Their Only Child Page 7

  Sully had once believed himself to be a strong man, but the past eighteen months of his life had proved otherwise to him.

  How long could he suffer Eric’s disappearance and not be lured back into the bottom of a bottle? He knew the seduction of booze, the promise of oblivion, the release of pain, that lay in the bottom of every bottle. How long before he plunged back into the pit of self-destruction and depression? You’re a loser…just like your old man, a little voice whispered.

  He shook his head, refusing to entertain black thoughts any longer. Putting the dog back in the pen, he added fresh food and water, then stumbled toward the bathroom and a good, hot shower.

  As he stood beneath the hot spray, he thought of Robert Cassino. His instant gut reaction had been an intense dislike of the well-dressed, handsome man. It had begun with the handshake, when Robert squeezed his hand with a subtle show of macho challenge.

  Or had it begun before that…the moment Robert framed Theresa’s face with his hands? His fingers had moved lightly, covetously, against Theresa’s skin.

  Terri. He’d called Theresa Terri, as if it were an intimate pet name. Sully ducked his head beneath the needles of water. What did he care who touched Theresa? He didn’t have a right to care.

  Still, he could easily remember the soft texture of her skin beneath his fingertips, the spill of her thick hair across his chest as they’d made love.

  He closed his eyes. It had been an eternity since he allowed himself to remember the physical aspects of their marriage. They’d enjoyed an intense, passionate physical relationship up until the night of the shooting.

  Theresa, who always maintained such tight control over herself in every other area, had lost control when making love. And her ultimate surrender while in his arms had always made the entire experience unforgettable for Sully.

  Unforgettable. And yet he had to forget. He had to forget the taste of her lips, the way she’d moaned so deep in her throat when he caressed her, how she’d eagerly arched to meet his thrusts. He must forget the sweet way she’d cried out his name at the moment of release.

  Muttering a curse beneath his breath, he turned the faucet to make the spray cold. He had to forget he’d ever loved Theresa. He’d made his bed, chosen his path, and it was one he intended to walk alone.

  He shut off the water, shivering as he grabbed a towel and dried off. He consciously shoved away thoughts of his ex-wife and instead focused on Eric as he dressed.

  Was it possible Eric had run away in some misguided effort to reunite Sully and Theresa? Eric had certainly made it clear that he wanted his parents back together again. Sully mulled that over as he pulled a sweater over his head.

  No. That just wasn’t possible. Eric wouldn’t intentionally cause his parents such worry. He was a good kid, with a caring heart Besides, no kid his age would be able to stay away from home for such an extended period of time. At the age of nine, an hour could be an eternity.

  One thing gave Sully a small measure of comfort. Eric was smart. If there was a way for him to make his way home, he would. If he was being held against his will, his captors just might underestimate him. Unless it was already too late…unless he was already…

  Sully drew in a deep breath, refusing to allow his thoughts to go farther. He had to believe it wasn’t too late, had to believe that somehow Eric would be returned safe and sound to them.

  Eric was not only the child of Sully’s heart…he was the hope of the future, the promise of dreams fulfilled. Eric was the glue that held Sully together.

  He started out of his bedroom, then paused and instead went to the top dresser drawer. There, amid rolled-up socks and cotton briefs, was a .38 automatic.

  Sully had turned in his police-issue weapon when he quit the department, but he’d kept his personal piece, although it hadn’t been out of this drawer, except for monthly cleanings, for years.

  He picked it up, the balance and weight feeling right in his hand. Crazy. What made him think he’d need a gun? There were dozens of cops on the case…real cops. He had no business even considering taking the gun with him. He should leave the gunplay to the professionals. Still, when he left the room a moment later, the gun was tucked into his waistband.

  Before leaving to return to Theresa’s, he took a moment and forwarded his calls to her phone, unwilling to take the risk of missing a call from a possible kidnapper.

  He pulled his coat on, then stared at the dog, who sat on furry haunches, eyeing him soulfully. “Theresa is going to kill me,” he muttered as he opened the pen and slipped a leash on to the dog collar.

  He couldn’t leave the dog here. He had no idea when he would return. Besides, the dog was for Eric, and should be waiting at the house for Eric’s return. Yes, Theresa was probably going to kill him, but he didn’t care.

  “Come on, Montana. Let’s go bye-bye.” The dog barked cheerfully at his name and tugged Sully toward the front door.

  Chapter Six

  The moment Sully pulled in front of Theresa’s, he knew something had happened. An intensity swirled in the air as police scurried in and out of the house. As Sully led Montana toward the front door, Sully instantly felt the vibration of energy in his gut.

  “Sully, thank God you’re back,” Theresa said as he walked in the door. She frowned at the dog. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a dog. It’s Eric’s Christmas present. Meet Montana.” Sully saw the tightening of her jaw. “I know…I know, I should have asked you, but I didn’t. And I couldn’t leave him alone in my apartment. He belongs here…waiting for Eric.”

  The tightening of her jaw eased. “Oh, Sully,” she said softly. “We’ll put him in Eric’s room for now.” She took the leash from him and led the dog into Eric’s bedroom, then closed the door. When she turned back to Sully, her eyes were shining with suppressed excitement. “They think they found Eric’s book bag.”

  “Where?” Sully asked, his stomach muscles clenched. Finally…finally, a break.

  “Someplace over by the school. A couple of officers left a little while ago to pick it up and question the man who has it.”

  Dammit. The first real break in the case, and Sully hadn’t been here. He’d have wanted to go with the officers, talk to whoever it was who had the bag. “How long ago did they leave?”

  “Just a few minutes ago.”

  He realized that while he was gone, Theresa had apparently showered and changed her clothes. Her dark hair was still damp, and the faint scent of fresh shampoo emanated from it. She wore a pair of black sweatpants and a peach-and-black sweatshirt, the peach tones bringing out the matching hues of her skin.

  “Where’s Ryder?” Sully asked, trying to stay focused on the matter at hand.

  “In the kitchen. They assigned a female officer to answer the phone. It’s been ringing off the wall since you left…mostly reporters and cranks.” As if to punctuate her sentence, the phone rang.

  “Come on, let’s check it out,” Sully said as he took her arm and led her into the kitchen.

  “Please…don’t call here again. We’re trying to keep this line open,” a female cop said into the receiver. She slammed down the phone. “Damn reporters,” she muttered.

  “What’s this about a book bag?” Sully asked Jeffrey Ryder, who sat at the table, a cup of coffee and a donut before him.

  Jeffrey shrugged and washed down a bite of donut with a swig of coffee. “All we know is some old guy called and said he’d found a book bag on the sidewalk yesterday afternoon. Knowing the forecast was for possible snow, he brought the bag into his house. When he heard about Eric this morning, he thought maybe he should call the police.” He gestured to the box of donuts on the counter. “Help yourself.”

  Sully shook his head. Even though logically he knew the man needed to eat, it seemed obscene that he was sitting at the table enjoying a long john while Eric was God knew where.

  “I called the phone company and had them forward any calls that might come into my apartment here,” Sully sa
id.

  “Good idea,” Jeffrey replied. “If this is a kidnapping, we can’t guess who the perp might contact for a ransom.”

  “If there is a ransom demand,” Sully said, then instantly regretted it

  “What do you mean, if?” Theresa asked. She searched his features intently. “If somebody kidnapped Eric, then surely they’d demand a ransom before returning him.”

  “Unless this is strictly a revenge plot and they don’t intend to return him.” Sully hated himself for saying the words aloud, for being the cause of Theresa’s face paling and her eyes blackening with despair. But she had to know.

  She had to know what the possibilities were. Eric had been gone over twenty-four hours, and Theresa had to begin to prepare herself for whatever might come. Just as Sully recognized he had to begin to prepare himself. But how do you prepare for something like that? he wondered.

  As they waited for the men to return from checking out the book bag, Donny returned to the scene. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted sheepishly. “I have a feeling I won’t be able to until we find Eric.”

  Emotion clogged Sully’s throat. He nodded to Donny, unable to speak, grateful nothing was expected from him. He’d forgotten the brotherhood that existed among the ranks of the officers, a brotherhood he’d turned his back on because of his own paranoid suspicions.

  At this moment in time, Sully knew Donny and Kip, and all the other men working the case, viewed him not only as a grieving parent, but also as one of their own. It made his suspicions concerning his shooting seem small and petty and without warrant

  The back door opened, and Kip and another officer walked in. “We got it!” Kip exclaimed, and held up a brown paper bag that apparently contained the piece of evidence. Taking the bag by the bottom, he dumped the contents on the table.

  A small cry escaped Theresa, confirming that the blue backpack was, indeed, Eric’s. She sat down at the table, her gaze not wavering from the bag.

  “What did you find out?” Sully asked. Then, realizing he was stepping on Donny’s toes, he clamped his mouth firmly shut

  “The old man’s story seems to be on the upand-up,” Kip explained. “He saw the backpack about noon yesterday, realized it might snow and took it in the house, figuring he’d take it to the school after the holidays and turn it in to the lost and found. He didn’t think any more about it until he heard a news report this morning about a kid missing, then he figured he’d better let somebody know he had it.”

  “Have you checked the bag?” Donny asked.

  Kip shook his head. Donny patted his pockets, then frowned. “Anyone got a pair of gloves?”

  Kip handed him a pair of latex gloves and, after pulling them on. Donny pulled the bag toward him.

  As Donny pulled the zipper to open the bag, it seemed as if everyone in the room held their breath. Sully’s gaze sought Theresa’s, and in her eyes he saw the same thoughts going through his head.

  Would there be a ransom note tucked inside? Was the bag covered with the fingerprints of the person who had Eric…or someone who knew what had happened to him?

  Donny pulled from the bag a math book, a thin spiral notepad, several pencils and a squashed, halfeaten Twinkie. An unintelligible sound escaped from Theresa at the sight of the flattened Twinkie.

  “I’ve told that kid a million times not to put food in his book bag,” she said, her eyes overbright with emotion.

  “That’s it,” Donny said, then opened one of the three pockets on the side of the bag. The first two were empty. The third yielded a neatly folded piece of paper.

  Sully heard Theresa’s audible intake of breath, felt the palpable tension that screamed silently in the air as Donny carefully unfolded the paper.

  Donny scanned the contents quickly, then slammed a fist down on the table and tossed the note into the center for them all to see.

  It was a love note, or as close to a love note as a fourth-grade boy could write.

  Dear Susan. I like you. Do you like me. I think your frekles are cute.

  Love, Eric.

  P.S. if you tell anyone about this…I’ll sock you.

  Sully stared at the words, written in Eric’s boyish scrawl, and his heart constricted painfully. Eric had probably intended to give Susan this note at school yesterday. But Eric hadn’t made it to school.

  He looked up to where Theresa had sat only moments before. The chair was empty. She wasn’t in the kitchen, nor was she in the living room.

  Sully walked down the hallway, stopping in front of Eric’s closed bedroom door. Vaguely, through the barrier of the door, he could hear the sound of soft sobbing.

  He leaned his forehead against the hard wood of the door, unsure whether to go into the room or not. Theresa had always been very private with her emotions.

  He’d stood next to her when her mother died, and she hadn’t shed a tear in his presence. It had only been later, when she went to take a shower, that he heard the sounds of her grief over the spray of the water. When she came out of the bathroom, she’d been strong, in control, the only evidence of her crying the slightly red, swollen condition of her eyes.

  He’d always admired her strength, and that was why, when he lost all of his, fell apart at the seams, he’d refused to hang around for her to see the wreck he’d become.

  He opened the door about an inch, just enough to peek in and make sure she was all right. She was lying on Eric’s narrow twin bed, her arms wrapped around Montana’s furry neck as she sobbed into the soft fur.

  He fought the desire to go to her, hold her, try to comfort her. Afraid of intruding where he wasn’t wanted, instead he closed the door and once again leaned his head against it, his heart crying along with his ex-wife for the little boy who loved Susan and had left behind a half-eaten Twinkie.

  THERESA CRIED until she felt there was no more moisture left in her body. Funny, that it had taken a simple blue backpack to completely undo her. Still, the tears were cathartic, and when she was finished with them, she felt a renewed burst of strength rally inside her.

  Here in Eric’s bed, she felt close to him. It was a spiritual closeness that had no basis in reality, but offered comfort nonetheless. His little-boy scent clung to the sheets and pillowcase, and Theresa breathed in and held her breath, as if capturing Eric’s essence deep within her.

  The breath whooshed out of her as the dog jumped up on her chest and licked her face. “Hey!” she protested, a sudden burst of laughter bubbling to her lips.

  Sitting up, she scrubbed the dog behind his ears, smiling as he gazed at her with adoring eyes. Leave it to Sully to get Eric a dog without thought of checking it with her. What had he called the mutt? Oh, yes…Montana.

  “Montana.” The dog barked as she said his name aloud. “Oh, Eric is going to love you.” He barked again, almost looking as though he were smiling. Theresa gave him another quick hug, then stood. “Come on, let’s go find you something to eat.”

  The moment she left the bedroom, she heard the raised voices coming from the kitchen. “Dammit, Donny, don’t cut me out,” Sully’s voice rang out, filled with frustration and undercurrents of rich anger. Montana growled, as if unsettled by the tension.

  Theresa patted the dog reassuringly, then entered the kitchen, where the two men stood facing each other, both of their faces twisted with stress. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “They found Burt Neiman,” Sully said, his gaze not leaving Donny.

  Theresa’s heart leaped. “Was…was Eric with him?”

  “No. They found him a couple hours ago in a Clinton motel room with a hooker. I’m on my way to the station now to interview both Burt and his lady friend,” Donny explained.

  “Let me come with you,” Sully said.

  “Dammit, Sully, you want me to lose my job?” Donny exploded. “I already bent the rules so you and Theresa could talk to Roger at the jail. Don’t put me in an awkward position.”

  “But I’ll make sure Burt tells the truth,” Sully protested, equal
ly loud. Montana barked raucously, as if needing to add his voice to the din.

  Donny raked a hand through his hair as Theresa settled the dog. “Sorry, Sully. No go. You can’t interview possible suspects. You aren’t a cop anymore.”

  “Sully.” Theresa placed a hand on his arm, seeing the torment in his eyes, knowing the impotent helplessness that roared inside him. “Would you help me decorate the tree? Remember? You said you would help.”

  He looked down at her, the blaze of anger subsiding as a deep, abiding weariness took its place. “The tree?” He looked at her blankly, as if he’d forgotten it was Christmas and a bare pine tree stood waiting in the corner of the living room.

  “The Christmas tree. We need to decorate it for when Eric gets home.”

  “Yeah…right. Of course I’ll help.” He looked back at Donny. “You’ll call if there’s any information…any news at all?”

  “You know I will,” Donny replied He motioned for Sully to walk with him out the back door. While they were gone, Theresa found two bowls that would serve as makeshift food and water dishes for Montana. She filled the water bowl and set it on the floor.

  As Montana drank, she wandered to the window and peered out to where Sully and Donny seemed to be in the middle of another argument. Be careful, Sully, she thought to herself. Don’t anger the people who are trying to help.

  It was the waiting that was killing them. Each shrill ring of the phone sliced off a piece of their heart, heightened tension and caused nerves to reach their breaking point.

  She felt like a prisoner here in her home, afraid to leave, afraid she’d miss a phone call, a clue…something that would bring Eric back to her.

  At least by decorating the tree, they’d be doing something…something besides sitting and staring out the window, or looking into one another’s eyes and seeing a hopeless despair reflected there.

  She frowned and turned away from the window, wondering if Sully and Donny were arguing about something really important or if they were merely releasing tension, bickering to let off pressure.