Jeanne Stein - The Watcher

Dan pauses a moment before speaking. He keeps his eyes on the road, but his grip on the steering wheel tightens. "His name is Alan Rothman. He's a construction worker. He and I did some jobs together a few years back. He seemed a nice enough guy. Good at his job, friendly. Sylvie had just graduated from college and gotten a job at a local bank. She didn't have many friends here so I introduced them."

His breath catches. He stops and collects himself. "I introduced them. That's the hell of it. They dated awhile, got married. Everything was fine at first. Then he started getting jealous—of Sylvie's work, of her friends, of me, for Christ's sake. We used to go to lunch once a week. One day, she didn't show up. When I called the bank, they said she hadn't been in for two days. I went to the house."

Another pause, another sharp intake of breath. I remain quiet. When he can continue, he does. "I found her. So badly beaten she could hardly speak. I took her to the hospital. That's when I found out it wasn't her first visit. I knew one of the nurses. She told me Sylvie had been to the ER twice in the last month. A sprained wrist, cracked ribs. She hid it all from me."

His sorrow is so acute it infects me, too. In a different way. A quiet rage begins to build. "When did this happen?"

Dan drags a hand across his eyes. "A month ago. When she was well enough to be released from the hospital, I took her home with me. She filed charges. He got out on bail. She filed for divorce. But he won't give up. He follows her everywhere, leaves threatening messages on her cell phone."

"You contacted the police?"

He nods. "They took the threats seriously, but they couldn't follow her twenty-four hours a day. We took out a restraining order. He's avoided being served. He moved out of their apartment in the middle of the night. The landlord doesn't have a forwarding address. He quit his job. Emptied their bank accounts. All the time the calls continue. It's getting worse. He says he'll kill her and I believe him."

We're on the outskirts of El Centra now, and Dan turns into a housing development. Middle-class, stucco ranch-style homes with tile roofs, landscaped lots. The desert is held at bay by a wide swatch of grass that surrounds the perimeter. Sprinklers send plumes of water cascading into the air, capturing and reflecting rainbows against the blue of the sky. Palm trees rise here and there like slender sentinels against the encroaching sand.

We pull into a driveway already occupied by a big SUV. At the front curb, a vintage Chevy Impala is parked, the convertible top down. Dan gestures to the car. "That's Burt's."

The brother I assume. I don't want to embarrass myself further by asking. I had the impression as Dan relayed his story that he told me all this before. He's gracious enough not to say it.

"What were you doing in San Diego last night?" I ask.

Dan is leading the way up a brick path to the front door. "My brother needed some finishing work done on his house. Sylvie agreed to stay at a friend's for a couple of days so I could help him. He was waiting for me at that bar when he met you."

He gives me a sideways glance, which I quickly avert. I can't even imagine what kind of conversation we had that led me to that motel room.

Dan has his keys in his hand. He's a step or two in front of me. Suddenly, he stops so abruptly I almost bounce off his back. "The door," he says.

I look up. The path is flanked by tall bushes and at first, I don't see anything. But when I move around Dan, I do. The front door is open, the frame splintered in several places. It looks like someone kicked it open.

Dan starts to yell for Burt, for Sylvie.

I grab his arm and stop him from bursting inside. I pull him behind me and motion for him to stay where he is. I doubt he will, but at least I'll go in first. I let my senses do a quick initial reconnoitering. I don't feel or hear anyone inside.

Dan whispers urgently in my ear. "Your gun. You may need it."

I doubt it, but the panic in his eyes lessens a little when I unclip the gun from my waistband and hold it at the ready.

I slide around to the side of the doorway, flatten myself against the wall, peek in. It's quiet. I crouch low and move inside. My toe comes in contact with something soft and yielding. I know without looking. A body. When I glance down, the body stirs. It's a man. A man I recognize from last night. Dan's brother.

Dan is right at my heels. He gives a little cry and kneels down. "Burt. What happened?"

The man groans and tries to sit up. The effort brings a wave of retching. He has a nasty cut on his scalp. He grabs at his head and moans, blood oozing between his fingers.

I squat down beside him. The scent and the sight of his blood makes it hard for me to keep from touching my own fingers to his wound. Instead, I rock back on my heels and ask softly, "Is he still here?"

He shakes his head, slowly and carefully. When he meets Dan's eyes, there are tears in his own. "Alan got her. He has Sylvie."

He says it apologetically as though it's his fault she's gone. Dan puts his arms around his brother. "Did he say anything? Do you know where he was taking her?" His voice is calm, controlled.

Only I see the fury burning in his eyes.

Burt struggles again to sit up. "He said something about 'getting it back.' Sylvie fought him but he was too strong. He was going to kill me if she didn't agree to go with him. She did, and he hit me anyway. God, Dan, I am so sorry."

I stand and place a hand on Dan's shoulder. "Do you know what he meant by 'getting it back'?"

When he looks up at me, resolve hardens his features. "Their first date. He asked me for suggestions. I said take Sylvie hiking in Palm Canyon. She loves it there. Later, he told me he fell in love with her that day. That's where he's taking her. I know it."

"Can you show me?"

He nods.

Burt is moaning again, his eyes glazing. He may have a concussion.

"Call an ambulance for your brother. Then we'll go."

Dan moves stiffly, pushing himself to his feet, walking with measured steps to a cordless phone on a side table a few feet away.

There's a photograph on the table. Dan and a young woman. I memorize what she looks like while he speaks softly into the receiver. I have a feeling, glancing back at Burt, that serving her ex-husband with a restraining order is not going to solve their problems.

Dan brings the phone to his brother.

"They want you to keep talking to them until the ambulance comes. Can you do that?"

Burt takes the phone. "Go," he says. "Find Sylvie."

Dan turns but instead of starting for the front door, he disappears through an interior doorway. He's back in a second. His studiously vacant expression triggers a spasm of suspicion in my brain.

"Dan, where did you go?"

He ignores my question, and heads outside.

I follow, too, but pause once, to turn at the doorway. “Tell the police where we've gone."

Burt nods. I breathe the scent of his blood one more time before hurrying to catch up with his brother.

PALM CANYON IS A DESERT ANOMALY. AN OASIS tucked between canyon walls fed by an underground stream. When we pull into the parking lot, there are a half dozen cars lined up near the ranger station. Hikers, no doubt. There's no one on duty in the station on a Friday afternoon, though. State budget limitations have made it impossible to have full-time rangers.

Dan hasn't said a word. Wouldn't look at me or answer the question of where he went when he left his brother and me. I know how afraid he is for his daughter. I also know that kind of fear leads you to try stupid and desperate things. I'll have to keep an eye on him.

When we've parked and are out of the car, I stop him before he heads for the trail. He looks at me with the same blank expression.