A child he’s never met.

A danger he’s never known.

That he’s a father is news former navy SEAL Ben Slocum was not expecting. But once the initial shock wears off for the confirmed bachelor, he takes in the rest of what social worker Claire Chastain tells him: that his son is missing, abducted by a man who wants revenge against Claire and Sam’s dead mother. And that Ben is now the child’s only hope.

As Ben and Claire band together to track the two down, their concern for Sam draws them closer, each fighting feelings there’s no time to explore. Because when their search takes them too close to Sam’s abductor and his cohorts, the danger hits home’the son he’s desperate to save, the woman he’s desperate to love…. Ben’s got one chance to take back what’s his, and in one gunshot he could lose it all.

Selected praise for The Raines of Wind Canyon

Against the Wind

“This is definitely a page-turner full of compassion

and love shared by two unlikely souls. This is a ‘don’t miss’ read.… Kat Martin is a very gifted writer who takes you

from the beginning to the end in total suspense.”

’Fresh Fiction

Against the Fire

“After reading the first book about the Raine brothers,

I knew Kat Martin would have to do something pretty amazing

to make her second book as much of a joy to read.

As soon as I opened the book, I realized that she has succeeded.…

I simply loved this book. I didn’t want to put it down.”

’Suspense Romance Writers

Against the Law

“4 ½ quills! Ms. Martin has struck the motherlode.…

Against the Law is by far the most powerfully intense

romantic suspense with its charismatic characters,

[and] a story line that defies gravity.”

’Romantic Crush Junkies

Against the Storm

“Fans of Martin’s Raines of Wind Canyon trilogy are going to

love meeting more of this testosterone-and-honor-laden family.”

’RT Book Reviews

Against the Night

“Against the Night is not like anything else I’ve read.… I love a

good suspense story and this one packs one heck of a wallop.”

’Long and Short Reviews

Against the Sun

“[Martin] dishes up romantic suspense, sizzling sex

and international intrigue in healthy doses, and fans

are going to be the winners. Readers better set aside a block of time to finish this unputdownable tale of adventure and romance.”

’RT Book Reviews, Top Pick!

Against the Edge

Kat Martin

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To my sister, Patti Johnson, and my brother Michael Kelly.

Miss you guys!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Epilogue

Author’s Note

One

Houston, Texas

His head was pounding. Too much Jack Daniel’s last night. When Ben Slocum pulled his big black SUV into the driveway in front of his garage, the only thing on his mind was getting a couple hours of sleep.

Reaching up to hit the garage door opener on his visor, he spotted a silver Buick with Hertz rental plates parked in front of the house. His gaze swung to the porch, where a woman in a conservative yellow business suit stood rapping on his door.

Ben groaned. Last night two of his best friends, Alex Justice and Sabrina Eckhart, had gotten married. Alex, one of his fellow private investigators at Atlas Security, had fallen hard for the pretty redhead. Ben had never seen a guy look happier about getting hitched.

Their early-October wedding had turned into good news for Ben, who’d gotten lucky with a slinky little blonde from Dallas he had met at the reception. He’d spent the night in her bed at the Marriott, and neither of them had gotten much sleep.

Still dressed in his black tuxedo, Ben glanced at the porch, shoved the Denali into Park and turned off the engine, cracked open the door and slid out from behind the wheel. His pants were wrinkled, his white pleated shirt haphazardly buttoned and opened halfway down the front. His black bow tie hung loose around his collar.

Company this morning was the last thing he wanted.

He took a long look at the woman whose attention was now fixed on him as he crossed the front lawn. She was tall and slender, with dark brown hair clipped back at the nape of her neck, and a very pretty face. High cheekbones, a heart-shaped face and full lips. Too bad they were currently thinned in a disapproving line.

He wondered what she was selling. Whatever it was, he wasn’t buying. He just wanted to hit the sheets.

Ben strode up on the porch. “’Fraid nobody’s home,” he said, hoping she would just go away. He wasn’t in the mood for another female, no matter how good she looked.

“I can see that,” she said. “I’m looking for Benjamin Slocum. I presume that’s you?”

He lifted a black eyebrow. “And you would be?”

“My name is Claire Chastain. I need to speak to you, Mr. Slocum, on a matter of extreme importance.”

“I’ll be in my office this afternoon. Why don’t you stop by...say three o’clock? We can talk about anything you like.”

“This can’t wait.”

Of course not. She was a woman. Everything was a matter of critical meltdown. “Is this business or personal?”

“Personal.”

He let his gaze drift over her, taking in the soft curves. Slender and elegant, but there was plenty of female wrapped up in the pretty package.

“Do we know each other, Ms. Chastain?” As in, have we spent the night together? Maybe I drank too much and don’t recall?

But he hadn’t done much of that since he’d left the SEALs. Since then he had behaved himself. Well, more or less.

“No, we’ve never met. Please, Mr. Slocum. This is important, and I would rather not discuss it out on your front porch.”

Irritation filtered through him. “Angel, this had better be good.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his house key, stuck it in the lock and opened the door. He went in and turned off the alarm, stepping back to allow Claire Chastain into his living room.

Ben closed the door. “Look, lady, I just got home from a wedding and I need a shower. There’s a coffeemaker on the counter in the kitchen. Coffee’s in the cupboard overhead. If you want to have a sensible conversation, I suggest you make us a pot.”

The woman’s dark eyebrows shot up.

“And don’t be afraid to actually put some coffee in the pot.”

Her mouth dropped open. Ben chuckled to himself as he turned and headed for the bedroom.

* * *

Of all the nerve! Everything she had heard about Ben Slocum appeared to be exactly correct. The man was arrogant and overbearing, downright rude. In his rumpled tuxedo and smelling of sex and perfume, it didn’t take much imagination to know he had spent the night in a woman’s bed.

He was a navy SEAL, she reminded herself. That had to count for something. They had a reputation for being tough, brave and honorable. Still, from the information she had, he had been out of the military for the past five years, a medical discharge at twenty-eight after a combat wound in some godawful jungle in the Philippines.

She had no idea the sort of man Ben Slocum had become. One thing she did know: he looked even better than the photo she had seen of him when he was twenty years old. At least six-two, maybe a hundred ninety-five pounds of pure masculinity.

Beneath his black tuxedo jacket, a set of ridiculously wide shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist and a pair of long legs. Jet-black hair cut short enough to hide a faint curl, and the stubble of a night’s growth of beard just made him more handsome. She tried not to think of the glimpse of chest hair she’d seen beneath his unbuttoned shirt.

And those eyes. So pale a blue they looked otherworldly. She had seen a pair like them, but on a nine-year-old, the effect just wasn’t the same.

Thinking of the little boy and the help he so desperately needed set her feet in motion. Making the arrogant jerk a pot of coffee tweaked her ego, but that was hardly important. She took down the can of Folgers and began the steps necessary to get a pot brewing. Once the coffee was looked after, she took a moment to check out the house.

Neat was her first impression. The dishes clean and put away, no crumbs on the round oak table in the kitchen. No messy stacks of papers on the white ceramic tile counters. Decidedly male was her second thought. Brown leather sofa and chairs in the living room, oak end tables and pottery lamps. A big flat-screen TV on the wall, and a stack of hunting and fishing magazines sitting on the antique oak coffee table in front of the sofa.

She felt something soft brush against her and looked down to see a big gray tomcat winding between her legs. His golden eyes looked up at her as she bent down to scratch his ears.

“Well, aren’t you a big fellow.”

The cat began to purr. Ben Slocum was a cat person? She was more a dog lover herself’not that she actually had one’but she liked all animals. From the look of the cat’s glossy gray fur, he was definitely well cared for.

The sound of a door opening caught her attention. Claire looked up to see Ben Slocum striding down the hall, towel-drying his not quite wavy black hair. In jeans and a black T-shirt that stretched over the muscles on a very impressive chest, Ben was a formidable presence. Claire had to force herself not to take a step back as he walked into the living room.

“Smells good.” He paused long enough to lean down and run his hand over the big cat’s thick fur. “I see you’ve met Hercules.”

“You like cats?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

“I like animals in general. I tend to prefer them to people.” He continued on to the kitchen. “Coffee looks ready. You want a cup?”

She definitely needed something to bolster her courage. “Yes, I think I do.”

Ben took down a pair of mugs and poured them full, handed one to her. He didn’t offer her cream or sugar. He took a sip, seemed to approve.

“What’s so important it couldn’t wait till this afternoon?”

“Why don’t we sit down?” She started for the oak table, but Ben caught her arm.

“Why don’t you just tell me what the hell is going on?”

Her patience was thinning. “Why don’t I just show you?” Ignoring his request, she marched over to the table, set her coffee mug down and sat in one of the captain’s chairs. Pulling the strap of her purse off her shoulder, she reached inside to retrieve Sam Thompson’s fifth-grade class picture.

Slocum walked over, crossed his arms over his impressive chest and stood eyeing her from a few feet away.

Claire looked up at him. “I’m here, Mr. Slocum, because of your son. His name is Sam, and he needs your help.” She didn’t show him the photo. She wanted to choose exactly the right moment.

“I don’t have a son. I’m a lot of things, lady, and careful is one of them.”

“Do you know a woman named Laura Schofield?”

“No.”

“Her name was Laura Thompson when the two of you were engaged.”

A muscle tightened in his jaw. “If Laura has a kid, it isn’t mine.”

“I’m sorry to tell you that Laura Thompson is dead, Mr. Slocum.”

The color drained from beneath his swarthy complexion. He pulled out one of the chairs and sat down facing her. “What happened?”

“Breast cancer. She passed away two months ago.”

Ben leaned back in his chair. Clearly he was upset. She hadn’t expected him to take the news so hard. She thought maybe it was a good sign.

He took a drink of his coffee, seemed to steady himself. “I’m sorry to hear about Laura. But as I said, if Laura had a kid’”

She turned the photo over and slid it across the table. “This is your son, Mr. Slocum, Sam. He’s nine years old.”

Ben stared at the photo as if it were a hand grenade about to explode. He was shaking his head, but those pale eyes remained riveted on the pair staring up at him from the smiling face in the picture.

“Do you remember a night nearly ten years ago when you went to see Laura? The two of you had ended your engagement years earlier. You were still in the SEALs, home on leave in San Diego. Laura was living in L.A.”

She could see that he recalled. He reached over and picked up the photo. There was no mistaking whose child it was. With Sam’s black hair, strong jaw and ice-blue eyes, the two were nearly identical.

He didn’t look away from the picture. “She didn’t tell me.” He glanced up. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“It’s a long story, Mr. Slocum. If you give me a chance’”

“Ben. My name is Ben.”

“All right, Ben. The important thing is that you have a son and that Sam is missing.”

Ben came up out of his chair. “Missing? What do you mean, missing? He’s nine years old. How can he be missing?”

“Sam disappeared ten days ago. I’ve been talking to a detective named Owens in the missing-persons division of the Los Angeles Police Department. Unfortunately, the police believe Sam’s a runaway. Which is what his foster parents believe.”

He carefully studied her face. “But that isn’t what you believe.”

“No. I believe Laura’s ex-boyfriend, a man named Troy Bridger, took the child. The police have looked into it, but so far they haven’t been able to find any trace of either one of them. That’s why I’m here. I need your help, Ben. I know you’re a private detective. I need you to help me find your son.”

* * *

Ben was blown away, his mind in disjointed pieces.

Feelings of unreality that this could be happening. Disbelief that Laura would have his child and not tell him. Anger at her and everyone else who had kept the boy’s existence a secret. Those emotions and a dozen more sliced through him with brutal force.

He had a son. There was no mistake. The boy looked just like him. And the timing was right. He had been stationed in San Diego with SEAL Team One. He’d come home from a mission and found a letter from Laura. She wrote that she was living in L.A. and that she would love to see him. It was an opportunity, he’d thought, to find out if there was any chance of rebuilding the relationship they’d once shared.

He and Laura had met in his first year of junior college and he’d fallen hard for her blond beauty and outgoing personality. He had asked her to marry him and Laura had eagerly accepted.

A few months later, he had caught her in bed with one of his best friends.

Laura’s betrayal had stabbed like a knife, cutting out part of his heart and soul. For years, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, unable to get her out of his head.

At first it had been like old times, laughing, talking late into the evening. That night, Laura had invited him into her bed and he wasn’t about to turn her down. The sex was great as always, but his feelings were no longer the same. The resentment was still there, buried deep inside him, the old animosity. He hated her and he loved her. And he hated himself for loving her. That hadn’t changed.

It was the last time he had seen her.

He looked over at the woman sitting across the table. He needed to get moving, take some kind of action. Do something to find his son. But he needed information first. Without it, his efforts would be useless.

He called on his years of training and self-control and forced himself to sit back down. “Exactly who are you?”

She kept her fingers wrapped around her coffee mug. He thought that she was more nervous than she wanted him to guess.

“As I said, my name is Claire Chastain. I’m a social worker in Los Angeles County. I worked with Laura and Sam a few years back. They became more than a case to me. Laura and I were friends.”

He thought of the woman he had loved. Blonde and beautiful. Sparkling. That was Laura. Everyone adored her. But she was never what she seemed.

“You think this guy Bridger took him. Why would he do that?”

“To get even with Laura. He knew how much Sam meant to her. He was furious when she kicked him out.”

There was something in her eyes, the way they couldn’t quite meet his. “Laura’s dead,” he said. “I don’t see how taking my kid is going to hurt her. What aren’t you telling me?”

She returned her eyes to his face. “There’s a good chance he’s also trying to punish me. I disapproved strongly of Laura’s relationship with Troy. I think he blames me for the breakup. And he knows how much I care about Sam.”

“What kind of a man is he?”

“Not the sort you would want Sam to have for a father. He’s an alcoholic. He gets mean when he drinks. I never knew what Laura saw in him. Maybe his tough-guy persona appealed to her.” She looked up at him. “She loved you, and you were a SEAL. Troy Bridger looked a little like you. Maybe he reminded her of you in some way.”

“She never loved me. I was just an amusement to her.”

He could tell she wanted to argue. Instead she took a sip of her coffee. “Laura was trying to get sober, but Bridger was a drunk and he pulled her back to the bottle. She ended the relationship when she started getting sick.”

“How long did she live with him?”

“Only a couple of months. I can’t imagine why she stayed even that long.”

“He isn’t some kind of pervert? Some guy on the sex offender’s list?”

“The police checked. They said he wasn’t on the list. At least not under that name. The few times I talked to him, he never seemed inclined in that direction.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

He didn’t miss the guilt that moved across her features. “No, I don’t know for sure. But my guess is his motive was more about revenge against Laura.”

“And you.”

The guilty look returned. “That’s right.”

“Because she dumped him and he blames you.”

“Yes. And Troy has this men-are-superior thing. He doesn’t value women very highly, and Sam’s a boy. He would go on and on about boys becoming men...real men. As if he could make it happen for Sam.”

Ben’s insides were churning. How could Laura have brought this kind of loser into her house? But he hadn’t seen Laura in years, and if she had been drinking the way Claire said... “How long have you known I was Sam’s father?”

“Laura told me two years ago. She wasn’t drinking then. She begged me not to tell you unless there was no other choice. She said you lived a life of adventure, that it was the life you wanted. She said you wouldn’t want to be tied down with a kid.”

He felt like punching something. The woman across from him was his closest target. Too bad he had a rule against hitting women.

She was watching him, sizing him up. Did she really think he would shirk his duties as a father? Did Laura really think that? “Just proves how little she knew me.”

He took a drink of his coffee, but his adrenaline was pumping and he no longer needed the caffeine. “Los Angeles was the last place Sam was seen?”

“That’s right.”

“You headed back there?”

“So you’ve decided to help me?”

“I’m going to find my son. It doesn’t matter if he’s run away or if this guy Bridger took him. The minute I saw that picture, I had no other choice.”

Two

Claire felt those pale eyes boring into her like twin laser beams. When she had come to Houston, she hadn’t been sure Ben Slocum would help her. But then she saw his face as he looked at his son for the very first time, and she had believed nothing would stop him from finding the boy.

“What other information can you give me?” Ben asked, shifting restlessly in his chair.

“I left my briefcase in the car. I have copies of Laura’s file. She wouldn’t want me to show it to you, but’”

“I don’t give a fuck what Laura would want. She kept my son from me. She should have come to me years ago. Now her silence has put him in danger. I need to know every damn thing the woman did since the day Sam was born.”

Claire’s fingers tightened around the coffee mug. She wasn’t afraid of him’well, not exactly’but she didn’t doubt he was a dangerous man.

“I don’t know everything. Just what’s gone on since she filed for financial assistance and I was assigned her case three years ago. And what I know as her friend.”

“What about Bridger?”

“I was able to get a copy of the police report. They looked into finding him. Came up with nothing.”

“Why not?”

“The police think the name Troy Bridger is an alias.”

Ben leaned back in his chair. “You’re kidding me, right? You’re telling me the cops don’t have a damned thing on the guy who may have abducted my son?”

“They don’t know who he really is, and they don’t know where he’s gone. They know his address before he left town because Laura knew where he moved after they broke up. I was able to give them the information. Laura also told me he worked as a crane operator for a big construction company, but the police talked to his supervisor and he said Troy quit a couple of weeks ago.”

“What about fingerprints? There had to be some in his apartment.”

“They didn’t find a match. I’m sorry. I wish I knew more, but I don’t.”

“Why are you so sure Bridger has Sam?”

“Troy drove a beat-up Chevy pickup. Sam’s foster parents said he came to the house to see Sam a couple of times. I talked to the neighbors. One of them saw his truck in the area the day Sam went missing.”

“You got a plate number?”

“No.”

“Have the cops got a BOLO out on the guy?”

“Yes. They’re looking for him as a person of interest, but so far they haven’t found any trace or him or Sam.”

Tension rippled across those wide shoulders. “So there’s nothing under Bridger’s name, no driver’s license, no registration, no plate number. Nothing.”

“The police say his driver’s license was a forgery. There’s no real proof Troy Bridger ever existed.”

Ben raked a hand through his thick black hair. His now-cold coffee sat nearly untouched in front of him. “You think this guy Bridger took him, but the police and Sam’s foster parents think he ran away. Why would he do that?”

She wished she didn’t have to tell him. She wished it weren’t true. “Sam was wildly unhappy in the Roberson house. I promised him he wouldn’t have to stay there forever. I tried very hard to get custody myself, but the judge thought Sam would be better off with a couple. I told Sam I was going to keep trying. If that didn’t work, I’d make sure he got moved to a family he liked.”

“But Sam didn’t want to wait,” Ben guessed.

“That’s right.” Just thinking about the betrayal she had seen in Sam’s eyes made her heart hurt. “He threatened to run away a couple of times, but I don’t think he really would have. He was just so impatient. You know how kids can be’or maybe you don’t remember.”

He cast her a glance. “You don’t think I can remember that far back?”

She smiled. “I know you’re only thirty-three. I just meant some people kind of block out their childhood.”

“Well, I remember mine way too well.”

She mulled that over, knew from Laura that he’d had a tough, lonely childhood. “Sam was unhappy. I think that’s the reason he left with Troy. Troy had known his mother. That was the connection. And Troy has this dog. Pepper. A black Labrador retriever. Sam’s crazy about that dog.”

“I want to see those files, but we need to get on the road. In a missing-child case, time is crucial. You should have called me the day he disappeared. Hell, you should have called me two years ago when Laura told you my name.”

Her chin inched up. She didn’t know Ben Slocum, only what Laura had told her about him and what she’d been able to dig up on the internet. “Maybe I should have. I guess that remains to be seen.”

His jaw went hard. He looked as though he was fighting to stay in control. He released a slow breath. “I keep a bag packed. Old habit. I’ll grab it and we’re out of here. It’ll take a little longer to get through airport security, since I’m traveling with a weapon.”

“A weapon? You’re taking a gun?”

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with here. I’m not going empty-handed.”

She didn’t know how she felt about that. He was ex-military, though. If anyone ought to know how to use a weapon, she supposed it would be Ben.

He wasn’t gone five minutes, returning with a black canvas duffel slung over a heavily muscled shoulder. Ben put out a new batch of dry food for the cat, who had his own high-tech security cat door into the backyard, checked the auto-watering bowl, then went outside and drove his Denali into the garage. Then they headed out to her rental car for the trip to the airport.

“You drive. On the way, I’ll go through the files.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t like his high-handedness, but she liked his take-action attitude. So far the police had come up with nothing. They believed the Robersons, believed Sam had run away.

Claire didn’t believe it for a minute.

As she drove toward the airport, Ben sat in the passenger seat poring over the files she had brought in the hope that if he decided to help her the information might be useful.

“Laura Maryann Thompson,” he read. “Born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, December fourteenth, nineteen eighty. It lists the schools she attended. Pittsburgh Community College is where we met.”

“She was your same age, right? You were both sophomores? You were putting yourself through school, planning to join the navy when you graduated.”

“That’s right.”

As the car rolled along, Claire flicked him a sideways glance, saw him studying her face.

“So she talked about me,” he said. “What else did she tell you?”

“She said your father was a steelworker. That you worked with him at the mill part-time to put yourself through school. She said your mother left when you were nine years old.”

“That’s right. The same age as Sam. She tell you my dad worked like a dog just to put food on the table? He was a good man but he was a lousy father. Mostly I had to fend for myself. It wasn’t the kind of life I’d want for a kid of mine.”

Claire made no reply. Laura had told her Ben had been pretty much on his own since grade school, since the day his mother walked out of the house. She’d said she admired what he had made of himself.

“What happened to Laura’s parents?” Ben asked as she merged onto the 59 Freeway heading north. “They were nice people. Samuel was her father’s name.”

“They died in a car wreck six months after Sam was born. I think that was part of the reason she started drinking. She wasn’t good at handling responsibility.”

Ben’s jaw looked tight. “I would have helped with the boy. All she had to do was ask.”

Claire didn’t tell him that Laura hadn’t asked him for help because she didn’t want to burden him. The reckless, devil-may-care boy she had loved in college wanted excitement and adventure. He hadn’t been ready for marriage or fatherhood. Even years later when he had come to L.A., he wasn’t ready to settle down.

Or at least that was what Laura believed.

Ben looked down at the file. “Says she married a guy named Tom Schofield in 2001. Divorced a year later. No kids. Why not?”

“Laura said she didn’t love him. She said she tried to, but it just wouldn’t work.”

He looked up as they took the turnoff to the airport. “That night in L.A....she told me she was on the pill.”

Claire could feel those icy eyes on her. He was waiting for her to say something, but she didn’t want to betray Laura’s trust.

“Tell me the truth,” he pressed. “Did she get pregnant on purpose?”

A shaft of weariness slid through her. “Laura wasn’t on the pill, if that’s what you’re asking. She wanted your baby. There was no way to be sure she’d get pregnant that night, but she was happy when she found out.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“As it turned out, she wasn’t well suited to be a mother. She loved Sam, but the responsibilities of raising a child were just too much for her to handle.”

Ben fell silent, but she could feel the anger rolling off him in waves. Laura had borne him a son. She had needed his help, but she had refused to ask.

Neither had Claire. And some of his anger was definitely aimed at her.

* * *

They missed the 11:10 flight out of Bush International, but got tickets for the 2:20. Ben had wanted to stop by the Atlas Security office, where he worked as a freelance P.I., and put the company computer whiz, Sol Greenway, to work digging up something’anything’on Troy Bridger. But it was Sunday, and after Alex and Sabrina’s wedding and late-night reception, everyone was sleeping in. No one would be at work till Monday morning.

If he found anything that would give Sol a place to start, he’d call him at home. The kid was always willing to help.

While they waited in the busy terminal for the later flight, Ben went through Claire’s files a second time. The information on Sam tugged at a place in his heart he didn’t know he still had. His son was a straight-A student. He played baseball and soccer. His teachers liked him and he had lots of friends.

Clearly Sam was a lot more outgoing than Ben ever had been.

A document he had missed the first time slid out from behind another piece of paper. Sam’s birth certificate. The father was listed as Benjamin Slocum. It made him mad all over again.

“Why didn’t the welfare department call me? I thought they went after deadbeat dads for child support.”

Claire’s gaze swung to his. She had big green eyes, he noticed, though it was hard to tell with a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of her nose as she read the paper.

“You weren’t a deadbeat dad. You didn’t even know you had a son. And they didn’t go after you because Laura stopped taking assistance after just a few months. She thought it was demeaning.”

“I’m not surprised. Her mother was a member of the DAR.”

“Daughters of the American Revolution.”

“That’s right. She was always proud of her family heritage. She had a lot of self-esteem’at least back then.”

The terminal buzzed with noise around them, making it a little hard to talk. “So if she wasn’t getting assistance, why were you still involved?”

“I told you, because we were friends. Better than friends, if you want the truth. I can’t explain it. I was a couple of years younger. At first I felt sorry for her, raising a kid by herself. As I got to know her, something just clicked between us. And I admired her for trying to make it on her own.”

“Did she?”

“She worked as a secretary in an insurance company. She drank too much, but she managed to control it enough to keep her job.” Those big green eyes zeroed in on him. “And there was Sam. He’s really special. Smart. Tough. Yet amazingly loving. He took care of Laura more than she took care of him. You can be proud of him, Ben.”

His throat felt tight. He had a kid named Sam. A son he could be proud of. He was out there somewhere and he was in trouble.

“I’m going to find him. I won’t stop until I do.” He felt Claire’s hand on his arm, looked down to see long, slim fingers, no wedding ring.

“We’re going to find him, Ben. I promised Laura I’d make sure Sam got a good home. I intend to keep my word.”

* * *

With the time change, the plane landed at 6:00 p.m. The October weather wasn’t much different in L.A. than in Houston, eighty degrees, clear skies and sunshine.

“There’s no reason for you to stay in a hotel,” Claire said to Ben as she wheeled her carry-on along the crowded corridors then took the escalator to the ground-floor exit. “I’ve got an apartment in Santa Monica. You’d have your own room. We can brainstorm, work the leads you come up with.”

She shoved through the terminal doors and stepped out on the sidewalk, where a heavy gust of wind hit her, plastering the narrow skirt of her conservative yellow suit to her legs. A few feet away, buses and taxis rushed past. Cars crawled along and limousines darted in and out, picking up the rich and famous who frequented the L.A. airport.

Ben shook his head. “Look, Claire, I’m a private investigator. Finding people is one of the things I do. The information you’ve given me is going to help. If I need something else, I’ll call you. Just give me your cell phone number, and’”

“No. That isn’t going to happen, Ben. You don’t seem to understand. I promised Laura on her deathbed that I’d take care of her son. I failed to do that. Now I have to make this right. I promised Laura’and not you or anyone else is going to stop me.”

Something shifted across his features. Might have been a hint of approval, but probably just a trick of the light.

His voice softened. “Look, I get it. You’re trying to do the right thing. But I’m a professional, Claire. Aside from that, I’m the boy’s father.”

“You’re his father in name only. Sam doesn’t even know you exist. He isn’t going to just fall into your arms. Dammit, he might not even go with you if you find him.”

“What about your job? Don’t you have to work?”

“I...umm...took a leave of absence. I have a small inheritance from my grandfather. I can afford to take some time off.”

Those icy eyes were filled with turbulence, his features hard.

“I need to be there,” she pressed, “to make sure he understands what’s happening to him. For God’s sake, Ben, he’s just a little boy!”

Ben tipped his head back and stared up at the cement overhang above them. He seemed to be trying to pull himself together. “All right. We’ll try it your way. But I’m not letting you slow me down. If I need to move fast, I will.”

“Okay, that’s fair enough.”

“I’m gonna need to rent a car.”

“You can use mine. If I need to, I can borrow one from a friend.”

He hesitated a moment more, then nodded. “All right, then I guess that’s it. Let’s go.” He didn’t like it, she could tell, but he was a smart man and her logic was sound. Sam didn’t know him. He wouldn’t trust him. But he trusted Claire.

And she had let him down.

Her heart pinched. She’d failed him and now she had to make it right. Claire just prayed Ben Slocum was a different man than the reckless heartthrob Laura had portrayed him to be.

* * *

Ben found Claire’s car parked in the overnight lot. A nearly new red Honda Accord. Interesting, since Claire Chastain didn’t strike Ben as the red-car type. Those women were fiery-tempered. Impulsive. Passionate. Then again, it was hard to figure the currents running beneath a female’s facade.

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.”

A trickle of emotion slipped through him. He wasn’t sure what it was. Pride? How could that be? He didn’t even know the kid.

He amended that. With Claire’s help, he was beginning to know his child, at least a little.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask to talk to the other foster kids in the house,” she said.

“There was no way that was going to happen without a fistfight, and even if the Robersons agreed, the kids would be afraid to say anything.”

“I talked to them the day after Sam was reported missing,” Claire said. Ben glanced in her direction. “They told me Sam didn’t say anything about leaving. They didn’t see him pack his clothes, but Tim said he took the photo of his mom he kept on the nightstand. He also said Sam and Kenny had a fight a couple of days before. Apparently since then, Kenny had been making Sam’s life hell.”

“So he might have run.”

“Or he met up with Troy, the way I think he did.”

“What about the kids at school?” he asked. “You talk to them?”

“The police did. He was still pretty new. He hadn’t really made any friends. No one knew where he might have gone.”

Ben returned his attention to the road. “The cops will be looking for Sam. I’m going after Bridger. You better be right about Bridger having my son.”

* * *

He drove down Sunset Boulevard, stop-and-go, bumper-to-bumper traffic, lots of restaurants and bars, people with weird-colored hair and nose piercings ambling along the sidewalk. The GPS showed a turn up Laurel Canyon Road. He made the turn and followed the directions up the mountain.

There was a wrought-iron gate at the bottom of a hill in front of a private driveway. He pushed the intercom button and a familiar woman’s voice came over the line.

“Yes, may I help you?”

“Hi, Amy. This is Ben Slocum. I need to talk to Johnnie. Sorry it’s so late, but it’s important.”

“Ben! Oh, my God, of course. Come on in.”

Claire flashed him a look. “One of your old girlfriends?”

“That’s Amy Riggs. She happens to be my friend’s wife.”

The electric gate swung slowly open. Ben drove the Accord up the hill, parked in front of the first building he came to and turned off the engine.

It was a modern structure, white stucco with a flat roof and a garage off to one side. Farther up the hill, a much-bigger version looked out over the Los Angeles basin. Amy and Johnnie Riggs walked out on the porch. Amy ran down the front steps and into his arms for a hug.

“Ben! It’s so good to see you.”

She was a tiny little thing, long straight blond hair and big blue eyes, the woman John Riggs had fallen madly in love with. From the sappy grin on his face as he looked at her, he still was.

Johnnie walked over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good to see you, Iceman.”

“You, too, Hambone.” Riggs was a ranger. He could out-eat every man in the platoon and never gain weight. Or at least it was said that that was how he’d gotten his nickname. Ben turned, introduced Claire to Amy, then the muscular, dark-haired man with the perennial five o’clock shadow. Only Johnnie’s wasn’t for effect like most of the Hollywood crowd’s.

“Good to meet you both,” Claire said. They were sizing her up, Ben could tell, wondering if she meant more to him than the women he usually dated. She meant more, all right. She was the key to finding his son.

The group went into the house, and Ben spotted the bulging suitcases sitting in the entry. “You going somewhere?”

Riggs grinned. “We’re off to Hawaii, my friend. I’ve been promising Amy. We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

Not good news. “That’s too bad. I was hoping you could help me find my son.”

Johnnie’s eyes widened. “You’ve got a kid?”

“Looks that way. I just found out this morning. Unfortunately, he’s gone missing.”

“The hell you say.”

“Hey, Johnnie! We gonna finish this? I need to get going.”

Ben didn’t recognize the lanky, dark-haired kid in scuffed cowboy boots and a Dodgers baseball cap who came up the stairs two at a time from the floor below.

“That’s Tyler Brodie,” Johnnie said, tipping his head toward the man striding toward them. “He’s smarter than he looks.”

For the first time that day, Ben almost smiled. Because the kid, with his crooked, lady-killer grin, looked about twenty-five years old.

“Sorry, man,” Brodie said. “I didn’t know you had company.”

“It’s all right, I’m glad you’re here.” Johnnie made introductions. “Ty, meet Ben Slocum. You remember me telling you about him? Helped me in Belize when Amy and I went down to find her sister.”

“Ex-SEAL, right? Johnnie said he owed you big-time for helping him out of a jam. Nice to meet you.” The kid’s handshake was solid and strong. Johnnie introduced him to Claire.

“Ty’s not only smarter than he looks, he’s older. Almost an old man of thirty. He’s a former jarhead, and I just made him my partner.”

“Johnnie’s been working way too hard,” Amy explained. “And Ty’s really good at his job.”

“Which is?” Ben asked.

“Doing the same thing I do,” Johnnie said. “Digging up information. He’s been working for me a couple of years. Ty’s a licensed P.I., and like Amy says, he’s good.”

Ty grinned. “Thanks, boss...I mean partner.”

Ben looked him over. He trusted John Riggs. If Johnnie said Brodie was good, he must be very good.

“Since Johnnie’s heading out on vacation, it looks like you’re the man I’m going to need. My son’s missing and the police don’t have a clue where to find him. I’ve got the name of a guy who might have taken him. I need you to dig around, Ty. See if you can come up with a lead.”

Brodie nodded. “I can handle that.”

“You want a beer or something?” Johnnie asked. “Claire, you want a glass of wine or maybe some iced tea?”

“Wine sounds great,” Claire said, getting a smile of approval from Amy.

“I’ll have a Coke if you’ve got one,” Ben said. He was still recovering from a hangover and he’d only had a couple of hours’ sleep. He needed to stay focused, keep his mind sharp.

Riggs and Amy led them into a living room dominated by a wall of glass that looked out at a sea of colored lights in the valley below. Johnnie opened a small refrigerator in the built-in bar, took out a couple of beers and handed one to Ty, poured wine for Amy and Claire, took out a Coke for Ben.

“Flight’s not leaving till 9:00 a.m. We got plenty of time. Why don’t you fill us in?”

Ben didn’t hesitate. Johnnie could sleep on the plane. In the meantime, he could use all the help he could get. Ben started talking, and an hour later, they were still making plans.

“I need to know what the cops are doing,” Ben said. “A detective named Owens at the LAPD is in charge of the case. I’d rather work things on my own, keep a low profile. You guys got any connections in the missing-persons division?”

Johnnie tipped his head toward Brodie. “Ty’s got half the females in the LAPD swooning over him. He can find out pretty much anything you want to know.”

Ben arched a brow. “That so?”

Brodie’s mouth edged up. “A smart man never reveals his sources, but I can find out what’s happening with the case.”

“That’d be great.”

Cell numbers were exchanged. “I’ll call as soon as I’ve got something,” Brodie said.

It was late when Ben and Claire left the house and headed for Claire’s apartment. Ben tried not to think where his son might be spending the night.

Four

Claire’s eyes felt gritty and her neck hurt. It was one o’clock in the morning by the time Ben pulled her car into the carport beneath her Santa Monica apartment on Sixth Street. With the time change, she’d been up for more than twenty hours.

Ben had been up even longer. She ignored a little niggle of curiosity about the woman he’d been sleeping with the night before she’d met him, and led him toward the guest room. He tossed his duffel on the bed.

“Your bathroom’s at the end of the hall,” she said. “There’s soap, shampoo and toothpaste, and the towels are fresh. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“I need to get on the internet, see if I can find anything on Bridger. I hope you’ve got Wi-Fi.”

“I’ve got it. Sunrise452 is the code. But you need to get some sleep, Ben. You won’t be any good to Sam if you’re dead on your feet.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d been clean-shaven that morning; now a rough shadow darkened his jaw. “You’re probably right. I could use a couple of hours.”

“I usually get up early. If you’re not up, I’ll wake you.”

He nodded, turned to survey the queen-size bed, looked at it with longing.

“By the way. Johnnie Riggs called you Iceman. That’s your nickname? From the SEALs?”

“Yeah.”

With eyes like his, there was no mistaking where the name had come from. “Good night, Ben.”

“Good night, Claire. See you in the morning.” Ben disappeared behind the guest room door, and Claire went into her own room to shower before going to bed.

She yawned as she headed for the bathroom. With so much on her mind, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get any sleep.

* * *

Surprised to find the sun shining brightly through the curtains over the windows, Claire yawned as she climbed out of bed the following morning. She needed to wake Ben and make some coffee’strong, she remembered, was the way he liked it.

Slipping into her robe, she opened the bedroom door and stepped out in the hall, heard footsteps an instant before she collided with Ben. His arms went around her, steadying her before she took a fall.

“Easy.”

“Sorry. I’I didn’t know you were awake.” He was returning to his bedroom, freshly showered, a towel slung low on his hips, his black hair wet, drops of water beaded against his tanned skin.

Claire’s mouth went dry. She couldn’t take her eyes off the thick pectoral muscles, flat stomach and six-pack abs. A patch of curly black hair spread over his chest and arrowed down his stomach to disappear beneath the towel.

She couldn’t seem to breathe.

“You okay?” he asked in a voice that sounded a little gruffer this morning.

Claire stepped back as if his skin had burned her. “Fine...I’m just... You just took me by surprise.”

“I’ve been awake for hours. Wanted to see what I could find on the net.” His gaze ran over her, taking in her sleep-tangled hair, traveling over the nipples that had hardened under her short silk robe, down the legs exposed below the hem, all the way to her bare feet.

How those icy eyes could look burning hot she would never know, but her stomach contracted beneath that heated gaze and her nipples hardened even more.

In an instant, his demeanor changed, the heat disappearing as if it had never been there.

“I need some coffee, doll. How ’bout you make us a pot?”

Her mouth dropped open, then snapped closed. Before she could tell him to keep his pet names to himself, he had walked on down the hall, disappeared into his room and closed the door.

Ohhhh, the man was infuriating! Ben Slocum was rude and arrogant, a complete macho jerk. How could Laura ever have fallen in love with him?

But she had, Claire knew. Laura had loved Ben desperately. And she had never gotten over him. Loving Ben Slocum and having to give him up had ruined her life. Even having his child hadn’t been enough to save her from the depression she felt in losing him.

Claire glanced at the door of the guest room. Laura had called him a heartthrob. He certainly had the most incredible male physique she had ever seen. Even the jocks in the gym didn’t look as good as Ben, whose hard-muscled body just seemed more authentic.

As a former SEAL, it actually was. It didn’t mean she had to like him. Still, for Sam, she would try to keep an open mind as much as she could. Laura had loved him. There had to be something good about him.

Then again, for a while, Laura had thought she was in love with Troy Bridger.

* * *

Ben went back to work on the laptop he’d set up on the kitchen table at 5:00 a.m. that morning. Claire was on the computer in her bedroom, digging for information same as he was.

Her place was nice. Just a few blocks from the beach. It was an older building, condos rented as apartments, but the unit was in good condition, the living room comfortably furnished with a pale green sofa and chairs, a glass-topped black wrought-iron coffee table, cream and pale green throw pillows.

There was an area with a glass dining table and upholstered, pale green high-back chairs. Lots of beach paintings hung on the walls. Overall, it was simple and elegant but not stark. The kitchen had white cabinets and a round white table with a butcher-block top. Lots of cream and pale green in the dish towels and pot holders, knickknacks on the walls.

He glanced toward her bedroom. Aside from handing him a cup of coffee, Claire hadn’t said more than a couple of words since he’d run into her in the hall.

He almost smiled. In only a thin silk robe, her thick mahogany hair curling around her shoulders, her bare legs exposed, she was one sexy lady. Since the last thing he wanted to feel was any sort of physical attraction to a woman he was trying to work with, he needed to keep her at a distance.

It was working even better than he had planned. Which should have made him happy, but didn’t.

He was beginning to like Claire Chastain. Yesterday, when she’d stood up for Sam, then stepped in to stop Martha Roberson from calling the police, that feeling had crept up another notch. Hell, he’d even felt a twinge of admiration. Claire was one determined woman.

He still wasn’t sure if he wanted her to be right about Bridger having Sam or whether it would be better if his son were wandering the streets of L.A.

Ben gazed down at the computer screen. He’d been surfing the net for hours, trying to find out about the people involved in the case. That was how he needed to look at it’as a case instead of a situation that involved his own flesh and blood. He had to be objective or he wouldn’t be able to do his job.

He’d started with his ex-fiancée, Laura Thompson. She’d married Tom Schofield less than a year after he and Laura had split up. So much for her broken heart.

Then again, Laura clearly didn’t have a heart, since he had found her in bed with another man just days after he’d given her an engagement ring.

He tracked her through old newspaper articles: her engagement, her wedding to Schofield, their divorce six months later. Old courthouse documents filed not long after changed her name back to Thompson.

He tracked her to Los Angeles where he had hooked up with her again. Her Facebook account was still open. He read personal posts, saw photos of Sam when he was younger.

It was oddly surreal to see a smaller version of his own face staring back at him. Surreal and surprisingly emotional. When he thought of all the years he had missed with the boy’the Little League games, the parent-teacher meetings, Christmases and birthdays’anger bubbled up inside him.

Even he hadn’t known how much he would regret not being there for those things.

What he didn’t find was a single damn thing connecting Laura to Troy Bridger.

His office in Houston was open by now. Picking up his cell phone, he punched in the number for Atlas Security, got Annie Mayberry, the receptionist and manager.

“Annie, it’s Ben. I’m in L.A. Long story. I need to talk to Sol. He in yet?”

“You sound tired, Ben. That little blonde you took home after the wedding keep you up till the wee hours of the morning?”

Ben ignored the gibe. Annie knew everything that went on in the office. Hell, the woman knew everything that went on in Houston. She had a tongue like a viper and didn’t hesitate to use it. She was also a mother hen and everyone’s confidante, even his.

“I’ve got a son, Annie. I just found out. The boy’s missing. I need to talk to Sol.”

A heartbeat passed. “You got it, Iceman. Anything you need just let me know.”

“Listen, I may be gone for a while. Will you check on Herc in a day or two, make sure he’s okay?” Annie had a key to his house. One of the few people he trusted with his security codes.

“No problem.”

“I’ve got a couple of cases I was supposed to start working this week. The files are on my desk. Maybe you could ask Jake to take them. Or maybe Trace could work one of them for me.” Trace Rawlins owned the company, and Jake Cantrell was another P.I. who worked freelance in the office. Both men were ex-military, Trace a ranger and Jake a Force Recon Marine sniper. They were among his closest friends.

“Don’t you worry,” Annie said. “We’ll handle it. You just find your boy.” She spoke to Sol on the intercom, then patched him through. Annie was a real busybody, but she knew when things were serious. “Good luck, honey.”

Sol picked up right away. He was only twenty-four, but when it came to computer know-how, Sol Greenway was as good as it got.

“Hey, Ice, Annie says you got a kid?”

“That’s right. He’s only nine and he’s missing. I need to find him, Sol.”

“Just give me what you’ve got and I’m on it.”

Ben gave Sol the few details he had, including info on the Robersons, Bridger’s name and last known address, that he’d been employed at Warner Construction. “I’ve also got some photos I can send.”

“Great,” Sol said. “I’ll try facial recognition. Take a look at the registered-sex-offender list, too, see if there’s something somebody missed.”

Ben’s stomach tightened. “Thanks.”

“I’ll start digging, just prowl, see what I can find.”

“That’d be great. Keep me posted.”

“Will do.” Ben ended the call and went to work. Using the portable scanner he’d brought with him, he sent Sol the photos he had of Sam, along with a picture of Bridger with Laura that Claire had given him.

Finished, he came up out of his chair just as Claire walked back into the kitchen dressed in jeans and a crisp white cotton blouse, a pair of gold sandals on her slender feet. Her toenails were painted a fiery red, he noticed, and thought again about her car and taking her to bed.

Which wasn’t going to happen. He took a last glance, appreciating her feminine curves. At least not anytime soon.

“Have you found anything?” she asked.

“I need to talk to the people Bridger worked for.”

And he needed to get into the bastard’s apartment, which the police report had said was vacant. He needed to see if the police had missed something, but he wasn’t going to cop to breaking and entering to Claire. “I’ll be back when I’m finished.”

“I’m going with you. And I think we should go to his apartment. It was empty when the police went in, but they might have missed something.”

His mouth edged up. “Glad you thought of it. His address was in the police report. I’ll stop by before I come back.”

Those determined green eyes fixed on his face. “I said, I’m going with you.”

He could see by her stubborn expression she wasn’t going to back down. Since it wasn’t worth an argument, he just walked over, took the keys down from the hook on the key rack and started walking.

“After you,” he said, and pulled open the apartment door.

* * *

Claire followed Ben up the metal stairs into the Warner Construction trailer next to a big high-rise building site. They walked over to the Formica-topped counter, and one of the female employees left her desk and came to greet them.

“May I help you?”

“Any chance you knew a guy named Troy Bridger?” Ben asked. “I understand he worked here.”

Claire didn’t miss the way the redhead smiled at Ben.

“Troy was a crane operator, but he quit a couple of weeks ago.” She gave him a long, slow once-over, clearly liking what she saw. “He didn’t give us any notice, just picked up his check and said he wouldn’t be back.” She was wearing tight jeans and a navy blue T-shirt with the words we dig you stretched over a lush pair of breasts.

“Did Troy usually pick up his paychecks?” Ben asked. “Or did you mail them somewhere?”

She tossed a red curl over her shoulder and gave him another smile. “Troy always picked them up.” To his credit, Ben didn’t seem to be taking the bait, but the redhead was definitely interested. Claire couldn’t fault her taste in men.

“Did he say anything about taking another job?”

“He said he was going to be moving,” the woman said, “leaving the state. He didn’t say where he was headed. I figured maybe he was going home.”

Claire’s interest picked up. “Do you know where he was from?”

The redhead’s gaze never strayed from Ben. “He never said, but I think it was somewhere in the South. He talked about having brothers and he said he liked to hunt. Once in a while, I noticed a Southern drawl.”

Ben turned to Claire. “You notice it?”

“We didn’t talk that often. I hadn’t thought about it until now, but yes...I think he did have a slight Southern accent. Not too much, but some.”

Ben returned his attention to the woman behind the counter. “Troy ever mention a boy named Sam?”

She shook her head. “Not that I recall.”

“Is there anyone else I could talk to about him, someone who might know where to find him?”

“Not that I know of. Troy was a real loner, you know? He did his job and left. He never hung around with the other guys.”

Ben took out his wallet and handed the redhead a business card. “I’d really like to speak to him. If you think of something that could help me find him, Ms....?”

“Ferber. Tracy Ferber.”

“Ms. Ferber. If you think of something that might help us find him, I’d appreciate it if you’d call me on my cell.”

“Okay’” she read his name on the card, gave him a flirty glance “’Ben.”

Claire fought the urge to roll her eyes. She felt Ben’s hand at her waist, directing her toward the door, then they were outside heading for the car.

“That was a big fat zero,” she said as she settled in the passenger seat and buckled her seat belt. “Unless you were looking for a date.”

“Funny. We got a lead. Bridger may be headed home and that might mean he’s moving south.”

“But we don’t really know.”

“That’s the way it works, Claire. You collect the bits and pieces, keep adding to them, see which ones fit, which ones don’t. Pretty soon you begin to get a picture.”

But all of that took time and time was something they didn’t have. “Where to next?”

Ben started the engine. “I’m going over to his apartment. I’ll talk to the landlord if he’s there, try to get him to let me in. If that doesn’t work, I’m going in anyway. I’ve got his address programmed into the GPS. I’ll drop you off at your place on the way.”

Claire leaned back in her seat. “Not a chance. There might be something there. I want to have a look.”

Those blue eyes pinned her where she sat. “You understand I’m going in’one way or another?”

“Just drive, frogman.”

Ben Slocum actually smiled.

Five

Troy Bridger lived in a run-down neighborhood not far from LAX. The apartment building had cracks in the plaster’probably earthquake damage’and the blue paint had faded to a washed-out gray. Unit four sat on the bottom floor, the curtains partially open. There was no on-site manager and no one around.

The sun was moving west, the afternoon waning as they walked up on the porch and looked through the windows. The apartment was cheaply furnished, but Ben could see no one was living there.

“I’m going to take a look inside,” he said. “Why don’t you wait for me in the car?”

“If you’re going in, so am I. I might find something you miss.”

“Breaking and entering’s a crime, angel. You’d be smarter to stay out of it.”

Her chin went up. “I’m going.”

Ben just shook his head. “I’ll go round back and find a way in, come back and open the door. Whistle if someone’s coming.”

Her pretty green eyes widened. “I don’t know how to whistle.”

Amusement slid through him. At least Claire Chastain was keeping him entertained. “You’ll think of something.”

He headed around the corner to the rear of the building. Behind the apartment, each ground-level unit had a small fenced yard. Bridger’s had enough dog crap to tell him that Pepper had definitely been in residence.

Using a credit card, he opened the cheesy lock on the back door into the kitchen. The good news was, the place hadn’t been cleaned. He made his way into the living room, past a worn tweed sofa with a couple of springs sticking out, and opened the front door for Claire.

As she walked inside, her nose wrinkled at the musty, unpleasant smell. “It looks like he’s been gone awhile. Thank God the cleaning crew hasn’t been in.”

Smart lady. “Doesn’t look like the cops have been here, either. Maybe the landlord wouldn’t let them in without a warrant.”

“The Robersons convinced the police Sam ran away, so they probably didn’t try to get one.”

He made a quick sweep of the living room and bedroom. “I don’t see any sign of a kid being here. Sam disappeared eleven days ago. If Bridger took him, they must have headed straight out of town.”

“Let’s make sure,” Claire said.

He nodded. “I’ll look in here. You take another look in the bedroom.”

Claire disappeared into the other room while Ben made a slow sweep of the living room, looking for anything that might have information they could use. All he saw were old movie-ticket stubs, dirty Kleenex, candy wrappers and empty foam cups. Nothing of any value.

Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he took out one of the small brown paper bags he carried for evidence collection, tucked the cup inside for a DNA sample.

He wandered into the kitchen, found an overdue electric bill on the counter. The wet garbage had been carried out, but a lot of paper trash remained. He used a pen to poke through litter here and there, looking for any scrap that might lead to Bridger.

His eye caught a haphazardly stacked pile of what looked like opened, discarded mail. Bridger’s name was on the envelopes and flyers, most of which were advertisements. All but one. A VISA credit card statement. The card had recently been canceled. This was the closing statement. No charges. No money owed.

It had been mailed to unit four but the name on the envelope wasn’t Troy Bridger. It was Troy Bennett.

Bingo.

He refolded the piece of paper, stuck it back in the envelope and shoved it into his hip pocket. Looking up, he saw Claire walking back into the living room, her eyes wide, her face as pale as cotton.

Ben started toward her, caught her shoulders to steady her. “Claire, what is it?”

She looked up at him, moistened her lips. “Blood...”

He urged her over to the sofa, sat her down on one of the sagging cushions. “Stay here.”

Blood. It didn’t mean anything. It could be anyone’s blood. There was no reason to think it was Sam’s. Still, a knot formed in his stomach as he rushed into the bedroom.

Nothing in there. But in the bathroom, the sink was covered with a dried, dark brown substance that could only be blood.

Using his pocket knife, he scraped enough blood off the porcelain into another bag for a sample. There was a fine spatter on the walls, but nothing else in the room besides dirt, mold and rust around the bathtub.

He spotted pieces of a broken glass in the corner and felt a hint of relief.

The color was back in Claire’s face when he returned to the living room.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she stood up. “Was it really’”

“It’s blood, but there’s no reason to think it’s Sam’s.”

“No, of course not. I was just... It scared me.”

“I found pieces of a broken glass. Looks like that’s what happened. Someone cut himself and bled into the sink. Doesn’t look like enough to be fatal. I took a sample. We’ll see what it shows.”

“Maybe the police can match the DNA or something, find out Bridger’s real name.”

“They have to have something to match the DNA to. Bridger would have to be in the system. Can take a while to find out.” He rested a hand at the small of her back as they started for the door. “The good news is I found an old VISA bill in the name of Troy Bennett.”

She stopped so suddenly, the curve of her bottom came up against his groin. “Oh, my God, that must be his real name.” Ben stepped back, the firm roundness feeling way too good.

“Not necessarily. Sometimes a guy like that uses half a dozen aliases.”

“Oh. Are you giving the card number to the police?”

“I’m giving the number to a friend in Houston. The card’s been canceled, but with any luck, he can tell us where it was used last.”

“What about the police?”

“Not yet. If Bridger’s got my son, I don’t want the police accidentally tipping him before we can get to him. We don’t know anything about this guy. We don’t know what he might do.”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” There were things he needed to do. More pieces of the puzzle to find and fit together. More information he needed in order to find his son.

* * *

On the way back to her apartment, Claire sat quietly as Ben phoned Tyler Brodie and got the name of a private lab he and John Riggs occasionally used when they were working a case. She waited in the car while Ben went in to drop off the blood sample he had scraped out of the sink, fidgeting, wondering if they would be able to get a result before the end of the day.

A few minutes later, Ben climbed back into the car.

“How long will it take them to get the DNA?” she asked as he started the engine.

“They’ll have the blood type by tomorrow morning at the latest. Getting the DNA and running it through CODIS will take a couple more days.”

“CODIS...that’s the criminal offender database. I’ve dealt with it in my work.” Social Services had to know as much as possible about the people they were trying to help. The system gave them badly needed information.

“It only works if the DNA from the blood belongs to someone in the system. If that’s the case, they’ll be able to tell us who it is.”

She glanced out the window, saw the sun sitting low on the horizon, the afternoon slipping away. “Sam’s blood type is O-negative. He took a fall off a skateboard, cut his arm and had to have stitches. I went with Laura to the emergency room.”

“O-negative. Same as mine.” Something flashed in his eyes. Not relief that the boy was his. Something a father might feel when he spoke of his son. “They would probably have taken a sample of his DNA when he went into the foster care program.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Claire didn’t say more. She didn’t want to think that the blood belonged to Sam, that he might have been seriously injured. There had been no sign of a child, she reminded herself. Chances were the blood was Troy’s.

As soon as they got back to her apartment, Ben went to work on his laptop, trying to find something on the name Troy Bennett. He also called his friend in Houston, a guy named Sol Greenway, he had told her, a computer expert, and put him to work, as well.

Now Ben was pacing, waiting to hear back from his friend. Clearly, Ben wasn’t a patient man.

His iPhone rang. He picked it up from where it sat next to his laptop and pressed it against his ear, looked at her and shook his head. Not the lab or Sol Greenway.

“Brodie. What’s up?”

She couldn’t hear what Tyler Brodie was saying on the other end of the line but Ben’s face looked grim when he hung up the phone.

“What is it?”

“Brodie talked to the cops.” Ben stuck the phone in his pocket. “They said Sam’s teachers knew he was unhappy. The police are sticking to their theory that Sam’s a runaway. They’re checking local hangouts, places where kids congregate who’ve left home.”

“I could talk to them again, try to convince them. I know it’s Bridger. Laura said he promised he would find a way to pay her back for what she did to him.” She glanced away. “And he wanted to hurt me, as well.” She looked back at him. “Maybe this time the police will listen.”

“Look, Brodie’s going to check the runaway angle, too. He says he knows some of the lowlifes who lure these kids into working for them. They use them for drug mules, get them to steal. Traffic them. He’ll find out if any of these guys have seen Sam.”

Claire’s heart jerked. “Traffic them? Oh, God, Ben.” Her eyes filled and she started shaking. She had blocked that kind of possibility out of her mind. She couldn’t stand to think of Sam being sexually abused, suffering in some terrible way.

She felt Ben’s arms go around her, drawing her against his powerful chest. “It’s all right. We don’t know that’s happened. From the start you’ve been convinced Sam didn’t run away, that it was Bridger who took him.”

She looked up at him, into his strong, handsome face. “What if I’m wrong?”

“Are you?”

She swallowed. She was risking Sam’s life. Claire shook her head. “No.” She eased away from him, felt the loss of his warmth.

“Then we keep looking for Bridger. My instincts say you’re right. Bridger wanted revenge against Laura. With her dead, he wants payback from you. He went to see Sam on at least two different occasions. Sam was desperate to escape and Troy used that desperation to convince the kid to go with him. We just have to figure out where he’s gone.”

His cell rang again. Claire watched his expression, read his determination to find his son. She thought of the way he had tried to comfort her. She hadn’t expected his sympathy. Ben Slocum didn’t strike her as a sympathetic man. But he had surprised her at Bridger’s apartment. Surprised her here. There was no mistaking his concern.

He ended the call. “That was Sol. Troy Bennett worked as a crane operator in Vegas. He lived with a woman, an exotic dancer named Sadie Summers. His old VISA bills show he left town about six months ago and came to L.A.”

“How does your friend Sol know all that?”

Ben’s mouth edged up. “Sol doesn’t say and I don’t ask. But I need to talk to Sadie Summers.”

He started for the bedroom, but Claire caught his arm. “I’m going with you, Ben. We’re in this together. I promised Laura.”

“Fine, get on the phone and charter us a plane out of Santa Monica. It’s only a little over an hour flight. If we get going, we can be back late tonight.”

Claire didn’t argue. She had money in the bank, enough to rent the plane. She got on the internet and found a charter company, arranged for a flight from the Santa Monica airport to McCarran Field.

“We’re all set,” she called out as she walked down the hall. “The plane’ll be ready to leave in an hour.” Ben’s door stood open. She stopped in the opening. He stood beside the bed, naked to the waist, a yellow oxford-cloth shirt lying on the bedspread ready to be put on.

Claire just stared. Her heart was pounding, the blood rushing to her head. It was impossible to look away from all those perfect muscles. Impossible to keep from thinking of sex, which she hadn’t had since her breakup with her former boyfriend, Michael Sullivan, five months ago.

Rarely before that, since he was gone so much.

“Keep looking at me like that, angel, and we’re going to have to add a couple hours to our departure.”

She stared into those ice-blue eyes that were anything but cold and felt light-headed. “A couple of hours?”

“I’d prefer to take the rest of the day, but we have things to do.”

Her face heated up. “Oh. Oh, my God.” Turning, she hurried back down the hall, embarrassment washing through her. She couldn’t believe she had gawked at him that way. It wasn’t like her to let a man’s appearance affect her. She was interested in brains, not brawn. Well, usually.

In her bedroom, she grabbed a small overnight bag out of her closet, tossed in a change of underwear, a clean T-shirt, a sweater, her makeup bag and travel kit. By the time she walked into the living room, her composure had returned.

Ben was unplugging his laptop, putting it in its case.

Claire lifted her chin. “If you didn’t want to be stared at, you shouldn’t have left your door open.”

Ben’s mouth edged up. “Actually, I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I’m hoping you’ll return the favor.”

Heat slid through her as she thought of those amazing eyes running over her half-naked body. She wondered if he found her attractive. What kind of woman appealed to a hard man like Ben?

“As you rightly pointed out,” she said, staring at him down the length of her nose, “we don’t have time for those kinds of distractions.”

“Yeah, unfortunately.” He grabbed his laptop case and the black canvas duffel he’d brought with him, though clearly he’d only packed enough for the night. “I doubt we’ll be staying, but you never know what might turn up.”

She grabbed her overnight bag and they headed out the door.

Less than two hours later, she climbed down off the wing of their chartered Cessna 310 and crossed the tarmac next to Ben, toward the rental car she had arranged. The sun had set, but the lights of the casinos were so bright it didn’t seem dark in Las Vegas.

“Since you insisted on paying for the plane,” she said, “I used my card for the car.”

Ben flicked her a glance. “A liberated woman. I figured.”

But she wasn’t sure he liked it. The guy had macho stamped in invisible letters on his forehead. Macho men weren’t usually attracted to independent women. She told herself it didn’t bother her.

They climbed into the Toyota Corolla she had rented from Hertz. Ben plugged the address he had for Sadie Summers into the GPS and started the car. It occurred to her that if the meeting went anything like it had at Warner Construction, Ben would probably make more progress with the stripper if he went alone.

Claire didn’t suggest it.

Six

It was chilly in Las Vegas but the cool fall weather didn’t deter the millions of tourists who prowled the casino strip. Ben avoided Las Vegas Boulevard, taking a less-crowded route from the airport to an address on the west side of town. A couple of times as he drove along, his glance strayed to Claire.

Ben knew women and there’d been no mistaking the sexual interest in those big green eyes when she had caught him half-naked in his bedroom. He hadn’t missed the way her breath quickened, the pulse that throbbed at the base of her throat. It was good to know the growing attraction he felt for her was returned.

But Sam was the priority for both of them, and even if the time were right, he wasn’t sure the lady would invite him into her bed. Claire was uptight and reserved. She wasn’t the type to have sex with a man she barely knew.

On his side, Ben didn’t want the problems that came with sexual intimacy. He wasn’t good at the morning-after niceties. As far as he was concerned, by morning both parties had gotten what they wanted and it was over.

He was pretty sure that wasn’t the way Claire approached a physical relationship. She’d want more, and he wasn’t the kind of guy who could give it to her.

Still, just thinking about stripping off those conservative clothes and discovering the woman beneath sent his blood pumping south, and inside his jeans he started getting hard. Shifting against his growing arousal, he turned on the radio and concentrated on following the directions to the address he had punched into the GPS.

It turned out to be an apartment in a low-rent section of Vegas. Two stories, white with black trim, a couple of scrawny trees in front. A light shone on a play area with swings and a sandbox that sat inside a chain-link fence next to the building.

“Maybe I should wait in the car,” Claire said as he turned off the engine, which surprised him since she had always insisted on going everywhere he did. One look at her face and he knew what she was thinking.

“The horny redhead at the construction site wasn’t my type and the last thing I want is to be alone with a stripper.” She’d been uptight since their encounter in the hall that morning. It was nice to see her smile.

“Okay.”

They got out of the car and made their way up to the porch. Ben knocked on the door and a minute later it swung open. Sadie Summers was a brassy blonde with a couple of kids. He could see them playing on the floor in her living room. He hadn’t expected that.

“I’m Ben Slocum and this is Claire Chastain. I know it’s getting late. We’re sorry to bother you, Ms. Summers, but we’re looking for a man named Troy Bennett. We’re hoping you can help us find him.”

He’d told Claire to let him take the lead, decide how much information to feed her. If Sadie Summers was still in contact with Bennett, and Bennett had Sam, he didn’t want her to give the guy a heads-up and a chance to run.

Sadie propped a hand on her hip. “I have no idea where that rat bastard is. I haven’t seen him in months. Troy left me holding the bag on the rent. He was supposed to pay five hundred toward the bills, but at the end of the month, he just took off. I haven’t seen him since.”

Ben glanced over at Claire. “Mind if we come in? I’ll pay you the five hundred he owes if you’ll help us find him.”

Sadie’s blond eyebrows went up. “Sounds like my kinda deal.” She had a curvy figure, but she was dressed in sweats and a T-shirt. Ben supposed she showed off her body enough at the strip club.

Sadie opened the door and stepped back so they could walk in. “You kids go to your room and play. Mama’s got company.”

The kids’a dark-haired, mixed-heritage boy about five, and a little blonde girl about six’scrambled off down the hall.

“You want some iced tea or something?”

He started to say no.

“I’d love some,” Claire said, nudging him in the ribs.

Sadie smiled. “I’ve got some made. Kitchen’s right this way.”

Claire threw him a look as she walked past, letting Sadie lead her into the kitchen. Nice move, he thought. Being friendly and forming a connection wasn’t a bad idea. Maybe Claire would be an asset after all.

By the time Sadie returned to the living room, she was smoking a cigarette and laughing. Claire handed Ben a glass of iced tea, took a drink of her own, and all of them sat down in the living room.

Ben leaned forward in an overstuffed brown chair while the women sat on the couch. “What can you tell us about Bennett?” he asked.

Sadie blew out a lungful of smoke. “Not a lot. He was kind of the strong, silent type. We met at the club. Troy was good-looking in a rough sort of way. He worked for Vector Crane as one of the operators.”

“You know where he came from?” Claire asked. “Where he was born?”

“The South someplace. Every once in a while his drawl would slip out. I know he lived in Alabama for a while, but I don’t think he was born there. He had a couple of brothers in Louisiana. I don’t know where.”

Louisiana. If Troy was going home the way Tracy Ferber had believed, he might be headed to Louisiana.

“How’d he get along with the kids?” Ben asked, watching Sadie closely.

She took a deep drag, blew out a stream of smoke. “Okay, when he was sober. He was mean when he got drunk. I think it bothered him that Billy was a mixed-blood kid, but mostly he ignored them.”

“How about you? He treat you okay?”

Sadie shrugged her shoulders. “Troy knocked me around a couple of times when he’d been drinking. Once in a while he popped off how men were superior to women. He never hit the kids, but I think they were glad when he left.”

Ben exchanged a glance with Claire. He could read the worry on her face. He was just beginning to understand how much she cared about his son. It touched him unexpectedly. Having a child made him see life in a way he hadn’t since the day he’d found Laura in bed with another man.

He listened as Claire asked about Sadie’s kids, then Claire told her about Sam and that he was missing. Ben didn’t know his son, but Claire did. Hearing her say what a good kid he was, how smart and loyal, gave him a picture of the child he had fathered.

He fought down a wave of fury at the man who had taken him.

Ben focused his attention on the blonde woman across from him. “Is there anyone else in Vegas we could talk to, Sadie? Someone who might know where Troy could have gone?”

She took a drink of her tea. “There was a guy he worked with, but he’s not here anymore. Eddie Jeffries. I heard Eddie quit his job about the same time Troy did. I think they went down to L.A. together.”

The trail led back to L.A. Maybe they’d get lucky this time.

Ben stood up from his chair. Pulling his silver money clip out of his pocket, he peeled off five hundred-dollar bills. “You’ve been a big help, Sadie.” He handed her the money. “Thanks.”

“I hope you find the prick.”

Ben gave her one of his business cards. “If you think of anything that might help, give me a call.”

Sadie walked them to the door. “There is one thing.”

Ben stopped and turned. “What’s that?”

“I don’t think Bennett was really Troy’s last name.”

Ben nodded. “Yeah, well, that’s pretty much what I figured.” From what Sol had said, Troy Bennett had been born full grown, just another alias to be discarded.

Claire leaned over and hugged the buxom blonde. “Thank you, Sadie. We’re both so worried. We really appreciate your help.” It was clear Claire felt a deep sense of responsibility for Sam’s disappearance. The pain she suffered was almost palpable.

And yet he couldn’t help thinking that some of it was deserved. If she had come to him when Laura had first given her his name, or even after Laura got sick, none of this would have happened.

Sadie looked at Ben. “Troy’s bad about holding grudges. Once you’ve pissed him off, he can’t seem to let it go. But I don’t think he’d hurt your boy. At least not when he’s sober.”

Ben’s jaw hardened. Troy Bennett had better not hurt his son. If he did, he wouldn’t have to worry about going to prison.

He would be dead.

* * *

Claire was exhausted by the time the plane landed back in Santa Monica and they started the drive to her apartment. It was late but the trip had been worth it.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Ben said, spotting a row of fast-food restaurants up ahead. “McDonald’s all right?”

“At this point anything is good.” She rarely ate fast food, but she was starving. They ordered from the drive-through, then sat in the parking lot to eat so the food wouldn’t get cold.

“I’m mostly a steak-and-potatoes guy,” Ben said as he unwrapped his burger. “I cook for myself at home. Mostly steaks or chops on the grill and salad. It’s not gourmet, but it’s healthier than this stuff.” He took a big bite, talked around it. “On the other hand, sometimes you just can’t beat a Big Mac.”

Claire smiled. She had ordered a chicken sandwich. She wished it didn’t taste so good. “You’re from Pittsburgh. How did you get to Houston?”

“SEAL buddy. Houston was his hometown. He talked me into giving it a try, then a couple years later, moved away.”

“I know you don’t have a wife or family.”

“I’m not the family type’or at least I wasn’t. What about you? You born in L.A.?”

“I’m from upstate New York. White Plains. I did social work there for a couple of years after I graduated from college, but my family still lives there. I wanted to be a little more independent, get out on my own.”

“Brothers and sisters?”

“No, just me. My parents and I are still pretty close. I talk to my mom every week, but right now they’re out of the country.” She smiled. “Mediterranean cruise. It’s a lifelong dream.”

“Sounds nice.”

“They’re crazy about each other.”

He glanced away, and she wondered if it bothered him to talk about family, since he didn’t have one.

“So you like L.A?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It’s okay. I don’t think I want to live here forever.” She took another bite of her sandwich, enjoying the taste of real mayonnaise, a treat she rarely allowed herself. She was reaching for her Diet Coke when Ben’s iPhone started ringing.

He dug it out of his pocket and pressed it against his ear. “Slocum.” He nodded as if the guy on the other end could see, turned toward Claire. “O-positive,” he said, looking relieved.

Claire felt a shot of that same relief. The lab was calling. It wasn’t Sam’s blood.

“How long till you get the DNA?” A moment passed and Ben nodded. “I appreciate the extra effort. Call me if you get a match.” Ben hung up and stuck the phone back into the pocket of his jeans. “One of the guys at the lab was a friend of Brodie’s. He worked late, since a child was involved and he owed Brodie a favor. Be a couple more days for the DNA. They’ll run it through the system, see what turns up.”

“But the blood wasn’t Sam’s.”

“No.”

“If Troy’s never been arrested, he won’t be in the system.”

“You’re right. There’s a chance they won’t find him. We need to talk to this guy Jeffries, see if he can give us any new information.”

They continued on to her apartment, Claire finishing her sandwich along the way. It was after midnight and she was bone-tired when they walked in the door. Ben didn’t seem to notice. The man had boundless energy. Or maybe it was just concern for his son.

Taking his laptop out of his black canvas duffel, he went to work setting the computer up on the kitchen table. As she watched him, Claire unfastened the gold clip at the nape of her neck and shook her head, letting her hair fall free. She dragged a hand through the heavy dark strands.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said. “Let me know if you find something.”

Ben looked up and those sexy blue eyes ran over her, took in her loosened hair, the shape of her breasts. “I don’t suppose you want company?”

Heat slid through her, desire hot and sharp. She could tell by the way he was looking at her that he wasn’t entirely kidding.

“We’re working together, Ben. That’s all.”

“Yeah, I know.” His gaze swung away from her. He finished plugging in his laptop, sat down and started typing on the keyboard.

Claire forced her legs to move toward the bedroom. She hadn’t had sex since she and Michael had ended their relationship. Michael Sullivan was a well-known investigative journalist and was gone so much it was a stretch to call it more than a three-year affair.

When Michael had taken a five-month assignment in South America, Claire made the decision to end things between them.

“This isn’t working, Michael,” she had said. “I care for you very much, but I want more than you can give me. We both know the time just isn’t right.”

“I just need to get my career a little more established. Give me a few more months. I love you, Claire.”

But she’d heard the words too many times. “Love isn’t always enough, Michael.”

He had left the next day. He’d been in touch off and on, but the calls came more and more rarely. Still, he always said he loved her and that sooner or later, they would find a way to make it work.

Claire was more realistic. Michael was a great friend, but their relationship had never been one of grand passion. At least not for her.

She had never looked at Michael the way she’d looked at Ben Slocum that morning. And Michael had never looked at her the way Ben had looked at her just now.

She had wondered if Ben found her attractive. Now she knew for sure. But she was smart enough to recognize lust when she felt it. It wasn’t a feeling she’d experienced often, and definitely not something she planned to act on.

Still, as she stripped off her clothes and slipped beneath the hot wet spray, her breasts felt sensitive. Faint arousal throbbed between her legs. Claire thought of Ben and wondered what it would be like to make love with a virile, hot-blooded male like him.

It wasn’t going to happen. Sam came first.

The boy’s sweet, smiling face popped into her head and her heart pinched. She should have pressed harder for custody, should have found a way to keep him with her. She should have told him how much he meant to her. She had failed him so badly.

Dear God, she prayed, keep him safe till I can bring him home.

Seven

Eddie Jeffries was in jail. Early the next morning, Ben put Sol to work trying to locate the guy, and an hour ago he’d struck pay dirt. Though Sol was still working on information on Bridger/Bennett, he’d found Melvin Edward Jeffries in the Santa Clarita Sheriff’s Station jail. Arrested for drunk driving’third offense.

“Santa Clarita’s less than an hour away,” Claire said excitedly as Ben used the inmate locator on the website to verify Jeffries hadn’t been moved to another prison.

Finding Jeffries still there, he checked out the visitor information. “Visiting hours 10:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. Plenty of time. You might not be able to go in with me’only one adult per visit. But I’m a P.I., and sometimes they’ll bend the rules a little if there’s a good reason.”

“I’d like to give it a try. If I can’t get in, I’ll wait in the car.”

He helped her clear the empty orange-juice glasses and the plates that had held the bagels and cream cheese she had made them for breakfast.

Ben raised his coffee mug and downed the last few drops. “Let’s get going.”

Claire grabbed her purse and they started for the door when his cell phone rang. He recognized the number. “Brodie,” he said to Claire.

“What have you got?” he said into the phone.

“Got a lead on a kid, blue-eyed, black-haired, about nine or ten,” Ty said. “He’s working for an ex-con named Rueben Gonzales, got him making drug deliveries. Word is he’s a fairly new addition to Gonzales’s crew.”

Ben’s adrenaline started pumping, his pulse pounding. “How do we get to him?”

“I’ve set up a meet, told him the kid was worth a couple of grand if he’s the one we’re looking for. I figured you’d be willing to pay if it’s him.”

“I’ll pay whatever it takes.” In the underworld, a runaway like Sam could be a valuable commodity’depending what Gonzales had in mind for him. His hand unconsciously fisted. “What time’s the meet?”

“Noon. A bar called La Fiesta, five thousand block of Whittier Boulevard, east of the I-5. I’ll meet you there.”

Ben closed the phone, looked up to see Claire’s eyes locked on his face. “Is it... Is it Sam?”

“I won’t know till we get a look at him. Guy named Gonzales is using him as a drug mule.”

Her legs seemed to give way, and she sat down hard in one of the kitchen chairs. “Oh, my God, Ben.”

“Take it easy. We don’t know if anything bad has happened to him. Hell, we don’t know for sure it’s him.”

She swallowed, shook her head. “If he’s... If he’s been hurt or...or abused...I’ll never forgive myself.” She started crying, her long hair falling forward around her face.

Ben eased her up out of the chair and turned her into his arms. Her body shook as she sobbed against his shoulder. “Take it easy, baby. There’s no use crying until we know what’s going on.”

She hung on a moment more, took a shuddering breath and moved away, her green eyes glistening with tears. “I should have come to you. I should have found out for myself what you were like.”

He reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek. “So now you’re sure I’m a good guy?”

Claire’s chin went up as he had known it would. “Well, so far you’ve been great, but technically it’s too soon to make a definitive evaluation.”

He felt the rare pull of a grin he didn’t release. “Look, you thought you were doing what was best for Sam. That means a lot to me. You may not have made the right call, but you cared enough to come to Texas to find me. You’re doing everything you can to help me find Sam.”

She wiped away the last of the dampness on her cheeks. “I thought he would wait, give me a chance to work things out.” She swallowed. “I thought, in time, the judge would reconsider and grant me custody. I wanted that, Ben. I wanted that so much. I should have told him, let him know how much I cared.”

Her lips were trembling. Worry lines marred her forehead. She was different from most of the women he knew, stronger, more concerned. He wanted to haul her back into his arms and kiss her. Hell, he wanted to do a lot more than that. But Claire deserved more than the lust he felt whenever he looked at her.

“I’ve got to get going. I want to take a look around, check the layout. With people like these you can’t be too careful.”

“I’m going with you. If it’s Sam, he’ll need me.”

“Not this time, Claire. I can’t protect you and Sam both.”

He went into the bedroom to retrieve his Nighthawk .45, pulled it out of its holster, checked to be sure the clip was full, then shoved the magazine back in. Sliding the pistol back into his holster, he clipped it to his waistband behind his back beneath his black T-shirt.

He dug into his duffel and took out the envelope filled with cash he had brought from the safe in his house. Leaving two thousand in the envelope, he left the rest of the cash in the bag. He wasn’t a rich man, but he wasn’t poor, either. After he’d left the SEALs, the skills he’d acquired had earned him big money, most of which he had stashed away. He made a good living as a P.I., and he’d saved a lot of that, too.

He returned to the living room and found Claire pacing.

“I can’t just sit here and do nothing.” She followed him to the door. “Take me with you.”

She was standing in the entry, her eyes full of worry, slender and elegant, so damned pretty. He paused in front of her, bent his head and kissed her, just a soft melding of lips. “Not this time, angel.”

Ben forced himself to walk away.

* * *

La Fiesta was a pink stucco building in an area at the west end of East L.A. Ben was glad the meet wasn’t farther into the neighborhood. Here, only half the signs were in Spanish. Farther along the street, there was no English at all.

He drove around the block, wishing he wasn’t in a damned-near-new, highly jackable, bright red Honda Accord, wishing he wasn’t garnering looks from the sullen young toughs loitering on the street corners.

He spotted another new car pulling up in front of him a little ways from the bar, a black Chevy Silverado with chrome wheels and wide tires. Tyler Brodie spotted Ben, stepped down from the cab and walked over.

“Nice ride,” Ben said. Ty was wearing the same scuffed cowboy boots and jeans Ben remembered, but his baseball cap was dark blue today with a gold Lakers emblem on the front.

“I just bought it. I was driving a little Toyota Tundra, same red as what you’re driving. It drew too damned much attention.”

Ben’s mouth edged up. “Yeah, I’m sure no one notices those fancy chrome wheels.”

Ty grinned.

Ben tipped his head toward the Accord. “This is Claire’s car.”

Brodie shoved his bill cap back, eyed the car with interest. “A red-car woman? I wouldn’t have figured.”

Ben couldn’t stop a smile. “I guess you never know.” He was starting to like Tyler Brodie. He might have a youthful, pretty-boy face, but he took his work seriously. “You think they’re here?”

“Some of them will be. Not Gonzales. He’ll be waiting for word we’re here first.” Brodie caught a glimpse of what could only be a weapon in Ben’s waistband beneath his black T-shirt.

“Nighthawk .45,” Ben told him.

Brodie opened the flowered sport shirt he was wearing, exposing the shoulder harness underneath. “Beretta M-9. Old habits, you know.”

Standard-issue military weapon. Once a marine, always a marine. “Let’s go.”

Ty caught his arm. “Just one thing...I got a hunch you’d rather shoot these guys than pay them. I don’t like these lowlifes any better than you do, but keep in mind this is how Johnnie and I make our living. We can do a lot more good, help more people, if we keep our information channels open.”

Ben flicked a glance toward the bar, thought of the boy, thought Brodie was about half-right about taking these assholes out. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

“Just so you know, Gonzales is pretty low on the food chain. He deals, but he isn’t into trafficking...at least not that I know of. You got the money?”

Ben tapped the envelope stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans. “They get it if they’ve got my kid.”

Following Brodie, he made his way in through the front door. La Fiesta was a restaurant as well as a bar and the place was busy with the lunch crowd. The smell of tortillas, meat and cheese made Ben’s stomach growl. Bagels and cream cheese wasn’t bacon and eggs.

Mexican pop music played in the background. Ty slowed as a beefy Hispanic with stringy black hair down to his shoulders approached them.

“This way, amigos.”

There was no one in the bar except more of Gonzales’s men. They didn’t come forward to pat them down, didn’t need to, since it looked like all of them were armed.

Ben’s conceal carry wasn’t valid in California. At the moment, he didn’t care.

The others moved a little away, leaving their leader to handle the exchange.

“Señor Brodie. I see you have brought your friend.” Rueben Gonzales was lean and hard, his skin as brown as old oak. A scar ran from the corner of his mouth to his ear, making him look like one badass son of a bitch.

“Where’s the boy?” Ty asked.

Gonzales tipped his head toward a door at the rear of the bar and an instant later, in walked a short, fat banger pushing a black-haired boy in front of him.

For several heartbeats, Ben stood frozen. Then the kid stepped into the light and looked at Ben, and he knew the boy wasn’t his son.

Ty said nothing, just stood there waiting for Ben’s decision. Ben kept staring at the kid. He was older than nine, maybe ten or eleven. There was a bruise on his cheek and his lip was split. He had a shiner that was turning purple. His blue eyes looked resigned and yet there was a spark of defiance there.

The fat man moved forward and tipped the kid’s chin up so Ben could get a better look. The fat guy grinned. “This one’he is a virgin. He is too much trouble so you get him cheap.”

Ben’s stomach knotted. He looked at the kid and blind rage struck him. His jaw turned to steel and he exploded, throwing a punch that landed so hard against the fat man’s jaw it sent him flying backward over the bar. Beer glasses slid the length of the counter and catapulted into the air. A woman screamed as the guy crashed to the floor, breaking more glasses and heavy bottles of booze, groaning but not getting up.

Ben heard the unmistakable ratcheting of pistol slides. When he turned, he saw four semi-autos pointed in his direction. Ty Brodie pointed his M-9 at Gonzales.

“The price just went to twenty-five hundred,” Gonzales said calmly.

Ben pulled the envelope out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. “Two thousand. That’s all I brought. I’ll take the kid off your hands and he won’t give you any more trouble.”

Gonzales gestured to his men, who put away their weapons. Ty reholstered his pistol. Gonzales picked up the envelope, opened it and thumbed through the hundred-dollar bills. “This is your lucky day, amigo. Take the boy and go.”

The kid didn’t resist when Ben put a hand on his shoulder and guided him out of the bar, wove through the restaurant, then outside to the Honda Accord. Ty walked a few feet behind him.

“I’m glad you got your son back,” Brodie said once they were back to their vehicles. “For a minute there it was kind of touch-and-go.”

“He’s not my son.”

Ty’s dark brown eyebrows went up as Ben opened the door and settled the boy in the passenger seat, clicked the seat belt into place across his chest. “He’s not mine, but he’s someone’s. I couldn’t just leave him there. I’ll take him to Claire. She’ll know how to handle it.”

Brodie clapped Ben on the back. “I’ll keep looking. I’ll let you know if anything turns up.”

“Thanks. You’re a good man, Brodie. You can watch my back anytime.”

“Same here.” Ty headed for his pickup, and Ben slid behind the wheel and started the engine, glad to be leaving the area.

“What’s your name?” he asked the boy as he drove up onto the freeway, heading back to Santa Monica.

“Ryan.” The kid’s battered features turned hard. “I won’t let you hurt me. I’ll run away as soon as I get the chance.”

“No one’s going to hurt you, son. I’m going to get you home.”

“I don’t have a home.”

Ben’s gaze swung back to the boy. “No mother or father? No relatives?”

The kid didn’t answer. Which meant there was someone. Just not someone he wanted to go back to.

“I’ve got a friend,” Ben said. “She can help you find a place, people you can trust to take care of you.”

The kid’s chin cocked up. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because I’m telling you the truth.” Ben pulled out his P.I. badge and tossed it into the boy’s lap. “I’m looking for my own son. His name is Sam. You haven’t seen him, have you? Black hair like yours? Eyes more like mine.” He fixed one of his glacial stares on the boy. Ryan’s eyes were a much darker blue than his own.

The boy shook his head. “There were other kids around, but none with eyes like yours.”

“Where you from?”

The kid didn’t answer.

“That bad, huh?”

“If they make me go back, I’ll just run away again.”

Ben wasn’t sure what the authorities would do, but if the boy’s home life was really that bad, he figured they would put him in foster care.

“When you talk to them, tell them the truth. Tell them what it was like there. Don’t spare the details. I don’t think they’ll make you go back if it’s that bad. I think they’ll find you a better place to live.”

The kid looked up at him with so much hope in his eyes Ben’s chest clamped down. “You really think they’ll help me?”

“Yeah, I do.” Ben’s gaze strayed from the road back to the boy. He wondered what Claire would say when she saw he’d brought the wrong kid home.

* * *

“Get in the goddamn truck!”

Sam tried not to cringe at the vicious look on Troy’s face. “There’s a law against drunk driving,” he said.

“I don’t give a shit.” Troy reached over and cuffed his head. “Do as I say. Get in the truck before I kick your skinny little ass.”

Troy’s black Lab moved forward, his tail between his legs. Pepper whined and pressed against Sam’s leg. Sam moved far enough away that Troy couldn’t reach them. “Come on, Pep, we gotta get going.”

Pepper was Troy’s dog but sometimes Troy was mean to him, just like he was to Sam. He and Pep were friends. The black Lab stuck by him no matter what. Troy wasn’t usually too bad a guy, except when he got drunk. When he drank, he got crazy mean. Sam was afraid of him then, and Pepper was, too. Lately he had been that way a lot.

Sam climbed into the old white beat-up Chevy, waited for the dog to jump in, then slammed the door. He buckled his seat belt like his mom had taught him, even though Troy never used his.

The engine roared to life and the truck pulled out of the gravel lot in front of The Roadhouse, spitting up dirt as the car fishtailed back onto the highway. Troy had been in there drinking beer for at least two hours while Sam and Pepper waited outside.

Before that, they’d been staying with a lady Troy knew. She was nice. She baked them a cake and let Pepper sleep with him on the bed in her son’s old room. Then she got mad at Troy for getting drunk and told him they had to leave.

Sam almost wished he’d taken Pep and run off while Troy was in The Roadhouse, maybe hitched a ride with someone. But his mom was dead, and he didn’t have anywhere to go.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as he thought of his mother lying there sick in her hospital bed. He remembered the day she died, how Claire had taken him home with her, how she had let him live with her for a while.

She’d said she would help him. She and his mom were friends and he had liked her a lot. He wanted to live with her more than anything, but she didn’t want him.

Not really. She had let them put him in some crummy house where the people believed their own kids were perfect and never did anything wrong. Kenny was older and he thought he was a tough guy. But Sam was smarter, and he wouldn’t let Kenny push him around.

Kenny was a jerk and his sister was a tattletale, always making up stories that weren’t true. He liked Suzy and Tim, but they were afraid of Kenny and the Robersons, and they would never stick up for him or even for themselves. They would just stand there and look frightened.

He didn’t want to stay in a place like that. He wanted his mom, but she was dead. He wanted to be with Claire, but she had forgotten about him.

His throat ached. He closed his eyes so Troy couldn’t tell he was trying not to cry. Pepper whined and nudged him, curled up against his side.

At least he had Pep.

The only friend in the world he could trust.

Eight

To keep herself busy and not wonder if Ben would find Sam in East L.A., Claire went out to the carport and opened her storage locker. She had kept a box of Laura’s things, stuff Claire had put away for Sam when he got older.

If she was right and the boy Ty found wasn’t Sam, they would need to continue their search. She had gone through the box right after Sam disappeared, looking for photos to give the police. Aside from pictures of Sam and Troy Bridger, she hadn’t found anything helpful among Laura’s possessions, but there was always a chance she had missed something.

Carrying the cardboard box into the living room, Claire set it down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, retrieved a pair of scissors, cut the packing tape and opened the box.

Sam’s baby clothes sat on top of a pottery plate with his handprint that Sam had made for his mom in kindergarten, and some crayon drawings he’d made that Laura had kept on the refrigerator.

Beneath them, photo albums. The one with photos of Bridger and the latest picture of Sam’photos she had given the police’Claire picked up and flipped open.

Most of the pictures had been taken with the inexpensive digital camera Laura carried when she took her son to the zoo or the time she and Claire had taken him to Disneyland last year for his birthday.

They were in order front to back, oldest to newest. She flipped to the back, to the most recent shots, including a few Claire had taken: Sam hamming it up at Christmas, Laura and Sam having Easter dinner at Claire’s apartment.

She ran her finger over that one and thought of her friend. In the pictures Laura looked so normal. They didn’t show the times she had drunk too much and passed out on the couch, the times she had forgotten to pick up Sam after his Little League baseball game.

They showed the Laura that was smart and funny and a very good friend.

Claire turned the page, realized two were stuck together and pulled them apart. She froze. There was a photo of Laura with Troy and two men, a picture she had never seen. She set the album down and ran into her bedroom, went over to her desk and grabbed a magnifying glass out of the top drawer.

Back in the living room, she studied the photo more closely and saw that the two men looked a lot like Troy. Enough like him, in fact, to be the brothers Sadie had mentioned. Laura hadn’t said anything about the visit when she and Troy had been living together, but the resemblance and the men’s ages made it hard to mistake the relationship.

She pulled the four-by-six glossy off the page and examined the men’s features. Same height, around six feet; same solid, no-fat build; same dark hair, same fair skin, same face shape and eyes. Troy’s were blue, she remembered, his best feature.

It was what they were wearing that was even more interesting’identical drab green camouflage T-shirts. On the front was a fist and underneath the numbers 33/6. She didn’t know what the sign and numbers meant, but she had a feeling it was important.

She set the photo aside and continued through the album but found nothing more.

She closed the box and set the picture on the coffee table and looked at the clock. More than two hours had passed. Where was Ben?

Thinking of him reminded her of the brief kiss before he had left. She hadn’t expected it. And as much as she tried, she couldn’t forget it.

Male lips that should have been cold and hard but were warm and softer than she ever would have guessed. The way they sank into hers, the way her stomach flipped beneath her ribs.

It hadn’t meant anything. Ben was just trying to distract her because she was so upset over Sam. Still, the heat of his mouth was a memory seared into her brain, and every time she remembered his kiss, a jolt of desire burned through her.

Dear Lord, it was insane. She hardly knew the man. One thing she was sure of’sex meant about as much to Ben Slocum as brushing his teeth. His after-wedding roll in the hay had clearly been a one-night stand. Which she would guess was pretty much Ben’s modus operandi.

As much as she’d like to find out what sex would be like with a man she was so strongly attracted to, she didn’t want to be tossed aside like an old sneaker the next morning.

At the sound of the doorbell, she raced for the door, unlocked it and pulled it open. For an instant her heart soared. Just as fast, her high hopes plunged. The boy on her doorstep wasn’t Sam.

“This is Ryan,” Ben said. “It’s a long story. We need to find a way to help him.”

* * *

Claire called the authorities as soon as she got Ryan’s battered face cleaned up with antiseptic, and the boy stuffed full of the extralarge double-cheese pepperoni pizza Ben ordered from Rusty’s. She was certainly getting more than her share of fast food these days.

While Ben and the boy finished off the pizza, Claire talked to a friend named Mary Wilson who worked at the Department of Children and Family Services. She told Mary how Ben Slocum, a P.I. from Texas, had stumbled upon a ten-year-old boy named Ryan Lynn who was a runaway.

According to Ben, Ryan’s home life was so bad the boy would rather wander the streets doing odd jobs for criminals than stay in the place he lived.

Mary arranged to meet her, Ben and Ryan two hours later at the branch where Mary worked. There, the boy could be medically examined, and Social Services would make arrangements for him to be placed in a care facility until his situation could be investigated.

They would try to locate his family and make an evaluation, find out what was going on that would drive a ten-year-old kid out onto the streets.

Claire felt sorry for the boy, but Mary was good at her job, and she would fight for Ryan. And Claire thought that after his experiences fending for himself, he would do his best to get along in his foster home.

“This is all going to work out, Ryan,” she said as they drove toward their destination. “There are people who care about kids like you. They’ll do their best to find a place you’ll be happy.”

Ryan’s eyes welled, but he didn’t cry. Aside from his black hair and blue eyes, he didn’t look a thing like Ben. Different nose, different mouth, different jaw. Still, Ben had paid two thousand dollars to bring the boy to safety.

It looked more and more as if Laura had been wrong. That Ben would make the kind of father Sam deserved.

Claire tried not to think how she had failed the child. She tried to ignore the ache in her chest when she thought of what might be happening to him. Instead, she focused on Ryan, introducing him to Mary and getting him settled.

Mary put an arm around the boy’s thin shoulders. “We’re going to take very good care of you, Ryan.” A slight blonde woman in her early forties, Mary seemed to have a special way with kids. “I’m going to make sure of that myself.”

Ryan did start to cry then, and Mary pulled him into a hug. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay.”

When the scene came to a close, Ben handed Ryan one of his business cards. “My numbers are all there. If you need anything, I want you to call, okay?”

Ryan nodded, looking up at Ben as if he were his personal savior. Which in a way he was. “Thanks.”

Ben ruffled his hair. “Take care of yourself,” he said a little gruffly. “You’re getting another chance. Don’t be afraid to take it.”

After final farewells, they left the facility, and Ben drove Claire home, neither of them saying much until they got the car parked and walked back inside.

Claire tossed her purse on the kitchen table. “I guess the men who hurt Ryan are going to get away with it.”

“Ryan told me he’d never seen Gonzales before the meet. He didn’t know the names of the guys who were working him on the street, and he was with them by choice. There’s not much chance of tracking them down. And the truth is the kid is better off just getting on with his life.”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t seem right, though.”

“There are a lot of bad people out there, Claire. Ryan’s getting a second chance. A lot of kids don’t.” He fell silent, and she knew he was thinking of Sam, wondering if his boy was being beaten and abused.

“Oh!” Remembering the photo album, Claire hurried into the living room. “I found something while you were gone. A picture. I think it’s Troy and his brothers.”

“Where’d you find it?”

“I went back through Claire’s things, took another look at the album where I’d found Troy’s photo. I thought I might have missed something, and I had.” Claire picked the photo up off the coffee table, walked back and handed it to Ben.

“You might make a P.I. yet,” he said, his expression full of approval.

Claire just smiled.

Ben looked down at the photograph Claire had found. “I think you’re right. These guys are brothers.”

“They look a lot alike, don’t they?”

He tapped the photo against his hand. “Laura never mentioned meeting them?”

“She was in a bad place when she was living with Troy. She was drinking heavily again. She knew I didn’t like him. I think that’s why she never said anything about the brothers’ visit. She broke up with him right after.”

He pointed at the photo. “You see what they’re wearing?”

“Camouflage. I don’t know what the emblem means.”

“The fist is a white-supremacy symbol. Remember Sadie saying something about Troy not liking Billy’s mixed-blood heritage?”

“That’s right! And she said he thought men were superior to women.”

Ben shrugged. “Well, you can’t fault him on that one.”

When Claire’s eyes narrowed, Ben laughed.

Claire’s eyebrows went up. “You’re making another joke. I can’t believe it.”

Ben waved the photo. “Let’s see if we can figure out what the 33/6 means.”

It only took a couple of clicks on Google to find an article written by an intelligence operator with Homeland Security that gave them the answer.

“Says here it’s a reference to the Ku Klux Klan. The eleventh letter of the alphabet is K. Three times eleven is thirty-three.”

Claire rubbed her arms as if she felt a chill. “Does it say what the six means?”

Ben went back to reading. “The first era of the Klan started after the Civil War. The sixth era began in 1996. The six denotes the rebirth of the Klan.”

“The Ku Klux Klan. If Troy’s heading back to meet his brothers and they’re white supremacists...”

“Then we’ve got to find Sam and get him the hell out of there.” He stood up from the computer. “We need to talk to Eddie Jeffries. It’s too late to see him tonight, but we can be there when visiting hours start at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow.”

Ben set the photo next to the computer and turned to Claire. “Just so you know. I really liked kissing you.”

Her head came up. “You...you did?”

“I was kind of hoping I wouldn’t.”

She moistened her lips, making him remember how sweet those full lips tasted, making him want to kiss her again. Desire curled through him and heat slid into his groin.

“We don’t...don’t have time for that kind of thing.”

“I know.” But he couldn’t resist moving toward her, catching her shoulders, bending his head and settling his mouth over hers. He forced himself not to linger. Just sank in and tasted. Felt the rush of heat. Released her. “Good night, Claire.”

She reached up and touched her lips. “Good night, Ben.”

* * *

Claire went in to shower before she went to bed. She told herself not to think of the kiss, told herself it was just a simple good-night. But it wasn’t.

Ben Slocum wanted her. There was heat in the eyes that had locked with hers the instant before their lips met, fire in the way his mouth took possession of hers. For an instant, the air seemed to crackle with sexual tension.

She couldn’t let it happen. She meant nothing to Ben, just another conquest, someone to satisfy his appetites while he was searching for his son.

She wasn’t a fool to be used and discarded. She might desire Ben, but she wasn’t ruled by her passions, not like some women. She was a rational, thinking woman who made rational, thinking decisions.

As she climbed into bed and settled beneath the covers, she vowed to have a talk with him in the morning, set some boundaries, tell him it was time he stopped calling her angel. Time he took a big step back.

The doorbell rang, putting an end to her thoughts. Trying to imagine who it could be at eleven o’clock at night, Claire grabbed her robe, slipped it on and went into the living room. Through the peephole in the front door, she recognized a familiar face.

Michael? She opened the door.

“Hello, Claire.” Michael Sullivan was tall, about the same height as Ben, wide-shouldered but spare, not an ounce of fat on his trim athletic body. With his dark brown hair and brown eyes, he was handsome.

“I know it’s late,” he said, “but I just flew back to town for a week, and I had to see you. I’ve really missed you, Claire.” Michael pulled her into an embrace and tried to kiss her, but Claire turned her face away. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you glad to see me?”

Just then Ben appeared. He had pulled on his jeans, but his feet were bare and so was his magnificent chest. Claire felt a little jolt in the pit of her stomach.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Ben said, striding forward, those pale eyes fixed on Michael’s face. Michael’s nostrils flared. The testosterone in the room was as thick as heavy perfume.

Claire tried to smile. “Ben Slocum, this is Michael Sullivan.” She positioned herself between the two men. “Michael, Ben is Sam Thompson’s father.”

“Sam Slocum,” Ben corrected.

Claire kept the smile on her face but it wasn’t easy. “You remember my friend Laura?”

Michael ignored her, his brown eyes running over Ben’s naked torso. They stood nearly eye to eye. “What’s he doing here?”

“Sam’s missing,” Claire said. “Ben and I are working together to find him.”

Michael’s gaze traveled over her silk robe, down her bare legs, to the red polish on her toes, and his lips curled back. “Looks like you’re doing a lot more than just working.”

Before she could stop him, Ben had a handful of Michael’s striped dress shirt. “Whatever she’s doing, it’s none of your business.”

Claire thought of all those muscles and that he was a man trained to kill. “Ben, please...”

A heartbeat passed. He let go of Michael’s shirt but didn’t back away.

“Michael’s an old friend,” Claire said, hoping to defuse the situation.

“More than friends,” Michael corrected, pinning her with a glare. “At least we were.”

She turned away from him. “If you wouldn’t mind, Ben, I’d like to speak to Michael alone.”

Ben’s gaze remained locked on Michael’s face. Finally, he shrugged, but the muscles across his shoulders remained tense. “If you need me, you know where I am.” Padding back down the hall to his room, he closed the door.

“You notice he’s sleeping in the guest room,” Claire said as Michael’s dark gaze followed him, “if it’s any of your business, which it no longer is.”

“I’ve been away, Claire, but that doesn’t change the way I feel. I love you. I always have.”

“I thought we’d talked this out, that we both understood each other’s feelings.”

“You said the time wasn’t right. I’m here to tell you that in a few more weeks it will be. I have to go back to Colombia to finish my assignment, but after that, I’ll be back in L.A. We can set a date, get married, start living our lives together.”

Claire just shook her head. “What we had was good, Michael, but it’s over. I’m moving forward with my life. You should do the same.”

Michael reached for her, drew her into his arms. “I need you, Claire.” The door opened and Ben walked back into the living room.

“Time to go, friend. Claire needs her sleep. She’s got important things to do.”

Michael’s jaw tightened but he backed away. “It isn’t over, Claire. I’ll talk to you again when I get back from Colombia.” Turning, he walked out of the apartment and closed the front door.

“Your boyfriend, I take it.”

Claire turned to face him. “Ex-boyfriend.”

“For how long?”

“Five months.”

“He wants you back. That what you want?”

“No.”

“Good.” Claire gasped as he hauled her into his arms and his mouth crushed down over hers in a deep, hungry kiss.

* * *

God, she tasted like heaven. Petal-soft lips, skin damp from the shower and smooth as silk. He’d known he wanted her. Until he saw her with Sullivan, he hadn’t known how much.

His mouth moved hotly over hers, coaxing, possessing. She didn’t push him away, but he could feel her reluctance. He didn’t blame her. This wasn’t part of the plan. Couldn’t be.

Still, when her soft lips parted, he took advantage, his tongue sweeping in, her nipples beading beneath the silk robe, pressing into his bare chest. His arousal strengthened and he went hard beneath the fly of his jeans.

She tasted so good he kept on kissing her, and Claire kissed him back. She wasn’t immune to him. He was pretty sure she’d been without a man since Sullivan left five months ago. She had needs, and Ben knew exactly how to satisfy those needs.

Claire’s tongue slid over his. She leaned into him, pressed herself against his erection. Then she tore free.

Her palms trembled where they rested against his chest. “I’m not...not doing this, Ben. I can’t. I don’t do one-night stands, and we both know that’s exactly what this would be.”

His eyes ran over her, took in her rapid breathing, the hard peaks beneath her robe. “I don’t think I could get my fill of you in just one night.”

He didn’t usually say things like that. It sounded too much like a commitment, but it was true. Claire Chastain intrigued him. And she really turned him on.

“That isn’t the point and you know it. Sleeping with me would mean nothing to you, and once you’re ready to move on, our working relationship would be compromised.”

She was partly right. Their working relationship might suffer and he didn’t want that to happen. He had to think of Sam.

“Look, angel, it was only a kiss. You don’t have to get all bent out of shape about it.”

“Stop calling me that. You’ve probably used that on a hundred different women.”

“Hardly, sweetcakes.” Her hackles went up, and he almost smiled. “Somehow angel just seemed to fit.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s a side of you that’s still naive. I saw it the first time I met you. For one thing, just like you said, you aren’t the type for a one-night stand.”

“No, I’m not.”

“All right. So now that you’ve made your feelings clear, why don’t we go to bed?”

“What?”

He laughed. It happened so rarely it surprised him. “I meant in our own rooms.”

Her face colored. “Oh. Yes...well, all right, then.” She glanced at her bare feet. “Good night.” She started for her bedroom, kept walking and didn’t look back.

“Good night, Claire,” he called after her softly. He didn’t tell her that taking her to bed would mean more to him than just sex because he wasn’t sure it would.

He had a hunch, though.

And since those kinds of emotions weren’t things he wanted to feel, Ben hoped his hunch was wrong.

* * *

Claire couldn’t sleep. She kept feeling the heat of Ben’s mouth over hers, the glide of his tongue, the way he took complete control. Not like Michael. Michael’s kisses were warm and sweet, not hot and erotic. She remembered how the muscles on Ben’s chest had rubbed against her, how her nipples had begun to ache and distend. She couldn’t forget the powerful erection that told her how much he wanted her.

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