Where on earth was she?
Michael stared at the untouched bed for all of two minutes, his mind racing in every direction.
Had she left him? His eyes roved around the room, taking in her folded pajamas on the pillow and her husband’s photograph in the frame beside the bed.
She wouldn’t have left that behind. So where?
The conversation on the way back from the wedding played uneasily in his brain.
She was confused, she was depressed and she’d been alone all night.
Hell, he never should have left her!
Where could she have gone? His head was spinning as he tried to find answers. She didn’t have a car. She didn’t have any money, and if she was leaving, then surely she’d have taken her few possessions. So where?
The river.
The answer came so suddenly it was like a bolt out of the blue, and it scared him stupid. No! She couldn’t be that depressed!
She wouldn’t be so crazy, so desperate!
But he was already moving toward the door, and he was starting to run.
HE SEARCHED for half an hour without finding her. He was close to breaking point, as angry and frustrated as he’d ever been in his life. And scared. Surely she hadn’t done anything stupid, he told himself over and over. Surely she couldn’t…
He forced himself to slow down, walking along the hiking trails, methodically searching every park bench and every twist and turn of the water’s edge. His eyes searched the shadows under the trees. If she was here, then he’d find her-if she wanted to be found.
An autumn fog was settling over the water, making the pools of light from the lamps strange and distorted. The bats that made their home under the bridges were swooping low over the water, and the stillness was almost eerie. If he called her name, the sound would echo up and down the river and achieve nothing-except make him feel like he was going mad.
Which was just how he was feeling. Crazy! This was unbearable. He thought back to the Jenny of this morning, bouncing up and down on the hopscotch court in her wondrous clothes, dancing with her little girls, helping light the candles on the birthday doughnuts.
She’d felt great. Free. And this afternoon he’d made her feel so guilty she’d wanted to end it.
But not like this. Surely not like this.
He’d call the cops.
No. They wouldn’t come. He knew enough of police procedure to know what would happen if he called. “How long has your wife been missing? Maybe only an hour? Was there any disagreement? Oh, right. Well, then, we suggest you sit at home and wait it out.”
He couldn’t sit at home. He’d go nuts.
Where the hell was she? She had so few options. No friends. No family. Just Gloria waiting to force her back to England.
“Jenny?”
Finally he couldn’t help himself. He stood on the bank, staring at the black, slow-moving water, and he called. Her name echoed back to him, over and over.
No Jenny answered, but there was a whimper from below.
A whimper? It wasn’t a human sound, but it was enough to make him peer where the bank steeped sharply forward.
There was a huddled figure right at the water’s edge. Dark and large.
Dear God… He clambered down with a speed he didn’t know he possessed, put a hand on the figure’s shoulder-and Jenny’s face turned to greet him.
FOR A MOMENT the relief was so great he couldn’t believe he’d found her. He stood, stunned, with his hand on her shoulder, her white face looking at his. Jenny was here. She was safe. She was alive!
“Dear God, Jenny…”
His legs wouldn’t hold him anymore. He sat down hard beside her and shoved his head between his knees. For the first time in his life he came close to passing out.
“Michael?” A soft hand ran through his hair, and her voice, when she spoke, was thick with concern. “Michael, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” He gasped and sucked in a great lungful of fog-filled night air. “What’s wrong? Jenny, have you any idea what…” He gave another gasp and shoved his head down again.
Silence. He sat, recovering from fear, and she didn’t say a word. Just waited.
Finally he raised his head. He stared at the water, where the scudding mist was moving and swirling in shredded ribbons and the bats were flying low. The river was black and mysterious beneath, hiding all. If she’d been in there…
“How long have you been sitting here?” he asked at last, his voice detached. He didn’t look at her.
“A couple of hours. Michael, I’m so sorry if you’ve been worried.”
“A couple of hours?” He sighed. “Can I ask why?”
“I came down here for a walk,” she told him. “I’m- I’m sorry if you were worried, but I was sort of upset after you left me. And then I found Socks and I didn’t know what to do with him. It all just seemed too difficult.”
“Socks?”
He looked sideways, then really looked and saw what he’d been too upset to see until now.
She was wearing a coat-a garment he vaguely recognized as his. It was the black trench coat he used for night work. The coat was vast and dark, ideal for checking security at three in the morning when he didn’t want to be seen, when he wanted to check that his outdoor security guards were doing what they were supposed to be doing. The coat had been hanging in his back entrance, and it disguised her bulk, but there was something apart from Jenny and baby underneath. Her pregnant bulk was…bigger?
“What,” he asked fascinated, “do you have under your coat?”
“I told you,” she said patiently. “Socks.”
“And Socks is a…”
“Dog.”
“Right. A dog.” He nodded sagely, tossing the idea around in his head while his heart rate settled to almost normal.
“What sort of dog?” he asked at last, cautiously. His head was starting to work again, recovering from blind panic.
“A big dog.”
“A big dog. Right. Any more specifics?”
“Well, he’s a sort of…” She hesitated. “I guess a lot’s gone into his breeding,” she said at last. “Maybe that’s all I can tell.”
He nodded again. “So. We have a big, nondescript dog of uncertain parentage called Socks.” He was buying time. “Jen, can I ask why he’s sitting under your coat?”
“He was cold.”
“I see.” He didn’t, but he wasn’t confessing that for a minute. “Do you think he’s warm now?”
“Maybe.”
“Then do you think you could let him out now so we can go home?”
“He’s still frightened. He’s shivering.”
“Jen…”
“I don’t know what to do with him,” she said in a small voice. “I can’t take him back to your place-I mean, you’ve done so much for me already. And I can’t leave him here.”
“You mean he’s a stray?”
“I guess so. He has no collar and he looks starving.”
“Right. A stray.” Michael was still having trouble keeping his heart beating in any sort of normal rhythm, but a stray dog was something he could deal with. Practical. “It’s okay, Jen. We can handle this. If you don’t want to
