"Maybe seeing him again will only bring back the nightmare."
She managed a laugh as she shook her head. "I had a baby from that experience, Jon. The knowledge, the memory, is etched on my brain forever.
There's no bringing back something that's always present."
She had a point. With a sigh, Jonathan waved her through the door, hoping he wouldn't regret his decision. She'd suffered so much already. He preferred to shield her, if she'd let him, but he wasn't patronizing enough to think he knew better than she did. "Have it your way."
They walked to the car in silence. Jonathan put their bags in the trunk, then slipped on his sunglasses and got behind the wheel. "Ready?" he said once he'd started the car.
She'd put on her own sunglasses and, once again, he got the impression they helped create a barrier between her and the rest of the world. "Ready."
He hesitated before shifting into Reverse. "There's one other risk."
"What's that?"
"If he's not the one, if he doesn't already know about her, he will after today."
He wished he could see what was going on behind those glasses, but he couldn't.
"I know."
Somehow Zoe had always intuitively understood that the day would come when she'd have to face Franky again--if only because she'd developed such a fear of him. His actions suggested that what he'd done hadn't been premeditated. He'd raped her because she was home alone and he was on drugs. The crime was opportunistic. At least that was the argument his attorney had claimed at his trial. Franky hadn't stalked her, and he hadn't tried to contact her afterward.
The D.A. who'd prosecuted him had even admitted that he seemed contrite once he came to his senses. But contrite held no meaning for Zoe.
She'd only been fifteen when he'd forced her into her room and pulled up her skirt. She supposed it was natural to think he'd do it again if given the chance, to fear he might start harassing her if she reminded him of her existence.
They stopped at the curb in front of his mother's house and the radio fell silent as Jonathan cut the engine. Zoe wiped her sweaty palms on her dress and reached for the door latch.
Jonathan stopped her. "Why don't I go up first?"
"No," she said and got out.
The house wasn't really a house. It was one-half of a duplex in a run-down part of town. The yard had no plants, just patches of crabgrass where foot traffic hadn't worn it into the dirt. An old couch sat on the front porch. It sagged in the middle and had an ashtray on one arm.
"How long has his mother lived here?" she murmured as Jonathan came up behind her.
"Deed I pulled up said she bought it in '64, so...a while. Why was Franky at your father's?"
"His girlfriend lived in the park, in unit 5."
"And he busted into your father's trailer because he knew you were there?"
"No. Initially, I don't think it had anything to do with me. He was stoned and looking for more drugs."
"Your father was selling at that time?"
"He certainly wasn't working a regular job."
"Gotcha."
When he lifted his hand to ring the doorbell, she nearly stopped him.
She needed another minute to prepare herself. But Sam was out there somewhere. She didn't have the luxury of extra time, so she made no move.
A shrunken woman, no more than five feet tall and maybe eighty years old, came to the door wearing a pair of bifocals, a purple polyester shirt with matching pants and orthopedic shoes.
"Mrs. Bates?"
Jonathan did the talking. Zoe's mouth had gone too dry to speak.
The woman at the door glanced from one to the other. "I'm Eva Norris, Sandra Bates's mother."
"We're looking for Franky."
Her eyes, the color of melted chocolate, grew darker with worry.
"What do you want with him?"
"A young girl's gone missing. We'd like to see if he knows anything about it."
"He couldn't," she said. "He wouldn't jeopardize his freedom. He's straightened out."
"We just want to talk to him," Jonathan said. "Can you tell us where to find him?"
She didn't answer.
"A child's life is in danger," he emphasized.
Her gaze shifted to some point behind them, far away on the horizon.
Then she yelled into the house. "Franky!"
The answer was immediate. "What, Gran?"
"Get out here."
This was the moment. Zoe was about to come face-to-face with Sam's father. The man who'd raped her.
Filled with sudden panic, she longed to grab Jonathan's hand but didn't. She had Anton to think of. She had to do this on her own.
He glanced at her, no doubt checking to see how she was holding up.
But there was no time to speak. A second later, Franky Bates stood behind his shriveled "gran" and Zoe couldn't breathe. He looked completely different than she remembered--taller, broader, better groomed. And the shape of his mouth and chin! It was so much like Sam's!
"What's up?" He questioned Jonathan first, even accepted a business card but didn't look at it. His gaze traveled to her, then his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in disbelief.
"What are you doing here?" he breathed, his cheeks mottled.
Jonathan spoke before Zoe could respond. "I'm a private investigator from Sacramento. I'm here to--"
"Did you take her?" Zoe cut in, too impatient to wait through the explanation.
He raised his eyebrows. "Take who?"
"My daughter." She wasn't remotely tempted to say our daughter, despite the marked resemblance....
He lifted both hands as if she held a gun. "I don't know what you're talking about. I did you wrong thirteen years ago. I--I've often hoped I'd have the opportunity to apologize for that, to tell you I'm sorry. Really sorry."
She was finally able to draw enough breath to respond, but he pressed on before she could summon the words.
"I don't expect you to forgive me, but...there wasn't a day in prison that I didn't regret it. I was messed up or I never would've done it." No doubt his grandmother heard the contrition in his voice because she put her arm around him, and he acknowledged the gesture with a sad smile. "I'm not saying that as an excuse, but I served my time, and--and I'm hoping for a second chance."
"Have you been to northern California since you got out?" Jonathan asked.
"No." He shook his head, adamant. "I haven't been anywhere but here.
Ask Gran. My grandpa passed away ten days ago. The funeral was last week. Since then I've been looking for work." He pointed at a relatively new Ford F-150 parked in the driveway. "Gramps left me his truck so I could continue applying for jobs--you know, get a start. That's all I been doin.'"