Joe turned into the driveway, the anonymous bulk of the apartment complex ahead framed by the ragged remnants of storm clouds. He pulled up in front of the security kiosk, gave his name and asked to be admitted to see Sylvia Lobo. The guard ducked into his cubicle and returned a moment later. "She says she doesn't know you."
"What do you mean, she doesn't know who I am?" Joe demanded. "I'm here to see my wife Elise, who's visiting her."
The guard stepped back inside and hunched over the telephone. He nodded, then cupped the receiver against his chest. "She says there's no one named Elise at her apartment, and to go away."
Joe was about to say something when Brent murmured to let him handle it. He jumped out and came around to the door of the booth. The guard took a step back, still clutching the receiver. Brent flashed him a grin, put one hand on the sill of the Dutch half-door and thrust out his other hand. "Brent Conner, nice to meet you. And you are...?"
The man didn't move, except to narrow his eyes at this new tactic. "Don Kithra."
"Nice to meet you, Don." Brent pretended not to notice the man refused to shake his hand. "Who've you got on the phone there? Is that Sylvia?"
Don nodded.
"Can I have the phone, please?" When the guard hesitated, Brent rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sylvia and I go way back, and I really need to talk to her. This is important."
"No one but me is allowed to use this phone."
Brent flashed his most charming smile. "You know I'm not going to tell anyone. Now come on, let me have the phone."
Reluctantly, the guard handed him the receiver, still standing as far away as possible as if Brent might have a communicable disease.
Brent grabbed the receiver. "Sylvia? This is Brent Conner. Hello?" He sighed in frustration. "Yes, the guy you used to call Richie Fratboy, as if I was ever really rich." He listened, nodding. "Right. Well, will you let us in? Oh, come on, Sylvia, you expect me to believe that?" He frowned. "How about you just let us come in and crash, then? We've been on the road all night and we're exhausted. Uh-huh. We can sleep on the floor-- that's fine by me. We sure did it enough in the old days, didn't we?" He waved his hand in exasperation. "But Sylvia, where's your hospitality? What about being there for someone, for old times' sake?" He paused to listen. "Right. Holiday Inn. Thanks a lot, Sylvia. I'll remember this." He handed the receiver back to the guard, who took it gingerly, like it might be contaminated. "Thanks, Don." He walked around to the other side of the truck and climbed in.
"Man, something's up," he said. "She wouldn't have anything to do with-- wait a minute." Brent jumped out of the truck and ran around to the security booth again. "Hey, Don!"
The man had just settled himself on a high wooden stool and bent over a newspaper. He looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "What now?"
Brent leaned an elbow on the sill. "Just out of curiosity, what's Sylvia Lobo's apartment number?"
The man put the newspaper aside and folded his arms across his chest. "I can't give out that information."
"Why not? It's not like I can go back there with you here guarding the driveway."
"I can't, that's all."
"But what if I want to write her a letter? How am I supposed to get it to her if I don't know her apartment number?"
"You aren't going to write Sylvia Lobo a letter. You just want her apartment number because you think there's some other way into this complex where you won't have to get past me."
Brent slapped the top of the sill. "Okay, you've got me there. There's no way around it, is there? It doesn't matter what I do--I'm not getting back there?"
"That's right."
"Then it doesn't make any difference if you give me her apartment number, does it?"
Don frowned and jingled the keys hanging from a ring on his belt. "No, I guess not."
"Great. What is it?"
"If I give you her number, will you go away?"
Brent nodded. "Promise."
Don leaned over his computer. "Sylvia Lobo...421, Building 6."
"You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"
The guard shook his head. "Now get out of here, like you said you would. I don't want to have to call the cops."
"Thanks, Don. You're terrific." Brent ran back to the passenger side of the truck and jumped in.
Joe shifted into reverse and backed down to the street. "You can be pretty slick when you want to be," he observed. "I knew you liked to charm the ladies, but I didn't realize you were an all-around snake-oil salesman."
"What are you talking about? I got us the information we needed. The guard isn't very bright, and I am. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing," Joe said. "Just making an observation. So what's your plan?"
"Make the block. There's got to be some other way into here."
Joe nodded. "Maybe they have an unguarded exit gate or something."
"Either that or jump the fence."
"You aren't exactly dressed for climbing."
"I guess that's my problem." Brent scanned the high spiked fence of the complex as they turned the corner. "That part might be good," he said, pointing. "Over there, where that tree is."
Joe pulled up alongside the curb. "You mean to climb that half-dead tree up to the top of the fence and then jump down?"
"Why not?"
"Have you thought about how we'll get back if Sylvia doesn't let us in?"
"We'll worry about that if it happens. Besides, Sylvia will let us in."
"Like she did back there at security?"
Brent frowned in annoyance. "She misunderstood. It was an error of some kind. But since we can't get in the normal way, we don't have much of a choice."
Joe turned the corner. Ahead they could see two driveways: one in and one out of the complex. A grim guard in a booth similar to the one on the other side was monitoring both gates. "Damn." Joe continued around the block. "We might just have to climb that tree after all."
"I'm telling you, I don't see any other way."
Joe pulled the truck around to the spot where Brent had noted the gnarled tree growing against the fence topped with cruel-looking black spikes. He parked by the curb and cut the engine. "You know," he said, stepping out of the truck, "It would suck if we got arrested for trespassing. I'm too old to go spending a night in jail."
"We won't get caught," Brent said, jumping out of the truck and striding over to the tree. He grabbed a limb and pulled himself up, his smooth-soled loafers slipping against the tree bark.
"Whatever you do, don't fall," Joe whispered to him from below. "I'm not taking you to any damn emergency room if you do."
"I know what I'm doing." Brent stepped cautiously onto a heavy limb while holding on with both hands to the branch above it. He inched along until he was within a foot of the fence, then stepped toward the crossbar between the spikes of the uprights. Finding the bar, he tried to put his weight on it, but his slick loafer slipped off the narrow metal bar, wet with recent rain. The jolt of his lost balance made his other foot slip off the limb, leaving him momentarily suspended in the air, with only the narrow branch above him for support, bending and popping under his weight. Brent's feet waved uncertainly, unable to find either tree or fence.
"I told you you weren't dressed for climbing," Joe muttered. He reached for the lower limb and pulled himself onto it easily, reached for Brent's legs and guided his feet back to the branch.
"Thanks," Brent said.
"Just get over the fence. I don't appreciate having to rescue your ass."
Brent tried again to get onto the fence, and this time he managed to successfully get one foot on the bar and put his weight onto it. Then he swung his other foot onto the crossbar, but caught his pant leg on a spike. He shook his leg a little, but not enough to free it. "Can you help?"
"You've been nothing but trouble since I met you." Joe inched his way down the tree limb, but couldn't quite reach the spot where his pant leg was caught. After a few minutes of trying, he shook his head. "You're going to have to sacrifice those pants."
"Are you sure you can't reach it?"
"Not unless I want to fall and break my neck. Now jump so we can get on with this."
After one last attempt at shaking his pant leg free, Brent leaped to the ground with a loud ripping sound. He landed on his feet, fell to his hands and knees, then jumped up and examined himself. "I've got a four-inch hole in my pants."
"I'm sure no one will notice," Joe said, clambering onto the fence.
"Like hell they won't."
"We've got more important things to worry about than how we look." Joe steadied himself on the crossbar, the grooved soles of his work boots helping him balance. Then he jumped, landing easily on his feet. He cast a glance at the badly torn cuff of Brent's slacks and didn't even bother to suppress a grin of vindication. "I said you weren't dressed for climbing."
"Whatever, man. Let's just find Building 6.
Chapter Seven
Joe opened his eyes and sat up. He ran his fingers through his hair, taking in the cab of the truck, the rain pattering against the windshield, and Brent slumped against the passenger door, asleep. He stared at him a long time, memorizing every feature: rumpled blond hair, long nose, wide mouth, determined chin. His hands had the soft flesh of someone who did no harder work than tapping a keyboard and handing business cards to clients. Joe examined his own thick, muscular hands for comparison, noting their calluses, stains and dry seared patches from daily contact with wood and tools. He looked back at Brent, and his brows knitted in bewilderment. Then he faced forward in the seat and turned the key in the ignition.
Brent stirred at the sensation of movement as the truck moved onto the highway and picked up speed. "I was dreaming we were already there."
"Not by a long shot."
Brent looked outside at the rain falling in small soft drops. "Maybe it'll stay like this the rest of the way to St. Argent."
"Maybe."
The two men sat in silence for a couple of miles. Finally Brent turned in his seat. "Look. I know this isn't the best time for it, but I owe you an apology."
"Let's not bring that up. I don't want to hear it."
"But--"
"But what?" Joe refused to turn his gaze from the road. "I don't want to deal with that right now. There's no amount of 'sorry' that can fix what you did. All it would do is make you feel better. Wouldn't do a damn thing for me."
"I was just thinking--"
Joe shook his head. "For someone with as many fancy degrees as you have, you aren't very bright, are you? I said I didn't want to hear it, and here you are, still trying to tell me."
"Fine." Brent folded his arms across his chest and pretended to watch the dark vegetation speeding past his window.
After a few minutes Joe spoke again. "If you really feel like you've got to unburden yourself about something, why don't you tell me what it is Elise saw in you, because to be quite honest, I can't figure it out."
Brent sat up straight. "I don't know. What kind of question is that?"
"You're so full of shit. You say you've been her friend all these years and know her mind so well, but you can't tell me what she saw in you?"
"Maybe we understand each other. Or maybe it was just nostalgia. Shared history, you know."
"Nostalgia isn't enough to make a woman cheat on her husband. She was obviously attracted to you. Why?"
Brent sighed. "Why is any woman attracted to any man?"
"Don't try to weasel out of this. Just answer the question."
Brent's voice took on an edge. "I'm telling you the truth. Lord knows we had opportunities in college, but nothing ever happened. It wasn't like I wasn’t interested, but it seemed like she always had something going on with someone else. I thought if anything was going to happen between us, it would've happened then. It didn't, though. That's why it was easy for me to go away for grad school. I might've stayed if I thought she cared, but we were just good friends and that's as far as it ever went."
"Until you gave her the job at Troy."
"Yes."
"What was different then?"
"I don’t know. We were older, I guess."
"And you had never come on to her before then."
"Well, yes, of course. But that doesn't mean anything."
"So what made it different this time?" Joe demanded. "Was it because she was off limits? Did that make it more attractive?"
Brent slammed his fist against the door. "I'm telling you nothing was different! Nothing and everything. Hell, I don't know. It's not a forbidden fruit kind of thing, though. I'm no saint, but I'm a little better than that. I don't think that was her motivation, either."
"Then if you were so damn attracted to her before, why did you wait until you're each married to someone else to go looking her up?"
"Look her up?" Brent asked. "What are you talking about?"
"I mean tracking her down and offering her a job once you found out she was living in the same town."
"Is that what she told you?" Brent didn't wait for Joe's curt nod. "We kept in touch after school, sure, just like we kept in touch with a lot of our friends. We stayed in contact even after you two got married, but we were hardly close. We each made sure the other had an up-to-date email address, but that was really all there was." He looked out the window. "Then one day I got a call from her. She said you two had moved to Troy, she was bored, could we all maybe get together so she'd feel like she had at least one friend in town. I said sure. Then Elise mentioned she had been getting into computers, and since I was short on graphics designers I invited her for an interview. She was good, I was short-staffed, so I made her an offer."
"I'll say you did. How convenient for you."
"Yes, it was." Brent said, ignoring Joe's sarcasm. "I had a couple of really hot clients I needed to close with, but I'd lost my best designer. Elise may have been a novice, but she was damn good and helped me out of a bind. She helped my job, and in a funny way helped my marriage, too."
"By being your play-toy? You sound like husband of the year material to me."
"That's not what I meant, and that's not all she was."
"You were sleeping with her, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"Not planning to leave your wife?"
"Things weren't great between us," Brent said reluctantly, "But no." He shrugged. "Elise kind of took some of the pressure off that situation. Without her, I'd probably be divorced by now."
"So it was some kind of twisted marriage therapy. That's really nice."
Brent's cheeks and ears burned faintly pink. "I knew you wouldn't get it, but this was something else, something older...something from before you came along. It's a feeling that has nothing to do with marriage. Don't you understand? Some loyalties go deeper than what any preacher or piece of paper can say."
"Like you'd know anything about loyalty," Joe muttered.
"Maybe it's not a kind of loyalty that would make any sense to you, but that's what it is."
"Loyalty to your dick, more like."
"Oh, for Christ's sake." Brent stared with unseeing eyes at the passing strip malls and gas stations of the city's outskirts.
The men drove on in silence for several minutes with only the drone of the engine and the sizzle of the tires on the wet pavement for accompaniment. A downtown of sparkling towers appeared through the mist like a dream of a city, the spires and edges of the soaring glass structures picked out in blue and green neon with blinking red lights. "Got that map?" Joe asked.
Brent fumbled in his coat pocket and produced a folded piece of paper. He smoothed it and held it up to the light of the passing streetlights. "Looks like you'll want to exit Ilion," he said. "Go west until you get to Del Mar Parkway. From Del Mar you'll turn left onto Isla, and Lotus should be a few blocks down."
Joe pondered this information. "Ilion can be a bitch but I guess this time of night, with no traffic, whatever is simplest is best." He watched the exit signs speed by. "So you feel pretty sure we can just show up at this Sylvia girl's place?"
Brent shrugged. "We haven't got much choice."
"I just don't want to piss her off. She's the only lead we've got."
"We won't piss her off. No more than anything else does, at least. Elise probably told her that you or I would be looking for her, though. She might have told her to try and throw us off track."
Joe chewed on his lower lip. "Have you thought about a Plan B?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know. If Elise isn't there, or if Sylvia doesn't know what we're talking about. What if we get to this address and there isn't anyone there at all?"
Brent shrugged. "We'll go to a motel, I guess. Get some sleep. Figure it out in the morning."
"Not much of a plan."
"Have you got any better ideas?"
"I guess not. I don't like it, though."
Brent sighed. "Neither do I. Hopefully Elise will be there, though, and that'll be the end of it."
"It better be." Joe set his blinker and checked his mirrors before moving into the exit lane for Ilion Boulevard. "I don't know if I can stand another day with you."
Brent stirred at the sensation of movement as the truck moved onto the highway and picked up speed. "I was dreaming we were already there."
"Not by a long shot."
Brent looked outside at the rain falling in small soft drops. "Maybe it'll stay like this the rest of the way to St. Argent."
"Maybe."
The two men sat in silence for a couple of miles. Finally Brent turned in his seat. "Look. I know this isn't the best time for it, but I owe you an apology."
"Let's not bring that up. I don't want to hear it."
"But--"
"But what?" Joe refused to turn his gaze from the road. "I don't want to deal with that right now. There's no amount of 'sorry' that can fix what you did. All it would do is make you feel better. Wouldn't do a damn thing for me."
"I was just thinking--"
Joe shook his head. "For someone with as many fancy degrees as you have, you aren't very bright, are you? I said I didn't want to hear it, and here you are, still trying to tell me."
"Fine." Brent folded his arms across his chest and pretended to watch the dark vegetation speeding past his window.
After a few minutes Joe spoke again. "If you really feel like you've got to unburden yourself about something, why don't you tell me what it is Elise saw in you, because to be quite honest, I can't figure it out."
Brent sat up straight. "I don't know. What kind of question is that?"
"You're so full of shit. You say you've been her friend all these years and know her mind so well, but you can't tell me what she saw in you?"
"Maybe we understand each other. Or maybe it was just nostalgia. Shared history, you know."
"Nostalgia isn't enough to make a woman cheat on her husband. She was obviously attracted to you. Why?"
Brent sighed. "Why is any woman attracted to any man?"
"Don't try to weasel out of this. Just answer the question."
Brent's voice took on an edge. "I'm telling you the truth. Lord knows we had opportunities in college, but nothing ever happened. It wasn't like I wasn’t interested, but it seemed like she always had something going on with someone else. I thought if anything was going to happen between us, it would've happened then. It didn't, though. That's why it was easy for me to go away for grad school. I might've stayed if I thought she cared, but we were just good friends and that's as far as it ever went."
"Until you gave her the job at Troy."
"Yes."
"What was different then?"
"I don’t know. We were older, I guess."
"And you had never come on to her before then."
"Well, yes, of course. But that doesn't mean anything."
"So what made it different this time?" Joe demanded. "Was it because she was off limits? Did that make it more attractive?"
Brent slammed his fist against the door. "I'm telling you nothing was different! Nothing and everything. Hell, I don't know. It's not a forbidden fruit kind of thing, though. I'm no saint, but I'm a little better than that. I don't think that was her motivation, either."
"Then if you were so damn attracted to her before, why did you wait until you're each married to someone else to go looking her up?"
"Look her up?" Brent asked. "What are you talking about?"
"I mean tracking her down and offering her a job once you found out she was living in the same town."
"Is that what she told you?" Brent didn't wait for Joe's curt nod. "We kept in touch after school, sure, just like we kept in touch with a lot of our friends. We stayed in contact even after you two got married, but we were hardly close. We each made sure the other had an up-to-date email address, but that was really all there was." He looked out the window. "Then one day I got a call from her. She said you two had moved to Troy, she was bored, could we all maybe get together so she'd feel like she had at least one friend in town. I said sure. Then Elise mentioned she had been getting into computers, and since I was short on graphics designers I invited her for an interview. She was good, I was short-staffed, so I made her an offer."
"I'll say you did. How convenient for you."
"Yes, it was." Brent said, ignoring Joe's sarcasm. "I had a couple of really hot clients I needed to close with, but I'd lost my best designer. Elise may have been a novice, but she was damn good and helped me out of a bind. She helped my job, and in a funny way helped my marriage, too."
"By being your play-toy? You sound like husband of the year material to me."
"That's not what I meant, and that's not all she was."
"You were sleeping with her, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"Not planning to leave your wife?"
"Things weren't great between us," Brent said reluctantly, "But no." He shrugged. "Elise kind of took some of the pressure off that situation. Without her, I'd probably be divorced by now."
"So it was some kind of twisted marriage therapy. That's really nice."
Brent's cheeks and ears burned faintly pink. "I knew you wouldn't get it, but this was something else, something older...something from before you came along. It's a feeling that has nothing to do with marriage. Don't you understand? Some loyalties go deeper than what any preacher or piece of paper can say."
"Like you'd know anything about loyalty," Joe muttered.
"Maybe it's not a kind of loyalty that would make any sense to you, but that's what it is."
"Loyalty to your dick, more like."
"Oh, for Christ's sake." Brent stared with unseeing eyes at the passing strip malls and gas stations of the city's outskirts.
The men drove on in silence for several minutes with only the drone of the engine and the sizzle of the tires on the wet pavement for accompaniment. A downtown of sparkling towers appeared through the mist like a dream of a city, the spires and edges of the soaring glass structures picked out in blue and green neon with blinking red lights. "Got that map?" Joe asked.
Brent fumbled in his coat pocket and produced a folded piece of paper. He smoothed it and held it up to the light of the passing streetlights. "Looks like you'll want to exit Ilion," he said. "Go west until you get to Del Mar Parkway. From Del Mar you'll turn left onto Isla, and Lotus should be a few blocks down."
Joe pondered this information. "Ilion can be a bitch but I guess this time of night, with no traffic, whatever is simplest is best." He watched the exit signs speed by. "So you feel pretty sure we can just show up at this Sylvia girl's place?"
Brent shrugged. "We haven't got much choice."
"I just don't want to piss her off. She's the only lead we've got."
"We won't piss her off. No more than anything else does, at least. Elise probably told her that you or I would be looking for her, though. She might have told her to try and throw us off track."
Joe chewed on his lower lip. "Have you thought about a Plan B?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know. If Elise isn't there, or if Sylvia doesn't know what we're talking about. What if we get to this address and there isn't anyone there at all?"
Brent shrugged. "We'll go to a motel, I guess. Get some sleep. Figure it out in the morning."
"Not much of a plan."
"Have you got any better ideas?"
"I guess not. I don't like it, though."
Brent sighed. "Neither do I. Hopefully Elise will be there, though, and that'll be the end of it."
"It better be." Joe set his blinker and checked his mirrors before moving into the exit lane for Ilion Boulevard. "I don't know if I can stand another day with you."
Chapter Six
"So who is this Sylvia Lobo?" Joe asked. His eyes were focused on the road, which was barely visible in the driving rain.
Brent adjusted his seatbelt. "She's a friend from our college days-- one of those girls who was born to get up to something. She would go to the punk clubs and get down in the pit with the guys, deliver a few bruises and bloody noses, then laugh about it. She was tough."
Joe's eyebrows flickered. "What's her relation to Elise? Doesn't sound like the type she'd be friends with."
Brent shrugged. "They hit it off for some reason. Elise had a pretty strict upbringing, always studying and practicing her ballet. I think she was ready for something different, and you couldn't get more different than Sylvia. Those two were game for anything. Sometimes it was just typical college kid stuff like having an all-night tequila party, but they could be scary too. There was one night Sylvia came after me with a hammer, thinking I was putting moves on Elise. Elise had just been through a bad breakup and I sort of had a reputation in those days. Sylvia didn't want to see her friend get hurt again, and she was ready to do some damage."
"I suppose you were completely innocent."
"Yes, actually," Brent said. "In that particular instance I was."
"Give me a break. Elise told me you were voted by your frat 'Most Likely to get the Clap.'"
Brent turned around in his seat. "I was a little out of control in those days, but one thing I didn't do was go after wounded prey. Elise was safe with me, and she knew it. That's why she hung around."
"And that's why Sylvia tried to kick your ass?"
Brent faced front again. "She was messed up that night. She apologized later."
Joe stared at the taillights of the cars ahead. "What do you think Elise wants with Sylvia after all this time? Just a place to crash?"
"Maybe. What worries me is that Sylvia always had good connections. Anything you wanted, from cheap cigs to drugs to fake ID, she could get it for you."
"You think she still knows how to get ID? That might make things harder for us if she does."
"I don't know. It's been a long time."
"Maybe Sylvia has settled down, like Elise did." Joe frowned as the rain, which had been coming down steadily, beat harder against the windshield.
Brent shook his head. "I don't see Sylvia ever going completely legit. She dislikes conformity on principle. The only reason she even went to college was to get her parents off her back." He cast a quick look in Joe's direction. "And I'd hardly say Elise settled down."
"What are you talking about?" Joe's voice took on an edge. "Elise is a very smart, sensible woman."
"She's a tough girl and can take care of herself, but you haven't known her as long as I have."
"She's my wife. I think I know her better than anybody."
Brent scoffed. "That's why you had no clue she was fooling around."
Joe returned his attention to the road, staring at the rain with such intensity that it looked like he might part the clouds with his glare.
"I should've seen something like this coming," Brent confessed. "Once a runaway, always a runaway."
"What do you mean by that? She was never a runaway."
"Not in the sense that she was a teenage truant or anything, but this is her modus operandi. It's how she deals with problems."
Joe snorted. "You don't know what you're talking about. And stick with speaking English, okay? You aren't going to make me like you any better by showing off your fancy education."
"I wasn't showing off."
"Bullshit you weren't."
"I'm telling you-- oh, fuck it." Brent turned his face to the window and pretended to be absorbed in what little of the passing scenery was visible through the curtains of rain.
The two continued down the highway in silence for several minutes. Finally Joe spoke. "So what do you mean when you say Elise deals with problems by running away?"
Brent gave a little shrug and continued staring out the window. "It's how she's always lived. When she had problems with her parents, she moved in with her aunt. When the aunt was too strict, she insisted she be allowed to live at the ballet academy dorms. She was disciplined enough to make it into the junior chorus, but when the ballet politics got to be too much, she bailed. In college she jumped from major to major; I've always been surprised she was able to get a degree out of that hodgepodge that even she admitted wasn't much of an education."
"You're talking about her younger years," Joe scoffed. "I hate to break it to you, but she's a grown woman."
"She hasn't grown out of it. Look at her career, the way she changed jobs every time the work got too boring or the management got too difficult to deal with. Look at the way she's squandered her talents. Every time she starts to show real promise at something, she stops doing it and does something else-- dancing, painting, and now graphics. I'm telling you her whole life has been about running away from things. Then she rushes into some new situation that she thinks will solve everything. Why do you think she mar--"
"Why do I think she what?"
"Nothing."
"Why do I think she married me?"
Brent turned and looked at him. "Yeah. Why do you think she married you?"
"Because she loves me." Joe's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "She may have been fooling around, but it wasn't because she didn't care. I don't know what it was, but it wasn't that."
"No," Brent admitted. "But she doesn't love you the way you think she does."
Joe frowned. "Either you love a person or you don't. What's your point?"
"Nothing," Brent sighed. "You wouldn't get it." He bit his lip and feigned great interest in his watch.
"What time is it?"
"Almost eleven." Brent leaned his head against the windowpane. He closed his eyes and remained still for so long that he gave the impression he had fallen asleep. Finally, he spoke. "So if you don't think she's running away from something she can't deal with, what do you think all this is about?"
The downpour had turned into a sprinkle, and Joe increased his speed. "This afternoon, I felt sure you had tricked her into running off with you."
"No one can trick Elise into anything," Brent said edgily. "She's smarter than that. And I hope you still don't think I have anything to do with this."
"No," Joe admitted. "I don't."
"So you have no other ideas why she might've left?"
"She seemed a little moody lately, but not unhappy. She liked her job, no money or legal problems I'm aware of. Our home life was good, except she was cheating on me, of course. I can't think of any other reason for her to leave unless it was to be with you. She wasn't in any kind of trouble."
"You found out about her and me. That's trouble."
"I forgave her. It's you I wanted to do something to, and maybe I still will. But I love Elise. I told her I loved her no matter what."
"Maybe she couldn't handle your forgiveness. She hates it when people fawn over her."
Joe's shoulders stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about, but when I find her, I'll ask why she left, and then I'll know."
"If she's willing to talk. If we even find her."
"We'll find her." Joe motioned toward the cooler at Brent's feet. "Hand me one of those."
Brent opened the cooler and passed him a beer.
Joe started to take a sip, then paused. "Take one for yourself, too. That is, if you're not too well-bred to drink plain old beer."
Ignoring the insult, Brent took out a bottle and twisted off the cap. "If nothing else, I'll be curious to find out what she wants with Sylvia, of all people."
Joe took a long pull at his beer and ran the back of his hand across his mouth. "Is there any other reason she'd get in touch with her, besides her connections?"
"I can't think of anything, unless like you said, maybe she was just looking for a cheap place to crash so she can save all that money she took for whatever she plans to do next."
Joe shook his head. "I don't like this."
Brent took a sip of his beer. "Neither do I."
A clap of thunder jolted the air and a streak of lightening turned the landscape white. The clouds opened up, dumping torrents of rain. Joe hit the brakes, his visibility reduced to a few feet beyond the bumper. The windshield wipers pumped furiously, the headlights illuminating white sheets of rain. "This keeps up, we may have to pull over and wait it out."
"Might not be a bad idea. I can't see a thing."
"What time is it now?"
Brent pulled back the cuff of his coat and glanced at his watch. "Eleven-thirty."
"We should be farther along by now," Joe said. "I don't want to show up at Sylvia's place and find everyone asleep."
"Not much chance of that, if she's up to anything like her old tricks. That girl juggles a 24-hour operation, people coming and going all hours."
Joe set his hazard lights and navigated through the driving rain onto the shoulder. "That's good to know," he said, "Because we won't be getting there before one or two o'clock."
"Shouldn't bother Sylvia a bit." Brent leaned against the window and closed his eyes as if to sleep. "It'll probably irritate the hell out of Elise, though, if she's there."
Joe killed the engine then settled back in his seat and stretched out his legs. "That's a chance we'll have to take."
Brent adjusted his seatbelt. "She's a friend from our college days-- one of those girls who was born to get up to something. She would go to the punk clubs and get down in the pit with the guys, deliver a few bruises and bloody noses, then laugh about it. She was tough."
Joe's eyebrows flickered. "What's her relation to Elise? Doesn't sound like the type she'd be friends with."
Brent shrugged. "They hit it off for some reason. Elise had a pretty strict upbringing, always studying and practicing her ballet. I think she was ready for something different, and you couldn't get more different than Sylvia. Those two were game for anything. Sometimes it was just typical college kid stuff like having an all-night tequila party, but they could be scary too. There was one night Sylvia came after me with a hammer, thinking I was putting moves on Elise. Elise had just been through a bad breakup and I sort of had a reputation in those days. Sylvia didn't want to see her friend get hurt again, and she was ready to do some damage."
"I suppose you were completely innocent."
"Yes, actually," Brent said. "In that particular instance I was."
"Give me a break. Elise told me you were voted by your frat 'Most Likely to get the Clap.'"
Brent turned around in his seat. "I was a little out of control in those days, but one thing I didn't do was go after wounded prey. Elise was safe with me, and she knew it. That's why she hung around."
"And that's why Sylvia tried to kick your ass?"
Brent faced front again. "She was messed up that night. She apologized later."
Joe stared at the taillights of the cars ahead. "What do you think Elise wants with Sylvia after all this time? Just a place to crash?"
"Maybe. What worries me is that Sylvia always had good connections. Anything you wanted, from cheap cigs to drugs to fake ID, she could get it for you."
"You think she still knows how to get ID? That might make things harder for us if she does."
"I don't know. It's been a long time."
"Maybe Sylvia has settled down, like Elise did." Joe frowned as the rain, which had been coming down steadily, beat harder against the windshield.
Brent shook his head. "I don't see Sylvia ever going completely legit. She dislikes conformity on principle. The only reason she even went to college was to get her parents off her back." He cast a quick look in Joe's direction. "And I'd hardly say Elise settled down."
"What are you talking about?" Joe's voice took on an edge. "Elise is a very smart, sensible woman."
"She's a tough girl and can take care of herself, but you haven't known her as long as I have."
"She's my wife. I think I know her better than anybody."
Brent scoffed. "That's why you had no clue she was fooling around."
Joe returned his attention to the road, staring at the rain with such intensity that it looked like he might part the clouds with his glare.
"I should've seen something like this coming," Brent confessed. "Once a runaway, always a runaway."
"What do you mean by that? She was never a runaway."
"Not in the sense that she was a teenage truant or anything, but this is her modus operandi. It's how she deals with problems."
Joe snorted. "You don't know what you're talking about. And stick with speaking English, okay? You aren't going to make me like you any better by showing off your fancy education."
"I wasn't showing off."
"Bullshit you weren't."
"I'm telling you-- oh, fuck it." Brent turned his face to the window and pretended to be absorbed in what little of the passing scenery was visible through the curtains of rain.
The two continued down the highway in silence for several minutes. Finally Joe spoke. "So what do you mean when you say Elise deals with problems by running away?"
Brent gave a little shrug and continued staring out the window. "It's how she's always lived. When she had problems with her parents, she moved in with her aunt. When the aunt was too strict, she insisted she be allowed to live at the ballet academy dorms. She was disciplined enough to make it into the junior chorus, but when the ballet politics got to be too much, she bailed. In college she jumped from major to major; I've always been surprised she was able to get a degree out of that hodgepodge that even she admitted wasn't much of an education."
"You're talking about her younger years," Joe scoffed. "I hate to break it to you, but she's a grown woman."
"She hasn't grown out of it. Look at her career, the way she changed jobs every time the work got too boring or the management got too difficult to deal with. Look at the way she's squandered her talents. Every time she starts to show real promise at something, she stops doing it and does something else-- dancing, painting, and now graphics. I'm telling you her whole life has been about running away from things. Then she rushes into some new situation that she thinks will solve everything. Why do you think she mar--"
"Why do I think she what?"
"Nothing."
"Why do I think she married me?"
Brent turned and looked at him. "Yeah. Why do you think she married you?"
"Because she loves me." Joe's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "She may have been fooling around, but it wasn't because she didn't care. I don't know what it was, but it wasn't that."
"No," Brent admitted. "But she doesn't love you the way you think she does."
Joe frowned. "Either you love a person or you don't. What's your point?"
"Nothing," Brent sighed. "You wouldn't get it." He bit his lip and feigned great interest in his watch.
"What time is it?"
"Almost eleven." Brent leaned his head against the windowpane. He closed his eyes and remained still for so long that he gave the impression he had fallen asleep. Finally, he spoke. "So if you don't think she's running away from something she can't deal with, what do you think all this is about?"
The downpour had turned into a sprinkle, and Joe increased his speed. "This afternoon, I felt sure you had tricked her into running off with you."
"No one can trick Elise into anything," Brent said edgily. "She's smarter than that. And I hope you still don't think I have anything to do with this."
"No," Joe admitted. "I don't."
"So you have no other ideas why she might've left?"
"She seemed a little moody lately, but not unhappy. She liked her job, no money or legal problems I'm aware of. Our home life was good, except she was cheating on me, of course. I can't think of any other reason for her to leave unless it was to be with you. She wasn't in any kind of trouble."
"You found out about her and me. That's trouble."
"I forgave her. It's you I wanted to do something to, and maybe I still will. But I love Elise. I told her I loved her no matter what."
"Maybe she couldn't handle your forgiveness. She hates it when people fawn over her."
Joe's shoulders stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about, but when I find her, I'll ask why she left, and then I'll know."
"If she's willing to talk. If we even find her."
"We'll find her." Joe motioned toward the cooler at Brent's feet. "Hand me one of those."
Brent opened the cooler and passed him a beer.
Joe started to take a sip, then paused. "Take one for yourself, too. That is, if you're not too well-bred to drink plain old beer."
Ignoring the insult, Brent took out a bottle and twisted off the cap. "If nothing else, I'll be curious to find out what she wants with Sylvia, of all people."
Joe took a long pull at his beer and ran the back of his hand across his mouth. "Is there any other reason she'd get in touch with her, besides her connections?"
"I can't think of anything, unless like you said, maybe she was just looking for a cheap place to crash so she can save all that money she took for whatever she plans to do next."
Joe shook his head. "I don't like this."
Brent took a sip of his beer. "Neither do I."
A clap of thunder jolted the air and a streak of lightening turned the landscape white. The clouds opened up, dumping torrents of rain. Joe hit the brakes, his visibility reduced to a few feet beyond the bumper. The windshield wipers pumped furiously, the headlights illuminating white sheets of rain. "This keeps up, we may have to pull over and wait it out."
"Might not be a bad idea. I can't see a thing."
"What time is it now?"
Brent pulled back the cuff of his coat and glanced at his watch. "Eleven-thirty."
"We should be farther along by now," Joe said. "I don't want to show up at Sylvia's place and find everyone asleep."
"Not much chance of that, if she's up to anything like her old tricks. That girl juggles a 24-hour operation, people coming and going all hours."
Joe set his hazard lights and navigated through the driving rain onto the shoulder. "That's good to know," he said, "Because we won't be getting there before one or two o'clock."
"Shouldn't bother Sylvia a bit." Brent leaned against the window and closed his eyes as if to sleep. "It'll probably irritate the hell out of Elise, though, if she's there."
Joe killed the engine then settled back in his seat and stretched out his legs. "That's a chance we'll have to take."
Chapter Five
The parking lot was nearly empty, the security guard gone. The two men hurried up the walkway with the wind tugging at their coats and the smell of impending rain in the air. Brent fumbled with his keys, stepped inside and shut off the alarm. Joe followed, letting the door slam behind him.
Wordlessly, they climbed the stairs to the third floor and made their way to the end of the dimly lit hall. It was almost nine o'clock and the empty building with its strange shadows and hissing heating valves had such a feeling of ominous abandonment that neither man could resist the impulse to glance over a shoulder as if someone might be lurking around a corner. They found the door to Elise's office locked and Brent pretended not to notice Joe's scowl as he located her personal office key on his key chain. They stepped inside and turned on the lights.
Both men looked around as if seeing the room for the first time. The furniture was sleek and ergonomic, but the sterile effect of its modern design and synthetic materials had been dampened by framed images of colorful computer-generated graphics on the walls, each print with Elise's digitized signature and the date of generation in the corner. Joe's attention was caught by the framed photograph by the computer. In it, he was wearing his favorite denim shirt and standing in the garden working on a life-size wooden angel. The angle of the sunlight caught a gentle expression on his face as he sanded the angel's cheek, smiling into her blank wooden eyes. "I don't remember this picture."
Brent looked over his shoulder. "That's one of her favorites. It's a pretty good one, too. Of course, Elise has always been good with a camera. I remember her taking lots of pictures of me back when--" Brent clamped his jaw shut to make sure no other betraying words escaped. He darted a look at Joe, but the other man pretended not to have heard and only the tight set of his jaw gave him away. Brent sat at the computer and booted it up, making a show of moving post-it notes and paper clips out of the way while he waited for the login screen.
While he searched the computer files for hints of Elise's plans, Joe moved around the room, opening file cabinets and desk drawers. A few business cards caught his attention and he put them in his wallet. He opened folders, flipped through papers at random and searched even in the backs of drawers, turning up pencil stubs and a bit of change, but nothing suspicious. He found a hastily scratched to-do list, scanned it, then put it back in a drawer. Inside the drawer, he noticed a blue post-it note, blank except for a telephone number. He turned it over and found a street name and number, scribbled in a trembling hand. "Check this out."
Brent stuck the note to the monitor, then opened a browser window and started typing. "That's the St. Argent area code," he observed. "I'll do a reverse telephone lookup." He waited a moment, tapping his fingers nervously on the mouse. When the results came back he grinned. "Nothing."
Joe peered over his shoulder. "Does that mean it’s unlisted?"
Brent nodded. "Either that or Elise writes non-existent phone numbers in her spare time. Let's look up this address on the map search."
While Brent looked up 5656 Lotus Street, Joe continued to rummage through the drawer that has brought such promising results. The only thing he found of interest, though, was a toffee, which he popped in his mouth. He jerked his head around at the sound of the laser printer. "Find something?"
"I got directions," Brent said. "It's a legitimate address in St. Argent. Whether it's Sylvia Lobo's or someone else's, I don't know, but it's better than anything else we've got. We could try calling this phone number and then we'd know for sure, but it might be risky."
Joe nodded. "She might leave if she knew we were coming." He pulled the map off the printer and examined it. "Not too far from where I grew up. We can get there tonight no problem, if we leave right now."
"Can you think of anything else we might need from here?" Brent asked, shutting down the computer.
"This ought to do it. Anything else need, we can get in the city."
On their way out Brent shut off the lights and locked the door. As they made their way down the hall though, he motioned Joe to stop at his office. He ducked inside, then emerged a moment later, a laptop in a black leather carrying case slung over his shoulder. "I can keep looking things up on the smart phone, but a computer will be easier when we're near a wi-fi signal."
Joe nodded. "Good idea."
They hurried down the stairs and paused at the door while Brent set the alarm. Then they went out into the cold and rising wind, looking around to see if they had been observed. As they made their way across the parking lot, heavy drops of rain began to fall, and when they jumped into the truck and slammed the doors, a peal of thunder rocked the sky and the rain became a downpour.
Wordlessly, they climbed the stairs to the third floor and made their way to the end of the dimly lit hall. It was almost nine o'clock and the empty building with its strange shadows and hissing heating valves had such a feeling of ominous abandonment that neither man could resist the impulse to glance over a shoulder as if someone might be lurking around a corner. They found the door to Elise's office locked and Brent pretended not to notice Joe's scowl as he located her personal office key on his key chain. They stepped inside and turned on the lights.
Both men looked around as if seeing the room for the first time. The furniture was sleek and ergonomic, but the sterile effect of its modern design and synthetic materials had been dampened by framed images of colorful computer-generated graphics on the walls, each print with Elise's digitized signature and the date of generation in the corner. Joe's attention was caught by the framed photograph by the computer. In it, he was wearing his favorite denim shirt and standing in the garden working on a life-size wooden angel. The angle of the sunlight caught a gentle expression on his face as he sanded the angel's cheek, smiling into her blank wooden eyes. "I don't remember this picture."
Brent looked over his shoulder. "That's one of her favorites. It's a pretty good one, too. Of course, Elise has always been good with a camera. I remember her taking lots of pictures of me back when--" Brent clamped his jaw shut to make sure no other betraying words escaped. He darted a look at Joe, but the other man pretended not to have heard and only the tight set of his jaw gave him away. Brent sat at the computer and booted it up, making a show of moving post-it notes and paper clips out of the way while he waited for the login screen.
While he searched the computer files for hints of Elise's plans, Joe moved around the room, opening file cabinets and desk drawers. A few business cards caught his attention and he put them in his wallet. He opened folders, flipped through papers at random and searched even in the backs of drawers, turning up pencil stubs and a bit of change, but nothing suspicious. He found a hastily scratched to-do list, scanned it, then put it back in a drawer. Inside the drawer, he noticed a blue post-it note, blank except for a telephone number. He turned it over and found a street name and number, scribbled in a trembling hand. "Check this out."
Brent stuck the note to the monitor, then opened a browser window and started typing. "That's the St. Argent area code," he observed. "I'll do a reverse telephone lookup." He waited a moment, tapping his fingers nervously on the mouse. When the results came back he grinned. "Nothing."
Joe peered over his shoulder. "Does that mean it’s unlisted?"
Brent nodded. "Either that or Elise writes non-existent phone numbers in her spare time. Let's look up this address on the map search."
While Brent looked up 5656 Lotus Street, Joe continued to rummage through the drawer that has brought such promising results. The only thing he found of interest, though, was a toffee, which he popped in his mouth. He jerked his head around at the sound of the laser printer. "Find something?"
"I got directions," Brent said. "It's a legitimate address in St. Argent. Whether it's Sylvia Lobo's or someone else's, I don't know, but it's better than anything else we've got. We could try calling this phone number and then we'd know for sure, but it might be risky."
Joe nodded. "She might leave if she knew we were coming." He pulled the map off the printer and examined it. "Not too far from where I grew up. We can get there tonight no problem, if we leave right now."
"Can you think of anything else we might need from here?" Brent asked, shutting down the computer.
"This ought to do it. Anything else need, we can get in the city."
On their way out Brent shut off the lights and locked the door. As they made their way down the hall though, he motioned Joe to stop at his office. He ducked inside, then emerged a moment later, a laptop in a black leather carrying case slung over his shoulder. "I can keep looking things up on the smart phone, but a computer will be easier when we're near a wi-fi signal."
Joe nodded. "Good idea."
They hurried down the stairs and paused at the door while Brent set the alarm. Then they went out into the cold and rising wind, looking around to see if they had been observed. As they made their way across the parking lot, heavy drops of rain began to fall, and when they jumped into the truck and slammed the doors, a peal of thunder rocked the sky and the rain became a downpour.
Chapter Four
Brent leaned against the frame of the bedroom door watching Joe stuff a couple of flannel shirts in a duffel bag. "Sylvia appears to be unlisted."
Joe looked up from his packing. "Don't tell me you can't find her."
Brent shrugged. "Just because it's the world wide web doesn't mean the whole wide world is on it. Some people don't want to be found."
Joe sat on the bed, exasperated. "Did you find anything else?"
"Not really," Brent said. "I've requested a search for Sylvia at one of the places that's supposed to be able to find anyone for a fee. Their site says it'll take 24 to 48 hours, but it may come in handy if we can't find her any other way. I'll keep checking my email on my iPhone so we don't need to wait around." He shifted his position slightly. "I went through Elise's work email. Didn't find much. There were a few messages between her and Sylvia, but I got the impression Sylvia gave the directions to her house over the phone."
Joe nodded grimly. "I should've known. I've had to find out the hard way how well that girl can cover her tracks when she wants to. She sure pulled one over on me with you."
Brent looked at his feet, unsure what to say, or if any response was even called for.
Joe pretended to rearrange the things in his bag. "Here you were, her old buddy from college days, happily married, acting like all you wanted was our friendship, to welcome us to the community--"
"That was all I wanted."
"-- all the while you two were planning--"
"We didn't plan anything. It just happened."
Joe zipped the bag and stood up. "Let me explain something to you. The only things in life that 'just happen' are acts of God, and this doesn't qualify." He pushed past Brent and headed toward the kitchen.
Brent stood immobile for a few minutes, then followed. He found Joe rummaging in the refrigerator, pulling out bread, mustard and other sandwich fixings. He snapped his head around when he came in, but said nothing and returned to digging through the meat drawer.
Brent's stomach growled. "I haven't had anything to eat all day."
Joe tossed a package of ham on the counter. "Sorry to hear that."
Brent watched as Joe began making himself a sandwich. "Can I make me a sandwich too if there's any of that ham left?"
"There won't be."
"Maybe something else, then? Peanut butter?"
Joe appeared not to have heard. He closed the sandwich, piled with generous amounts of ham, tomatoes and processed cheese, and took a bite. Then he opened a cabinet and removed a plate. After taking another bite and setting the sandwich on the plate, he opened the refrigerator again to put away the condiments and take out a beer. He twisted the lid off the bottle, tipped back his head and took a long pull. Picking up the plate again, he headed back to the bedroom. "We don't have any peanut butter. Elise says it makes her fat."
Left alone in the kitchen, Brent hesitated before hunger got the best of him. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a few things that he cobbled into an approximation of a meal. He arranged the items neatly on a plate, grabbed a beer and a napkin, and settled himself at the kitchen table, casting a quick glance around the room as if daring Joe to come and stop him. He ate quickly, but lingered over the beer, lost in thought. Finally he got up and took the plate to the sink. He gave it a perfunctory rinse and for good measure he splashed some water on his face and ran a little through his hair.
At the sound of Joe's footsteps on the parquet, Brent wandered over. "What's the plan?"
"Go to St. Argent."
"Is that reasonable at this point? We don't know where to begin looking. We don't even know if she's been gone a whole day yet. She might come back."
"She won't be back. If I ever want to see her again, I'm going to have to go find her." Joe paused, as if waiting for Brent to disagree, but received only silence for comment. Joe cast his eyes down and for the first time appeared unsure of himself. "I thought maybe we could go by her office as soon as everyone clears out. You know, look around her desk. See if maybe there's a phone number or something." He met Brent's eyes hopefully. "You can get us in, right? You have your keys?"
Brent nodded and looked at his watch. "It'll be a little while before everyone leaves. I've got a few designers who like to work late, like they'll be penalized if they're not there until at least seven or something."
"Are you going to St. Argent with me?" Joe looked away.
"If you can put up with me. Otherwise you can just leave me at the office and I'll take my own car. It probably gets better gas mileage, anyway."
"You can come with me. I want to keep an eye on you." Both men looked at each other, assessing. Finally Joe gave a small jerk of his chin. "Get your coat and I'll take you to your house. You'll probably want to pack a few things and make up an excuse for your wife."
"I guess I'll have to tell her something, won't I?" With a nod of resignation he headed toward the study. A few minutes later he returned, pulling on his coat.
Joe was waiting by the door with his duffel bag and a small cooler at his feet. Brent eyed the cooler curiously, but Joe didn't offer an explanation, just picked it up and slung the duffel bag over his shoulder.
Joe looked up from his packing. "Don't tell me you can't find her."
Brent shrugged. "Just because it's the world wide web doesn't mean the whole wide world is on it. Some people don't want to be found."
Joe sat on the bed, exasperated. "Did you find anything else?"
"Not really," Brent said. "I've requested a search for Sylvia at one of the places that's supposed to be able to find anyone for a fee. Their site says it'll take 24 to 48 hours, but it may come in handy if we can't find her any other way. I'll keep checking my email on my iPhone so we don't need to wait around." He shifted his position slightly. "I went through Elise's work email. Didn't find much. There were a few messages between her and Sylvia, but I got the impression Sylvia gave the directions to her house over the phone."
Joe nodded grimly. "I should've known. I've had to find out the hard way how well that girl can cover her tracks when she wants to. She sure pulled one over on me with you."
Brent looked at his feet, unsure what to say, or if any response was even called for.
Joe pretended to rearrange the things in his bag. "Here you were, her old buddy from college days, happily married, acting like all you wanted was our friendship, to welcome us to the community--"
"That was all I wanted."
"-- all the while you two were planning--"
"We didn't plan anything. It just happened."
Joe zipped the bag and stood up. "Let me explain something to you. The only things in life that 'just happen' are acts of God, and this doesn't qualify." He pushed past Brent and headed toward the kitchen.
Brent stood immobile for a few minutes, then followed. He found Joe rummaging in the refrigerator, pulling out bread, mustard and other sandwich fixings. He snapped his head around when he came in, but said nothing and returned to digging through the meat drawer.
Brent's stomach growled. "I haven't had anything to eat all day."
Joe tossed a package of ham on the counter. "Sorry to hear that."
Brent watched as Joe began making himself a sandwich. "Can I make me a sandwich too if there's any of that ham left?"
"There won't be."
"Maybe something else, then? Peanut butter?"
Joe appeared not to have heard. He closed the sandwich, piled with generous amounts of ham, tomatoes and processed cheese, and took a bite. Then he opened a cabinet and removed a plate. After taking another bite and setting the sandwich on the plate, he opened the refrigerator again to put away the condiments and take out a beer. He twisted the lid off the bottle, tipped back his head and took a long pull. Picking up the plate again, he headed back to the bedroom. "We don't have any peanut butter. Elise says it makes her fat."
Left alone in the kitchen, Brent hesitated before hunger got the best of him. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a few things that he cobbled into an approximation of a meal. He arranged the items neatly on a plate, grabbed a beer and a napkin, and settled himself at the kitchen table, casting a quick glance around the room as if daring Joe to come and stop him. He ate quickly, but lingered over the beer, lost in thought. Finally he got up and took the plate to the sink. He gave it a perfunctory rinse and for good measure he splashed some water on his face and ran a little through his hair.
At the sound of Joe's footsteps on the parquet, Brent wandered over. "What's the plan?"
"Go to St. Argent."
"Is that reasonable at this point? We don't know where to begin looking. We don't even know if she's been gone a whole day yet. She might come back."
"She won't be back. If I ever want to see her again, I'm going to have to go find her." Joe paused, as if waiting for Brent to disagree, but received only silence for comment. Joe cast his eyes down and for the first time appeared unsure of himself. "I thought maybe we could go by her office as soon as everyone clears out. You know, look around her desk. See if maybe there's a phone number or something." He met Brent's eyes hopefully. "You can get us in, right? You have your keys?"
Brent nodded and looked at his watch. "It'll be a little while before everyone leaves. I've got a few designers who like to work late, like they'll be penalized if they're not there until at least seven or something."
"Are you going to St. Argent with me?" Joe looked away.
"If you can put up with me. Otherwise you can just leave me at the office and I'll take my own car. It probably gets better gas mileage, anyway."
"You can come with me. I want to keep an eye on you." Both men looked at each other, assessing. Finally Joe gave a small jerk of his chin. "Get your coat and I'll take you to your house. You'll probably want to pack a few things and make up an excuse for your wife."
"I guess I'll have to tell her something, won't I?" With a nod of resignation he headed toward the study. A few minutes later he returned, pulling on his coat.
Joe was waiting by the door with his duffel bag and a small cooler at his feet. Brent eyed the cooler curiously, but Joe didn't offer an explanation, just picked it up and slung the duffel bag over his shoulder.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)