living room. “Ruthie?”
At Chris’s deep voice, she turned, in time to see a flash of firmly delineated abdominal muscles as he pulled a faded T-shirt sporting the logo of a local pub over his head. His short hair, still damp, stuck out in a myriad of directions. She wet her lips and stilled the tiny flutter trying to take up residence low in her belly.
“Yes?”
“Can you step outside with me a second?” He tilted his head toward the kitchen door and the small porch beyond. “We need to talk. I have to tell you something.”
Chapter Five
On the small porch, Chris turned to face her, his expression grim. “I’ve been thinking most of the night and there’s no easy way to say this.”
Ruthie had been a cop’s daughter long enough to realize nothing good ever lay behind those particular words. Grateful he’d given them to her as an opportunity to prepare for whatever blow was coming, she straightened her spine and sucked in a deep breath. “Just tell me, Chris, please.”
Hands tucked in the back pockets of his loose, faded jeans, he scuffed a bare foot along the porch floor. Bits of paint flaked under the pressure of his big toe. When he looked up at her, fierce gentleness softened his pale blue gaze. “The FBI has lost your husband.”
“What do you mean, the FBI has lost him?”
“You’ve been… The FBI’s Organized Crime Division has had your husband under close surveillance for the past few months. Obviously, his activities weren’t as secret as he’d thought.”
“The FBI has been watching us. Organized crime.” She dug her fingers into the railing. “Did Tick know?”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t.”
“And they don’t know where Stephen is.”
“That’s what Tick said.”
Oh, Lord. A trembling tidal wave of fear slammed her. Her lungs cramped and a sick weight lodged in her belly. If the Bureau didn’t know where he was, did he know where she was? Fighting off the alarm, she looked back at the children, spooning up their favorite breakfast, still chattering happily among themselves, the familiar strain absent from their smooth features. What would Stephen do when he found them?
“There’s more.” Chris’s tentative statement deepened her dread. With trepidation vibrating beneath her skin, stretching her nerves, she waited in silence, clinging to his gaze. His throat moved in a hard swallow. “Your mother is missing.”
“Missing?” Her voice quavered, almost breaking over the word. All sorts of possibilities flashed in her head. Like the night of her sister Tori’s rape, when they hadn’t been able to find her. Like news reports of “missing” women, their battered, bruised bodies found days, weeks, months later. “What do you mean, missing ?”
“Her whereabouts are unaccounted for since early yesterday. When Tick went to the house, there were signs of a struggle.” The imprecise police jargon made her want to scream at him. This wasn’t another alleged victim he was talking about here. This was her mother . God, not knowing where Stephen was seemed bad enough—
The reality slithered into her brain with an icy hiss, coiling around all of her thoughts.
“Oh my God.” She covered her mouth, fingers trembling. She stared at Chris. “Do you think Stephen…?”
It was too awful to contemplate. Would he punish her escape by harming her mother? Was he that big of a monster? The image of a panting, wriggling pup in his large hands pulsed in her brain, making her want to vomit with the remembered sound of a startled yelp lost in the crunching of a tiny skull.
“It’s certainly possible,” Chris said, his voice quiet with sympathy. “Under the circumstances, he’d be my first person of interest.”
Her thoughts bounced in a wild array. Fingers pressed to her temples, she tried to think, to focus. If it was Stephen, he’d done this because of her, made her mother a pawn, just like he had with Ruthie’s babies. He had no qualms about using the ones
At Chris’s deep voice, she turned, in time to see a flash of firmly delineated abdominal muscles as he pulled a faded T-shirt sporting the logo of a local pub over his head. His short hair, still damp, stuck out in a myriad of directions. She wet her lips and stilled the tiny flutter trying to take up residence low in her belly.
“Yes?”
“Can you step outside with me a second?” He tilted his head toward the kitchen door and the small porch beyond. “We need to talk. I have to tell you something.”
Chapter Five
On the small porch, Chris turned to face her, his expression grim. “I’ve been thinking most of the night and there’s no easy way to say this.”
Ruthie had been a cop’s daughter long enough to realize nothing good ever lay behind those particular words. Grateful he’d given them to her as an opportunity to prepare for whatever blow was coming, she straightened her spine and sucked in a deep breath. “Just tell me, Chris, please.”
Hands tucked in the back pockets of his loose, faded jeans, he scuffed a bare foot along the porch floor. Bits of paint flaked under the pressure of his big toe. When he looked up at her, fierce gentleness softened his pale blue gaze. “The FBI has lost your husband.”
“What do you mean, the FBI has lost him?”
“You’ve been… The FBI’s Organized Crime Division has had your husband under close surveillance for the past few months. Obviously, his activities weren’t as secret as he’d thought.”
“The FBI has been watching us. Organized crime.” She dug her fingers into the railing. “Did Tick know?”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t.”
“And they don’t know where Stephen is.”
“That’s what Tick said.”
Oh, Lord. A trembling tidal wave of fear slammed her. Her lungs cramped and a sick weight lodged in her belly. If the Bureau didn’t know where he was, did he know where she was? Fighting off the alarm, she looked back at the children, spooning up their favorite breakfast, still chattering happily among themselves, the familiar strain absent from their smooth features. What would Stephen do when he found them?
“There’s more.” Chris’s tentative statement deepened her dread. With trepidation vibrating beneath her skin, stretching her nerves, she waited in silence, clinging to his gaze. His throat moved in a hard swallow. “Your mother is missing.”
“Missing?” Her voice quavered, almost breaking over the word. All sorts of possibilities flashed in her head. Like the night of her sister Tori’s rape, when they hadn’t been able to find her. Like news reports of “missing” women, their battered, bruised bodies found days, weeks, months later. “What do you mean, missing ?”
“Her whereabouts are unaccounted for since early yesterday. When Tick went to the house, there were signs of a struggle.” The imprecise police jargon made her want to scream at him. This wasn’t another alleged victim he was talking about here. This was her mother . God, not knowing where Stephen was seemed bad enough—
The reality slithered into her brain with an icy hiss, coiling around all of her thoughts.
“Oh my God.” She covered her mouth, fingers trembling. She stared at Chris. “Do you think Stephen…?”
It was too awful to contemplate. Would he punish her escape by harming her mother? Was he that big of a monster? The image of a panting, wriggling pup in his large hands pulsed in her brain, making her want to vomit with the remembered sound of a startled yelp lost in the crunching of a tiny skull.
“It’s certainly possible,” Chris said, his voice quiet with sympathy. “Under the circumstances, he’d be my first person of interest.”
Her thoughts bounced in a wild array. Fingers pressed to her temples, she tried to think, to focus. If it was Stephen, he’d done this because of her, made her mother a pawn, just like he had with Ruthie’s babies. He had no qualms about using the ones
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