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“Her cell’s gone and her home phone’s out. I told you what happened last night.”
“I know. I was hoping the home line had been fixed, but whenever I call, it rings off the hook.”
Jonah’s eyes skimmed over all the bones, broken and otherwise, lying on the tables in the main room as he let himself out. Two of Dr. Price’s helpers were still working. They glanced up when they heard his voice and waved goodbye.
“That’s probably not unusual,” he told Finch. “Depending on workload, it could take the phone company a week or two to get out there.” But being unable to reach Francesca made him uneasy all the same. “What about her office?”
“Tried that. Spoke to some receptionist who said she’d give her a message. Past few hours the receptionist hasn’t even picked up. My call transfers directly to voice mail.”
The assistant, someone named Heather, had promised to relay a message for Jonah, too, but that was it. She wouldn’t share any information on whether or not her boss was in, had been in or would be in. “Shit.”
“You seriously think Francesca might be next on Butch’s list?” Finch sounded skeptical. Or maybe he only wished the situation wasn’t what it seemed.
Jonah’s rented Volvo chirped as he pressed the unlock button on his key ring. “You don’t?”
“That’d be pretty damn bold. He’s got to know that if she gets hurt, he instantly becomes our number-one suspect. Would he really put himself right between our crosshairs?”
The heat of the day had blasted Jonah like a furnace the second he walked outside, but the inside of the car was even hotter. “No matter what we suspect, we’d still have the burden of proving it. And he thinks he can out-smart us.”
“You really believe he’s that confident?”
Jonah slipped on his sunglasses, started the engine and cranked the air conditioner to high before taking off. Fortunately, his motel wasn’t far. About the time the interior of the car grew comfortable, he’d be getting out again. But it would be insufferable without some air coming through those vents. “He outsmarted us yesterday, didn’t he? We were forced to leave with our tails between our legs while he kept Francesca’s personal belongings.”
“That wasn’t our fault.”
“Maybe it was. Maybe there was something in that salvage yard Hunsacker should’ve seen or found or suspected. He couldn’t have performed a very thorough search, not in the time they were there. They had ten acres to cover. And let’s face it, he was probably shown that mannequin, thought he understood what had caused the problem and decided he was wasting his time, so he searched with half an eye. Either way, Butch Vaughn won. Easily. And I’m sure that only confirmed his belief that he can get away with anything.”
Silence. Then Finch said, “Hunsacker admits he could’ve performed a more thorough search. I’ve discussed it with him. He was embarrassed when he saw the mannequin and started to backpedal in case he invited a lawsuit or some blight on his record.”
“There you go.”
“Stealing a purse is a far cry from murder, though.”
“He was the last person to see April Bonner alive. Even if the body at the morgue isn’t April, she’s still missing. Something happened to her after she met up with Butch Saturday night.”
“All right, all right,” he said. “I’ll put Vaughn under surveillance until we can figure out what the hell is going on.”
“That should help.” If Finch had a couple of uniforms keep an eye on Butch, Francesca could go home tonight. She might even be able to begin rebuilding her sense of security. Jonah felt better already. “I’ll see if I can get in touch with her, tell her what’s going on and find out if she knows anything about a tattoo.”
“How are you gonna do that? Drive all the way out there?”
“If I have to,” he said, and hung up. But he knew he had one other option. Adriana would probably be able to tell him where to find Francesca or how to reach her. Maybe Francesca was even at her house. But contacting the woman with whom he’d made the biggest mistake of his life wasn’t something he wanted to do.
CHAPTER 9
Adriana had never expected to hear from Jonah again. After that night when she’d taken him home with her, they’d spoken only a few times. He’d apologized the following morning, as soon as he saw he was in her bed, even though what’d happened was more her fault than his, and he hadn’t called her after that.
No doubt it would’ve ended there, but then she’d found out she was pregnant and arranged to meet him. When she broke the news about the baby, he’d responded calmly, politely. Except for the sudden tightening of his jaw, he’d been careful not to reveal how upset he was. To his credit, he’d assumed full responsibility and said he’d pay for whatever she chose to do. But when he asked her what that might be, she’d had to face the truth—he was offering her money to fix his mistake. He wasn’t suddenly realizing that he’d loved her all along. Sleeping with him hadn’t changed anything. Being pregnant didn’t change anything, either. He’d never cared about her the way he cared about Francesca, and he never would.
Adriana couldn’t remember anything else in her life ever hurting quite as much as his rejection. It wasn’t that she’d meant to get pregnant. She hadn’t. They’d used protection. But she couldn’t deny that she’d harbored some hope that the baby would bring them together. She’d wanted Jonah badly enough that she’d risked her relationship with Francesca, and would’ve done so again if he’d been the least bit receptive. Which made her feel like the worst person in the world. What kind of woman stabbed her best friend in the back over a guy? It didn’t help to see how heartbroken and regretful he was because of what they’d done. She’d never forget his hollow-eyed, haggard appearance when he met her that night at Starbucks. She remembered thinking at the time that he must not have slept since they’d been together.
She still felt guilty about her role in what had occurred. Nothing would’ve happened if she hadn’t chosen to believe his drunken advances actually meant he had feelings for her. So she was grateful when Francesca had managed to forgive her. Somehow, they’d repaired their friendship and put her actions behind them. She’d thought it was all over, at last.
And now this. Jonah was back. She’d seen him at Francesca’s this morning, and he was on the phone with her right now.
“How’d you get my number?” She glanced into the living room where her two boys had been watching TV but were currently wrestling on the floor. Normally, she would’ve scolded them. She was afraid someone would get hurt or knock over a lamp. But today she let them go. At least they were occupied and didn’t seem to notice that she was suddenly having difficulty breathing.
“You’re listed under your husband’s name,” he said, “which I saw on a picture at Francesca’s.”
