Page 48 of Forever Gone

“I saw Rick the next day.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“You picked a fight with him because he was Kelly’s boyfriend. You ruined his face and embarrassed him because he got his ass handed to him by a guy two years younger.”

Connor glanced at her. “Ruined is a strong word.”

“He needed stitches.”

“He still had all his teeth.”

Selena shook her head, though the corner of her mouth moved. “You’re impossible.”

“It did feel good.”

“We couldn’t all handle our problems that way, Connor.”

“I think part of you liked it when I did.”

Selena sighed. “Teenage girls are easily captivated by boys who can handle themselves. Then they grow up and realize it normally spells trouble.”

“It wasn’t always trouble.”

Selena’s expression changed. “Wasn’t it?”

The question cut deeper than Connor expected.

He returned his full attention to the road. A row of mailboxes appeared ahead, followed by the turn onto Mercer Lane. He took it without speaking.

Selena remained quiet, too.

Their marriage had contained good years. He knew that. Mornings before work when she sat barefoot at the kitchen table reading case files. Late drives with no destination because neither wanted to go home yet. Her laughter in the hallway when he tried to hang shelves and put three holes in the wrong wall.

It had also contained arguments, absences, and the accusation that finally broke them. Connor did not look forward to them going over that old ground one day. He knew that day was coming. And it was coming fast. But it was not this day.

Connor pulled up outside a pale blue house with a narrow front porch. A silver sedan occupied one side of the driveway. The missing vehicle, according to Phil’s report, was a white Toyota Corolla.

He shifted into park and reached for the door.

Selena placed her fingers lightly against his forearm.

Connor stopped.

“It wasn’t all bad,” she said.

He nodded without turning toward her.

“Okay.”

The pressure lifted from his arm.

Connor got out.

A short garden path led between two patches of grass that had gone brown at the edges. Plastic toys were stacked beside the porch steps, though the report listed no children living at the address. Probably a niece or nephew visited from time to time. A ceramic shark sat among the flowerpots, its painted mouth open.

Connor knocked.

A man in his early thirties opened the door almost at once. He was thin, with sandy hair standing unevenly above his forehead and several days of beard growth along his jaw. A faded Jaws T-shirt hung over his jeans. Worry had hollowed the skin beneath his eyes.