was just watching, eyes alive with intelligence and suspicion and something harder. Something that was always there or had arrived just for Veronica. She couldn’t know, though she desperately wanted to.

  “So what I’m saying is . . .” Another deep breath. “Johnny didn’t kidnap that child on Friday afternoon. He wasn’t involved. He just happened to find Tanner Holcomb off a trail while he was hiking. Any one of those people parked at that trailhead could have found him.”

  “But they didn’t.”

  “Right. And Johnny wouldn’t have either if he hadn’t brought Old Man along. He was lucky.” She said the word, but it was an out-and-out lie. The boy had been lucky, but Johnny hadn’t. That fear she’d felt from the start had been the right thing to feel. This was dangerous. This was awful. “The boy was probably hiding,” she said softly. “He was probably too scared to call for help. So it was lucky that Old Man was there to find him.”

  “And later in the evening?” Reed asked.

  Veronica blinked and realized she’d let her head fall to stare at her hands. She forced herself to straighten. “Pardon?”

  “Later in the evening, did your husband go anywhere? A trip to the store maybe? An appointment at the gym?”

  “No. I’m pretty sure that was our whole day. He lifted weights in the basement around eight. He almost always does during the slow season. But he never went anywhere.” She knew because she’d wanted him to leave, just leave, just leave her alone so she could think about Micah.

  “He was in the basement?”

  “Yes, but—”

  Detective Reed stood and blocked out half the light in the room and all the air. “I’d like to see it.”

  “Oh. Sure. Of course.” Veronica scrambled to her feet. “Yes.” How many ways could she babble out an affirmative? Afraid to open her mouth again, she led the way to the hallway and the door halfway down that was always locked to stop Sydney from falling down the stairs. But Syd wasn’t a baby anymore. They didn’t have to lock it. Maybe Veronica was afraid of what was hiding down there.

  Sweat prickled at her hairline as she thumbed the lock. She gestured toward the narrow stairs as she swung the door open. “Should I . . . ?”

  “Please.”

  Veronica clicked on the bare bulb that lit the stairway, then led the way down toward the cement floor. She hit a second light switch and two more bare bulbs flared to life, exposing the whole length of the unfinished basement.

  There wasn’t much to see. The furnace. The water heater. A washer and dryer. Plus all the normal detritus of family life: two storage racks holding ancient paint cans and dusty Christmas decorations and God knew what else, a few stacks of boxes, one old twin mattress propped against a wall, stained with the results of her daughter’s potty-training struggles. And of course, Johnny’s weights and his ancient red weight bench. They’d had sex on that weight bench a few times early in their relationship. She hadn’t even bothered glancing toward the cracked leather in years.

  Reed walked the entire perimeter. She opened the lid of the washer and the door of the dryer. She lifted the flaps of a couple of the larger boxes. She looked behind the heater and under the lip of the shelves.

  Goose bumps rose on Veronica’s skin as Reed studied the dull cement floor. She’d never liked the basement, but now everything about it felt unfamiliar and ominous. Had that patch in the floor always been there? It looked shiny with a brownish patina, so it must be old. There probably wasn’t a skeleton buried there.

  Reed paused over a decrepit boom box that sat on the cement near Johnny’s weights. She stared at it for a long while. What was she looking for?

  “All right, Mrs. Bradley. I’ll let you know if I have any further questions.”

  “Thank you,” Veronica said quickly. She waited for Reed to start up the stairs, then turned off the lights and jogged quickly after her, relieved to leave the gray, cold basement behind.

  Once she’d popped free of the claustrophobic stairwell, she slammed the door behind her with far too much force, then locked it automatically. Reed looked up from her notebook with that bright gaze again. Veronica smiled for no reason, then frowned to make up for it.

  “Is he okay? The little boy?”

  Three heartbeats boomed in her ears before Reed answered. “He’s doing fine.”

  “Okay. Good. Thanks. I’ve been thinking about his poor parents. This is all just . . .” She waved a hand. “Do you know when my husband will be back?”

  “No. But I’m sure he has quite a few more questions to answer than you.”

  “Yeah. Right. That makes sense. Do you have any leads? About the kidnapping, I mean. About who could have done it. That poor baby.”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss the case.”

  “Oh, of course! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “I’ll be in touch, Mrs. Bradley.”

  “Okay. Sure. Thank you. And good luck out there.”

  Good luck out there? Her face burned as Reed glanced around one last time before taking her leave.

  She’d started out calm, but every question had reminded her that she and Johnny had secrets to hide. Neither of them had kidnapped a child, but they weren’t innocents. They were both liars and cheaters. They were both sneaking around. They were both hiding so many things. Surely cops could pick up on that?

  She’d been so frazzled there at the end. Reed must know she was hiding something.

  “Fuck,” she whispered as Reed shut the door firmly behind her. Maybe she should just fess up. If it seems like I’m hiding something, it’s because I’m having an affair. That’s all. It’s not the kidnapping. Maybe the other woman would be sympathetic. At the very least, she must have seen it all a hundred times before. It wouldn’t shock her. She wouldn’t even care.

  Chewing on her bottom lip, she paced for a few minutes, hoping to burn off a little adrenaline. She could easily run ten miles right now, but her belly turned in warning. Running might take care of her anxiety, but most of that anxiety felt like it would immediately heave up from her stomach.

  What if she was the problem here? What if Johnny was answering every question openly and honestly and Veronica’s behavior was the reason the police kept coming back?

  But there was something strange. Something that kept bobbing up in her thoughts. Had Johnny really been to Kittredge twice that summer? He usually told her where he was heading. She was sure he hadn’t mentioned Kittredge. Or maybe she just hadn’t been listening. Desperate to know more, she switched on the TV. It was just past the late-morning news hour, so she backed up the digital recorder until Hank Holcomb’s face suddenly flashed on the screen. She tried to pause it and fumbled the remote. It clattered to the floor with a plastic bang loud enough that she worried she’d shattered it into a hundred pieces. But when she retrieved it, she found that only the battery cover had broken free. A tab had snapped off. She’d have to tape it back into place, but for now she straightened the half-escaped batteries and lined up the news story.

  Hank Holcomb stared defiantly at the cameras, his green eyes steady, his wrinkled ski
n flushed above his strong jaw.

  “On Saturday night, in the midst of the search for our grandson, we received a text message that included a picture of Tanner. He appeared to be sleeping unharmed, wrapped up in an old quilt. The monster who had kidnapped him demanded a million dollars in untraceable bills and promised to release Tanner uninjured as long as we never involved the police in the transaction. After consulting security experts in several countries, we agreed to comply. On Monday we left the cash at a highway rest stop, and on Tuesday the kidnapper released Tanner near a busy trailhead as promised. I regret that we had to lie to the authorities, but I do not regret the actions that brought my grandson back to us. Now that he is home safe and we have had time to consult with attorneys, we will fully cooperate with the police. Thank you.”

  The audio exploded into a maelstrom of shouted questions, but Mr. Holcomb simply folded a note back into his pocket and turned away.

  Veronica collapsed onto the couch. That was it, then. The kidnapper had promised to release Tanner near a trailhead, obviously assuming someone would come across him. Johnny had simply been in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong place. She had no idea anymore.

  Her hands shook. Her heart raced to an impossible speed. She had no idea what emotion prompted her response, but she knew who she needed.

  Can you talk again? She sent the text without a second thought, but it was all she could think of after as the minutes dragged on and on. And in the end Micah failed her one more time.

  Sorry. On a call.

  This time she wasn’t even surprised. At least he’d acknowledged her. Was that what she’d been reduced to? A woman relieved to be glanced at?

  Yes, sadly. Absolutely yes.

  CHAPTER 15

  An hour later it was her husband who surprised her with a message. Going straight to the gym.

  Veronica stared at her phone in disbelief. That was all he had to say? Going to the gym? Johnny had been at the police station for two hours, and now he was just excusing himself to the fucking gym?

  She didn’t respond. She still had a couple more hours before she needed to pick up Sydney down in Parker, and if Johnny wanted to play the Everything’s cool game, she could play it too.

  But this was ridiculous. Yes, she’d known he was speaking to the police, but he still owed her the details. How could he just bow out for the day after an interview with the police about a goddamn kidnapping?

  Flashes of movies were now playing in her head. Men in dark suits and black cars. Serious people wielding serious power.

  This was a kidnapping now. That meant the FBI, didn’t it?

  “Jesus,” she breathed. Surely Johnny would have told her if he’d met with the FBI. There was no way he would have left that out. Except that he’d left everything out. He’d told her nothing. He was so busy communicating with everyone else—the press, his girlfriend, his fanboys—that he couldn’t bother communicating with his own wife.

  Tears burned her eyes and clogged up her whole head. Just stress. Not grief. Not sorrow. She swallowed them down, tipping her head back in the hopes of stopping her eyes from watering. She was just so tired. So damn tired. All she wanted to do was crawl back into bed for the day.

  No. That wasn’t true. It was never true these days. What she really wanted was to crawl into another bed. But the owner of that bed was too busy for her. Or he claimed to be. An hour had passed and he hadn’t even texted, much less called.

  She glanced at the time on her phone. He often worked from home, but he also attended meetings with clients and did consultations. Would he invite her over if he was home? Did it matter?

  Yes. Yes, it mattered. She couldn’t go on like this. She’d made her expectations clear and Micah didn’t give a damn. She was his whore. That was it. She was an easy piece of ass and he knew damn well he didn’t have to treat her well to get what he wanted.

  Screw this. Screw all of it. She couldn’t keep living like this, uncertain of everything in her life.

  Veronica marched to her car and zipped down the alley. Once she hit the main road, she sped toward the freeway, hands strangling the steering wheel like she wished she could strangle him. How dare he? How fucking dare he?

  She’d made things as easy for him as she could, and that had been her mistake. At first she’d been something valuable. A prize he’d won through slow seduction. But she’d made herself cheap in the past months. Ubiquitously attainable. She was a piece of old hard candy in a dish on his table. Worthless and unwanted and barely noticed.

  Her affair with Micah had started off as empowerment, or so she’d told herself. She’d felt as if she were taking action instead of idly waiting for her life to limp forward. She could improve her life a little without hurting anyone else. A victimless rebellion.

  Not that she’d thought it was right. It had never been right even if Johnny had done it first. But if an affair kept her married and raising their daughter together for a few more years and no one found out, was it technically wrong?

  When she spied the open parking space just a few feet from the front door of Micah’s building, it struck Veronica as a sign that she was doing the right thing. This space was for her. It seemed to mutter You go, girl to her as she pulled next to it.

  Her third attempt to parallel park was finally successful, but she didn’t let that tiny humiliation slow her down. She strode through the doors and straight toward the female desk attendant to sign an illegible name. She nodded once, then stalked to the elevators, unworried about being recognized. Who the hell cared?

  She willed more anger into her heart as she rode the elevator to his floor. She set her face in stern coldness as she knocked on his door. She waited, and she hated him. They’d had a friendship. This wasn’t fair. She was going through all this insanity, and it wasn’t fair that he was turning his back on her now.

  The door swung open. The familiar scent of his apartment breathed over her. Micah’s eyes looked heavy with sleep and bowed down with a frown as they focused on her. He blinked slowly a couple of times before shaking his head. “Veronica?”

  “We need to talk,” she bit out past her tight rage.

  “Yeah.” He looked even more confused. “Sure.”

  She brushed past him, resisting the need to tip closer for an embrace. He didn’t reach out either, and her hatred tripped into pain. There was no purse on the table. No woman’s coat slung over a chair. There was only a rumpled blanket on the couch.

  Walking to the window, she kept her back to him and stared out at the view she’d looked at dozens of times before. The view she’d wished she could look out on a hundred times more. She dreamed of this view sometimes. Of staring out at rooftops and lights as his arms slipped around her and brought her closer to his heat.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, giving her the prompt she was obviously waiting for.

  “What do you think is wrong?”

  He sighed. “I didn’t have time for you?”

  “Oh, you think that could be it?”

  Another sigh, because her dignity was such a goddamn burden to accommodate. “I’m working my ass off, V. There are half a dozen projects to finish before winter. I have a lot going on here too.”

  She tossed a glance over her shoulder at the rumpled throw on the sofa. “Yeah, you’re obviously blazing away today.”

  “I was up at six this morning to meet with a contractor in Centennial, okay? Then I needed a nap. What the hell do you want from me?”

  She swung around, aware that her face had pulled into an ugly mask and unable to stop her snarl. “I told you what I wanted. I put my big-girl panties on and asked for it like an adult. And you agreed!”

  He raised his hands in appeasement. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m frazzled and stressed, and . . .” His hands dropped. “Fuck. Look. Maybe if I—”

  “It’s over,” she spat out. “I’m not a whore.”

  “Of course you’re not a whore. Come on. What are you doing?”

  “
You were my friend. Not just . . . not just some guy I picked up at a bar. Or maybe you were just pretending to be my friend the whole time. Maybe this was all a stupid game to you.”

  “I wasn’t pretending, V. Come on.” He took her flailing hands between his and she let him. She let him, because his hands curling over hers felt better than anything in the world right now, even if she hated that she wanted it.

  “You’re not being a friend anymore, Micah. Everything has gone crazy, and . . . Hell, maybe I’ve gone crazy too. I can’t do this. I can’t.” Her pride stirred, and she made a token effort to tug her hands away, but she felt nothing but gratitude when he held on.

  “You’re just stressed. Everything is fine.”

  She shook her head in denial, but the shake turned into a nod. “Maybe it is. But I feel so alone.” Tears again. Pitiful. She didn’t want them. She tried to swallow them down, will them away, but they forced their way free and spilled down her cheeks.

  “Veronica, don’t. I’m so sorry. Come here.”

  He pulled her to the couch, and she sank into the cushions, the leather still warm from his nap. She curled her body into his, all her anger burned away into a desperate, lonely ash.

  “We were friends,” she whispered. “I miss that.”

  “We’re still friends.”

  “No. I’m just a dirty secret now. Or an old habit. I’m stress you don’t need. I just want it to be the way it used to be, Micah.”

  “Hush.” He kissed the top of her head. “You’re not stress. My job is the stress. I took on too many projects this summer, that’s all. That’s all it is.”

  “I’m sorry,” she managed to say. Her face twisted with more tears, so she buried it against his shirt and forced herself to breathe slowly. “This is supposed to be fun. I know that. I don’t want this to be something you try to avoid.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Just be honest with me, okay? If you don’t want me anymore . . .”

  He eased her off his chest and ducked his head to meet her watery eyes. “You know I want you, V.”

 

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