“Nothing right now,” he responded. “We’ll be in touch if we think of something.”
She fell back a step, her gaze riveted to Toby. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. He didn’t know if she was referring to Lindsey’s disappearance or her retreat from him yesterday. He tried to convince himself he didn’t care.
But when he got into the detective’s unmarked police car, he felt his soul clench with a fierceness born of fear and grief and something more—the understanding that he wasn’t strong enough to get through this ordeal alone, and Susannah wasn’t going to help him.
SUSANNAH WAS inches from her telephone when it rang that afternoon. She’d been inches from it all day, prowling the house with her cordless unit, waiting, hoping, praying it would bring good news. She should have been with Toby. It pained her to be apart from him. But she’d seen the unforgiving look in his eyes in front of his house that morning, when she’d asked what she could do to help. Nothing, his expression had shouted at her. You can do nothing at all. I don’t want you here.
She was furious with herself for not having offered her help when his problem was so much smaller. Perhaps if she’d spent Sunday with him and Lindsey, easing the girl out of her dismal mood, Lindsey might not have disappeared. If Susannah had reached out to her, let the Coles depend on her, done whatever she could to make things better for them…
She’d wanted to spare herself from the fate she’d suffered in Los Angeles. Why hadn’t she acknowledged that Toby wasn’t Stephen or her father or any of the other people who’d taken advantage of her there? He was completely different.
She should have given herself to him fully. But she’d reflexively chosen to protect herself, and look what had happened.
The abrupt chime of the phone jolted her. She jammed her thumb against the connect button and lifted the unit to her ear. “Yes?”
“Susannah.” It was Toby, not the detective. She hoped that meant the news was good—that he’d located Lindsey, that he wanted Susannah’s help, that he didn’t despise her.
“Yes.”
“Susannah, we’ve contacted Lindsey’s friend Cathy Robinson.”
“Yes?” Did that mean Lindsey was with the girl who used to live in this house? Had she somehow traveled all the way to Atlanta?
“Cathy told us Lindsey sent her an e-mail last night telling her she was going to go to Los Angeles. She wants to be a star.” His voice faltered.
Her pulse skidded. “Los Angeles?”
“Cathy forwarded the e-mail to Detective Russo. In it she said she thought you’d blown it by turning your back on stardom. You were just going to be a plain old lady—dating me, no less—and you were throwing away everything that made you special. Lindsey said she was going to Hollywood to become a star so you’d see how it was supposed to be.”
Susannah dismissed the intended insult. There was nothing she’d rather be than a plain old lady—Toby’s old lady. She moved right past it to more immediate issues. “Why didn’t Cathy call to warn you?”
“She didn’t think Lindsey was actually going to run away. She thought Lindsey was just sounding her out about the idea.” He sighed. “Of course Cathy told Lindsey to go for it.” He sighed again. “Some idiot at the Arlington bus station sold her a ticket to Manhattan. The NYPD has been alerted. They think she might have changed buses at the Port Authority terminal.”
“She’s trying to take a bus to Los Angeles?”
“She can’t afford an airplane ticket.” Again his voice faltered. “Susannah…there’s so much that could happen to her on a bus. She thinks she knows everything, but she doesn’t. I can’t—I can’t believe how much danger she’s in, I—”
“Where are you, Toby?”
“I’m at the police station with Detective Russo.”
“I’ll be right there.” She disconnected the phone before he could tell her not to come.
Grabbing her purse, her cell phone and her keys, she hurried out of the house. She had a general idea where the police department headquarters was located, and after circling a couple of downtown blocks she located the building and parked. Inside, she stopped at the front desk to ask the sergeant where she would find Detective Russo.
“Up the stairs and take a left,” he directed her. “Say, you look like that actress, you know? From the hospital show—”
Ignoring him, she sprinted up the stairs two at a time. At the landing she turned left and entered a small squad room crowded with six desks. She immediately spotted the detective she’d seen with Toby that morning. He was seated at one of the desks. Toby wasn’t with him.
“Excuse me,” the receptionist called to her, trying to keep her from rushing through the entry and heading straight for Russo’s desk.
“Where’s Toby?” she asked the detective, tuning out the receptionist. “Where’s Dr. Cole?”
Russo glanced up from the paperwork on his blotter. He studied her as if trying to place her.
“I’m his next-door neighbor. Susannah Dawson.”
Russo nodded. He must have recalled what she’d told him on the phone: that she and Toby had a complicated relationship, that Lindsey wasn’t happy about it, that Susannah was trying to keep her distance from Toby because of Lindsey. “He’s in the coffee room, right through that door.” Russo pointed to an open door at the far end of the room. “I’d join you, but I’ve got calls to make.”
“Make your calls,” Susannah told him. “Thanks.” She wove through the maze of desks to the coffee room.
Toby stood in the tiny lounge, staring out a soot-streaked window, his back to the door. His jacket was draped over the back of a chair, his sleeves were rolled up and his shirt was wrinkled. From his posture alone, Susannah could tell he was dejected.
“Toby?”
He spun around. He appeared on the verge of smiling, but then he checked himself, apparently remembering he wasn’t supposed to be glad to see her.
“I know people in Los Angeles,” she said. “I’ll call anyone you want. My old producer would know the best detectives in the city. I can afford any private eye in town, Toby. Let me do this, all right?”
He stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language.
“A good private investigator will find her. We can get started right now. Should I clear it with Russo first?”
“You want to call your old producer?”
“I’ll call anyone you want, Toby. I know people in Hollywood.”
“You can’t stand those people,” he reminded her.
She pressed on. “I’ll fly out there if you think it might help. I’ll look for Lindsey myself. I can just imagine some of the places a kid might wander, trying to find a way to break into the business. That might be a better idea,” she realized, her brain speeding ahead of her words. “I’ll fly out to Los Angeles myself. I’ll turn the whole damned city upside down till I find her.”
“Susannah.” He crossed the room, cupped his hands around her elbows and held her in place, as if he expected her to flap her arms and fly directly to Los Angeles from the coffee room. “She’s not in California.”
She tried not to react to his nearness, the strength of his hands on her arms, the intense beauty of his dark, sad eyes. “She’s not? You told me that was where she was heading.”
“By bus. She got on a bus in Arlington at eight-thirty. She’s been traveling no more than seven hours. There’s no way she’d get anywhere near California in such a short time.”
“I’ll go anyway,” Susannah insisted. “I’ll be there to greet her when she gets off the bus.”
“They’ll find her before then.”
She let out a breath. If they found her, he was right—she would be nowhere near Los Angeles in seven hours. She’d be lucky if she was as far away as Pittsburgh.
If they found her.
She peered up into Toby’s face. “This is my fault,” she murmured. “This whole thing—”
“No.”
“I wasn’t what she wanted me to
be. She thought I should be a glamorous celebrity, and I disappointed her—”
“No. It’s not your fault.”
“Whose fault is it, then?”
His hands relaxed the slightest bit on her arms. “It’s Lindsey’s fault,” he said. “She was enraged with us both, and she did something stupid.” He released Susannah’s arms and prowled around the tiny room, evidently too nervous to stand still. “I learned something in that Daddy School class. I learned that no father is perfect, but if we give our children love and guidance, that’s not bad. I’m a good father, Susannah. Maybe I could have gotten through to Lindsey, but I sure as hell tried and I didn’t succeed. And maybe it’s not my fault.”
Tears blurred Susannah’s vision. “You’re a very good father, Toby.” She followed him into a corner of the room and blocked him so he couldn’t keep pacing. “I’m here telling you I’d do anything for you and Lindsey.”
“What about your independence? What about not wanting to do things for other people?”
“This isn’t about other people. It’s about you and Lindsey. All day today I’ve been wishing I were with you, thinking of you and her and wanting to do something—anything to make this better.”
“Because you think it’s your fault?”
“Because I love you,” she said.
Something relented inside him, his shoulders going less rigid, his head tilting slightly. “Is this a heat-of-the-moment confession?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Loving me means accepting that I’ve got a wild, exasperating, tempestuous daughter—”
“Whom I adore.”
He let out a long breath, then tucked his hand under her chin and dropped a kiss onto her lips. “Lindsey warned me not to fall in love with you. Just one more thing she was wrong about.”
Approaching footsteps caused them to move apart. Turning toward the door, Susannah saw Detective Russo hurrying toward them, smiling. “Philadelphia,” he said. “She’s in police custody. They pulled her off a bus. She’s safe, healthy and very weepy.”
Susannah grew weepy, too. She glanced at Toby and saw tears glistening in his eyes, as well. “Can I talk to her?”
“Sure. You’ll have to drive down there—”
“Of course. But let me talk to her first. I just want to hear her voice.”
Russo led Susannah and Toby out of the coffee room to his desk. He dialed a number, spoke to a few intermediaries in Philadelphia, then handed the phone to Toby.
“Hello? This is Tobias Cole. Can I speak to my daughter, please?”
Susannah stood next to him, her arm looped around his waist and his slung over her shoulders. She wasn’t sure which one of them was holding the other up. All she knew was that she didn’t want to let go.
“Hi, Hot Stuff. It’s Dr. Dad,” he said into the phone. “You’re in big trouble, you know that?” He listened. “Yes, I’m mad. I’m furious. But I love you. With all my heart. And I’m going to come down to Philadelphia and get you. I’ll be there in about four hours. Maybe less, if I drive fast.” He listened. “We’ll talk about whether you’re grounded when we get home. Honey, stop crying. I love you. Lindsey? I’m bringing Susannah with me.” He listened. “She loves you, too. She and I are going to come and get you. We’re going to bring you home.”
He listened for a moment longer, then said goodbye, handed the receiver back to Detective Russo and turned to face Susannah. She closed her arms around his waist and he gathered her close.
“I would do anything for you,” she confessed in a whisper. “I don’t care if this isn’t what I planned for myself. I’ll do anything for you, Toby.”
“Hold me,” he asked. “That’s what I want you to do.”
She held him, and he held her. This was the way it was supposed to be, she realized—two people giving as much as they took. Two people holding each other, stronger because they were together, strong enough to tackle any challenge. Strong enough to convince a girl in Philadelphia that there was no problem in life so great that love couldn’t make it better.
Send Me a Hero
by Rita Herron
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Darkness hung in Veronica’s bedroom like a cold black cloud. She awoke with a start, her heart pounding. The light she kept burning in the bathroom had gone out—or had someone turned it off? She froze, momentarily paralyzed with fear. Someone was in her apartment. She could feel his presence.
Her chest constricted so tightly she couldn’t breathe. She strained to hear, praying she was just imagining the intruder, but a creaking sound echoed through the eerie quiet. Footsteps padded across the carpet. Terror rippled through her as she frantically scanned the room. A whisper of someone’s breath penetrated the silence. As her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, she spotted a shadow silhouetted against the far wall near the door, but it disappeared so quickly she wasn’t sure it had really been there.
Was she having another nightmare? The shadow moved, appearing ominous in the dimness of the room. The silver glint of a knife flickered in a ray of moonlight trickling through the venetian blinds. A chill slithered up her spine. Someone stood, hovering in the doorway, staring at her. And she had no place to run. Trembling, she scooted back on the bed and reached for the phone.
Just as her fingers closed around the handset, the dark shadow lunged over her bed and straddled her. The phone fell off the hook. The sound of the dial tone rang through the room. She flung her hands at the man and kicked wildly, but his heavy weight settled against her body, pressing her into the mattress. He snapped her hands above her head in one fluid motion. The scent of cheap cologne and stale tobacco wafted around her, turning her stomach sour. His hot breath scorched her neck, and she tried to scream, but he pressed a pillow firmly over her face, muffling the sound. The heat of his sweating body seeped into hers. Something sharp pricked her upper arm. Then her hands were free and the point of the knife jabbed into the soft skin at the base of her throat. She was too petrified to cry out.
Determination and anger replaced her fear. She would not just lie here and let someone kill her.
Shoving with all her might, she bucked upward, twisting sideways in an attempt to dislodge him. Then she swung her fists wildly and slammed against his body, managing to knock the pillow away. She grabbed his arm and wrestled for the knife. The blade sliced into her wrist, but she barely noticed the pain as she fought for her life. With one last desperate effort, she managed to knee him, causing him to fall to the floor. The knife dropped onto her bed. She grabbed it and lunged for the man as he reached for her again. A loud groan escaped him, and she thought she’d stabbed him. He jerked backward and stumbled against the wall, then knocked over her lamp with a loud crash, shattering it into tiny pieces.
Gasping for air, she stared in horror at the blood-covered knife in her hands. Blood seeped from her arm and trickled onto her bedclothes. Her gaze swept the room again for her attacker. Had she mortally wounded him?
Panic raced through her. She needed to run. To scream. But her limbs felt like lead pillars, and her vocal cords had snapped shut. The man’s heavy breathing rattled through the room. The stink of death permeated the air like the last burning embers of a fire. Veronica tried to shout for help, but the wretched sound she made came out as a whisper.
Her attacker groaned. Staggered. Collapsed against the plush carpeting in the doorway. Veronica’s breath came out in shaky distorted pants. She grabbed the phone from the floor and pressed the
button down for the dial tone, then punched 911. Dizzy with fear, she closed her eyes in an attempt to regain her balance. This time the police would have to believe her. They couldn’t laugh her away as a paranoid, helpless woman like the last time she’d called. After all, an unconscious—perhaps dead—man lay sprawled on her bedroom floor. That was all the evidence they would need.
Another wave of dizziness assaulted her. Veronica fought the nausea, fought the exhaustion, but lost. Clutching the phone in one hand, she closed her eyes and mumbled for help, but the light slowly faded around her and she drifted into a sea of darkness.
DETECTIVE NATHAN DAWSON heard the police call come in over the radio dispatch, quickly dropped his soggy hamburger into its paper wrappings and picked up the receiver. “Dawson and Ford here.”
“Ten-thirty. Intruder. Possible homicide. Caller is in the vicinity of Green and Washburn.”
“We’re in the area,” Nathan said. “Specifics?”
“Address—apartment J-5, Bainbridge Apartment complex. Report came in from a woman,” the dispatch officer said. “Not sure if the perp is still in the apartment.”
Nathan glanced at his partner. Ford arched his bushy eyebrow and continued to chow down on his thick hamburger, using his tongue to lick the mustard dribbling down his pointed chin. The man was disgusting. Nathan already sensed tension between them. He wasn’t sure why, but Ford had made it clear he didn’t want a partner—especially him. He had to admit the feeling was mutual.
“Got a name?” Nathan asked.
“Not yet. Running the address through the computer now,” the dispatch officer said.
“Caller still on the line?” Nathan had already turned the car around and was heading in the direction of the complex.
The officer on the other end sighed. “No. I’ve already radioed the paramedics. She sounded out of it, like she might have been on drugs. Only thing she said was, ‘Help me, I think I’ve killed someone.’ Then she must have passed out or…”
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