Nineteen
By the time Ben’s eyes cracked open at seven o’clock the next morning, Claire was already dressed, waiting impatiently to leave for his office. He yawned and hauled his ass out of bed, way later than usual for him.
It had only been a little over a week since he’d been released from the hospital. He wasn’t completely recovered, he had to concede, but he was getting stronger every day.
Claire had toast, eggs and coffee ready when he padded into the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a dark blue lightweight sweatshirt with a Houston Texans steer head on the front. Though he waited all through the breakfast, she didn’t mention the heated night they’d spent together, and neither did he.
They were back to the same old pattern, pretending nothing had happened. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the night before—not that the sex hadn’t been great. Better than great. Still, he hadn’t had a serious relationship with a woman since Laura, and he didn’t want to go down that painful road again.
They left the house and Ben drove the short distance to his Atlas Security office in the University District, arriving a few minutes after 8:00 a.m. The bell rang above the door as they walked into the reception area.
“Hey, Ice! You’re lookin’ good, man.” Sol Greenway was the first to greet him. Tall and rangy, with a goofy grin, longish brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses, the computer whiz kid was a major asset to the company.
“You remember Claire.” At one time or another, they’d all been by the house to check on him, all been introduced to Claire.
She leaned over and kissed his lean cheek. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you, Sol, for everything you’ve done.”
A little shy with women, Sol’s face turned red. “Hey, no problem. Ice is back on his feet and we’re just getting started. I’ve got some new ideas. I figure if we all put our heads together we’ll find this chump and Ben’s kid.”
Annie walked out of the employees’ lounge just then. “’Bout time you quit loafin’ and got back to work.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling Claire, but she can be almost as pushy as you.”
Annie laughed and turned to Claire. “So His Crankiness hasn’t run you off yet?”
“Not yet,” Claire said, grinning. Clearly the women liked each other. Which was never a good thing for a single man.
Trace walked out of the conference room in his usual cowboy boots, Western shirt and jeans, Jake right behind him in a dark brown suit, probably working a protection detail.
“Good to see you back on your feet,” Trace said, shaking Ben’s hand.
“I’m surprised you stayed cooped up this long,” Jake added. He looked down at Claire. “I see you brought the brains of the operation.” Jake kissed her cheek.
“She didn’t give me any choice,” Ben said. But they all knew she wouldn’t be there if he hadn’t allowed it. He had never brought a woman into the office before.
“Maggie says hi,” Trace said to Claire.
“She’s really great, Trace. You’re a very lucky man.”
“And don’t I know it.” Trace turned to Ben. “So you’re back to work?”
He nodded. “We need to come up with a lead. If we don’t find one by the end of the day, we’re headed to Converse in the morning.”
Trace knew Ben had been working the white-supremacist angle. Jake was also up to speed on the case.
“You need any help you let us know,” Trace said. But he and Jake both had clients of their own, and at the moment, Sol’s talent was what he needed.
The kid cracked his knuckles. “Okay, let’s get started.” Following Sol across the beige carpet, they headed for his glass-enclosed office next to Trace’s.
Aside from the reception area where Annie worked, the main part of the office was open, with sturdy oak desks for the people who worked there. Pictures of Texas ranches hung on the dark green walls, with a few new landscapes added since Trace had married Maggie.
As they reached Sol’s office door, Ben flicked a glance at Claire. He had already warned her about the “don’t ask, don’t tell” rule that applied when any of them were working with Sol. It was a lot more productive that way.
“You ready?” Ben asked.
“You bet.” Her chin firmed as they walked into the office. She was on her game, he could see, and felt the rare urge to smile.
* * *
Ben tilted his head back, trying to work the kinks out of his neck. Looking over Sol’s shoulder at his computer had made a long day for all of them. Since they’d come up with nothing on Bridger, they’d decided to concentrate on Dennis Arthur “Duke” Hutchins. Though Hutchins was wanted for attempted murder, so far the police hadn’t been able to track him down.
There was no way to know if Hutchins and Bridger were still together, or if they’d parted company the night of the shooting. But wherever Duke was, odds were he knew where Bridger had gone.
They started from the beginning. Duke’s birth certificate said he was born in El Paso, no father listed. They looked for other family members he might have gone to for help, but his brother was in jail in Oklahoma and his mother had died of a heroin overdose when he was fifteen.
Since they were fairly sure Bridger was born in Louisiana, they skipped to Hutchins’s high school records. Sol found his El Paso High School yearbook posted online, and Claire spent twenty minutes scanning class photos, hoping to spot a young Troy Bridger—or whatever his name really was.
“He’s not there,” she said with a frustrated shake of her head. “I don’t think that’s where he and Bridger met.”
Ben didn’t think so, either.
In his senior year, Duke had dropped out of school and joined the army. Those records showed he’d been discharged a year later over a cache of missing weapons, no charges officially filed.
“If Troy had served in the army with Hutchins,” Claire said, “his prints would have been on file, right? We would have been able to find out his real name.”
Ben nodded. “That’s right.” But Bridger wasn’t in the system. “We’re thinking we might find someone else who knew Hutchins in the army, a friend he might have stayed in touch with, someone he might have gone to after the shooting.”
But the documents in his file portrayed him as a loner with no close friends.
“Where did Hutchins go after he was discharged?” Claire asked.
Sol pounded and clicked, watched the screen. “He went back to Texas, started working in the construction business in San Antonio.”
“That’s it,” Ben said. “That’s the link. Bridger was a crane operator. They must have worked together someplace in San Antonio.”
Sol dug into construction companies in the area ten to twelve years ago, about the time Hutchins would have been working there after his army discharge. Nothing turned up that linked the two men, but Ben was convinced that was where Bridger and Hutchins first met.
They looked at his prison file, searching for cell mate names. Someone who might be out of jail and willing to give him shelter. Nothing looked promising.
Late in the afternoon, Ben phoned Detective Bruce Holloway in El Paso for an update. Holloway was a born-and-bred Texan. He understood family, and he was determined to help Ben find his son. On top of that, he was a former marine.
“Holloway.”
“Ben Slocum. Anything new on Hutchins or Bridger?”
“Sorry, Ben, not so far.”
“You talk to his friends? Girlfriends? Anyone who might know where to find him?”
“We’ve been doin’ our job, if that’s what you’re askin’. The guy was a lone wolf. No close friends, no lady friends. His neighbors haven’t seen him since the night of the shooting. It’s a good bet he’s left the city. I’d say there’s a fifty-fifty chance he’s with your man, Bridger.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figure, too. Keep me posted, will you?”
“You got it.”
As the call ended, Ben ran a hand through his hair. His side was aching, and he was more tired than he should have been. “I think Trace knows somebody with the San Antonio P.D. I’ll ask him to call, press them a little, see if they can dig around, locate anyone Hutchins might know.”
The next time he looked at the clock on the wall, it was nearly 8:00 p.m. Twelve long hours and they had nothing.
“It’s getting late. Why don’t you go on home, Sol, get some sleep. You can start fresh in the morning.”
“So we’re going home?” Claire asked.
His gaze swung to hers. Until last night, those words wouldn’t have bothered him. Now they made him uneasy. It wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine Claire living in his house, spending her nights in his bed. That kind of thinking was the last thing he wanted.
He just nodded. “We’re leaving for Louisiana in the morning. We’ll need to get an early start.”
She gave him a weary smile. She was as tired as he, and suddenly he felt guilty. No one he knew, man nor woman, had ever been more committed than Claire. She had been there for him when he needed her. She still was. Claire had never failed him.
But sooner or later he was going to fail her.
The notion bothered him all the way home.
* * *
Claire was exhausted, but it was Ben who worried her. His face was pale from the strain of working so hard all day, add to that the frustration of being no closer than they were before.
Ben ordered in pizza and they ate mostly in silence. As she cleaned up and put the plates and glasses in the dishwasher, her tension began to build. She wasn’t sure what Ben expected. Last night had been amazing, but as before, neither of them had mentioned it. Did he want her to sleep with him again tonight? Was he expecting to have sex?
Or had he gotten his fill?
Was another night of intimacy what she wanted?
She knew it was, but not unless Ben wanted it, too.
“I’m going to take a shower and go to bed,” she said without looking at him, afraid what she would see in his eyes. He’d been distant since they’d left the office, uncertain, perhaps, just as she was, where their relationship was going from here.
Claire headed down the hall to the guest bedroom she’d occupied since her arrival, stripped off her clothes and pulled on the terry-cloth robe she’d bought on her shopping venture, then headed for the bathroom at the end of the hall. She walked out ten minutes later, her hair swept up in a towel, her skin still damp.
In the bedroom, she discarded the towel and shook out her hair, slipped on her teddy-bear nightshirt. As she drew back the covers on the queen-size bed, a soft knock sounded at the door.
It had to be Ben and her pulse kicked up. When she opened the door, he stood in the hallway, freshly showered, his black hair still damp, looking more handsome than any man had a right to.
“I told myself to leave you alone,” he said. “Better to keep a little distance. Safer for both of us. But it isn’t what I want.” His eyes remained on her face. “Come to bed with me, Claire.”
Something sweet and warm slipped through her. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. You need your rest. Are you sure?”
He drew her into his arms and just held her. “I’m sure.” Then he bent his head and settled his mouth over hers in a soft, sweet, undemanding kiss. Ben took her hand and led her down the hall to his bedroom.
He made love to her with the same sweet tenderness, exposing the vulnerable side of himself he rarely allowed her to see. Afterward as she lay in his arms, Claire was forced to face an unwelcome truth.
She was falling in love with Ben Slocum. And it was the stupidest thing she could ever do.
* * *
Ben heard the ringing as a distant buzz in his ears. He stirred, opened his eyes, found himself pressed against a soft female body, a thick biceps draped heavily across a pale, elegant breast.
Ignoring the hard-on Claire’s sweetly curved body had aroused, he eased away from her and picked up his iPhone. As he padded out into the hallway, he pressed the phone against his ear.
“Slocum.”
“Bruce Holloway. They found Bridger’s pickup. No sign of Bridger, Hutchins or your boy.”
His hand unconsciously fisted. “Where?”
“Behind an abandoned barn off Route 96 south of Jasper. That’s not far from the Louisiana border. Hood was up like he was havin’ engine trouble.”
“He must have gone on with Hutchins.”
“Unless we get an auto theft report in the area, that’d be my guess. We’ve got the license number, make and model of Hutchins’s car. The police are on alert.”
“He’s probably switched plates.”
“Good chance. But they’ll be watching for a black ’99 Camaro with two men and a boy. Looks like you were right and Bridger’s headin’ for Louisiana.”
Ben didn’t say he was on his way there, too. He preferred to let law enforcement do their job while he did his.
“Where are they towing the pickup?”
“Jasper County sheriff’s garage. It’s a small town. The coroner does the forensic work. He’ll take a look, see if anything interestin’ turns up.”
“Keep me posted, will you?”
“You know I will.”
As he ended the call, Ben heard Claire’s footfalls coming up behind him, felt his dark brown robe draped warmly around his bare shoulders.
“It’s cold in the house. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re naked.”
He almost smiled. “I’m glad you noticed. If we had more time, I’d take advantage of that, but since they’ve found Bridger’s pickup, we need to get going.”
Her head came up. “They found the truck? What about Sam?”
“No sign of him. Best guess, both of them are with Hutchins. The thing is, the truck was outside Jasper. It’s on the way to Converse. There’s a lot of back roads you can take to get there, but it may well be their destination.”
“It fits with the white-supremacist theory.”
He nodded. “I want to stop at the sheriff’s office first. See what they find in the truck.”
“I packed when we got home last night. A quick shower and I’m ready to leave.”
“Same here.” His mouth edged up. “I’d suggest we save water, but we need to get on the road.”
She leaned into him, rested her head against his shoulder. “We’re getting closer, Ben. I can feel it.”
Ben thought of his son, a boy who was on the run with a convict and a child abductor, and prayed Claire was right.