by Brenda Novak
Jonah got up and strode over. “Did you ever recover her car?”
“No. Then I would’ve known something happened to her. She’d never abandon it.”
“So where could it have gone?” Francesca asked, but even as the question passed her lips, she knew—the salvage yard.
16
The Dean Wheeler situation was an excuse to call Jonah. Adriana knew it. She could wait until Francesca called her back. She’d hear from her eventually. But she had something worth telling, something that could possibly affect Fran and Jonah and whatever case they were working on, and she couldn’t resist calling Jonah with it.
In case Dean returned, she kept her boys where she could see them and used her cordless phone to dial Jonah’s number. She’d memorized it and thrown away the paper on which she’d jotted it when he’d called her yesterday. She didn’t want to risk having her husband come across that number. What if he thought it was a message for him and called Jonah?
That wouldn’t be good. She hadn’t even told Stan that Jonah was back.
“Hello?”
The sound of Jonah’s voice caused the usual flip-flop in her stomach. She hated it. But, as much as she wished otherwise, she couldn’t seem to manage a more acceptable response. “Hi, uh, Jonah? This is Adriana.”
There was a slight pause. “What can I do for you, Adriana?”
“I’ve been trying to reach Francesca, but she’s not picking up. You wouldn’t know where she is, would you?”
She hoped not. She wanted to use Dean’s visit to strike up a conversation that might lead into the more personal questions she was dying to ask. But it wasn’t to be.
“She’s right here,” he said. “Hang on a minute.”
Cringing with disappointment—and a small amount of embarrassment—she held her breath as she waited, wondering what she’d expected to accomplish by talking to Jonah, anyway. Even if he suddenly decided that he regretted his choice ten years ago and wanted to be with her, they couldn’t have a relationship. She had a family now, would never leave Stan. So why was she still so eager for his attention, still hoping he’d realize what she had to offer and want her the way she’d always wanted him?
“Adriana?”
At Francesca’s voice, she released her breath and tried to act as normal as possible. “Hi. Where’ve you been? Why aren’t you answering my calls?”
“Sorry. It’s been a crazy day. What—what’s going on?”
That little hitch worried her. Was Francesca’s response cooler than usual? Maybe. Or was she imagining it? Sure she’d called Jonah, but she’d immediately requested Francesca. That should’ve made it okay.
However, she’d done similar things a decade ago whenever she could—and that made her self-conscious about it now. “I wanted to tell you that Dean Wheeler came by.”
“What did you say?”
“Dean Wheeler. That guy you mentioned? The brother-in-law of the man you think might’ve murdered that woman?”
“I know who you’re talking about. I just can’t believe he showed up at your house.”
“It was weird. He knocked at my door about—” she glanced at the clock “—an hour ago.”
Fortunately, the information she had to impart directed all attention away from the fact that she’d called Jonah, just as she’d known it would. She felt both relieved and guilty about that. She hadn’t talked to Jonah for more than a few seconds, but at least there shouldn’t be a backlash for making the attempt.
“What did he want?” Francesca asked.
“He had your pictures, the ones you carry around in your purse.”
“What was he doing with those?”
“He said he was trying to return them. That he’d already been to your place. I have them here now, but I don’t know why he didn’t leave them on your doorstep.”
“Neither do I. Except…he seems very interested in my friends and neighbors.”
“I have to admit his visit was kind of unsettling. Even after I promised to give you the pictures he didn’t leave. He went around the house, into the backyard and peeked in the downstairs windows. He nearly scared Levi to death. The poor kid was just waking up from his nap when he saw a strange man staring at him from outside.”
“Did Dean try to get in? Attempt to harm you or the boys in any way?”
“No. When he realized he’d frightened us, he ran away, and he hasn’t been back since. I’ve kept a close eye on the yard, just in case.”
“When’s Stan getting home?”
Francesca’s subdued response actually made Adriana feel more frightened than she’d been before calling. She’d already convinced herself that Dean was simply an unusual but well-meaning person. “Any minute. Why?”
“I’ll feel more comfortable if you’re not alone. Keep the house locked up, and if Dean comes back, call the police.”
Adriana watched Tyler wield the television remote, looking for a program he and his brother could agree on. “But you don’t really think he’s dangerous, do you?”
“He might be. Don’t take any chances.”
“I won’t.”
Someone spoke in the background, most likely Jonah. The voice was muffled, suggesting Francesca had covered the mouthpiece. “How’d Dean get there?” she asked when she was back. “Did someone drive him?”
“Not that I could see. There was no car. He claims he took a bus.”
“All the way from Prescott?”
“He acted as if no price was too high. Like he really wanted to do you this favor.”
“He could’ve called me about it. Or mailed them to me.”
“I think he wants contact. I’m telling you…it was as though he felt you two were in some sort of relationship. A close friendship, at least.”
“That makes me shudder, Adriana.”
“I can see why. Are you…are you going to be okay?” She wasn’t really worried. Francesca was with Jonah, wasn’t she? He’d look out for her. Adriana had always felt safe when she was in Jonah’s company. She was sure he could handle himself in a fight if necessary, and he was street-smart, savvy in a way her soft, bookish husband was not.
“I’m fine. Worried. This case has me reeling. I’ve never been involved in anything like it.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to solve it?” she asked. But what she really wanted to know was whether Francesca and Jonah were getting back together. Francesca hadn’t come home last night. Adriana knew because she’d driven by her place twice, had gone the long way to the video store just to see if she’d find Jonah’s car out front. She would’ve asked Francesca about Jonah, except she’d lost all right to that information when she betrayed her ten years earlier.
“I hope so.”
The phone beeped, signaling another call. She held it away from her for a second to check caller ID. “Stan’s trying to reach me. I’d better go.”
“Okay. Let me know if you hear from Dean again.”
“I doubt he’ll be back. Not tonight.”
“He has your number, too. You should be aware of that.”
“Got it. I’ll talk to you later.”
Thinking that had gone as well as could be expected, she breathed a sigh of relief as she hung up and answered her husband’s call. “Hi, honey. You almost home?”
“I’m afraid not. One of my patients, a five-year-old girl, has just been admitted to the hospital with a serious infection.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Sometimes she didn’t understand how he withstood all the stress of his job. Being a doctor paid well, enabled her to be a stay-at-home mom to their children. But she was concerned about him, knew the worry he felt for his patients weighed heavily on him. “Is she going to make it?”
“I hope so.”
Gazing outside, she thought about her encounter with Dean. “How long do you think you’ll be?”
“Who knows? Don’t wait up, though. It might be late.”
The shadows of the trees lengthened on the lawn as dayli
ght faded to darkness. “Okay. No problem.” This wasn’t a night Adriana wanted to spend alone. She hadn’t even had a chance to explain that she’d had an unwelcome visitor. But she didn’t see any reason to tell Stan now. Why worry him? He couldn’t be with her; he had to take care of that child.
Fifteen minutes later she didn’t mind being alone quite so much. She was too busy digging through the old photographs she’d taken out of the garage and was actually grateful for the privacy.
“There it is,” she murmured as she held up a picture of Jonah cradling their baby just before they had to relinquish her to the care of her new parents.
“Is everything okay?” Jonah asked as Francesca returned his phone.
She avoided his gaze in case he could see more in her expression than she wanted to reveal. She hated that Adriana had called him, even if it was to talk to her. She couldn’t help suspecting her best friend of being a little too eager to hear his voice. Which was crazy. Adriana was married with two kids. She loved Stan. Francesca hadn’t been a jealous person until ten years ago. After what had happened, she’d changed—and not for the better.
“I’m not sure,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
She told him what Adriana had said, then added, “Dean could’ve left those pictures at my place but didn’t. I’m afraid showing up at Adriana’s was his way of making me aware of his familiarity with my friends.”
“How’d he get there?” he asked, repeating the question he’d fed her when she was on the phone.
“By bus.”
“So that’s why we haven’t seen him. He’s not around.” They were in the van Investigator Finch had arranged for them to use, parked on a dirt side road near the salvage yard. Through a pair of binoculars, they’d seen Paris come and go in the Impala, twice. Had watched Butch drive an old pickup around the property. Had even spotted Paris’s parents driving off in a black Oldsmobile. But they hadn’t spotted Dean. And now they knew why.
“He seems to get around pretty well for not having a car,” she said.
Jonah tapped the steering wheel. “He’s starting to make me nervous.”
“How much longer until we hear from your guy about the meds?”
“He’ll call when he has what we need.”
What they needed was a profile on Dean’s mental condition, a list of the medications he was taking and whether or not he’d ever been a patient at Laurel Oaks Behavioral Hospital. Jonah claimed Department 6 had people who could get that information—who could get just about any information. He said that’d be quicker than going through the sheriff’s department here in Prescott. Since Hunsacker and Finch were out knocking on doors to see if they could find someone who might’ve seen April along the highway the night she was killed, Francesca had no problem with turning to an outside entity. Her father was trying to help, too, wasn’t he? But it was getting late. She doubted they’d hear anything until tomorrow and wasn’t looking forward to the wait.
“You really think we’ll be able to search for Bianca’s car?” she asked.
Jonah slouched in his seat. “Butch has got to go in eventually.”
They’d been hoping for an opportunity to get close to the chain-link fence surrounding the salvage yard for hours. But there’d been too much activity. They didn’t want to be seen snooping around, using binoculars, taking pictures. If he felt threatened, Butch could move or hide evidence. And if he was the person who’d cut her telephone line, Francesca didn’t feel it was a good idea to keep jumping into his sights. She wanted to feel comfortable in her own house again. If that was even possible.
“This could take a while,” she said when she saw Butch getting back in his truck. “He’s still working.”
She handed Jonah the binoculars to have a look for himself. “Surveillance too tedious for you?” he asked.
“I think it’s the cramped conditions that are bothering me.”
“Cramped conditions? We have the whole van to ourselves.”
Therein lay the problem. It wasn’t easy to be alone with Jonah during the day, let alone at night. Especially in such a private setting. They could do just about anything out here and no one would know about it. The potential for secrecy made Francesca feel free, daring, almost as if she could avoid responsibility for her own actions….
Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she studied him for a moment, then drew a deep breath. “Tell me something.”
He set the binoculars aside. “What’s that?”
“What’s it like?”
Her change in tone caused a certain wariness to come over him. “It?”
“Talking to Adriana after so long.”
He didn’t respond.
“What? You don’t want to answer?”
“Are we really going to do this?” he asked, watching her from beneath half-lowered eyelids.
“You had a baby with her. Don’t you ever think about her? The child? How things might’ve been different if you’d married?”
“Don’t dredge this up.”
“Why? You’re the one who wanted to talk about it in the past. Well, now I’m ready.”
He scowled. “You’re not ready. You’re looking for a pound of flesh. My flesh.”
“And you don’t think you owe it to me?”
“Fine.” He shrugged as if he didn’t care but she suspected he did. “I wish I’d married her, okay? Is that what you want to hear? God knows you won’t believe anything else, so there you have it. I was an asshole with no heart, out to hurt anyone I could, and I tried to destroy your life and hers just for the hell of it. I used you both, like I use all women.”
The muscle that jumped in his cheek warned her to back off, but the compulsion to hurt him as he’d hurt her goaded her to continue. “What if I’d gotten pregnant at the same time she did?”
He shook his head.
“It could’ve happened,” she went on. “You were sleeping with both of us.”
“I wasn’t sleeping with both of you,” he muttered with a scowl.
“She didn’t get that baby by immaculate conception, Jonah.”
It was only one night. At least, that was what Adriana had insisted all these years. Francesca wanted to hear Jonah say it, too. But he didn’t give her the satisfaction. He didn’t even attempt to defend himself.
“You’re right. She got it the old-fashioned way. And I enjoyed every minute of it, okay? Too bad she’s married. Maybe we could go at it again, since a good lay is all that’s ever mattered to me.”
Francesca winced even though she knew he didn’t mean it. Couldn’t mean it. He was being purposely nasty. All the tension they’d felt since running into each other again was bubbling to the surface, slamming one jagged emotion into another. “What if Adriana and I had both gotten pregnant?” she asked again.
“Then I would’ve walked out on you the way I walked out on her,” he said, his eyes glittering with reckless abandon. “Convinced you to give away my own flesh and blood. Never looked back. How can you expect anything more from a guy like me?”
“I don’t know how I couldn’t see it,” she whispered.
She didn’t need to spell it out. She could tell he knew she meant that he’d managed to deceive her, that she’d once thought so much more highly of him than he deserved.
“I guess you never looked close enough.”
That muscle twitched in his cheek again, but she ignored it. Instead, she fought the tears clogging her throat. “At least I see you more clearly now.”
“Good. Then you’ll know to keep your distance. Dealing with me isn’t for the emotionally fragile.”
“Emotionally fragile?” She barked a laugh. “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried. Not anymore.”
“Oh, yeah? You think I can’t sense the chemistry between us? It’s not gone, Francesca. Whether you admit it or not, it’s far from gone.”
“What chemistry? You mean sexual attraction? So what if it’s still there? It’s all physical. You think I
can’t enjoy a free ride and walk away when it’s over just as easily as you can?”
He twisted in his seat to confront her more directly. “Is that what you want from me? A free ride? For old times’ sake?”
It seemed that the color had drained from his face but in the failing light she couldn’t be certain, and the edge to his voice challenged her to prove her words. “What’s wrong with a cheap thrill? That’s what you gave my best friend, isn’t it? That’s what you offer every girl you meet. Why should I be any different? Apparently, it was my mistake to expect more when we were together.”
His gaze raked over her chest before moving lower and suddenly she wanted his hands every place his eyes touched. The tightly leashed aggression simmering inside him didn’t frighten her. If they came together now, if they made love only to quench the desire clawing at her belly, she could have what she wanted without being forced to acknowledge that what she felt might be more than lust.
“Get in the back,” he snapped.
To show him how much she resented him and the effect he had on her, she narrowed her eyes. “Make me.”
His muscles contracted but he didn’t reach for her. Dropping his head against the seat, he filled his lungs with the same air she was breathing—air that smelled of both of them, air they’d warmed with their angry words and the heat of their aroused bodies.
“What’s the matter?” she asked when he made no move. “Don’t tell me Casanova’s lost his touch.”
He swallowed but didn’t open his eyes. “Sorry, I’m not interested.”
Francesca wasn’t sure why he’d changed his mind suddenly. Sexual tension radiated from him, proving the exact opposite of his words. So why was he holding back? What did he have to lose?
Afraid he really would deny her, she took his hand and placed it on her breast. “What’s the matter? Sex no fun unless you’re cheating on someone? Why not pretend you’ve got a wife at home? That should get you hot.”
The fingers that had started to cup her breast stiffened, and deep furrows formed between his eyebrows. She’d stung him with that barb; she could tell. But she refused to regret it. She wanted him too badly—but she didn’t want to love him.