C
aroline Hughes left her husband on a scorching Monday in September. It was just after nine o’clock in the morning, but already the cobblestone streets of Georgetown shimmered under a heat so intense it made breathing difficult and thinking almost impossible.

She stepped outside and paused, as though she had nothing more important to decide than which direction to take the dog on his morning walk. She had rehearsed this moment in her mind a thousand times.

Porter was watching from his office window.

The heat from the red brick sidewalk worked its way up through the thin soles of Caroline’s Keds and beyond, to the thick layer of currency she had stashed inside. Mostly hundreds, with some twenties mixed in. Four thousand dollars in all.

She looked right and then left. Pippin tugged at his leash, dancing around on the hot sidewalk.

“Okay, handsome, now or never,” Caroline spoke softly to the dog. Her hands shook so badly she nearly
dropped the leash. She glanced at the ground-floor window of their townhouse. Inside, she knew, he had a good view of her from his leather wing-backed chair.

Caroline forced a smile to her lips and gave a quick nod. It was their signal. Which meant she had twenty minutes. She forced herself to saunter the short distance to the end of the block. She turned left onto Wisconsin Avenue, Georgetown’s main thoroughfare. Once around the corner she quickened her pace, walking more swiftly now but not fast enough to attract attention.

The Yorkshire terrier trotted, ears erect, happy to be out.

Reaching into the slender pocket of her Capri pants, she pulled out her and Porter’s passports. She pushed them deep into an overflowing waste can and kept walking. If her passport was missing he might think she had traveled overseas. Keeping it with her brought a risk of identification that she could not afford. Tossing his bought her time.

Caroline Hughes had just made herself disappear.

The bills inside her sneakers slipped against her bare feet, and bunched around her insteps. Halfway down the block, she hailed a cab, her breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. She had gone far enough that he wouldn’t see brake lights even if he walked out onto the front stoop right now. Not that he would have reason to do so.

She reached for the door, half expecting Porter to grab her from behind before she could get in. Her sweat-slicked hand slipped from the handle. She tried again, heart pounding so hard blood roared in her ears. She scooped Pippin up and climbed in, her arms and legs shaking like rubber. She exhaled as her cab headed down Wisconsin to M Street and into Foggy Bottom, a
short distance she had walked many times. Every second counted now.

Caroline ducked her head, letting her long brown hair fall forward like a curtain around her face. The driver paid her no attention, speaking rapid-fire Farsi into a walkie-talkie mounted on the dash.

Pippin scrambled to find his footing on the seat beside her. He let out a small whine, as though he, too, was afraid.

From her pocket, Caroline withdrew a small package of aluminum foil and unwrapped a wad of cream cheese. It contained a pill from the vet, left over from a supply given last year to help Pippin sleep on an airline flight. She had six more in reserve.

“Bottoms up, friend,” she whispered. “We’re free.”

The Yorkie took one sniff and gobbled it down.

She peeled two bills from the stack inside her sneaker as the cab slowed to a halt. Two twenties, already damp with sweat. Head down, she pushed a twenty over the seat and placed the other in her back pocket. She counted the change and gave the driver a good tip. Not too big. Nothing that would attract attention.

She scooped the dog into her arms and entered CVS. Collecting a basket, she made straight for the hair care aisle. She chose a box of hair dye and added scissors, a comb, and a small bottle of shampoo before moving on. Next she picked up toothpaste and a toothbrush on her way to the sundries aisle, praying the zippered beach totes would still be on sale. They were. She grabbed one, along with a pair of oversized sunglasses and a floppy hat before heading to the baby aisle to get a small bowl for Pippin’s food. To this she added a package of dog food, bottled water, and several packs of cheese and crackers, even though the thought of food nauseated her.

She waited in line to pay, hoping the other customers couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart. Despite the soaring temperature outside, her hands had turned cold and clammy. Her mouth was dry, making it difficult to swallow. She hoped she wouldn’t faint. At least there wasn’t much worry of seeing anyone she knew. She had no real friends in Washington, D.C. Porter’s business acquaintances would be working at this hour.

But she was wrong.

“Well, howdy neighbor.”

Caroline’s heart sank at the cheery greeting. The one and only neighbor Caroline called a friend had just entered the drugstore.

“Don’t mind me, I’m out for my morning power walk, and right now, I’m a sweaty mess,” Lindsay Crowley exclaimed in her deep Southern twang.

Which was so not true that Caroline couldn’t hold back a weak smile of her own, despite the fact that she was in the biggest crisis of her entire life and had no time to stop and chat. Even in hundred-degree heat with humidity to match, not a single strand of Lindsay’s perfect coif had come undone. Lindsay was from Houston, where, Caroline supposed, they made a science of taming frizz. The thought made her glance involuntarily down at the box of hair dye in her basket.

Lindsay’s gaze followed. “Now, honey, don’t tell me you came all the way down here to run errands in this heat. And dragged Lover Boy with you.” She reached down to pat Pippin, who wagged his tail.

Caroline glanced nervously at her watch and shifted her basket from one arm to the other. She’d met Lindsay Crowley on M Street one day when she was out taking Pippin for his walk. The older woman was dressed in de
signer coordinates, was perfectly made up, and practically fell out of her dainty mules at the sight of the Yorkie.

Caroline had liked her on sight.

But every second counted now and there was no going back. Caroline cleared her throat. “Um, we have to get going.”

Lindsay straightened, bouncing on to the balls of her cross-trainers. “If you’ve got a minute, I’ll grab a bottle of water and we can go back home together.” She dropped her voice a notch and leaned in, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “In fact, let’s share a cab. My treat. Who can exercise in this heat?”

Caroline took a step away. “Thanks, but we’re headed…” Her voice trailed off as she cringed inside. Where on earth would she be going with the dog in this heat first thing in the morning? Stupid, stupid, she thought, hunching her shoulders and edging away.

But Lindsay was either too polite or too thirsty to press the offer, giving Caroline a cheery wave before turning to scan the signs above the aisles for bottled water.

She didn’t have to wait long for a register. When she reached the front of the line, Caroline placed her items on the counter, careful to avoid eye contact.

The clerk’s voice came out loud, booming. “Time for a whole new you, I guess.”

Caroline flinched.

Smiling, the clerk tapped the box of hair dye.

Flustered, Caroline had visions of private investigators passing themselves off as D.C. cops, asking the counter clerks if a young woman had recently purchased items of interest. She wondered whether Lindsay was nearby, within earshot. She didn’t have the nerve to turn and look. She forced herself to smile. “It’s for a friend,
not me.” She licked her lips and tried to swallow, aware that it sounded like a lie. “My best friend sprained her wrist. I’m helping her touch up her roots.” Best friend. It sounded so normal.

“You’re a good friend,” the cashier said, counting out change. “You tell your friend to stay out of this heat now till she’s feeling better.”

“I sure will.” Caroline took the bag and left. The sidewalk pulsed with a heat so intense the top of her head ached. She tore the tag off the sunglasses, put them on, and looked around. She half expected to see Porter, waiting to take her home. But the only soul braving the heat was an elderly man in a straw bowler, taking slow, deliberate steps down Pennsylvania Avenue. She donned the hat, tucked her hair up inside, and rearranged the contents of the CVS bag so there was enough room on top for the dog.

“Sorry, friend,” she said, scooping him up and piling him on top.

She hailed a cab.

Within seconds a taxi appeared, swerving across two lanes of traffic to reach her. Caroline clambered in, directing the driver to First and L streets. She checked her watch as they headed east. Twenty-three minutes had passed. She’d been spotted by a neighbor, and that put her a few minutes behind schedule. But there was nothing she could do about that.

Porter would be growing impatient. Staring out his office window. Rubbing his jaw. Twenty minutes remained until the end of his patient’s session. Then he would have just fifteen minutes free until his next patient arrived.

Caroline tried to push the thought away and hunched
lower against the backseat. She put Pippin on the floor of the cab, pulled the cheap tote out of the CVS bag, removed the price tag, and placed all her purchases inside. Plenty of room left for Pippin.

The Yorkie panted, watching her. The drug was taking effect. She was tempted to offer him water, but knew better. Greyhound didn’t allow pets.

Dr. Porter Moross stared out his office window, his sense of unease growing with each moment. His wife was allocated twenty minutes to walk her dog. That was the amount of time they had agreed upon. Today she was late. Ten minutes already. That never happened. A woman with long brown hair walked past, and for an instant his heart leaped. But the woman was not his wife. His stomach curled and contracted until it twisted into a tight ball, leaving him nauseated. The feeling dated back to his childhood, and Porter’s knowledge of that didn’t help.

His first patient was lying on the couch. There was no sound from the upper floors of the historic townhouse he shared with his wife and her dog. Caroline was gone. His wife had left him. Porter knew it with absolute certainty. The knot in his stomach didn’t lie.

The man on the couch fell silent. The sudden stillness in the room startled Porter, and brought his attention back to his office. Keeping the window in view, Porter glanced at his desk clock. This never happened. She understood very well what it meant. Now he’d have to punish her.

“So?” The tone was plaintive, demanding. The man on the couch was a second-term U.S. senator.

Porter frowned.

The senator fluttered his hand for emphasis. “I know this isn’t about you or what you think, but I had to ask.”

Porter had no idea what the senator was talking about. A figure appeared in the window, and Porter’s heart leaped like a small child awaiting the return of his mother. But the woman on the sidewalk was not Caroline.

Porter’s stomach clinched even tighter. She had betrayed him. He took a deep breath to stop the wave of panic. He gripped the edge of his wing chair and shifted in his seat. “You’re right,” he said carefully. “This isn’t about me.”

The senator glanced at his watch.

“We have three minutes remaining,” Porter said in a well-modulated voice. “But I’d like to explore this further and we’re almost out of time. I want you to hold that thought and we’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

The senator considered a moment before swinging his feet over the edge of the couch. He sat up and donned his suit jacket.

Porter kept a steady watch out the window. “See you tomorrow.” Outside, he knew, the man’s chauffeur waited to whisk him back to Capitol Hill.

Once Porter heard the street door click shut, he bounded up the steep staircase to the living quarters above.

He quickly searched the residence, even though he knew she was gone. His heart labored under a great weight as he walked through the place, deserted except for the antiques he had spent years collecting at private auctions. All for the purpose of making his home, their home, beautiful. The polished pieces of pecan and walnut, the horsehair sofa, mocked him now. The only sound was the hum of the air-conditioning pack they
had installed last year, at great expense, in the crawl space at the top of the old house.

He stamped his foot and let out a low growl of frustration. But these sounds somehow made it worse by confirming his fear. She was gone and she wasn’t coming back. Porter shook his head in a useless attempt to quell the panic rising in his gut. He checked his watch again. His next patient would arrive in twelve minutes.

In the entry hall, he removed the phone from its charger atop a gleaming mahogany secretary’s desk. He speed-dialed their private voice mail. No messages. He speed-dialed the garage where they kept the Saab.

“Dr. Moross calling. Has my wife been down today?”

“Haven’t seen her, Dr. Moross. Shall I bring the car around for her?”

“No,” Porter replied quickly. “There’s a problem with the car.” He paused. “A safety issue.”

“I see, sir.”

“I don’t want to alarm my wife. If she comes in to get the car, you need to call me at once. It’s urgent.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Or if anybody comes in with her. Is that clear? Under no circumstances are you to release the vehicle.” Porter was aware of the edge in his voice. But he couldn’t help himself.

“Very good, sir. As you wish. I’ll make a note of it for the afternoon shift, sir.”

“Thank you. And be sure to call me if she comes in.”

“Very good, Doctor.”

Porter hung up. Caroline’s Louis Vuitton purse was in the sitting room. Her scent drifted from it. Gardenia, mixed with the mint smell of chewing gum. He found her wallet inside, plus tampons, brush, lipstick, gum,
and several crumbling dog treats. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. He had explained to her many times the dog treats would ruin the lining. He dumped the contents of the wallet on the floor. Seventy-one dollars in cash fluttered out, along with her ATM card and credit cards. Her driver’s license was there as well. All of which should mean she had gone for a long walk.

BOOK: A Dark Love

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