Gone (7 page)

Marcie moaned. Joe knew why. She didn’t like the idea of being in debt to Joe’s mother. She thought of Kit as a cold, calculating businesswoman who neglected and endangered her son by the lifestyle she led.

“Joe? How much?”

He put his hands in his pants pockets. “I managed to get a hundred and seventy thousand.”

“Now? You have it now?”

He nodded.

“Surely that will be enough. Maybe we convince him that if we go to the Delanceys the media and everybody will know something’s up. That photographers and reporters are all following you looking for a story. If he holds out for half a million, he might end up with nothing, or in prison.”

“Yeah. That makes sense, but I’m not sure Howard would agree.”

“What else can we do? Can we borrow against the house or take a second mortgage?”

“That might yield us another hundred thousand, but it wouldn’t be enough. Not if he insists on half a million.”

“This is such a nightmare. I thought these past two years—not knowing if Joshua was alive—were the worst thing I’d ever had to live with. But now, knowing his life is in the hands of a man who only cares about money?” Marcie pressed her knuckles to her lips. “I’m terrified I’m never going to see my baby again.”

Chapter Seven

Neither Joe nor Marcie were very hungry, so Joe fixed an omelet that they picked over, then by ten-thirty they were both in bed, Marcie in the master bedroom and Joe in the nursery on the sofa bed.

It was still dark when he turned over and opened his eyes, disturbed by a sound. His first sleepy instinct was that it was Joshua crying, but immediately, he realized his mistake. Joshua wasn’t here. He picked up his phone and hit a button, checking the time. It wasn’t even midnight.

The sound came again. This time he recognized it. It was Marcie, crying, like she’d done so many nights after Joshua’s disappearance. He could hear her clearly, because he’d left the nursery door open, hoping it would help the air to circulate and dissipate the scent of baby powder that made him dream of his son.

He lay there for a couple of minutes, listening to her heartbreaking, muffled sobs, thinking maybe she was asleep and just dreaming about Joshua, and any moment now she’d wake up or turn over. But the sobs went on and on.

He got up and tiptoed over to her door, which was ajar, just like it had been for the nine months after Joshua had been born. They’d had baby monitors and even a baby cam, but she’d still insisted that the door be left open, in case the power went out or something else untoward happened.

Standing at the open door, Joe saw the outline of her body in the faint light from the window. She seemed so small in the king-sized bed. But the curve of her hip stirred memories of nights filled with lovemaking and laughter and a deep, sweet love that he realized would last forever, even if
they
did not.

Her body shook slightly as she cried, her shoulders hunched and her face buried in a pillow.

“Marcie?” he whispered.

The sobbing stopped suddenly.

“Hon, are you okay?”

Her breath caught, then she sniffled. After a few seconds, she said, “I’m...f-fine.”

“Right,” he countered gently. “You sound fine. Want some water or something?”

“No.”

“Something else to drink?”

“No.”

He pushed the door open farther and stepped inside. “Want to talk?” he asked, doubting seriously that she’d take him up on that offer.

She didn’t speak right away. He heard more sniffles, then she cleared her throat. “Maybe,” she whispered, surprising him. “Do you want to...sit...on the bed?”

He sat down on top of the covers. He had on boxer shorts and a T-shirt, as much or more than he’d ever worn in bed with her, so he didn’t feel uncomfortable. Not totally anyhow. His eyes were dilated, so he could see her dim outline as she sat up and pushed a pillow behind her back. He reached out and caught her hand.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” she began harshly, then stopped herself. She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s just everything, Joe. Finding Joshua, losing him again. You. The money—you know. How impossible it’s going to be to get enough to satisfy that man.”

He heard the desperation in her voice and recognized it. Squeezing her hand in an attempt at comfort, he nodded, as much to himself as to her. He’d felt overwhelmed and desperate every second of the past two years.

“Did you find Howard?” she asked.

“What?”

“Howard. You said earlier that you’d looked up all the Howards in Killian? Did you find him? I mean, how many could there be? Hopefully only a few.”

“Yeah, there were four,” he said. “One is in his eighties. One in his twenties, and two who could be our Howard’s age. Of those two, one is a teacher at the grade school. There was almost no information about the last one, Howard Lelievre.”

“Le-leave?” Marcie said, trying out the name. “That’s the man who has Joshua?”

“Lelievre. It’s a Cajun name and it’s sure not spelled like it sounds.” He spelled it for her.

“Do you think we can call the police now? Now that we know who he is? Oh, my God, we can’t,” she said, answering her own question before Joe could. “He said he’d hurt Joshua.”

“I’m sorry, hon,” Joe said. “I wish there were a way to bring the police in to help us.”

Marcie clutched at his arm. “We’ve got to do something, Joe. What about some kind of an anonymous message? You know like, ‘I have information that Howard Lelievre, of Killian, Louisiana, may be holding a child that belongs to someone else
.
’”

“What are the police going to do with that? With no names and no proof that he has the child, it’s hardly probable cause.”

“Probable—? Could you stop with all the legal mumbo jumbo? I am so sick of hearing it. If the police got a message like that about a child, aren’t they required to investigate? Maybe the message could say ‘child that belongs to Joe and Marcie Powers.’ What about that, Joe? Would that be probable cause?” Her voice had gotten shrill.

“Even if they didn’t decide it was a hoax spurred by the newspaper article, I’m not sure they could do anything more than drive out to Rhoda’s house and ask a few questions of neighbors.” He sighed. “No. We’ve got to do this ourselves, and we’re going to have to think like Howard thinks. What if the police do go out there looking for him? What do you think he’ll do? What will he think?”

She was silent.

“I mean it, Marcie. You know the answer to that. What’s Howard going to think?”

After a moment, she said sheepishly, “He’s going to think that we called the police. But if he calls us, we could tell him we didn’t.” She held up her hands. “I know. I know. Why would he believe us? But, Joe, we’ve got to do something. I’ll die if that man hurts Joshua.”

Her voice was even and soft, but he heard and recognized the desperation behind her words. The feeling seethed inside him, too. “I know, hon. I think I might die, too, if we can’t get him back safe and sound.”

Marcie turned toward him and he held out his arm, just as he had so many nights as they settled in to sleep. It was a little awkward since she was under the covers and he was on top of them. Still, she sank into his side, resting her head on the curve of his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Joe.”

“Sorry?” he said. “What for?”

“I don’t mean to take everything out on you. You’ve always taken care of everything. I guess I’m used to you being able to fix any problem.”

“If there were anything I could do—”

“I know,” she said, putting her hand on his chest and spreading her fingers. “I know you would.”

He tightened his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. Her head lay in the hollow between his shoulder and arm. It fit there perfectly. He pressed his face into her sweetly scented hair.

“Joe?”

“Hmm,” he responded quietly.

“Could you sleep in here tonight? I think I’ll sleep better with you here.”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll lie down in the recliner.”

“No. Please, stay here.” She patted the covers beside her. “I’ll feel better with you here. Safe. Even...hopeful.”

Joe sighed. He wanted to warn her not to be too hopeful. It was an endlessly torturous feeling, he knew. It meant waking up suddenly in the middle of the night, with a new idea about how to go about searching for their son. It meant not being able to concentrate on work or anything else, because his mind was occupied with trying to remember one more detail about those critical few seconds while he was taking his credit card out of his wallet instead of watching his son. But he didn’t want to destroy the only frayed thread holding Marcie together. That last fragile ray of hope. He knew exactly how fragile it was because it was all that held him together, too.

After slipping under the covers, Joe pulled a pillow under his head. “Try to get some sleep, hon. We need to be rested, in case something happens.”

“Like what?” she asked, stiffening beside him. “What do you think is going to happen?”

He leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head, then turned his back to her. “All I’m saying is, that while we can, we need to rest. So close your eyes, sleepyhead.”

For a few moments, all was silent. Joe was drifting off when he felt Marcie’s hand on his back. She ran her fingers up his spine to the nape of his neck, then he felt her lift her head and kiss him there.

“Marcie?” he said, half convinced he was dreaming.

When she answered, “Hmm?” in his ear, he realized that she was actually kissing his neck and the curve of his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Saying good-night,” she murmured. “This feels good.” Kiss. “Right.” Kiss. “Familiar.” She planted the third kiss on the center of his back between his shoulder blades.

He turned onto his back and Marcie slipped beneath his arm, but she didn’t lay her head on his shoulder. Instead she bent and kissed him on the side of the head, near his ear.

For some reason, her advances scared him. “Marcie?” he said, taking hold of her shoulders and studying her. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I am. Why? Do you think I’m asleep?” She smiled at him. “I can guarantee I’m not.”

“Then what is this?”

“I thought you’d be happy to make love with me—” She paused. “I’m...sorry.”

“Hey,” he said, tightening his arm around her. “I have always been happy to make love to you. I just don’t want you thinking you have to, or—”

Marcie bent her head and kissed him on the mouth. When she was done, she looked down at him. “Did that feel like I
had
to?” she asked, a small smile playing around her mouth. “I want to feel good, Joe. I want to hold you and be held by you. I want what we used to have.”

Joe pulled Marcie to him and turned them both so that he was above her, then he pressed kisses along her cheek and jaw and down the column of her neck. Then he kissed her mouth, delving deeply, kissing her like a lover, like the lovers they’d been and still were. He moaned deep in his throat when she pressed herself more tightly against him and wrapped her arms around him. Desire grew into arousal and blossomed between them as it always had, quickening their pulses and driving sad thoughts out of their heads.

Marcie wanted Joe with a poignant, quiet desire that had built inside of her during the months they’d been apart. She had missed him so much. When he sank into her, he filled her the way she had longed for him to. It was like becoming whole. She exhaled in an exquisite sigh of desire, then soared quickly to a climax that seemed to go on forever. Finally drained, she collapsed against the bedclothes.

Joe groaned and found his own release in one last long thrust. Then he lay carefully atop Marcie, his weight suspended on his elbows and knees. “Hey,” he whispered. “You okay?”

To his relief, she nodded. “I’m good, Joe. Really good.” She yawned and stretched and he took the opportunity to kiss the soft underside of her chin.

“Yes, you are,” he said. “In fact, I might go so far as to say you’re spectacular.”

Then he heard a beautiful, welcome sound, one he hadn’t heard in a long time: Marcie chuckling.

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
MORNING
when Joe came downstairs, he heard Marcie in the kitchen and smelled the delicious scent of freshly made coffee. He figured she’d be pacing back and forth with her mug, sipping nervously, wondering when Howard was going to call. He knew exactly how she felt. He wasn’t prone to pacing, like she was, but he had woken up as nervous as a cat, wondering just exactly when the phone call would come, and what demands Howard would make.

As he descended the last stair he saw a car pull up to the curb through the sidelight of the front door. He watched as a tall, lean man in a sport coat and slacks got out of the car and walked up to ring the doorbell. He didn’t recognize the man, but there seemed to be something familiar about him. Joe was pretty sure who he was, and if he were right, this morning house call was not going to be pleasant.

He opened the door before the doorbell rang.

“Hi,” the man said, holding out a badge in a leather case. “I’m NOPD Detective Ethan Delancey. You’re Joseph Powers?”

“That’s right,” Joe said. He kept his voice even, but he couldn’t help glancing past the detective, wondering if Howard were smart enough or organized enough to have someone watching the house.

Delancey’s eyes narrowed and Joe knew the detective had seen him checking the street for other cars.

“I wonder if I could come in for a minute,” he said. “I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”

“About what?” Joe asked, carefully keeping his voice and his expression neutral. He didn’t know what Delancey wanted, but none of the possibilities he could think of were palatable to him. And none of them boded good news.

The detective showed his first glint of emotion. For a split second, Joe saw a hint of vague discomfort pass across his expression. “I spoke with your mother the other day.”

“I’m aware of that,” Joe said, still politely neutral.

“Mr. Powers, I can assure you, this won’t take long.”

Joe sighed. It was obvious that if he didn’t let Detective Delancey in, the two of them could stand there all day, being eternally polite and quietly obstinate. He stepped back just far enough to allow the detective to ease past him into the foyer.

As they crossed into the living room, Marcie came through the dining room door. “Hello,” she said to the visitor as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. She glanced nervously at Joe.

“Marcie, this is Detective Delancey.” Before Joe could go any further, Delancey spoke up.

“Mrs. Powers,” he said, nodding. “I just have a matter to discuss with your husband. It shouldn’t take long.” His voice was polite but dismissive.

A frown wrinkled Marcie’s brow as she looked at the detective, then at Joe. She paused, as if making up her mind about something. “Would you like some coffee?” she said sweetly.

“No, ma’am. I’ve had too much today already.”

“Joe? Coffee?”

“I’ll wait,” Joe said. “We should be done here in a few minutes.”

Marcie’s frown deepened. “Don’t forget—”

He waved a hand. “Don’t worry. But if necessary, you go ahead and handle it.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. After a second, she nodded. “I’ll be upstairs then.” She turned on her heel and left. He heard her footsteps on the stairs.