"Of course." Twisting around to grab her message pad, Skye held it out to him. "I've got her address and phone number right here. Why don't you put it in your database?"
He stored practically every piece of information he came across in the BlackBerry he pulled from the front pocket of his jeans. It was the only possession he prized because it facilitated almost everything he did. He figured he didn't need a secretary as long as he had his personal digital assistant and a good computer at home.
After recording Zoe's phone numbers and address, he gave the pad back to Skye. "Okay, I'll do what I can."
She followed him to the door. "What will you tell Zoe about the likelihood of finding Sam alive?"
"I hope I don't have to tell her anything."
"I avoided a direct answer, but I know she'll ask you the same question."
He hesitated with his hand on the knob. "It's been more than twenty-four hours, Skye. If Samantha was abducted by a stranger--and in this case, I think her ra**st father qualifies, despite your optimistic father-daughter-bonding scenario--you and I both know it looks grim. It's probably over already. But I can promise to go after whoever took her."
Skye gripped his forearm. "Zoe's been through so much. I can't stand the thought of her hearing that."
"Then I'll tell her the sooner I get the information I need, the better Sam's chances will be."
"Thank you."
Keeping his head down to avoid another encounter with Sheridan, he walked out of the office. But once he reached his car, he sat behind the wheel, wondering whether he should go back in and apologize. If he couldn't have Sheridan in a romantic sense, he wished their relationship could be the way it was before she'd gone to Tennessee.
"Yeah, her husband would like that," he muttered and put the sticky note Skye had given him on his rearview mirror. A young girl's life could be in danger. It was time to forget his own stupid problems.
Chapter 7
A tall, thin woman much younger than he'd expected, and prettier too, answered Jonathan's knock almost as soon as he'd lifted his hand. Wearing a brown-and-blue sweat suit and fleece-lined slippers but no makeup, she swayed in the opening as if she'd dashed for the door at first sign of a visitor without taking time to find her balance. Obviously she'd hoped to see someone else on her doorstep, presumably someone with her daughter in tow.
"Ms. Duncan?"
"Yes?"
"I'm Jonathan Stivers." He provided his business card. "Skye Willis from The Last Stand sent me over to talk to you about Sam."
Before she could speak, a man came up behind her. "Zoe, damn it, what are you doing? You know I would've gotten it. You're supposed to be lying down."
The dark smudges beneath her eyes--amber-colored eyes that matched the golden brown of her long hair and would've been downright stunning if they weren't so flat and hollow with pain--testified to the fact that she needed rest. But Jonathan knew there wasn't any point in trying to force her.
She couldn't sleep. She was in the numb aftermath of tragedy--a place where people moved and breathed but had stopped living.
Resisting his efforts to guide her back to wherever she'd been
"resting," she tucked her hair behind her ears and opened the door wider.
"Thank God you're here. Please, come in."
"Let me handle it," the man said.
Jonathan wanted to believe this was Zoe Duncan's father or brother.
The age difference should've suggested such a relationship. But body language identified Mr. "I'll Take Over" as the live-in lover Samantha Duncan hadn't liked: Anton Lucassi.
"Zoe?" Lucassi pressed.
A spark of emotion lit her pale face. "No, Anton! I'll take care of it."
Clearly unhappy with this response, Anton shook his head. "You're going to wind up in the hospital. And then what good will you be to Sam?"
As far as Jonathan was concerned, they could argue later. "You're..."
"Zoe's fiance," the man said.
Just as he'd suspected. "Great. Mr. Lucassi." He smiled. "Let's not worry about a nap right now, okay? We need to focus on the problem at hand. Could you both take a few minutes to sit down with me?"
A muscle twitched in Lucassi's cheek. He didn't like being overridden but eventually gave a curt nod and led them into a living room decorated in white and black with several art deco sculptures. It reminded Jonathan more of a high-rent office than a living room.
"Can I get you a drink?" Zoe asked. Her offer was polite, automatic, an attempt at normalcy. But Jonathan could sense how fragile she was. He had the impression her composure might shatter at any moment. And Lucassi wasn't helping. Although he was clearly doing his best, the friction between them was as apparent as her desperation.
"No, thanks." Jonathan seated himself on an expensive-looking leather couch. Taking a small recorder from his pocket, he situated it on the glass coffee table in front of him. "Do you mind if I record our conversation?"
"I'd rather you didn't," Anton said.
Jonathan felt his eyebrows slide up. "Is there a reason?"
Lucassi selected a chair opposite the leather couch. "I'm worried about Sam and what this is doing to Zoe. But everyone knows that in a situation like this, those closest to the girl are always the first to be investigated. I was the last person to talk to her, and found her gone. I'm guessing that I'm going to become a suspect at some point. And that makes me nervous."
"Did you harm Sam?" Jonathan asked point-blank.
Lucassi rocked back. "Absolutely not!"
"Then relax and let me do my job. I was a cop here in Sacramento for six years before I hung out my own shingle. I've been through this a few times, and I've learned it's best to record conversations that could reveal important information so I don't lose any of it. It also helps to be able to watch the expressions of the people who are speaking, which is difficult to do while I'm writing."
Anton shifted uncomfortably. "In case they're lying."
"Yes. But if you're not lying, you don't have to worry."
"There's been more than one innocent man sent to prison."
"I'm not trying to pin this on anyone." Jonathan held his gaze. "All I care about is finding Samantha."
Lucassi blinked, then nodded, and Jonathan scooted forward. "I'm here to help you, okay?"
Zoe Duncan perched on the edge of her seat, her back straight, hands folded in her lap. "Don't listen to Anton. He's just...we're both so...frightened and confused."