“Jennifer!” she screamed, and waited to see if she was in the bathroom or in another room. She heard nothing—no voice, no footsteps. “Jennifer!” she called again and turned in the hallway.
Where was she?
“Jennifer!”
She looked at the bed again.
Not only was Jennifer gone, but so was her rag doll. Only the little flashlight remained.
No alarm had gone off and she was positive she had set it. She had been attacked, and Jennifer and her doll were gone. Who could do all that? Who could enter this house so easily? There was only one name to come to her mind.
“Scott!” she screamed. “You bastard!”
She collapsed to her knees and crawled to the telephone in Jennifer’s room. She pulled it down on the floor with her and punched out 911.
“I’ve been attacked!” she screamed. “And my daughter’s gone! He did this.”
She just managed to get out her address before she fainted again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Scott remained at the table while his father walked the Japanese businessmen out to their cars at the Four Seasons. His father had done most of the talking, noting immediately on his entrance that Scott was in something of a sulk. Scott tried his best to show interest, but he was raging so much inside himself, he could barely contain the anger enough to eat anything. He drank too much too quickly, which was another thing that clearly annoyed his father. As he sat there waiting for him to return, he anticipated another severe chastisement, and that was one thing he didn’t need right now.
His father smiled at the maître d’. They had a few words and then his father returned to the table.
“If I knew you were going to behave like a child tonight, Scott, I wouldn’t have had you here. Insult added to injury, you came late.”
“I stopped at the house before I came here.”
“What house?”
“My house, Dad. It’s still technically half my house!”
“Lower your voice. I didn’t say it wasn’t. So?”
“She was having some sort of celebration with that whore friend of hers, Tricia Morgan, and this guy she’s met.”
His father sat back.
“And…?”
“And nothing. I let her know I know what the hell she’s doing. Then she came at me and showed me she had pictures of EdMarcus’s partner watching the house.”
“She did?”
“Right.”
“So she hired someone as well. She’s playing hardball,” his father said. “Probably a suggestion that attorney of hers, Emily Lloyd, made. She’s a real ball-breaker. What about this man of hers? Who is he?”
“I don’t know. Never saw him before. He looked like someone who had just walked out of some penitentiary. I can’t imagine her with someone like that, exposing Jennifer to someone like that.”
“Yes, well just be patient. You’ll wipe the smug smile of celebration off her face soon enough.
Well,” he added, rising, “this went well tonight, despite your sitting there and sulking. I think we have the deal.”
Scott nodded, but he was unable to show even a hint of satisfaction about it. Right now, all of that was meaningless to him.
“You’re losing your focus, Scott. Once a man does that, he falls in all sorts of ways. Grow up. Get hold of yourself. You’re playing in the big leagues now.”
Scott glared up at him. This was about as much sympathy as he would ever get, he thought, but he understood why. His father saw him as weak, and the truth was, he saw himself as weak as well. He should have done more back at the house. He shouldn’t have rushed away with his tail between his legs. It simply added to his rage.
“Let’s go home and get some sleep,” his father said.
“I’ll be home soon,” he added. He wasn’t ready to retreat to the Lester compound and curl up in a fetal position in bed to find relief in sleep. That was another form of escape. His mother used to sleep away half her day. He was beginning to understand why.
His father leaned over the table.
“You had better start acting like a Lester,” he said, and walked out.
What the hell did that mean?
Scott ruminated a while, drank the rest of his Scotch and soda and then finally got up and left. When his car was brought around, he simply couldn’t just get in and drive home. His curiosity and anger seized him, so he drove back to his Beverly Hills home to see if that yellow Corvette was still in the driveway. It wasn’t, which made him feel better until he turned his head and saw it parked just a few feet up from the house. He slowed down. The man called Steve was not in it. That meant he was in the house, and parking the yellow Corvette outside was just some pathetic attempt to hide it. They were probably in bed, screwing away.
He didn’t have the nerve to go back in there and catch them in the act, so he drove on and ended up at one of his old hangouts, a bar in West Hollywood. He hadn’t realized it was one of those that had evolved into a gay bar, but he didn’t care. A drink was a drink and he wanted to delay going to his father’s house. He found a corner away from the other men. His demeanor was enough to keep anyone from approaching him. He simply sat there for well over an hour, drinking and reviewing his life with Megan, trying to pinpoint that exact moment when their love for each other dissipated like smoke and left them with only the aroma of the fire that had once burned in both their hearts.
“If anyone looks like he’s drowning his sorrows, it’s you,” a tall, muscular man in a tight black Polo shirt said, stopping at his table. He had a militarystyle haircut and a diamond earring. Scott could barely see his face in the shadows. “Why don’t you come join us?” he added. “We’ll cheer you up.”
“Not in this life,” Scott replied.
The man shrugged.
“Well, when you return to earth, pay us a visit,” he said, and walked away.
Scott finally had to laugh at himself. He drank some water, sobered up enough to leave and paid his bill.
“What ever happened to Sonny Martin?” he asked the bartender.
“Sonny Martin? Never heard of him,” he replied.
“Too bad,” Scott said. “He could make one helluva martini.”
He left feeling even more despondent. Coming here hadn’t done him any good. It had simply reminded him that every trace of his former existence appeared to have evaporated. I’m ready to become my father, he thought, and drove home.
No one was awake. If either his father or Jules had heard him, they didn’t care to get out of bed to see how he was or if he needed anything. He navigated the stairway and plopped on his bed facedown without taking off his shoes. He was that way early in the morning when Jules shook him to wake him.
“Mr. Lester. Mr. Lester,” he said.
Scott groaned and turned over. For a moment or two, he forgot where he was. Then he sat up and scrubbed his cheeks with his dry palms and realized he was still in his clothes and shoes from the night before.
“Oh, Jules. Sorry. What’s up?”
“There’s are two police detectives downstairs with your father. They need you right away,” he replied.
“What? What’s up?”
Jules shook his head.
“Better you hear it from them,” he said.
Scott’s face grew hot with fear immediately. He shot off the bed and hurried out, passing Jules in the hallway and nearly tripping on his way down the stairway.
The police and his father were in the living room. The police were standing, but his father was seated and still in his robe. He looked up and stopped Scott in his tracks.
Never had he ever seen his father with a look of abject fear on his face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“These men are detectives from the Beverly Hills Police Department,” his father said. “Come in and sit down, Scott.”
“Beverly Hills police? What is it?”
“Your wife was attacked last night, Mr. Lester, and your daughter is missing,�
� one of the detectives said.
“What?”
“Where were you after you left your father?” the other detective asked.
“How is Megan?” he asked, instead of replying.
“She’s in intensive care at Cedars, Mr. Lester. We don’t have any information on her condition yet.”
“And my daughter…is missing?”
“Yes, Mr. Lester.”
“I’ve got to get to the hospital.”
“Let’s have a little talk here first,” the first detective said.
“But—”
“Sit, Scott,” his father told him. “I told them they could ask you one or two questions, but if we go beyond that, we’ll have our attorney present.”
“Attorney? For what?” Scott asked, sitting on the sofa.
“Let’s stay calm,” the first detective said. “Our purpose here is to get your daughter back safely first. My name is Michael Parker and this is Jackson Foto,” he said, nodding at the second detective.
“Why are you questioning me?” Scott demanded.
“Whoever broke into your home and attacked your wife and kidnapped your daughter knew how to get past the alarm system. It was never triggered. Your wife is positive she armed the alarm before going up to bed, Mr. Lester. When a patrol car arrived after her 911 call, the alarm did sound. Your wife wasn’t able to get to the front door quickly.
“Your wife was struck with a small statue of an angel. We have it in forensics.”
“You have a pistol permit, so your prints are on record,” Foto added.
“My prints. I remember when we bought that statue. Of course my prints are on it. Why would that be important? Who told you I had a pistol permit?”
“Megan told them,” his father said dryly.
“Why?”
“She thinks you did it.”
“What?”
“She told us that earlier in the evening you busted into the house and threatened her,” Parker said.
“Threatened her? I did not.”
“There were witnesses—a girlfriend named Tricia Morgan and a man named Steve Wallace. We’re on our way next to speak with Ms. Morgan. And we’ll be questioning Steve Wallace as well, so you might as well tell us what you said.”
“Did you tell her she would be sorry? In the end she would be sorry?” Foto followed.
“Yes, but—”
“So you admit that?” Parker asked. “Thanks, saves us two trips. Can you tell us where you were at about eleven, eleven thirty? Your father says the dinner you had ended at nine thirty, but you didn’t come directly home and he can’t give us the exact time you did get home.”
Scott looked at his father.
“You don’t think…”
“Of course not, but the best way to convince them of that is for you and I to be truthful, Scott.”
“I drove around for a while and went to a bar I used to frequent in my younger days, before I was married. It’s in West Hollywood. The Underground.”
“And how long were you there?”
“An hour or so.”
“And after that?”
“I came right home. Look, I did return to the house after I left—actually, after I left the dinner with my father.”
“Oh?” Foto stepped closer.
“I wanted to see if Megan’s friend Tricia Morgan was still there, or that guy she’s met. I saw his car on the street.”
“What time would this be?”
“Close to ten.”
“Your wife says they were both gone by nine thirty.”
“I saw his car. The lights were out. Figure it out!” Scott exclaimed.
“Okay, we’ll check all that,” Parker said.
“Can I get to the hospital now?”
“Aren’t you more concerned about your daughter’s whereabouts?” Foto asked.
“Of course he is. The man is flustered. That’s why people need attorneys when you guys go fishing. Conversation is over. We’ll contact our attorney for any further discussions,” his father said, rising.
“Okay. We’ll let you know when. Since this is a kidnapping, we’ll be talking to the FBI today,” Parker said.
“Good,” Scott’s father said. He looked at Scott. “I’ll get dressed and go with you to the hospital. I’ll call the office and put off—”
“I’m not waiting, Dad. Meet me there,” Scott said sharply, and rushed out.
Returning late in the morning from the grocery store, Steve’s mother looked through the open door of his bedroom and saw him asleep on his back, clothes still on, boots off. His television set was on. He had been watching the news. She glanced at it when the anchor returned to the lead local story about a little girl being kidnapped and the mother being attacked in her Beverly Hills home. There was an AMBER Alert. She shook her head. What a world. No one was safe anywhere.
“Steve,” she said. He didn’t budge. She struggled with the bags a moment and then brought them to the kitchen table. She didn’t go right out for the other four bags. Instead, she returned to his bedroom and this time knocked hard on the opened door.
His eyes popped open.
“Where were you? Why aren’t you at work? I could use some help with the groceries,” she added before he could even think of any answers. “Well?”
“I had things to do. The job’s done,” he said, and reluctantly swung his legs over the bed to find his boots.
“You look like a drowned rat,” she muttered, and went out for the remaining groceries.
He ran his fingers through his hair and stood up. This wasn’t the first time he had been up all night, but he sure was feeling it. I guess age is creeping in, he thought. But that only reinforced the urgency of everything he had to do. Don’t want to be past my prime when I raise a family, he concluded.
He looked at the television. The news was over and some woman’s talk show was starting. He shut it off. He had all the information he needed. Then he followed his mother out. She shook her head and gave him a look of disgust as he passed her to pick up the remaining bags.
“So?” she asked as he placed the bags on the kitchen table. “What exactly were these things you had to do?”
“I’m setting up a new home,” he said casually. He opened a package of chocolate-chip cookies and started to gobble a few.
“Setting up a new home? What the hell are you talking about now, Steve?”
“Just what I said. Setting up a new life for myself and my new family.”
“What new family? That divorced woman and her kid?”
“Exactly,” he replied, and opened a container of milk. “I’m convincing her to start over with me.”
His mother scowled.
“You hardly know her, unless you’ve been seeing her for a long time without telling me about it.”
“It doesn’t take long for a woman with some intelligence and quality to recognize the man she’s meant to be with, the man who would provide and protect her. A good husband should be his wife’s guardian angel, always. That should be his first priority, Ma. Trouble with Dad was, his first priority was himself.”
“I don’t like you talking that way about him. He’s not here to defend himself.”
“He’s probably busy defending himself somewhere else…someplace pretty hot.”
“Shut that,” she snapped, and started to remove the groceries.
He poured himself some milk and gulped it.
“When’s all this supposed to happen exactly?” she asked as she worked.
“Soon,” he said.
“I haven’t even met this new princess.”
“Oh, you will. When the time’s right,” he told her.
He pulled off his shirt and started away.
“Now what are you doing?”
“Got to clean up and visit someone in the hospital,” he said.
“Who?”
He didn’t answer. He went into the bathroom and started his shower. His mother finished putting away the groceries and th
en sat at the kitchen table waiting for her coffee to perk. Something gnawed away at the bottom of her stomach. She could recall other times Steve was this cryptic about something he was about to do, and every time, it had been something bad, something either she or her husband had to fix.
This woman, she thought, must be taking awful advantage of him.
She wanted to know more about her. While he was in the bathroom, she rose and went into his room searching for some clue, something. She saw nothing unusual and was about to leave when she saw his jacket hanging on the back of a chair. She listened to be sure he was still busy in the bathroom and then looked through the jacket pockets.
At first she thought it was his wallet, but there was something different about it, so she opened it and looked at the California driver’s license for someone named Ed Marcus. Another card told her he was a private detective. What the hell was this? She heard him opening the bathroom door, so she hurriedly returned the wallet to his jacket pocket and stepped out of his room just as he came out of the bathroom with a towel around his neck, the aroma of his sweet aftershave coming at her in waves.
“What are you looking for?” he asked immediately.
“Just checking to see how much mud and grime you dragged in,” she replied.
He nodded. “I know, Ma. It’s not easy looking after a grown man after all these years, but soon I’ll have someone else looking after me and you’ll be able to become what you were always meant to become.”
“And what’s that, pray tell?”
“A grandmother. What else?” he said, smiling, and walked past her into his room, closing the door behind him.
After he dressed, he called a florist and ordered a dozen mixed roses to be sent to Megan at the hospital.
“Please write, ‘Sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most, but I’ll be there now. Steve,” he told the store clerk. “Can you put a rush on it? She needs cheering up desperately.”
“I’ll get it out within the hour,” the clerk promised.
Steve checked the time. He had the day planned perfectly, but he knew the groundwork was more important than anything. Despite his lack of sleep, he was energized. Finally, he had restored his purpose in life.
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