Because of a Girl (21 page)

While they ate, Mom asked about his day. After hesitating, he told them about this guy who'd killed his wife and then himself. Jack sounded... Emily couldn't quite decide. Resigned, she thought, as if he'd seen lots of awful things like that before, but also...sad.

And then he said a patrol officer had found the SUV that police thought had hit Mom. It had been stolen only a few blocks away, and not long before the driver tried to kill Emily.

The thought still weirded her out.
Somebody tried to kill
me
.
Believing it could be true was freaky.

“We're pretty confident the owner is telling the truth.”

“Where did you find it?” Mom asked.

“In an alley less than half a mile away.” Jack looked disgruntled. “Guy could have ditched it and jogged back to wherever he parked his own car. He'd have been driving home by the time you were loaded into the ambulance.” Cold rage flashed on his face.

Every time Emily closed her eyes, she remembered the roar of the engine and the glare of headlights.

If only I'd run
, she kept thinking
. Done
something
.
Because she had frozen, her mother could have
died
.

“Why did I just stand there?” she burst out, only then realizing Jack had been talking.

He gave her a funny, crooked smile. “Because you were shocked. That's the natural reaction, Emily. It's built into us, maybe something like the way small mammals go absolutely still when they sense a predator. Movement attracts dangerous eyes. If we don't so much as breathe, we may go unnoticed.”

“I'll bet
you
would have moved.” She felt and sounded sullen, but only because she was so humiliated that she'd had to be rescued because she'd been stupid.

“I probably would have,” he agreed, “but I'm trained to react differently than civilians. I've been a cop for thirteen years now, giving me plenty of on-the-job practice reacting to sudden aggression.”

She hung her head, although she sneaked a peek at her mother. “But Mom—”

“Mom,” her mother said firmly, “had an advantage over you. I know you won't like it, but I was coming to meet you because I've been worried about you. I
knew
you were still asking questions. Plus, I'd noticed the SUV and wondered why someone was just sitting there with the engine running. So I suppose I was keeping half an eye on it without realizing I was.”

“Oh.” Hot tears suddenly blinded her. “You could have died!” she wailed.

And suddenly her mother's arms were around her, and she was whispering, “I love you more than anyone or anything in the world.”

Only after Emily had blown her nose and wiped her eyes and sat down again did she see the flinty look Jack was directing at her.

“You're out of it now, Emily. You will quit investigating.” Every word sounded chipped off a block of ice. “You will trust me to do my job.”

“I do trust you,” she mumbled and saw him nod, as if satisfied.

Mom's eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything.

After she and Jack cleaned the kitchen together, Emily said she had homework and went upstairs. The first thing she did was call Asher.

She wouldn't ask any more questions. Without saying the words, she'd promised Detective Moore. Jack. But that didn't mean she could forget Sabra.

So the minute Asher answered, she asked him right out. “When you said you'd help me find Sabra, did you mean it?”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

D
RYING
HIS
HANDS
on a dish towel, Jack watched Emily leave the room. He'd been hoping for some time alone with Meg. But before he could tease her about her shiner, he was put on red alert by her expression. Tossing the towel on the counter, he went to the table and pulled a chair out at an angle so he could sit facing her.

“What?”

She jerked her gaze to his. “What are you talking about?”

“Tell me what you're thinking.”

Meg shook her head. “I don't see her giving up that easily.”

He groaned. “Then I need you to play the heavy, even if that's not your parenting style. What happened yesterday was no accident. You know that.” Meg might not like this, but... “This guy has to know he screwed up. I doubt he'll go near Emily again, but I still want her promise that she'll stick with friends all day tomorrow and not step foot out of the building.”

Staring at him, Meg rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “You're serious.”

“Panic makes a man dangerous. Things are coming to a head.” If Sabra wasn't already dead, Jack's gut instinct said she would be soon.

Her eyes were almost hypnotic in her bruised face as she stared unblinking. “Do you really think it was one of her teachers who tried to run Emily down?”

“I do.”

“Mr. Bouchard.”

“Maybe.”

Yeah, he thought the piece of slime had been screwing a pretty blonde teenager. Odds were this wasn't his first offense. Creeps like that tended to be serial offenders. Bouchard might have a girl of the year. Or he stuck with one until she graduated. Who knew? But this time, there'd been a big oops. His career and marriage were toast if Sabra named him as the father of her baby. So he'd played her along, convinced himself he could somehow pacify her...short of marrying her.

But nothing Jack had heard about Sabra Lee made him think she'd take a pat on the head and maybe a bribe to keep her mouth shut. Bouchard wouldn't have chosen her if she wasn't vulnerable to his little games, not surprising given that she had no father in the picture and had a volatile relationship with a mother who wouldn't back her. Men like him typically had exceptional skill at picking out the right victim from the herd.

But in this case, the son of a bitch had miscalculated. He should have chosen a downtrodden girl like Robin Buckley, the carjacker's girlfriend. Robin didn't expect to be loved or valued. She had always kept her head down and borne without protest whatever shit was thrown at her. It had been a miracle that she'd retained enough spine and conscience to be outraged into revolt.

In contrast, Sabra had never been abused. Whatever you could say about Andrea, she'd raised a spitfire of a daughter, one with the confidence to demand what was due her. Sure, she'd been foolishly naive in the first place, but she was at an age when it was normal to swing between dreams and self-doubt. And she'd been preyed on by an adult, a man lacking a conscience.

Jack could see it—first, Sabra breathlessly announcing the pregnancy. Then, as the months wore on and that pregnancy progressed, the promises sounded thinner and thinner until they were damn near transparent. It was far too late for the abortion Bouchard had probably urged her to have. From his point of view, the trap was closing.

Jack would have believed she was already dead, except if her body was at the bottom of the lake or buried deep in a field, why would the guy take such a big risk to silence Emily? Why not just sit tight?

“Then you
don't
think it's him?” Meg asked suddenly.

“He's at the top of my hit parade,” Jack admitted.

“All right, then, tell me.” The fire of anger burned in her eyes. “We're supposed to trust you. So what are you going to do about him?”

He straightened, pulling back from her.
“Supposed to?”

The discoloration and swelling made it a little hard to read her expressions. “I didn't mean that the way it sounded.”

“No?” He sighed. “I keep talking to people. I look hard at his background. Find out where he worked before and find someone willing to be frank. It's the way of the world now for a teacher to be encouraged to leave but given a recommendation even when everyone concerned knows damn well he's been molesting students. The parents don't want to put their daughter on the stand, let her be labeled. The cops can't prove their case. The administration doesn't want the publicity. God forbid the parents en masse find out their darlings aren't safe even at school. The district can't afford to get sued. What they can do is pass the buck.”

Meg reached out and took his hand, catching him by surprise. “That sounded personal.”

He had to clear his throat. “Yeah. On the job, but it gets to you anyway. A few years back, I worked a case like that. Not in Frenchman Lake,” he added, seeing her widening eyes. “I had the creep dead to rights, but the parents of the two boys in question decided they wanted everything that happened buried. Without their testimony...” He shrugged.

“And the school gave the teacher an excellent recommendation and knowingly let him start all over in another district.”

“Yep.”

“That sucks,” she said.

It still ate at him, but he'd said more than he'd intended.

“I've already determined that Bouchard doesn't own any property except the house he lives in with his wife and children. She works full-time in an insurance office, the kids go to day care and school.”

“So he couldn't hold Sabra there.”

“Nope. I've identified a couple of friends of his and will keep looking for others. He could have had a buddy from his last job, or even a childhood friend, who happens to own a summer place, a ski cabin, who knows.”

“But...if she's dead...”

With cold ferocity, he said, “We still want to find out where he took her. Trace evidence can help us nail his ass to the wall.”

And, God, this was not what he'd wanted to talk about in his too-fleeting chance to be alone with Meg.

She didn't blink for a long time. Finally, she nodded.

Jack scooted his chair back from the table and held out an arm in invitation.

Meg barely hesitated before she came to him. He helped her settle as comfortably as possible on his thighs before he wrapped his arms securely around her and rested his cheek against hers. “You smell good,” he murmured.

“My shampoo,” she whispered.

“No, you.”

Neither of them said anything for a long time. He knew she wasn't in any shape even for kisses beyond the most gentle. But just feeling her against him did wonders for his mood. The warmth of her breath tickling his neck, the plush softness of her breast pressing his chest, aroused him, but he kept picturing her as he'd seen her being unloaded from the ambulance, then conscious but battered in the ER cubicle, even an hour ago wincing as she descended the stairs.

She could have died.

He shied away from the thought, as he'd been doing since Emily's phone call yesterday. The feelings threw him back to the boy whose mother had walked out of his life. He had never wanted to experience anything like that again. Maybe Meg had slipped past his guard because he'd initially categorized her with disdain, making himself safe from her. Or so he'd thought. Didn't matter now; there was no going back.

And, yeah, feeling the way he did about her scared him shitless. But the idea of not having her in his life scared him, too.

He nuzzled her temple, kissed his way softly down her jaw until she let her head fall back and he reached her throat, where his lips felt the quick flutter of her pulse.

* * *

A
SHER
WATCHED
E
MILY
fasten her seat belt. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

She nodded, hoping he couldn't see her fingers trembling as she stashed her bag at her feet. “If Sabra is alive, he has to go visit her sometimes. To take her food or make sure she hasn't gotten away. You know.”

The idea had seemed straightforward. How could Mr. Bouchard go anywhere near Sabra once his wife and kids were home? He
had
to do it during this couple hours after school let out. If he didn't go today, he would Monday. She had to hope he wouldn't have a chance over the weekend. At least Asher had promised to keep helping her.

“Okay.” He turned to look straight ahead through the windshield. He'd parked this morning right near the exit from the faculty parking lot. They had to be able to see every driver coming out, because neither of them had any idea what kind of car Mr. Bouchard drove.

“Thanks for doing this. I know...well, it's a lot to ask. If I'd known today was Debate...”

Asher smiled at her, and her pulse raced. He was really cute when he smiled, which didn't happen very often.

“I told you I'd help, and I meant it. Besides, I'd rather be here.” Suddenly, as if hearing himself, he stopped looking at her, and color touched his cheeks.

She tried to figure out why he felt self-conscious about what he'd said. Had he been about to admit he really liked her?

“You mean, you'd rather be here preparing for a high-speed pursuit?”

Her teasing worked. The side of his mouth she could see quirked up again. “Right. Except, I've got to tell you, my dad will take my car away if I get pulled over for speeding.”

Emily giggled. “The idea is for nobody to notice us. If Mr. Bouchard does and races away, we've kind of blown it.”

“Yeah—wait. Is that him?”

She leaned forward. The car was a black BMW, but maybe kind of an old one. And...she had a good look at the driver in profile as the car passed. “Yes,” she hissed.

“Cool.” Asher waited without moving, then pulled out behind a MINI Cooper, which Mrs. Quigley, the PE teacher, had bragged about buying right after Christmas break.

“Can you see him?” she begged. “Can you?”

“I can see him. I won't lose him, Emily.” He sounded as tense as she felt, now that they were actually doing this.

She, too, spotted the Bimmer at least a block away once the long line of cars disgorged Asher's old Jeep Cherokee onto the street. But she frowned. “Where's he going? I looked him up in the phone book. He lives in that wine development.”

Which was so lame. Every street was named after a wine. Like, Sauvignon Street, and Pinot Noir and Merlot. Who'd want to say, “Oh, I live on Syrah”?

“I know. This is the way I go home.” For a moment Asher drove in silence. Then he said, “Your mom okay with you staying after with me?”

Emily sneaked a peek at him. “Sure. She thinks, well—”

“That we're doing a project together or something?”

Lie, or tell the truth?

She sucked it up. “Mom thinks we're kind of seeing each other. You know. I thought, in case we have to do this other days, too...”

Instead of commenting, he said, “This is weird. We're almost home. I mean, to
my
house.”

“Maybe he's picking up one of his kids at a friend's house or a home day care.”

Asher moved his shoulders, as if he'd been feeling edgy. “Probably.” Then he was quiet for a minute while she wondered if he'd even
heard
what she said, or whether he didn't care that she'd made something up. “I was kind of wondering if you might want to hang out. I mean, when this is over.” He sounded really nervous. “It's not like you have to say yes. I'll help you anyway.”

Happiness blossomed in Emily's chest, one petal at a time unfurling. “You mean, you really...? I sort of thought, but I wasn't sure, because I haven't actually...”
Ever really gone out with a guy?
Like he couldn't tell, after hearing her babble? “Yes,” she said finally. “I'd like that.”

“Really?” His voice cracked, and a deeper red stained his cheeks. “That's great.” His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “I've been trying to think how to ask you. Sabra was my only real girlfriend—um, does that bother you?”

Emily shook her head. “Not since you didn't...you know.”

“She's the one who asked me.” He shot a quick look at her.

“Really?” Up ahead, she saw the BMW pull into the driveway of a house with a for-sale sign planted in the yard.

Braking, his hands tight on the steering wheel, Asher said, “My house is only two doors down. The yellow one.”

Emily shivered. “I don't like this.”

“Me, neither. I'm going to park in a driveway, too.” He abruptly swung into one, leading to a single garage attached to a small rambler.

“But what if—”

“I know the Petersons. It won't be any big deal if they come home. He's looking around,” he said suddenly. “We should get down.”

She hit the seat belt release and slithered low, her heart thundering in her ears, as Asher turned his back to where Mr. Bouchard had gotten out of his car.

“This is really crazy,” she whispered, although it wasn't like anyone could hear them.

“I hate to tell you this, but it's about to get crazier,” Asher told her in a strange voice. “Because your mom just parked right around the corner. I think she must have followed
us
.”

* * *

M
IDAFTERNOON
,
M
EG
WAS
startled out of her absorption in her work by a niggling sense of unease. She paused. Emily was safely at school. What else was there to worry about?

Drawing a blank, she forced her concentration back to what she was doing, sewing a binding onto a sizable rug featuring deep purple grapes and a green scrollwork serving as vines.

The next time worry crept out of hiding, she let her hands go still. There had to be something. This had to do with Jack or Emily. There was no one else—