The Perfect Couple (2 page)

"I know, babe. But you're stronger than you realize. You belong to me, don't you? Every thought you think, every move you make, all comes from me, and I've trained you well."

She knew he was too possessive, but she considered herself lucky. It made her feel attractive, desired, secure in his love. He took her to the tattoo parlor every once in a while to have his name tattooed on a different part of her body. So far, both breasts, her ass and the inside of her thighs said,

"Colin's." But she didn't mind. He wouldn't bother with the time and expense involved if she wasn't an important part of his life. Only people who tried to contest his will ran into problems.

Shivering, she remembered the incident that had finally brought their relationship with Rover to an end. It was the boy's own fault, she told herself. He knew Colin, knew what he demanded. If Rover had obeyed, as usual, it might've hurt for a while but he would've recovered. There wouldn't have been any reason to kill him.

Instead, she was driving to a remote location to dump his corpse.

"What should we have for dinner tonight?" she asked, hoping a change in topic would make Colin respond favorably.

"I don't know. I have to get back to that meeting."

"Okay." She was still on her own with this terrible assignment. But at least she'd been able to connect with Colin, to get instruction. "Good luck."

"Thanks for watching my back, Tiff. I'm gonna show you how much I love you tonight," he said and hung up.

She smiled as she dropped her phone in her purse. With Rover gone, 11

they'd be alone at last, the way Tiffany liked it best. She knew she was stupid to get jealous of her husband's toys--or pets, as he called them--but she didn't like how much he seemed to enjoy some of the stuff he made them do. Especially the boys. They satisfied him more than she could, even with the fake boobs and the tattoos and the dangerous domination games they'd begun to play. Sometimes she got the impression she was just for looks, part of his image, a trophy for his lawyer friends to envy.

But that couldn't be true. Colin shared everything with her, including his pets. Rover had been doing the housework for weeks.

Drying her tears, she turned up the volume on the radio and began to sing along. This wouldn't be difficult. She'd head past the rented cabin where they'd once spent Thanksgiving before Colin's dad had bought his own place. Then she'd pull deep into the woods and roll the body out onto the ground. When that was done, she'd drive to the grocery store and get the ingredients to make her husband a romantic dinner. She'd let Colin chain her up and whip her afterward, really get into it. If she was lucky, he'd forget all about Rover and forgive her for bothering him at the office.

She was almost herself by the time she found what appeared to be a safe location. She hadn't heard Rover since he'd cried out for his parents. He had to be dead. She'd seen what her husband had done to him.

But he wasn't. When she opened the trunk, he jumped out at her. With his left eye swollen shut, his lip busted and ugly cuts and black bruises darkening his bare white skin, the boy resembled some kind of monster gone wild. He knocked her to the ground, but he didn't attack her. He ran faster than she'd ever dreamed possible, sobbing for help as he went.

He was so loud, she dared not follow. After scrambling to get back in the car, she tore off, ignoring the groaning of the BMW's struts when she raced over one bump or another. The car didn't matter. She had to get out of sight before Rover attracted someone's attention.

And then she had to think of a way to break the news to Colin.

12

Samantha Duncan had never been so bored in her life. She'd thought it would be neat to skip school. But any "fun" had ended the first week. With her mother working all day, Sam found it too quiet and lonely at home.

Especially this home. Although it was by far the best house they'd ever lived in, she no longer cared about the "amenities," as her mother called them. She felt like excess baggage--an inconvenience Anton Lucassi tolerated for the privilege of sleeping in her mother's bed.

But she didn't want to think about that. It gave her a stomachache on top of the fatigue. She needed to "occupy her mind with something constructive"--another saying her mother had picked up after hanging around with Lucassi. What exactly that should be, they never explained. But she needed to figure out some form of entertainment. It was only Monday.

She wasn't sure how she'd get through another four days until the weekend, rambling around the place on her own. The fact that there'd be a third week and then a fourth of the same misery nearly brought her to tears. The kids slaving away at school were the lucky ones.

The telephone rang. Lifting her head from the chaise, she shaded her eyes against the glare coming off the pool and groaned--it was her mother's fiance. Again. Anton was such an uptight freak. What did he want this time?

She almost didn't answer, but she knew he'd call back if she didn't.

"Why'd my mother have to get with you?" she grumbled and pressed the Talk button. "Hello?" She used a sleepy voice, hoping to convince him he'd awakened her from a nap, but he didn't seem to care.

"Sam?"

Did he expect someone else to be answering his phone? "Yes?"

"You're not leaving the TV projector on all day, are you?"

That was why he'd called? "No."

"Good. The bulb doesn't last very long, and they cost over three hundred dollars to replace."

"I didn't know that," she said. But it was just her way of being a smartass without getting in trouble for it. He'd told her about the bulb at least a hundred times. He had her mother so nervous she'd break his stupid projector that Zoe had bought Sam her own DVD player and asked her not to even use his TV. Fortunately, Sam liked movies. She liked to read, too.

But it'd be nice to watch a TV show to break up the monotony. It wasn't as if 13

she had an unlimited source of movies and books.

"It's not a toy," he was saying.

Did she treat it like a toy? "Got it."

"So, what are you doing?"

"Not destroying anything."

"What?"

She'd mumbled the words because she knew it wouldn't be smart to let him hear. "I said I was sleeping."

Again, he ignored the opportunity to apologize for disturbing her.

"You're not out by the pool, are you?"

Was there something wrong with that, too? "Actually, I am. I thought I might as well tan while I slept."

"Don't get any oil on the cushions of those lounge chairs."

"They were expensive," she mouthed as he said the words, and rolled over in disgust. "I'm not using any oil."

"You're not upset, are you? Just because I'm trying to teach you to take care of personal property?"

He'd noticed her tone. Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused her energy on hiding the irritation that made her want to scream, "Go away and never talk to me again!" She would've done it if not for her mom. Zoe was so excited to finally have something and be someone. Samantha didn't want to ruin it for her; she'd already ruined enough just by being born. "I'm not upset."

"Good girl. Have you heard from your mother?"

Not half as often as she heard from him, although Zoe's calls were far more welcome. "She checks on me when she can. If the people at her work weren't such jerks, we'd be able to talk more." Her mother had tried to stop by for lunch last week and nearly been fired because the length of the drive had made her late.

"They're not jerks. That's the real world, Sam. She has to be responsible to her employers, just as you'll have to be responsible to your employers someday."

Thanks for the lecture. How did her mother put up with this guy?

"Sam?" he said when she didn't answer.

"I'm here. But...I'm really tired."

"Okay, I'll let you go back to sleep."

"Thanks. By the way, I turned off all the lights in the house." She was making fun of him again, but he didn't get it.

"Glad to know you're listening. I'll see you later." Not later enough for her, but she forced herself to end the conversation on a positive note, mostly 14

because she thought it was funny to be overly polite.

"Thanks for calling." She smiled. He had no clue how she really felt about him, or that she understood exactly how he really felt about her, despite what he pretended to her mom.

As she hung up, she was distracted by the sound of a door opening and closing in the neighbors' backyard. Tiffany and Colin Bell weren't normally home during the day.

Drawn by signs of life beyond her own lonely existence, Samantha got up and crossed the freshly mowed grass. Still weak from mono, she walked slowly, but she could tell she was getting stronger. The doctor said she'd be back to her old self soon. She was almost two weeks into what he called a "four-week cycle," whatever that meant. As long as she could return to school, she didn't care.

She managed to reach the fence. She could already hear Anton scolding her for stepping into the flower bed the gardeners had planted a month ago, but purposely ignored the fact that it would make him mad. It was because of this stupid flower bed, and all the others in the yard, that she'd had to give up her dog to that family Anton had found. She still couldn't believe her mom had gone along with that.

Hoping whoever had come outside hadn't gone back in, she peered through a knothole. The wife of the attractive couple she occasionally spoke to out front was there. But Tiffany Bell wasn't dressed for work as she'd expected. An employee at some nursing home, she usually wore a uniform--

a cheery floral smock with blue scrubs and squishy white nurse's shoes.

Today, she had on a holey pair of jeans, some grubby tennis shoes and a Tshirt tight enough to make her boobs look even bigger than they did beneath her nursing smock.

"I bet those are fake," Sam muttered, glancing down at her own flat chest. At thirteen, there was no reason to give up hope, but she didn't seem to be developing very fast. While her best friend, Marti Seacrest, was already a B-cup, Sam didn't even need a bra. Her mother called her a "late bloomer," as if it wasn't a big deal. But the boys at school ignored late bloomers. Any guys who bothered to notice her called her Brainiac, but they didn't stare at her the way they did Marti.

"What am I gonna do?" Tiffany moaned.

Samantha looked around the yard. She didn't see anyone else. Could Tiffany be talking to her?

"Excuse me?" she said.

Tiffany's head jerked toward her so fast Samantha could almost hear the bones in her neck crack. "Who is it? Who's there?"

15

Sam immediately realized her error, but it was too late. Palms against the rough wood of the fence, she leaned closer. She could see Tiffany's body but not much of her face. Her neighbor was standing in the shade of the patio cover. "It's me. Sam. I'm home from school today. Actually, I've been staying home for a while."

"Why?"

"I've been sick."

"You seem okay to me."

"I'm getting better."

"So what are you doing, staring through the fence?"

"I'm bored." She missed her friends. She missed her mother even more.

Tiffany didn't answer. She remained on the porch, clicking her nails.

Sam couldn't hear it, but she could see the motion of her fingers.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"What makes you think something's wrong?"

Not only was Tiffany acting strange, she was dressed like a bum. She never grubbed out. She always wore stylish, name-brand jeans, heels, nice sweaters or pretty summer blouses.

"You seem...nervous. And you're not usually home this time of day."

Her neighbor raised her voice. "You know my schedule?"

"Not really. I--"

"You just said I'm not usually home this time of day."

"Because...don't you work?"

"You tell me, since you seem to be keeping track."

"I'm not keeping track of anything," Sam said.

"Then what makes you think I'm nervous?"

Sam could feel it. But she could also tell that she was somehow saying all the wrong things. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you."

"Wait!"

She wasn't interested in talking anymore, but Tiffany's voice caught her before she could step away.

"How long have you been staying home from school?"

The suspicion in those words made Sam uneasy. She'd heard that tone from adults before, generally from Anton since he'd come into their lives.

But Sam hadn't "misbehaved." She closed one eye to see through the knothole more clearly. "For the past ten days or so."

Her neighbor moved outside the shadow of the patio cover. In the sunlight, Samantha could see that Tiffany had been crying. Mascara ran from her eyes, which were red and puffy.

16

At least now she understood why her usually very nice neighbor was acting so weird. No one liked to be seen crying. "Can I help?" she asked.

Tiffany crossed the lawn. The Bells didn't own a pool or even a barbecue. "How often do you do this?"

"Do what?"

She motioned toward her house. "Watch us."

Her alarm increased. "I don't...watch you."

"You were just staring at me through the fence, weren't you?"

"No. Not really. I mean, I heard you come outside and I was bored, so..." She cleared her throat. "I thought I'd say hi."

Tiffany was close now, close enough that Samantha could see a dark-red substance smeared on her shirt. It looked like...blood. Had she cut herself? Maybe that was why she'd been crying.

"Are you hurt?"

Tiffany's eyes narrowed. "No."

Sam nibbled at her bottom lip. "That's not blood?"

Her neighbor glanced down, staggered to the side and rubbed her forehead. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit! I--I didn't realize!"

"Do you need help?"

"I can't...I don't know what to do. It's been a bad day. A very bad day."

"I could call the paramedics."

"No, don't call anyone!" Fresh tears made new tracks in her mascara.

"Just tell my husband I...he needs to come home."