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As he plucked the keys from her hand, he took another long look at her. In the sunshine, her dark hair had deep red highlights. Mahogany, he’d call it. He wondered what it would look like unbound. Her cheekbones were high, her skin smooth and clear, and there was a tiny cleft in her chin.
He’d been so angry, so worried about the child he never knew he had, he hadn’t looked at Claire Chastain as a woman. A very pretty woman. Now that he did, he wished he hadn’t.
Under different circumstances, it would be fun to discover what lay beneath her cool reserve. To find out if she would be a red-car woman in bed.
Not this time. He had more to think about than his sex drive’or hers. And though he clearly interested her in a number of ways, he wasn’t sure that interest included sex.
If it did, it didn’t matter. He had a son to find. And after that’
For the first time it occurred to him that from this day forward his life would be never be the same. If he didn’t find Sam, he would always think about him, worry about him. Wonder where he was. Wonder if he was alive. If he was happy.
If he did find him, he would have to be a father to the boy. He’d need to make a home for him, see him properly raised. Ben’s life would be completely changed.
“It’s almost seven o’clock,” Claire said as he loaded his canvas duffel and her carry-on into the trunk of her car. “What should we do first?”
“I want to talk to the family Sam was staying with. See what they have to say.”
“The Robersons. They live in Calabasas. It’s a pretty long drive. Shall we call them? Let them know we’re coming?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want them showcasing. I want to see the way they live. And I don’t want to give them time to put up their defenses.”
“All right. Why don’t you let me drive since I know how to get there?”
Ben tossed the keys back to her, rounded the car and settled himself in the passenger seat. As she slid behind the wheel, he tried not to notice the length of pretty thigh exposed when Claire’s yellow skirt slid up.
He leaned back against the headrest. “I could get used to having a female chauffeur.”
Her gaze swung to his. “Was that a joke? Did Ben Slocum just make a joke?”
His mouth edged up. “Not much of one.”
Her features softened. “We’re going to find him,” she said with an amazing amount of determination. “Troy Bridger, or whatever his name really is, thinks he’s gotten away with stealing Sam, but he’s wrong.”
“You’re that sure that’s what happened?”
“I know Sam. Troy used his dog to get Sam to go with him.”
Ben studied her face. The set of her jaw and the steel in her voice made him wonder if he’d been shortsighted when he’d formed his initial opinion of Claire Chastain.
Three
The Robersons were a decent family who earned money by being part of the foster care program. They had two kids of their own and two or three fosters at any given time who were waiting for permanent placements.
Sam had been one of those.
The trouble was that twelve-year-old Kenny Roberson and his ten-year-old sister, Tammy, were spoiled and somewhat selfish. And Kenny was often a bully. Since the Robersons tended to take their kids’ side over the other children in the house, the environment could be stressful.
From the start, Sam had refused to take Kenny’s guff. He’d stood up to the older boy and because he had, he’d had a tough time getting along with the family.
Claire’s gaze fixed on the highway stretching ahead of her. It was dark now, rows of taillights as far as she could see. “I have a feeling you’re as stubborn as Sam. If he’d only waited another couple more weeks...”
Ben’s hard look sliced toward her. “You should have called me. I would have come for him.”
“I didn’t know that. I’m beginning to think some of the things Laura told me were wrong.”
“Some of the things? She hadn’t seen me in years.”
“No, but she sort of kept track of you. That’s how I knew where to find you.”
Ben’s black eyebrows went up. “How’d she do that?”
“She had a Facebook friend in Houston. A woman you slept with.”
“Jesus! Who was it?”
“I don’t know. I told her someone like that wasn’t a reliable source.”
Ben didn’t say more. She thought he was wondering, thinking about the life he’d been leading, wondering what it would be like to have a son.
Claire was wondering what kind of a father he would make.
She continued along with the stop-and-go traffic heading north. It wasn’t five minutes later that she glanced over to see Ben sound asleep in the passenger seat. Watching those thick black lashes resting so peacefully against his cheeks reminded her that he had been awake half the night having sex. A little tremor of awareness slipped through her, which Claire firmly ignored.
Her mouth thinned. That she was thinking about Ben Slocum in any context other than Sam’s father irritated her more than a little. Claire jammed her foot on the gas, then slammed on the brakes as the taillights brightened on the Cadillac in front of her. The Accord jerked to a sudden stop, but Ben Slocum didn’t wake up.
Or at least he pretended not to.
* * *
Ben sat up the minute Claire turned off the engine. The brief nap had at least cured his headache. They were parked at the curb in front of a beige two-story stucco house in a subdivision northwest of L.A. The neighborhood the Robersons lived in looked family friendly.
Ben cracked open his door and so did Claire, and both of them got out. An overturned blue bicycle and a deflated basketball lay in the grass in front of the porch. Ben climbed the stairs and rapped on the door.
A woman answered, mid-forties, bleached blond hair and a plus-size figure. “May I help you?”
“Hello, Mrs. Roberson,” Claire said when the woman recognized her. “I’m sorry to come by so late, but this is Sam’s father, Ben Slocum. He wanted to talk to you and Bob, ask you some questions.”
“I thought Sam’s father was dead.”
Ben stepped into the porch light. “Unless your eyes are playing tricks, I’m just as alive as you are and I need to talk to you about my son.”
He felt Claire’s hand on his arm, warning him to take it easy. She returned her attention to the woman and managed a tentative smile. “Ben’s a private investigator, Martha. He’s hoping you can help him.”
“It’s getting late,” Martha said. “You should have called first. Tomorrow’s a school day. I have to get the kids to bed.”
“This won’t take long.” Ben brushed past her, making his way into the house. There were toys scattered around, but no kids in sight. He could hear them playing somewhere upstairs. The living room was neat, with sturdy furniture and inexpensive lamps. He could see into the kitchen, and it was clean, too. He couldn’t complain about that.
“I just wish you had called,” the woman said.
Ben caught the sound of heavy footfalls and turned to see a burly man, bald and grim-faced, thumping down the stairs.
He walked into the living room. “What’s going on in here?”
“Bob, this is Sam’s dad, Ben Slocum,” Claire said. “He’s hoping you and Martha can help him find his son.”
“It’s late. Come over tomorrow when the kids are in school.”
Ben’s blood begin to simmer. “My son is missing. Since it was your responsibility to watch out for him’which you failed to do’I would think you’d be interested in helping me find him.”
“Listen, mister. Sam ran away. The police are looking for him. I don’t care who you are’I want you out of here.”
Claire gasped as Ben grabbed a fistful of Bob Roberson’s white T-shirt and slammed him up against the wall. “My son is out there. He’s only nine years old. You’re going to answer my questions. Now. Right this minute.”
From the corner of his eye, he spotted the wife slipping toward the cell phone on the kitchen table. Claire stepped in front of her, blocking her way. Score one for the lady.
Ben slammed Roberson once more against the wall. “You hear what I’m saying?”
Roberson swallowed. “Yes. Fine. What is it you want to know?”
Ben let him go and stepped back out of his comfort zone. “Did Sam take his clothes when he left?”
“Yes, most of them, anyway. That’s how we knew he wasn’t taken against his will.”
“Did you or your wife ever talk to Troy Bridger?”
Martha answered, her face a little pale. “I did. He said he was a friend of Sam’s mother’s. He asked if he could speak to the boy. I told him he could but they had to stay in the living room.”
“Did he mention any plans he might have had, something he was going to do? Any place he was going or where he was originally from?”
“No.”
“How about after that? Did you see him again?”
“He came over one other time. It was a Saturday. I was busy making lunch...that’s how I remember. I figured he would keep Sam occupied. The boy was always underfoot, causing some kind of trouble.”
One of Ben’s eyebrows went up. “Is that so?”
“Yes, it is. Sam couldn’t get along with the other kids.”
“You mean he couldn’t get along with Kenny and Tammy,” Claire corrected. “Your two kids. Sam got along fine with Suzy and Tim.”
“Just because that’s what Sam told you doesn’t mean it’s true.”
Ben looked at Claire, noticed the mutinous set of her chin and figured it must be gospel. “The day Sam went missing...did you see Bridger that day?”
“No.”
He turned to the husband. “How about you?”
“No. Look. Sam’s run away once before. He came home the same day. That’s what happened this time. He left on his own.”
Ben chewed on that. He didn’t know what the boy might do. He had to trust Claire’s judgment. He just hoped he was trusting the right person.
“How long did you wait after Sam disappeared before you called the police?”
Silence fell in the living room.
Ben’s jaw tightened. He moved into Roberson’s space. “How long?” he asked softly.
“Two days. We figured the kid was having a tantrum, all right? We thought he’d come back when he got hungry.”
Ben’s hands fisted. “You don’t know what a lucky man you are, Roberson. You’re lucky I’m smart enough to know that if I started pounding on you, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
Turning, he strode out of the house. He didn’t hear what Claire said, just the sound of her heels on the sidewalk behind him as she hurried to catch up.
“I’m driving,” he said. “Give me the keys.”
“You’re too angry to drive. I’ll get us home.”
“We aren’t going home. Give me the goddamn keys.”
Claire tentatively placed them in his hand, and his fingers closed around them. A few minutes later, he was heading down the freeway toward Hollywood, working to keep his speed under control and his temper in check. He hadn’t gotten much out of the Robersons, but he had a friend in L.A. who owed him a favor.
It was time for Ben to collect.
* * *
By the time he turned off the Hollywood freeway onto Sunset Boulevard, Ben’s temper was under control. He’d been stationed in San Diego during his days with the teams. He knew his way around L.A. enough to get by. And to help, Claire had a GPS mounted on the dash. He had plugged in the destination street address before he’d pulled away from the curb.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Claire said after a lengthy silence that told him how much she disapproved of his behavior at the Roberson house.
“No wonder Sam ran away. What a pair of a-holes.”
“Yes, well, if they call the police, it’ll only cost us more time.”
“They won’t call the police. Roberson’s too scared I’ll come back and beat the crap out of him. Which I’m more than tempted to do. The man waited two days, Claire. Two days.”
“I know. I knew you’d be angry if I told you.”
“I missed it in the police report. Probably a good thing.”
The corner of her mouth curved up. She had a very pretty mouth when she wasn’t scowling. Nice full lips, glossy pink lipstick.
“Laura said you had a temper.”
His gaze moved from her mouth to her eyes. “I’d never hurt a woman. I wouldn’t hurt a kid, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking that Sam wouldn’t put up with Kenny’s bullying. That’s why the Robersons didn’t really like him. He’s three years younger than Kenny, and yet he was the leader in the house, the one the other two foster children looked up to.”
