Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  Tom’s face had become a mask of stone. His skin had taken on a gray pallor. He watched his wife.

  “Does Natalie have a boyfriend?” Alex asked, keeping his voice calm and even. The last thing he wanted to do was add to their worry. Without looking up, he could feel the magnetic pull of Abby’s gaze, and he avoided her stare.

  “No,” Joyce responded quickly. “She’s sixteen and doesn’t date.”

  The answer was definitive, typical of an overly protective parent. He wondered if it was accurate. Did Natalie have secrets she didn’t want to share? He remembered Abby at sixteen, and he felt pretty sure that there were a few things her parents didn’t know.

  “Did you have an argument with Natalie last night? Is there any reason you can think of why she may not have come home?”

  “No,” Tom said, shaking his head. “I wish there was.”

  “May I see her room?” Alex asked, closing his notebook, his lips set in a grim line. He didn’t like where this was going. The hope that there was a simple explanation for Natalie’s whereabouts was fading fast. Her family was painting the picture of a responsible girl who did as she was told. So either Natalie was in the midst of a major teenaged rebellion or something significant had happened to her. Or maybe someone.

  The room was neat, particularly for a high school kid, he thought as he examined it slowly, his eyes taking careful inventory of each small detail. Books crammed the shelves of the narrow bookcase, and more were stacked on the desk around her computer monitor. He scanned the titles. Natalie was an eclectic reader with a wide range of interests ranging from biographies to vampires to classic adventure stories.

  “Is there anything missing? Clothes?” Alex asked, and Tom cleared his throat before answering.

  “Not that we’ve noticed.” The members of the Watson family stood close together, clustered in the doorway, seeming to draw strength from each other’s nearness.

  Alex noted the poster of Lance Armstrong from the Tour de France pinned to the wall above Natalie’s headboard.

  “Where does she like to bike?”

  “The Burke-Gilman Trail is her favorite for long rides,” Abby answered.

  “Is her bike here?”

  Both parents looked at each other in astonishment, as if each had assumed the other had already checked.

  “I’ll take a look,” Abby offered and turned to descend the stairs.

  A few photographs were wedged into the edges of the corkboard above the desk, and he stepped closer to get a better look. One picture caught his eye. Natalie’s pretty smile beamed out from the snapshot. Her arm was wound around another girl’s shoulders. He noted that she was about the same age as Natalie, but that’s where the similarity ended. With a round face, heavy eyeliner circling her brown eyes, and dyed black hair, she had the look of a girl who had never seen the inside of a library. A small tattoo of a butterfly peeked out from beneath the neckline of her shirt. He wondered if her parents had authorized that little addition.

  “Who’s that?” Alex gestured toward the picture of the two girls.

  “That’s Emily Jenkins,” Joyce answered. “Natalie’s best friend. They’ve known each other since kindergarten.”

  “The same girl she was supposed to visit yesterday?”

  They nodded, and Alex continued to study the room.

  “You mentioned that Natalie spends a lot of time on the computer. What does she do?” he asked with a growing sense of foreboding. As part of the cybercrimes unit, he had investigated his fair share of child-abduction cases, kids who had been lured by online predators to a dark underworld of sexual fantasy and abuse. Some of them came back to their homes to continue on with their lives, beginning a long journey to overcome their painful experiences. And some did not.

  “Schoolwork, mostly. She emails her friends. Watches videos. Normal kid stuff.”

  A small frown formed between Alex’s eyebrows, drawing them closer together. “Do you have any tracking software on your computer?”

  “Tracking software?” Tom’s brow wrinkled.

  “Some parents put it on their computers so they can see what their kids are doing online.”

  Underneath the bushy moustache, Tom’s lips twitched, and he traded worried looks with Joyce.

  “We trust Natalie.”

  Alex nodded. He paused for a long moment, his eyes focused on the computer tower under her desk, mentally listing his next steps. He had tools he could use to track her online activities—email correspondence, websites she’d visited, chat rooms.

  “If it’s all right with you, I’m going to take her computer with me.”

  3

  Jill Shannon sank slowly into the luxurious pile of pillows on the king-sized bed. Candlelight glimmered, reflecting off her long, bare legs. She smoothed down the red silk negligee as she waited.

  It seemed like she spent half her life waiting. Waiting for Alex to come home from work. Waiting for the sparks between them to reignite. Once upon a time, their many differences drew them together, like yin and yang. Now it seemed they barely knew each other. Alex was never home. And when he was, they didn’t talk. She didn’t understand his slavish devotion to duty. He didn’t understand her drive, her ambition. They spoke different languages.

  Jill took a sip of champagne, savoring the dry, crisp taste.

  Well, she was done waiting. She was ready for some action.

  A sharp knock on the door interrupted her musings and brought her to her feet in a smooth, fluid motion. Her pulse began to race. With a few graceful strides, she crossed the room. Jill smiled as she swung open the door and found him leaning against the door jamb.

  Jamie King was without a doubt one of the sexiest men she had ever met. Salt-and-pepper hair, ice-blue eyes, average height. In his early forties, he was in top condition. Today he was dressed casually in a long-sleeved white linen shirt and dark jeans.

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside the room without a word, his kiss hot on her lips. With nimble fingers, she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders.

  Jamie looked down, his eyes taking a meticulous inventory from her long glossy hair down to her scarlet-painted toenails.

  “My, my, aren’t you the little vixen?” he asked in his crisp British accent. His hands ran down her bare shoulders and back, gripping her silk-clad hips.

  “I was just thinking about you.”

  “Good thoughts, I trust?”

  “Very bad, actually.”

  She brushed against him and stretched up on her toes, nuzzling his rough cheek. She breathed in his scent—warm leather and soap—as she trailed hungry kisses down his throat.

  “Where did you find this naughty number?” he asked, with a playful smile.

  She loved his accent, and how it could make even the corniest lines sound sexy.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she whispered in his ear, grazing her lips lightly along the length of his throat. He chuckled softly.

  “Ah, bought it for your husband. I see.”

  Jamie grabbed the hem of the negligee. He pulled it up over her head in a smooth, fluid motion, and tossed it carelessly aside. His mouth lowered to hers, smothering her response.

  Desire simmered hot through her veins. His hands blazed fiery trails across her skin. Breathing hard, she pulled away and gazed up into his face. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes glittered in the dim light. A need, sharp and hot, jolted through her.

  “I’ve been waiting. Where were you?”

  Jamie backed her up toward the bed, his hand skimming past her waist to cup her breast. Jill groaned as his fingers closed over her nipple, tugging hard before shoving her back. She fell onto the mattress. Her dark hair fanned out across the creamy sheets. She looked up. In the flickering candlelight, she saw his wicked grin.

  “You’re certainly not the patient kind, are you, Jill? Maybe that’s why I like to keep you waiting. I like the pot simmering when I get here.”

  He shed his clothes and fina
lly bent over to kiss her. She felt the scorching heat of his lips brand her. Cupping his neck with her hand, she pulled him closer. Jamie resisted, though, suspended above her, content to prolong the moment as his fingers and lips played across her body. Slow. Teasing.

  She moaned in frustration. She was done waiting. She wanted him.

  Jill wound a leg around both of his and heaved against his shoulder. Set off balance, Jamie flipped onto the mattress. He looked up, electric-blue eyes wide in surprise. Jill straddled him, smiling sweetly down into his face. His breath quickened. He gripped her hips and guided her into position.

  “I don’t like to be kept waiting,” she said, sinking slowly along the length of him, savoring each delicious sensation rippling through her.

  “I can see that.”

  Jamie’s grip tightened. He arched his hips and thrust deep inside her, and Jill forgot everything else.

  Stretched out face-down on the sheets, Jill opened her eyes slowly as she surveyed the hotel room. Clothes were strewn across the Berber carpet in a trail that began just past the doorway with Jamie’s shirt and ended a foot from the bed, where the silky negligee lay, discarded in a pool of red satin. She turned her head to one side, a lazy smile slanted across her lips.

  “Well, that was as good as advertised,” she sighed.

  “Right. Customer service is our number-one priority, ma’am,” Jamie said as he reclined against the pillows, the sheet folded at his waist. She rolled over on her side facing him, legs stretched out, with only her feet tucked under the covers. The bare curves of her body were exposed to the air, allowing her velvety skin to cool. If she were a cat, she’d be purring right now.

  Jill felt the warmth of his gaze on her as she met his blue eyes with a sated smile. He ran a finger across the jagged, two-inch line on the side of her neck, scar tissue raised against the soft skin surrounding it.

  “Remind me again how you got that,” he said, retracting his hands and folding them behind his head.

  Jill swung her hair around her shoulders, hiding the scar from view. “Missed the jugular by inches,” she remembered the doctor telling her stepfather, whose stony expression revealed no hint of emotion. No relief. No hatred. Just a yawning blank emptiness that stretched between them. A few inches to the right and her name would have been added to the headstone, alongside those of her mother and brother.

  Feeling a chill, she rolled onto her flat belly, breaking eye contact.

  Over the years, she had concocted a number of stories about how she had gotten the scar. All plausible. All entertaining. All a safe distance from the truth. After so many years, she almost believed them. But for some reason she didn’t care to define, she told Jamie the truth. The short version of it, anyway. Free from the crunching of metal and her mother’s scream, followed by the profound silence of falling snow.

  “Car accident when I was a kid.”

  “How old were you?” he asked.

  Jill averted her gaze. She didn’t want to think about the accident, or the years that followed. Some things were best forgotten. She had spent those years learning how to forget. That’s the problem with telling the truth. One question led to another and then …

  Reaching out, she pulled the leather-bound menu off the nightstand and opened it.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, chin propped on her fist, abruptly changing the subject. Jamie let it drop.

  “Not really. You?”

  Relieved he didn’t press, she said, “Starving. I’m ordering room service. Would you like anything?”

  “Not me.” He shifted to the side of the bed and pulled on his boxer shorts. She glanced up when she heard the jingle of his belt buckle just in time to see Jamie slide his dark jeans over his lean hips.

  “And just where do you think you’re going?” she asked, a seductive smile drifting across her face. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t stay.” He picked the linen shirt up off of the floor and buttoned it.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, dropping the menu and pulling her knees up to her chest. “It’s still early. Why don’t you stay and finish the champagne at least?”

  “Not tonight. I need to prepare for a meeting with the executive team. It’s been a mad week, so I’ve not been able to get to it.” Jamie sat back down on the edge of the bed and pulled on his socks.

  “You know what they say, ‘All work and no play makes Jamie a dull boy,’” she said, grinning playfully and tugging gently at the back of his shirt. The banter was part of their routine, one of the best things about being with Jamie. He was smart and witty. But tonight he was not engaging with her in quite the same way. She could feel it, as if there had been some subtle shift in the landscape between them. His lively edge was sorely lacking.

  “Are you finding me dull?” Jamie asked, not glancing back as he continued to dress. “I’m sorry. Perhaps your expectations are a tad too high.”

  He sounded anything but sorry, she thought. Jill’s features hardened, and she felt her cheeks flush. She tried to keep anger from seeping into her tone, but her voice turned icy.

  “If you told me you were busy, I wouldn’t have bothered flying in so early.”

  “Right, Jillian. Do I need to email you my bloody itinerary?” he asked, his frigid tone matching hers.

  “It wouldn’t hurt,” she snapped, and cocked her chin defiantly.

  “You, of all people, know what’s going on at the office,” he said. He finally turned to look at her, and his voice thawed a bit. “I would stay if I could, but I do need to get going. You understand, don’t you?”

  She didn’t answer. She held his gaze for a moment before turning her attention back to the menu.

  “You have a presentation of your own to work on tonight, don’t you? You’ll want to make sure that everything is letter perfect for tomorrow’s review and still have time for your beauty sleep.”

  She bristled at the chauvinistic comment and looked up in time to catch his wink.

  “Sure thing, boss,” she said, and flipped him a sardonic salute.

  The fact that she reported to him gave him the upper hand in all work-related issues and made the affair a little more exciting—if not a little dangerous—for both of them.

  Was that part of the allure, she wondered. Power? Influence? So far, Jamie had done nothing but promote her career and provide her with opportunities. Still, if things didn’t go his way, what would he do?

  Jill pushed the troubling thought aside. She wasn’t the only one who stood to lose if news of their affair leaked out. In any company, sleeping with one of your employees could get you fired.

  “That’s a good girl,” he said with a nod. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night,” she replied.

  With a quick glance over his shoulder, he let the heavy door of the hotel room click shut behind him.

  Reclining against the pillows, Jill released an exasperated sigh and pulled the covers up over her chest. The encounter had not gone as expected. Perhaps the novelty of the affair was wearing off. One thing was for certain, though: this type of drop-in service was definitely not what she had in mind.

  4

  Alex stood by the desk in Natalie Watson’s room. Tension knotted his shoulders. The situation felt wrong. Alex made a note in his spiral notebook to run an online check for Natalie Watson. A general search would help him find listings for any social-networking sites that she might be posting to and let him see what other information was available on her. Pictures, personal information—it was all out there for anybody to read. Anybody.

  “Her bike isn’t in the garage,” Abby said breathlessly when she reached the top step of the staircase. Her blue eyes locked on Alex, transmitting her fear. Silent tears pooled in Joyce’s eyes, and she turned quickly, leaving the room. Tom’s face was granite, his mouth a grim line.

  “I’ll need to get a description of the bike. A serial number would be great, if you have it. I can run a c
heck to see if it has been turned in at a lost-and-found facility.”

  Tom nodded, hands deep in his pockets. His gaze dropped to the floor. “I’ll see if I can find the receipt from the bike shop.”

  “Hopefully I’ll find something helpful on the computer.”

  Okay, he wasn’t doing everything by the book. There was protocol for this sort of thing. But with each passing hour, the chances of Natalie walking through the front door diminished. He was anxious to jump-start the investigation.

  “Whatever you need, Alex,” Tom offered in a voice that sounded near to breaking. “We really appreciate … we really need your help.”

  Alex nodded. He wished he could do more. He wished there were some obvious clue to help him zero in Natalie’s whereabouts. He wished in some way he could help make up for the pain he’d caused Abby and her family. Turning toward Abby, he met her eyes.

  “How about taking a drive over to Emily’s with me?”

  Alone in the car with Abby, Alex felt as if he had stepped into a time warp. He couldn’t begin to count the miles they had logged driving side by side, hands linked. Now everything had changed. They sat as stiff and awkward as strangers.

  “Tell me about Natalie’s relationship with your parents,” Alex said, breaking the silence, as they rounded the corner to the Jenkinses’ house.

  Abby’s sigh was soft.

  “Not much to tell, really. She’s a good kid. Genuine. I think the most trouble she’s ever been in was last year when she got caught skipping school so she could catch Lance Armstrong’s personal appearance at Key Arena.”

  “Big fan? Even after the scandal?”

  “He’s still a sport’s icon, and the Livestrong Foundation does great work. A few years back, one of her friends lost a battle with leukemia. Now Natalie volunteers for the foundation. I think it makes her feel like she’s doing something for her friend. She never takes her bracelet off.”