Visibly relieved by Franky's apparent sincerity, Gran nodded. "It's true."
Franky was still nervous, but not the kind of nervous that made Zoe disbelieve him. He felt awkward, remorseful. Licking his lips, he talked faster, trying to convince her. "I wouldn't target you or--or hurt you again. I didn't even know you had a daughter--"
Suddenly it seemed to occur to him why they might be contacting him, and he staggered back. "Wait...she's not mine, is she? I mean, that's not why you're here."
Pivoting, Zoe walked away before the tears welling up could spill over her lashes. He didn't have Sam; he hadn't even known Sam existed, just as she'd thought. This trip was a complete waste. Her chest constricted and she had difficulty breathing. It'd been three days since she'd seen her daughter. Where could Sam be?
"Ms.... I don't know what you call yourself these days. And I don't want to disrespect you by using your first name, but I'm sorry."
Zoe didn't respond. Jonathan exchanged a few words with him. It sounded as if he was taking down Franky's number. Then he followed her down the walk.
"Is she mine?" Franky called out as they reached the car.
"Of course not," she said, but she refused to turn around. She didn't want to see him, didn't want to give him any more information.
"She is, isn't she!"
"No." She opened her door.
"If I don't have a kid, what's all this about?"
"Nothing that concerns you anymore." Jonathan went around to the driver's side.
Franky squeezed past his grandmother and came halfway down the walk. "What happened to her? Is she okay?"
If only Zoe knew.... "Good luck finding a job."
"Tell me what's going on! What can I do to help?"
"Nothing. There's absolutely nothing you can do," Zoe said and closed the car door.
Shoulders slumped, he shoved his hands in his pockets. "You can't drop a bomb like that on me and then just drive away!"
His words filtered through Jonathan's open door. "If you're truly sorry for what you did, that's exactly what you'll let us do," Jonathan said and got in.
"Call me," Franky yelled after them, his voice fainter now that the door was shut. "I'll help if I can. Just...one of you call me."
The radio came back on as Jonathan started the engine. Now it sounded far too loud, but he drove off before lowering the volume. "You okay?"
"We've got to get back to Sacramento," she said.
"We're going to the airport right now."
She cleared her throat. "He gave you his number?"
"He did. Do you want it?"
"No." She had nothing more to fear from Franky Bates. She could close that chapter in her life. But what would have once been a tremendous relief brought little consolation. She wasn't any closer to finding Sam. She shouldn't have come here, shouldn't have wasted the time.
Jonathan took her hand. She knew better than to allow him to comfort her. There was too much going on between them under the surface--too much that confused and tempted her. But somehow the connection felt absolutely vital, and she couldn't make herself let go, especially when she glanced up and saw him watching her with such an intense expression.
"We can be friends," he said as if holding her hand was no big deal, as if justifying the contact somehow made it right.
"We can be friends," she repeated, but that changed nothing. The way he threaded his fingers through hers felt possessive, deeply personal...even sexual. And, at that point, she knew it was a very good thing that they were heading home. She couldn't fight the attraction between her and Jonathan, not while she was so frightened, so worried about Sam. Without her daughter, she didn't care enough about her own self-preservation to hang on to anything else. Including her dignity.
Chapter 17
Getting home was worse than being gone. The house where she'd lived for ten months looked even more foreign to Zoe than it had yesterday, as foreign as the rest of the houses on the street, most of which were dark because it was nearly midnight on a Thursday. She'd once felt so proud to be part of this neighborhood, this community. She'd studied style magazines, changed her appearance and thought she'd finally "made it."
Smiling bitterly at the shattered illusion, she collected her purse as Jonathan put the transmission in Park. Because he'd left his car in long-term parking at the airport, he'd offered her a ride. She'd accepted with the excuse that it would save Anton from having to leave the house so late. But the ride wasn't about convenience. She wasn't ready to say goodbye to Jonathan. Or maybe she wasn't ready to see Anton. She couldn't decide which.
A light gleamed through the living-room window. Her fiance was waiting up for her. She supposed it was nice of him, but she wished he hadn't bothered. Maybe by morning she'd be able to figure out why she was so drawn to Jonathan instead of the man she'd agreed to marry.
Was it hero worship? Admiration because he seemed to be so much more capable of helping her find Samantha? Raw physical attraction?
Whatever the reason, she wanted him in a way she hadn't wanted a man in a long time. And that only compounded her problems.
How was this unexpected attraction seeping through the haze of shock and pain when nothing else could? That confused her most of all.
"Good night," she said as she got out.
He didn't attempt to touch her. He hadn't touched her since he'd taken her hand for those few minutes after leaving Franky's place. "Don't give up hope," he said with an encouraging smile.
"No," she murmured. But if her daughter was still alive, why hadn't they found some trace of her? Received a ransom note? "Thanks for everything."
"I'll be around tomorrow. I've got an early appointment on another case, but then I'll be talking to your neighbors, Sam's teachers at school, the kids whose parents will allow me to meet with them, anyone who might have an inkling of where she might be."
If he did track her down, would she be dead? Would they discover her body tossed in a field or a Dumpster?
Despite the macabre image that thought raised in her mind, Zoe managed a fleeting smile before closing the door. Then she stood and watched as he drove off. It wasn't until his taillights disappeared around the corner that she started toward the front door.
"Who was that?"
The voice came from the dark stoop of her neighbor's house. "Colin?"
She squinted, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the moonlight.
"Yeah, it's me. Sorry if I scared you. I heard the car and thought maybe you'd found her." The slurring of his words indicated he'd been drinking.