Ron hovered over him. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? You’re one of the ones my wife’s been whoring around with.”

“I . . . I didn’t know,” Brian whispered.

“Just because she didn’t tell you doesn’t mean I won’t hold a grudge.”

And he kicked Brian a second time.

“You’ve gotten everything you got comin’ to you,” Ron Frommer said. “But that doesn’t mean there can’t be even more.” He turned and went back into the house.

Before the door closed, Brian, clutching his midsection, caught one last glimpse of Jessica’s fear-filled face.

FIFTEEN

BARRY Duckworth drove out of the Starbucks lot after meeting with his son and his girlfriend thinking: That could have gone better.

What a disaster. And yet, what was he supposed to do? Ignore the possibility that his son might be able to help him with a serious investigation? He had to talk to him on the off chance Trevor had seen something that would lead Duckworth to whoever had abducted and tattooed Brian Gaffney.

Still, maybe he could have done a better job of it. Maybe he should have talked to his son separately from this new girlfriend of his, Carol Beakman. Except she was a potential witness, too. He’d needed to talk to both of them.

And still . . .

He should have realized that once he’d told them he’d seen them on the Knight’s surveillance video, it meant that he’d seen them in an intimate moment.

Well, the hell with that, he thought. If he’d walked into Knight’s, he’d have seen the same damn thing. If you were going to stick your tongue down some girl’s throat while sitting in the middle of a bar, there was only so much privacy you could reasonably expect.

Maybe this would teach them to be a little more discreet, for crying out loud. Get a room.

Except, of course, Trevor’s room these days was in the Duckworth home.

He let out a long sigh.

Maybe he wouldn’t feel so conflicted about this if either of them had been able to tell him something useful. At least then the awkwardness would have been worth it. But as it turned out, neither Trevor nor Carol had seen a thing. They hadn’t even recognized Gaffney’s picture.

“Shit,” he said aloud.

But the more Duckworth thought about it, the more he wondered what the big deal was. Okay, he’d seen them making out. That was unfortunate. But did it justify Trevor’s hostility? Maybe he had a right to be annoyed, but why so instantly defensive?

Duckworth feared this was not the end of it. He wished now that Trevor hadn’t moved in with them. If his son still had his own place, Duckworth could avoid him almost indefinitely. But at some point today, Trevor would come home. That was not an encounter Duckworth looked forward to.

Which brought up the next dilemma. How much should he tell Maureen?

Forget all the investigative implications. At a purely personal level, Duckworth was now in possession of information that Maureen, who’d expressed concern about their son within the last hour, would definitely want to know.