The Stolen - Jason Pinter [48]
as always. I jogged to the intercom and released the door
lock, then did another once-over of the apartment to
make sure no dust bunnies--or actual bunnies--were
hiding from view.
In the minute I had before Amanda got to the door, I
considered how to answer it. Suave, with a Rhett Butleresque baritone in my voice? Should I leave the door unlatched, sit on the couch and try to act nonchalant? Maybe
greet her with a glass of water, or wine? A plate of cheese?
A half-eaten Snickers bar from my nightstand?
Then I remembered it was Amanda. She wasn't impressed by overdone gestures. She'd spent years of her life
sizing people up in mere seconds, a habit brought on by
her adoption after the death of her parents. She was a
better judge of character than anyone I'd ever known. She
could tell who was real and who wanted you to believe
they were real. I'd been nothing but real during our relationship. And even though I doubted we'd ever be together
again, I couldn't stop being that. She saw past it. And I
didn't want her to look any further.
The doorbell rang. I cleared my throat--the least I
could do was talk to her phlegm-free--and answered it.
She was dressed in fitted jeans, a gray T-shirt and a thin
red cardigan. Her hair spilled gently over her shoulders.
It was a few seconds before I realized how much I'd
missed seeing her, cataloging her beauty on a daily basis.
I threw the thoughts from my head, and said, "Hey."
"Hey, yourself." She was holding two cups of coffee,
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and offered me one. "I figured you'd forget to brew a pot.
Milk and three hundred Splendas, right?"
I smiled. "Perfect. I was kind of hoping my teeth might
jitter all night. Come on in."
She entered the apartment, looked around. "Looks
good," she said. "It's been a while. I was kind of expecting a bear to attack me, or some sort of underwear monster
to run across the room."
"The underwear monster doesn't come out until the
sock monster goes to sleep."
"I'm going to ignore you now."
She walked around to the couch, sat down, placed her
coffee on the small marble table, already ringed with many
old coffee cup stains, including a few that were most likely
from Amanda's cups and had never been cleaned.
"This place missed you," I said, then felt silly for saying
it.
"Really? It probably has enough festering life forms
hiding that it did tell you that."
"Yeah, the comforter and I, we chat sometimes."
"If cleanliness is next to godliness, I think this makes
you the Antichrist."
I laughed, took a sip of the coffee. Then we sat in
silence for a moment.
"So Gray Talbot," she said, thankfully breaking the
tension. "What does he have to do with Michelle and
Daniel?"
"I did a bit of a background check on the senator," I
said. "Found a few interesting facts."
"Let me guess. This was after Wallace told you to let it
be."
"Naturally. Anyway, in 2001, after Michelle Oliveira
disappeared from Meriden, Gray Talbot swooped in like
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an avenging angel and pretty much scorched the earth. He
lambasted the government of Connecticut, the social
services offices, the police force, criticized them all for
betraying the families that lived within their borders. He
said it was a sad day when an out-of-stater had to come in
because the job wasn't being done right. And Talbot saved
his best blasts for then Governor John Rowland."
"Rowland," Amanda said. "That name rings a bell."
"It should. John Rowland resigned from office as
governor of the state of Connecticut in 2004 due to charges
of massive corruption. Mail fraud, tax fraud, he even
served ten months in a federal prison."
"And this guy was running the state when Michelle
disappeared?"
"Kind of like having a crack addict babysit your
children. Rowland was skimming money for numerous
personal projects that had nothing to do with the state. He
took state money and paid for improvements to his
weekend cottage, took thousands of dollars in gifts from
his subcontractors. Of course, after prison he did the