“Yes,” I reply while holding her gaze. It’s the correct answer to all three possibilities.
She glides close and eases up on her toes to plant a kiss on my cheek. “Thanks. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Glad to be here,” I reply as she lingers with her shoulder brushing up against me.
She smiles and steps away. “Drink?”
“Bourbon?”
“I’ll join you,” she purrs before she steps over to a bar, takes two crystal tumblers off a shelf, and fills them from a bottle of Knob Creek bourbon. It’s a brand I used to indulge in back when I was pulling down a corporate lawyer’s ransom. She hands one drink to me, and we touch glasses before taking a sip. It’s spicy, sweet, and smooth as melted butter, a definite step up from my usual Maker’s Mark bourbon—which comes as a surprise after I’d convinced myself that I can’t tell the difference between it and premium bourbon. Maybe being with Trish just makes everything better.
“To good friends and good times,” she says while peering up at me over the rim of her glass.
“Indeed,” I reply hoarsely to the promise in her eyes.
Her eyes linger on mine for a long moment before she smiles and sets her drink down on a nearby glass coffee table. “I’m going to go freshen up a bit. Back in a minute,” she says over her shoulder as she sways away.
My imagination edges into overdrive as I watch her slip into what appears to be a bedroom no more than fifteen or twenty feet away. I settle at one end of a supple wine-colored fabric sofa, pull my phone out from where it’s digging into my butt, and give in to a niggling voice that has been nagging at the back of my mind even as thoughts of Trish fill my head. I’m surprised to see a couple of new text messages and a missed call from Pat. Nothing from Brittany. The red voicemail icon is flashing. Shit. I can’t not check in. Hopefully, Trish won’t walk back in while I do.
Pat’s voice is filled with worry when I listen to her voicemail. It’s thirty-five minutes old. “Why aren’t you answering? Having both of you out of reach is making me crazy.”
Which means she still hasn’t heard from Brittany. I scroll through the text messages. Same story. The most recent one was sent ten minutes ago. Not good. I think of my date “freshening up” only several feet away. Why now with the Brittany drama? I wonder as Trish emerges.
“What’s the matter?” she asks as she settles close beside me on the sofa with her warm thigh touching mine.
“Brittany still hasn’t been heard from.”
“Hmmm.” She lifts my wrist and looks at the face of my Rolex watch. “You’re worried,” she says when her eyes come back to mine. Hers are soft and warm. Concerned… with maybe just a hint of the disappointment I feel lurking beneath the worry.
I nod, taking note that she hasn’t returned in a slinky nightgown or a robe with nothing beneath it. Whatever “freshening up” entailed isn’t obvious, not that she needed to do anything to improve on how lovely she looks tonight.
Trish’s hand slides from my watch to my hand and squeezes reassuringly. “Call.”
Our eyes telegraph a mutual hope that the call will put the matter of the missing Brittany to bed for tonight.
“Tony!” Pat exclaims in relief. “Is she there?”
I again assume she means our house on Liberty Street. “I’m not home,” I remind her.
Pat is silent for a moment before she blurts, “Where the hell are you, then?”
“With a friend.”
“She’s still not answering her phone or my text messages,” Pat anxiously announces after a beat. “Did you know that your land line is out of service?”
“We don’t have it anymore, Pat. I got rid of it when we gave Papa Britt’s old phone.”
“Oh. I called Bobby’s parents, and he isn’t answering, either.”
What are those two up to? Drugs? An accident? Who knows what other trouble kids get themselves into nowadays?
“Maybe she needs you and went to the house to see you,” Pat says impatiently. “I thought you’d check after we spoke earlier.”
I probably should have. I swallow a little bubble of guilt. What if Brittany went home and ran into one of Joe’s boys, or Joe himself? “I’ll go now,” I announce, and wince at the disappointment that seeps into Trish’s eyes.
She lays her head on my shoulder after I end the call and looks up at me. “Maybe I’ll come with?”
There’s no time to explain the many ways in which that’s a bad idea. I lift Trish’s chin with a fingertip and look into her eyes. “Any other time that would be a wonderful idea, just not tonight. There’s some dangerous stuff going on around our place that I won’t expose you to. Lame as this sounds, can I have a rain check?”
She gives me an ineffably sad smile and nods.
Does she think I’m bullshitting her? I take her face in both hands. “I promise you, Trish. I hate that this is happening tonight. It’s just… complicated, and I don’t have time to explain.”
I can tell that she wants to believe, but there’s hurt somewhere in the depths of her eyes that won’t let her.
I cradle her face gently. “Did you see the news about the retired cop who was shot and killed in Cedar Heights a couple of weeks ago?”
She nods with a look of confusion, as if to ask what on earth that has to do with us tonight. “I heard something, but you know I don’t follow the news.”
I’d forgotten. “That happened at our house, Trish. It’s not over yet.”
Her eyes pop wide open. “Oh my God!” she exclaims as she pulls away, bounces to her feet, and pulls me up after her. “Your daughter could be in danger?”
I nod.
She throws her arms around my neck and holds me close with her frightened body quivering against mine for a
