Page 2 of Finding Amanda

She looked to her right, toward his collections. First, the ships in bottles that sat on the shelf closer to him. They usually fascinated his male patients, not the girls. And, predictably, Amanda’s gaze shifted to his collection of animal figurines. He’d been collecting them since he started his practice a decade earlier. Only the most realistic animals made their way onto hisshelf, always on the same scale. Once a patient gave him a Chihuahua that dwarfed his Great Dane figurine. He’d tossed it out the day the patient left for the last time.

“You may touch them, if you like.”

She seemed to hesitate, then stood and stepped the few paces to the shelves. He followed, watching her shoulder blades move as her hands skimmed the different figurines, hovering over them, almost close enough to touch, but not quite.

She stepped to the side. Her hips swayed and shifted beneath her skirt.

She pulled the lion into her hand, revealing a short, red scar across the knuckle on her thumb. Probably a remnant from the accident.

“You like it?”

She nodded. He could smell her shampoo—strawberry. And a floral scent he couldn’t place reminded him of the mall. He listened to her breathe. Otherwise, the room was silent. Soundproof.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “They all are.”

“Thank you. Feel free to hold them anytime you wish.” He reached out, paused, and then rested his hand on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch. “Let’s sit back down.”

She started to return the lion to the shelf.

“You can keep it while you’re here.”

“Thanks.”

She returned to her chair, crossed her legs, and turned the figurine over in her hands. Her fingers, no longer trembling, stroked the painted mane, the length of the lion’s body, as if it were flesh and blood.

His heart raced. He forced his expression to remain unchanged as he watched.

CHAPTER ONE

Current Day

Day thirty-four.

Could that be right? Mark Johnson tugged the calendar off the nail and flipped back to September. Not that he hadn’t been keeping a running count, but still . . . Could it really have been almost five weeks?

The coffee maker gurgled and spit the last of the coffee through the filter while Mark counted. With gut-wrenching clarity, he realized it was no longer a one-month separation. They were sliding into month two, which could easily translate into three, and then four.

He didn’t want to think about where this might end.

Amanda’s words slammed into him again. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do it anymore.”

What had gone wrong? Hadn’t they been happy?

He ripped the month of September from the stupid calendar. He hated the thing anyway—a remnant from the apartment’s last tenant. Why hadn’t he tossed it before this? Oh yeah,thiswas only temporary. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

He grabbed the rest of the calendar and threw it in the rubbish. He turned to pour himself a cup of coffee, only then noticing the color of the liquid. He could see right through it. Looked like weak iced tea.

He yanked the plug from the wall, grabbed his keys and cell phone, and headed out. In the hallway outside his dingy two-bedroom apartment, he turned to lock his door, almost gagging at the stink of cat urine.

The door across from his was slightly ajar. That apartment had been empty for two weeks. Nobody should be in there now.

He crossed the hall, drawn by a chemical scent stronger than the cat odor. What did meth labs smell like? He hoped he wasn’t about to find out.

He shoved his keys and phone into his pockets and pushed the door open with his foot, keeping his hands ready to defend himself. But all that greeted him were trademark overalls sagging below the scrawny behind of the landlady, who had most of her head inside the oven.

Maybe she hadn’t heard him. He tried to sneak away.

No luck. She backed out and turned around, black grime smudged across her cheek and a wrinkly smile lighting her face. “Oh, Mr. Mark. You scared me.” Her words dripped with her heavy Cambodian accent. “What you need?”

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