Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Canyon) (4 page)

“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

C
laire’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.”