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The answer irritated McNair. “I’m not paying you to play games, Underwood.”
Ben cut him yet a little more slack, though it galled him to do so. Stress did strange things to people, he reminded himself. Maybe, under ordinary circumstances, Stephen McNair was a completely likable person, although Ben sincerely doubted it.
In any event, rules had to be set and boundaries defined. “No, Mr. McNair, you’re paying me to find your son and I intend to do that. But it’ll have to be my way. Again, that’s what you’re paying me for.”
He heard the man bite off a retort he couldn’t make out, then say in a guarded voice, “You’ll call as soon as you have anything?”
“I’ll call,” Ben promised, just as he had yesterday as McNair left the office. The man had tried to bully him into making reports at regular intervals. That might have been standard procedure at McNair’s company, but that wasn’t the way he operated and Ben had made his position perfectly clear. Or so he thought.
“Speaking of calling, how did you get my home number?” It was unlisted, and although he’d given out his number on occasion to more than one distraught parent, something had prevented Ben from offering it to McNair. Self-preservation, most likely.
“I have ways.” There was a smug note in the other man’s voice. And then he reiterated his earlier point. “I would appreciate you checking in with me regularly.”
Maybe the agency should refine its screening process, Ben thought, growing closer to the end of his patience. At the moment, the agency took on all comers. Maybe it was time for Cade to rethink that when he got back from the case he was working on.
“There’s nothing regular about my line of work. I’ll call when there’s something to call about. Goodbye, Mr. McNair.”
Ben let the receiver fall back into the cradle, then slid back down on the bed. Less than five minutes of tossing and turning made him acknowledge that he was too irritated to go back to sleep.
Muttering under his breath, Ben got up to take a shower. The last time he’d been up on the wrong side of four-thirty, it’d been to get ready for his paper route before going to school. The nuns at St. Mary’s, aware of his mother’s financial situation, had said paying part of his own tuition at the parochial school would make a man out of him.
He didn’t feel very manly right now. Just tired.
With a sigh, he turned on the hot water and stepped into the shower. There was no sense wasting time.
The drive up Interstate 5 from Bedford to Saratoga would have been scenic had it not been for the early morning fog that hung about the winding road. He was a careful driver by nature. It wasn’t often, though, that he worried about the road and the hazards caused by careless drivers.
But a fog this thick made him aware of every inch of road. And the possibility of his own quickly snuffed-out mortality.
Ben slowed his vehicle down to a crawl.
He supposed he could have gone later, but the word itself held a foreboding threat within it. Later was too close to never when it came to kidnappings. It was always best to follow every lead as soon as it occurred. Later might be too late.
He didn’t ever intend to be too late. So far, he’d been lucky. He’d never had to face a parent and say those gut-wrenching, eternally tormenting words that would forever cut them off from hope. He’d found every child he’d set out to locate. Which was what made his job at ChildFinders so much more rewarding than the time he’d spent in the homicide division on the police force.
The coffee nestled in his cup holder had grown cold and stagnant by the time the fog had lifted, and he felt confident enough to risk taking one hand off the wheel to take a drink. By then, he was fifteen miles out of Saratoga.
The small town created an immediate impression the moment he entered it. Saratoga looked as if it should have been the subject of a fairy tale. Or, at the very least, a Frank Capra movie. There was a picturesque, storybook quality about it. The climate was cooler up here, and what had been rain in Bedford had transformed into light flurries in Saratoga.
The light layer of fresh snow on the trees and ground made Ben think of a Currier and Ives painting.
The woman he was looking for lived ten miles on the other side of Saratoga.
“I do so like getting visitors,” the small, cherubic woman said, smiling at Ben. “Have another cookie.” She pushed the near-full plate toward him. “I just wind up eating them myself half the time.” Her eyes twinkled and she gave the illusion of lucidity as she smiled at her girth. “But I suspect you’ve already guessed that.”
The wan afternoon sun had finally withdrawn from the parlor they were in, after losing a hopeless battle for space within a room crammed full of knickknacks and memorabilia. It was a room where an old woman sat, surrounded by things that reminded her that she had once been young, with the world at her feet. Too heavyset to be called elfin, she still had that way about her. She was charming, and maybe, at some other time, Ben wouldn’t have minded spending an afternoon talking to her about nothing.
But he didn’t have time. Because of McNair’s admitted reticence, too much had already elapsed. The longer it took him to find Andrew McNair, the harder it would become.
“No.” The lie came easily to him. It harmed nothing to pretend that she was not heavy. The woman’s smile became wider. “No, I hadn’t guessed.” Picking up another one of the cookies she was pushing on him, he took a bite. The cookies, laced liberally with macadamia nuts, were quite possibly the best he’d ever had. Andrea would have killed for these, he thought, chocolate chip cookies being a particular weakness for his middle sister. “And much as I’d like to load up on these, Mrs. Malone—”
“Oh, please, everyone calls me Sugar. I forget exactly why. Sugarland isn’t my given name, you know.”
“I rather suspected that,” he said, smiling. “But as to the reason I’m here—”
“Oh, yes, your reason.” Her smile faded a little. “And once you tell me, you’ll be gone, won’t you?”
He’d met her less than twenty minutes ago. Knocking on her door, he’d been surprised when she’d ushered him in like a long-lost friend. Asking for his name had been an after-thought. It had left him wondering if there was anyone who looked in on the old woman from time to time to make sure she hadn’t given up the deed to the old Victorian house, or its surrounding fields. He hoped that the foreman who managed her field hands was a decent sort.
“I’m afraid—”
Sugar waved away the excuse magnanimously. “That’s all right, Gloria was the same way, flitting in and out before I could so much as blink twice. I expect it’s the same with all young people.”
“Gloria.” He hadn’t expected it to be this easy. Ben maintained a poker face as he asked, “Then she’s been here?”
“Why, yes. Here and gone.” Sugar brushed away the crumbs that had collected on her ample bosom. “But you were going to tell me something.”
Was she really as vague as she let on, or was it all an elaborate act? She seemed genuine enough, but Ben kept his eyes on the woman’s face, watching for a telltale shift in expression as he said, “As a matter of fact, I’m looking for your grand-niece.”
“Why?” It wasn’t a challenge. Curiosity filtered into her eyes.
He began to give Sugar the story he’d rehearsed on his way up here. “I represent Jacob Marley’s estate—”
“Jacob Marley….” She closed her eyes, rolling the name over in her mind. Then, opening them again, she shook her head. “I don’t believe I know the man.”
“No, ma’am, probably not.” Especially since he’d borrowed the name from Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, Ben thought. “But he’s left Gloria a sizable amount of money—”
Sugar clapped her hands together in simple, childish delight. “How wonderful. The poor dear could so use the money. I couldn’t give her very much when she came. She promised to pay me back, but I told her I wouldn’t hear of it. I’m the only family she has, you know.”
“Yes, I do.” Ben tried to press on before the woman became distracted again. “We have no forwarding address for her—”
Fluffy, cloudlike white hair bobbed up and down as Sugar nodded in agreement.
“That’s because she’s not where she used to be.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping for a moment. “Can’t be, you know. Too bad, it made her sad to leave.”
This had to be what Alice felt like, trying to carry on a conversation with the creatures inhabiting Wonderland, Ben thought. Still, he was making some progress. “Do you know where she is now?”
“Not really.” Sugar paused to nibble thoughtfully on one of her cookies. “But she said something about San Francisco. That’s where she went to school, you know. Bright, bright girl.” She sighed as that memory, too, slipped away from her. “Worked in a bookstore during those years. Practically ran the place. Don’t know when she ever slept. The manager liked her, I could tell. Never acted on it, though.” Suddenly realizing that her visitor was no longer chewing, she pushed the plate a little closer still. “Another cookie?” This time, the plate practically landed in his lap.
“Would you happen to know the name of the bookstore?” Gloria had to work, he thought. Maybe she’d touched base with the owner of the store, asking for a job. It was a long shot to say the least, but long shots had a way of paying off if you were persistent enough. Besides, it was a starting point. San Francisco was a big city to wander around in aimlessly.
“Why, as a matter of fact I do.” Proudly, she recited the name of a popular chain that was currently sweeping the country, replacing older, independent stores. “It’s located at Taylor and Turk. Or is it Turk and Taylor? I never know which way to say that.” She looked pleased with herself for remembering the location. “I went there a few times myself. The bookstore,” she clarified, almost more for her benefit than for his.
It was time to go, Ben thought. He could see she was about to push another cookie on him. “One last question. Did Gloria have a little boy with her?”
Sugar blinked, staring at him as if he had just asked her if the sky was blue on a sunny day. “Well, of course she did. Why wouldn’t she? She was moving, you know.”
“Yes, so I gathered.” On his feet, he extended his hand to her. “Well, you’ve been a great help.”
Sugar took the compliment as her due. “That’s what Gloria said. But I couldn’t help enough. Not her. Here.” She slipped three large cookies into his pocket. “For later. You might get hungry.”
He left feeling somewhat guilty about deceiving a woman who seemed bent on helping everyone who crossed her path.
The sun grazed off the window as she passed, catching her attention. Raising her eyes, surprise drenched her when she saw the reflection.
Idiot.
It still startled her, at unguarded moments, to see the different face looking back at her. To realize that the woman with the short, dark hair and blue eyes was not someone else, but her. In her mind’s eye, she was still a blonde, still green-eyed. Yet now she was a woman with a life that held promise instead of one who had come full circle, returning to what she’d once felt was the beginning of the road.
Not the end, just a breather. She had to remember that.
With effort, she shook herself free of the morose mood. It wasn’t like her. No matter what, she’d always looked on the positive side. Stopping, she tucked a book back into place on the shelf.
There was more reason than ever to focus on the positive side. There wasn’t just herself to think of. Her son needed her.
Her son.
She looked at her watch. The last customer she’d helped had taken more time than she’d judged. If she was going to be at the school in time to pick Andrew—no, Jesse, she upbraided herself. If she was going to be in time to pick Jesse up, she was going to have to get going. Now.
“I’m taking my break now, Jon,” she called out to the burly man nursing a cup of espresso at the information counter.
The bald-headed man gave a half nod in acknowledgment to her announcement and went back to perusing a copy of one of the books UPS had dropped off this morning.
She smiled to herself. Some things never changed. Jon Peterson was lost to the world when he had his nose stuck in a good mystery. He’d been that way during the four years she’d worked here while she’d attended college. Heaven help anyone if they approached him with a question. Like as not, Jon was apt to send them into the self-help section even if they asked for a cookbook.
She blessed Jon for the umpteenth time since she’d arrived more than three weeks ago. If not for him and his calming influence, she could very well have come unglued that first night in San Francisco. If he had been away on one of his many minivacations that he’d always loved to take…well, she didn’t want to think about it.
Trying to get to the front doors, she found her path blocked by a well-built man in his early twenties wearing a pricey sheepskin jacket and a cheap smile. He made no effort to move out of her way.
“Since you’re free, why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee to go along with that break?”
She’d been uncomfortably aware that the man had been sizing her up for at least the last fifteen minutes, meandering closely behind her as she stocked new books on the shelves. She’d caught him looking at her at least three times, attempting to make eye contact. She’d looked away each time. He gave her the shivers. Not the good kind.
Maybe it was her situation that made her so edgy, so suspect of every man who looked her way. Maybe she was being unduly sensitive and the man was just trying to strike up a conversation, nothing more.
But whatever he was attempting to do, she had no time for it. As it was, if she didn’t hurry, she was going to be late.
Since he was a potential customer, she strove to remain polite. “No, thank you, I have an errand to run.” Sidestepping him, she tried to get by.
One quick movement and he was in front of her again, blocking her path. He was not a man who was about to take no for an answer. “You work here, don’t you?”
She glanced toward Jon, but his nose was buried in the book. None of the other people who worked in the store were within eye-contact range. She raised her head defiantly as she looked back at the man.
“Yes.”
His eyes washing over her, he was obviously taken with what he saw. “Well then, whatever happened to that old saying, the customer is always right?”
“That depends on what the customer wants.”
A smile split his handsome face, failing to reach his eyes. “Guess.”
If she called out to Jon, she’d cause a scene. The last thing she wanted was a scene. Just peaceful anonymity. “I’m afraid I don’t have the time right now.” She tried to move past him again, but the man swayed, blocking her every move. “I need to be somewhere else,” she said.
He put up his hand against a shelf, cutting her off from making an exit. “Yes, with me.”
Suddenly, he found himself being spun around and looking up at a stranger who was several inches taller than he was.
“The lady said no. What part of ‘no’ didn’t you understand?” Ben asked.
Cold fury contorted the man’s handsome features. It was evident he wasn’t accustomed to being turned down, or opposed. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Ben’s hand tightened around his arm. He gave the man no reason to doubt he meant business. “Lack of manners always concerns me. Now, apologize to the lady and let her pass.”
She’d always loved westerns as a child. The rugged hero in the white hat coming to the aid of the wronged, put-upon but feisty heroine. Time and again, she’d eat up the stories even though they were always the same. Only the faces and names changed.
And now she had her very own cowboy riding to her rescue.
Annoyed but smart enough to know when he was outmatched, the man glared sullenly at her. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Ben slowly nodded his head, as if evaluating the words. “A little lacking in poetry, but it’ll do.” Releasing his hold on the man’s arm, Ben held his hand up. “You can go. Now.”
Embarrassed, the man stalked out.
Ben shook his head, watching to make sure he left before turning back to the sultry-looking woman. He had no doubt she had more than her share of run-ins like that. Women with faces and figures as beautiful as hers generally did. “I apologize for my species. Just because we all walk upright doesn’t make us all civilized.”
The laugh that bubbled up in her throat was just a little nervous. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure—” he glanced down at the small, square name tag “—Gina Wassel.” He raised his eyes to hers. “And now, would you mind pointing me in the direction of the manager?”
She would have liked to stay and ask him if she could help, but the jerk who had tried to put the moves on her had eaten up her margin of time. She should have already been on her way.
“He’s right over there.” She pointed toward Jon. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Ben nodded, stepping aside. “You have an errand to run.”
“Emphasis on run,” she said, tossing the words over her shoulder as she hurried out.
He allowed himself exactly half a second to take in the view. The woman looked just as good going as she did coming.
But he wasn’t there to pass judgment on form. He was tracking a kidnapper.
With that in mind, Ben made his way over to the man the woman named Gina had pointed out to him.
Chapter 3
Jon Peterson slowly stroked his small goatee as he stared at the reprinted photograph of a woman with a little boy that Ben had handed him.
Longer than was necessary, in Ben’s estimation. Gloria Prescott had either come in and applied for a job in the last few days, or she hadn’t. Granted, the photograph wasn’t a very good one, but it was the only one McNair had had of either Gloria, or his son. Ben could see not having photographs of the nanny, but it was difficult for him to understand why McNair had no available photographs of his son. He supposed that the man’s excuse, that he wasn’t the kind to take pictures, held some water. But he bet that McNair had plenty of photographs of himself around.
