Ten
Ben made his way around to the rear of the houses, which were fairly far apart. A couple of horses stood in one of the pens, no dogs that he could see. He crept up to the window on the side of the first double-wide, pressed himself against it and peeked into the living room.
A man and his wife, older, gray-haired, sitting on the sofa watching TV. A little long-haired lapdog looked over at the window and started yapping, but the dog was too comfortable in the old man’s lap to give more than a couple of high-pitched barks.
Ben backed away and headed for the second house. As he drew near, he heard male and female laughter and the sound of country music. Through the living room window, he counted seven people clustered around a big flat-screen TV, drinking beer and watching a football game.
No Sam in sight. From the photos he had seen of Troy Bridger, he wasn’t there, either.
A big-busted redhead seemed to be the hostess, laughing loudly, upending a bottle of beer. Lyla Holden. Quietly, he circled the house, checking the bedrooms, listening for the sound of anyone inside, listening for the voice of a child.
As near as he could tell, neither Troy Bridger nor his son was in the house.
Ben headed back to Claire.
* * *
Claire felt as tightly wound as a clock spring. With every heartbeat, she listened for the sound of gunfire. When her cell phone rang, she jumped three inches and whacked her elbow on the steering wheel. With a deep breath, she looked down at the caller ID and recognized Ben’s number.
“Don’t panic,” he said. “I’m right beside you.”
She whirled, saw him through the passenger side window.
“Open up,” he said, reminding her she had locked the car. She flipped the locks and Ben slid into the seat.
“I was trying not to scare you.” The corner of his mouth edged up. “I guess that didn’t work.”
“What happened? Did we get the wrong house?”
“Right house. No Sam or Bridger, at least that I could see from outside. Lyla’s in there with six other people, four men and two women. They’re watching a football game.”
“What do we do?”
“Wait. Angel, you’re about to find out how boring a P.I.’s job really is.”
She didn’t remind him not to call her angel. She was beginning to like the way it sounded when he said it. “So we wait until morning?”
“We wait until the game’s over. Lyla’s a lot more likely to answer our questions without half a dozen other people around. Start the engine. We need to get close enough to watch the house.”
She started the car but left the lights off and idled past the first house, which was now dark inside, then stopped in between the two houses and turned the engine back off. The curtains were open enough to see people moving around inside.
“You might as well relax. This may take a while. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? I’ll wake you when it’s time to go in.”
Her eyes swung to his. “I get to go with you?”
“It’s getting late. I’m not trying to scare the woman into talking. She’ll be easier to handle if you’re there with me.”
“Right. I think that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t want her to know I’m Sam’s father. I don’t want her getting on the horn and calling Troy, warning him we’re coming after him.”
“I should have thought of that.”
His lips faintly lifted in the corners. “I’m the detective, sweetheart. You’re doing just fine.” Ben settled in to wait, and Claire tipped her seat back and tried to relax. They’d been up late every night. When she had been able to sleep, it had been brief and restless.
She closed her eyes, concentrated on the night sounds outside the car window, the hoot of an owl and the horses nickering in their pen, the faint sound of country music playing in the house. The next thing she knew, Ben was nudging her awake.
“Time to go.”
Claire blinked and looked down the road toward the house. The lights were still on, but the music was silent. The clock on the dash said 11:00 p.m.
“They’re all gone?”
“All but one. I have a hunch he’s spending the night in the lady’s bed. We need to get in there before they get too hot and bothered.”
Claire cracked open her door, Ben did the same and they climbed out of the car. Quietly closing the door behind her, Claire took a breath to steady herself and started walking next to Ben toward the porch.
* * *
“That the doorbell?”
Inside the house, Ben heard the woman on the other side of the door.
“Maybe someone forgot something,” the man’s deep voice said.
Footsteps sounded. Lyla Holden pulled open the door and peered out onto the porch. She was in her late forties, pretty once, but aging badly. Her hair was her best feature, thick and wavy, a cloud of fire around her beefy shoulders. When she saw them, the smile slipped from her face. “Can I help you?”
Careful to stay partially in the shadows so she wouldn’t notice his eyes, Ben flashed Claire a go-ahead glance.
“Hello, Lyla.” She gave the woman a friendly smile. “My name is Claire Chastain. This is Ben Slocum.”
The redhead flicked him a glance, then her eyebrows narrowed at Claire. “How’d you know my name?”
“You’re a friend of Troy’s,” Claire said. “That’s why we’re hoping you can help us.”
“Who is it, Lyla?” the deep voice rumbled from down the hall.
“Go on to bed, Scooter. I’ll be in there in a minute.”
“You don’t get here soon, mama, I’m gonna have to start without you.” Scooter rumbled a laugh.
Lyla ignored him. “Troy left a couple of days ago. I kicked his drunken ass on down the road.”
“The road to Louisiana?” Ben asked.
Lyla nodded. She didn’t invite them in, and Ben didn’t press her. He could smell the beer she’d been drinking. Her eyelids were a little heavy, her lipstick smeared in one corner. She looked relaxed, a little tipsy, just the way he wanted.
“That’s right—Lou-si-ana,” she said, pronouncing it with a Southern drawl. “On his way to see those no-good brothers of his.”
“That’s what we thought,” Claire said, doing a nice job of bonding.
“He ain’t in no hurry, though. Planning to visit some of his buddies along the way. How’d you know Troy?”
“He used to date a friend of mine,” Claire said, “but she died.”
“Yeah, he mentioned something about that. I guess that’s where he got the kid.”
Ben forgot to breathe. His pulse leaped skyward, started pounding in his ears. He forced himself to smile. “That’s right. Since the boy’s mother was dead, I guess he was trying to help the kid out.”
“That’s what he said.”
“You see, Lyla, Ben’s kin of his. He didn’t know about Laura bein’ sick till she’d already passed. We were hopin’ the boy’d still be here. We’ve been real worried about him.”
Admiration slid through him at the country note she infused in her voice. Nice move, angel.
“They left together, all right. How the kid got unlucky enough to tie up with Troy, I’ll never know. Guess he was desperate.”
Ben’s chest tightened. “Was he all right? I mean, he wasn’t hurt or anything?”
“Oh, no. He was fine. Seemed like a real nice boy. Quiet, you know. Him and that dog of Troy’s mostly stayed outside.”
Relief slid through him. Sam was all right. At least so far. Though nothing Claire had told him about the boy made him think he was quiet. Smart, maybe. A survivor. Just trying to stay out of Troy’s way.
“You know where Troy’s next stop might be?” Ben asked, working to keep his tone even.
“Can’t say for certain. Said he was planning to visit a friend, guy by the name of Hutchins. Duke’s a real bozo. Troy said the two of them used to get drunk and high together.”
“You know where Duke lives?” Claire asked.
“Somewhere down the road. Could be New Mexico. Texas, maybe. I know he worked there for a while. Troy never really said.”
“Anything else you can tell us?” Ben asked. He wanted to ask if she knew Troy’s license plate number, but, hell, most people didn’t know their own.
“What in God’s name you doin’ out there, woman?” Scooter yelled. “Get in here and get this bed a-movin’.”
“Damn fool’s gonna get his ass a-movin’ right out the door, he ain’t careful.” Lyla wiped the lipstick smudge off her lip. “I don’t know much more. Drives some old beat-up truck. Probably break down before he gets to Lou-si-ana.”
“Was Troy calling himself Bridger or Bennett?” Ben pressed, knowing he was pushing his luck.
“He’s always been Bridger to me. He calls, I’m happy to tell him you’re lookin’ for him, but it might be better if I don’t. You’re wantin’ the boy to go home with ya, right?”
He paused, considering what to say. She’d been more than helpful so far. Maybe his luck would hold. “That’s right.”
“I best keep quiet then. Troy can be mighty cantankerous. Might not want to give the kid up.”
Ben tried for a look of admiration. “Good idea. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Listen, I gotta go. Good luck findin’ your kin.”
“Thank you, Lyla,” Claire said. The woman flashed a last smile and firmly closed the door.
Ben took hold of Claire’s hand to guide her through the darkness along the road back to the SUV.
“I knew it!” Claire said as soon as the car doors were closed. “I knew that bastard took Sam.”
“This calls for a change of plans. We know where he’s headed but we can’t cover half the country by ourselves. We need to call the cops, give them a heads-up that Bridger’s got the boy, get them to watch the roads, press them harder to find him.”
“I’ll call while you drive.”
“Don’t mention Hutchins until we can get some intel on the guy. I want to know what kind of trouble Bridger might be taking Sam into.”
Pulling her cell phone out of her purse, she pressed the number she’d keyed in belonging to Detective Owens, her contact in the missing-persons division.
“Hello, Detective, this is Claire Chastain. I’m in Arizona. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I wanted to let you know that Sam is definitely with Troy Bridger and that he and Sam are on their way to Louisiana.”
The man said something and Claire covered the phone. “Owens wants to know how I got the information. Should I tell him?”
Ben shook his head.
“The source is confidential, but you can rely on the information being true.”
He couldn’t hear what Owens said.
“Thank you, Detective.” Claire hung up the phone. “He wanted a way to confirm, but I think he believed what I said. By the way, where are we going?”
“Back to the Holiday Inn. It’s late and both of us are tired. Once we get settled, I’ll get on the internet, see if I can locate Duke Hutchins. If not, I’ll call Sol first thing in the morning.”
At least they knew they were on the right track. The police had believed the Robersons that Sam had run away. But Claire had been adamant that Bridger had conned the boy into going with him, and she had been right. His admiration for the lady went up another notch.
He sliced her a sideways glance. He hadn’t forgotten the call she’d received from Michael Sullivan. The good news was she didn’t seem to be encouraging him. Ben wasn’t sure why that seemed important.
He thought of the conversation they’d had with Lyla Holden. Now that they were sure they were heading in the right direction, some of his tension eased. He was good at his job and he was determined. As far as he was concerned, it was only a matter of time until he found his son.
He carefully tamped down his worry for the boy. He had no idea what was happening to Sam, but if his thoughts started to go in that direction, he wouldn’t be able to focus and he couldn’t do his job. And they could only move as fast as the information they received.
He thought of the night ahead and the sleep he so badly needed. He knew Claire was dog-tired, but also as keyed up as he was. He thought of her pretty face, slender curves and all that silky dark hair. He knew exactly how to solve the problem so they could both get some sleep.
But he was pretty sure what her answer would be if he suggested they rent one room for the night instead of two.
* * *
Claire sat quietly as Ben drove back to the motel he had spotted on the way to Lyla Holden’s place.
“Nice call on Bridger,” he said. “You were right all along. It took balls to stick to your guns the way you did. You kept your sights focused on the right man. I owe you one, Claire.”
She ignored the feeling of warmth that ran through her. “You don’t owe me anything. Bridger might not have taken Sam if he wasn’t mad at me. And I want Sam to have a good home. I promised Laura. I’m just thankful we’re looking in the right place.”
Ben didn’t say more. She knew he was as tired as she was, and though he was clearly relieved their efforts so far weren’t in vain, the set of his jaw and the lines across his forehead told her how worried he was about his son.
Considering he had never met the boy—never even known he had a son—Ben had more than accepted his duties as a father. She was coming to admire him more and more.
And finding him even more appealing. Aside from the hottest body of any man she had ever known, in a rugged sort of way, he was one of the best-looking. Everything about Ben Slocum screamed sexy. From his short, slightly wavy black hair to those amazing pale blue eyes.
She had determinedly kept Ben at a distance, but part of her wanted to give in to the incredible desire she felt for him. Wanted to experience the hot sex those heated looks promised.
But Claire was smart enough not to do something as stupid as sleeping with Ben.