James didn’t say he believed her, and he didn’t promise everything would be all right. He just put her T-shirt back on and took her in his arms, stroking her hair, holding her close.
The next morning Sonny woke to the sound of an alarm. Reaching out with one hand, she turned it off with a weary groan.
She could’ve sworn she’d only just drifted off.
Assaulted by images of her wanton behavior with Ben last night, she punched the pillow beneath her head, wishing she’d told him to go to hell. How could she have let him use her that way? How could she have enjoyed it?
She covered her face with her hands and moaned, hating him for making her feel ashamed. Acting on impulse, sexually, was something she hadn’t done since high school.
The way she’d behaved as a teenager was tragic, but not atypical. After the rape, she’d been removed from her mother’s home. She no longer had Rigo. She’d never had a father. With equal parts self-loathing, self-pity, and self-destruction, she’d sought to fill that void with any boy who showed an interest.
At New Horizons Group Home, she’d been a very popular girl.
It wasn’t until she’d gone to college that she’d learned how to respect, and protect, herself. But she’d never learned how to enjoy herself with men, until Ben.
Pushing aside a dozen painful memories, and even more regrets, she dragged herself out of bed and prepared to face the day. She’d overcome worse than this.
In time, she’d get over him, too.
Last night after Ben left, Grant had called and asked her to interview Stephen Matthews. She also had the unenviable task of breaking the news to him about his mother. Gabrielle Matthews’ severely decomposed body had been found between cold layers of concrete in the Matthews’ backyard, wrapped up in garbage bags and secured with duct tape.
Stephen lived with his girlfriend in a run-down duplex on the seedy edge of town. Sonny parked her rental car on the street and walked to the front door. As she approached, she could hear them arguing, so she paused to listen.
“I don’t need to get a fucking job, you need to get a fucking job! I take care of the house, asshole! If you don’t come up with some cash soon, I’m going to start throwing your shit out-”
A man’s muttered retort was lost as the woman continued her shrill tirade.
Financial troubles, Sonny deduced with a wry smile. Perfect.
When Stephen’s girlfriend, Rhoda, answered the door, she looked Sonny up and down, crossed her skinny arms over her flat chest, and said, “What do you want?”
Even if she’d been polite, Sonny would have disliked her on sight.
Rhoda had a mean, pretty face, ratty blond hair, and no figure to speak of. Her pupils were huge and her pale legs were covered with the kind of bruises Sonny associated with drug users and incredibly clumsy individuals. Dressed in cutoff jean shorts, with a long-sleeved flannel shirt knotted at her scrawny waist, she resembled a homeless anorexic. Someone should have told her the grunge look went out with heroin chic.
Rhoda Pegrine was trailer trash through and through. It took one to know one. While Sonny considered herself a credit to that dubious heritage, she knew intuitively that Rhoda embodied all of its negative stereotypes.
“I’m Special Agent Sonny Vasquez,” she said. “I came to ask Stephen a few questions about his father.”
Rhoda shoved a hand through her bleached hair. “Where’s your credentials?”
Sonny showed her ID.
Behind Rhoda, Stephen approached, his air surprisingly protective for a boyfriend who’d just been thoroughly bawled out.
Rhoda let out an exaggerated sigh and let the door fall open. “Whatever,” she said, pushing at Stephen’s chest rudely before she passed by him, twitching her bony hips like an alley cat on the way to the couch.
As Sonny stepped inside, she gave Stephen a tight-lipped smile, for he truly discomfited her. With his prominent cheekbones and dark blue eyes, he had the Matthews good looks, although he did his best to hide them. His hair was lanky and overlong, he was too thin for his height, and he hadn’t bothered to shave in a while.
Was this carbon copy of James more like Arlen on the inside?
She sank into the deep cushions of an old chenille recliner-the only place to sit besides the couch-that had been reupholstered liberally with duct tape. It was impossible to maintain a professional posture in a chair the consistency of marshmallow, so she gave up and leaned back, letting the cushions envelop her, folding her hands over her stomach.
She scanned the room, waiting for Stephen and Rhoda to get nervous enough to talk.
Sonny was no domestic goddess, but even she found Stephen and Rhoda’s habitation offensively cluttered. Video games, DVDs, and CDs littered the floor. The coffee table’s surface was a maze of crushed beer cans and cigarette butts. She couldn’t see the kitchen from her vantage point, but she could smell it. If Rhoda’s sole responsibility was to take care of the house, she was failing miserably.
Sonny moved her gaze to the strange pair, studying their body language. Stephen was nervous; he kept wiping his palms on the legs of his jeans. Rhoda, on the other hand, didn’t seem the least bit concerned about Sonny’s presence. She propped her skinny foot on the edge of the couch and resumed what Sonny supposed was her idea of a pedicure. She was painting intricate designs on her toenails with a black felt-tipped marker.
Sonny was familiar with the effects of crystal methamphetamines. Both Stephen and Rhoda were exhibiting classic signs of addiction, but while Rhoda was high as a kite, lost in her own mind, Stephen was sober, focused, and obviously in withdrawal.
He nudged Rhoda gently, aware that she was giving them away. “Why don’t you offer the lady something to drink?”
Rhoda stared at him like he was the world’s biggest moron. “We don’t have anything in the fridge. What do you want me to offer her, tap water?”
Stephen’s eyes darkened at her harsh tone but he didn’t say anything more.
It wasn’t difficult to understand the dynamic between these two. Like his brother, James, Stephen had probably been beaten and ridiculed his entire life. Children of abusers often chose a domestic partner who took up where the parent left off.
With her small stature and frail body, Rhoda wasn’t a physical threat. But a person didn’t have to be big to be a bully.
Sonny dug a twenty out of her pocket. Most struggling neighborhoods had liquor stores on every corner, and this area was no different. “Why don’t you go buy us something, Rhoda? You can keep the change.”
Rhoda regarded her suspiciously. “What do you want?”
“Just a bottle of water.”
Rhoda didn’t bother to ask what Stephen would have. After snatching the crisp bill from Sonny’s hand, she shoved her tweaked-out toes into a pair of chunky-heeled sandals and was out the door in a blink.
“She’ll be gone for hours,” Stephen explained.
Sonny smiled. “Good.”
He stared back at her through guarded eyes, the way a man looked at a woman he was alone with…and afraid of.
She felt her smile slip. Oh, Stephen, she thought, feeling her heart break for him a little bit. You and I are a lot alike. Grant sent her to do this interview because Stephen had been so sketchy and uncooperative at the police station. He thought Stephen would be more comfortable with a lone female. He wasn’t.
To put Stephen at ease, she would have to move to another setting, one where he felt less closed in. “Do you have a backyard?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“I could use some fresh air.”
He hesitated. “It’s kind of cluttered out there. I usually sit on the front stoop.”
She nodded, standing. “This will only take a few minutes.”
Stephen led her out front and waited for her to take a seat before he hunkered down beside her, giving her plenty of space. Sonny took out her photographs of the victims. “Do you know any of these women?”
He looked them over, pausing only on the one of Lisette. “I don’t think so.”
Sonny pointed at Lisette’s pretty face. “She and your little brother had oral sex in your closet.”
