Hot & Bothered (7 page)

“To be a cynic?”

“Damn straight. You want someone to hold your hand, agreeing with every word you speak and ‘poor-babying' you about your murdered dad and missing brother, go talk to one of your country-club boys. You want Jared found, you got me. And that means poking my nose in every corner of his life, finding out things the help might know, discovering the stuff he'd never in a million years confide in his sister.”

He waited for her to ask what kind of stuff, but instead she straightened in her seat and eyed him with speculative consideration. “The police aren't going to look any further than Jared, are they?”

“Not if the conversation I had with Detective Simpson was any indication.” Anger burned in his gut all over again at the thought of the cop's incompetence. It wasn't something he was accustomed to running into with most law-enforcement personnel.

“Then I'd like to expand your job.”

He stared at her. “In what way?”

“I don't understand the detective's attitude, given that there are literally dozens of people who might have wanted my father dead. So
you
look into them. Heck, I can give you ten names off the top of my head just to get you started.”

“That's probably not a great way to spend your money. It's likely to cost you a fortune and still not net you the results you're looking for.”

“I don't care about the money. The police aren't doing their job, so I want you to do it for them.”

“You do understand, don't you, that I have no authority to compel anyone to answer my questions? If people don't want to talk to me there's not a helluva lot
I can do to make them. It's why private detectives rarely get involved in murder cases. We have neither the jurisdiction nor the contacts the cops do.”

She met his eyes and her lips curled up in a faint smile. “Yet you'll do it anyway, won't you?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “If that's what you want. What the hell, I enjoy a good challenge.” Leaning back in his chair, he studied her. “It's your money, of course, but if you don't want to find all your resources going into my pockets, you might consider acting as my entree to the folks in your world. I'm not exactly the country-club type.”

She considered him for a moment. “No, you aren't. Does it really matter?”

“Only in that water-finding-its-own-level kind of way. Chances are better than decent that without an introduction from you, most of that crowd will be leery about talking to me.”
Or, more likely, flat-out refuse.

“All right.”

“All right they'll be leery or all right you'll—”

“I'll perform the introductions.”

“Don't agree without giving it some thought,” he warned. “It could turn out to be time-consuming.”

She shrugged. “I don't care how time-consuming it is.” She rose to her feet and looked down at him. “If that's what it takes to clear Jared and get on with our lives, then that's what I'll do. Just let me know what you need.”

He thought about that as he watched her walk from the office—about letting her know what he needed. Oh, Mama. Then he thought about getting on with his life, and a less-than-amused laugh escaped him. Shit. He would've been all over that concept two days ago. Now he found himself with a daughter he hadn't known existed and didn't have a clue what to do with. Not to mention a
persistent lech for a woman who only wanted him to untangle her brother's problem, then disappear. Get on with his life…His ass!

He didn't even know what the hell that meant anymore.

J
ARED STOOD OUTSIDE
T
HE
S
POT
, silently reciting a variation of the pep talk his baseball coach always gave the team before a game. He'd heard about the drop-in recreational center when he'd eavesdropped on a conversation between a couple of kids hustling for change on the 16th Street Mall. His ears had perked up when he'd heard one of them claim it was possible to hang out there from five in the evening until ten. The prospect of having a solid five hours before he had to move on made him feel almost giddy. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a solid block of time to simply sit in one place, never mind sleep. He didn't even care about the activities the rec center might offer. All he wanted was somewhere he could stay put for a while. It seemed like every time he got halfway comfortable, he had to pick up and move.

He stood to the side of the door for several minutes and watched some Hispanic guys horse around inside the center. Then, drawing a deep breath, he took a step toward the opening.

“You don't wanna go in there,” a husky voice said from behind him and Jared jerked to a stop, looking over his shoulder. A kid, so slight of build he looked as if a stiff breeze might blow him away, detached himself from the shadows cast by the side of the building. Thrusting his
hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans, he jerked his pointed chin toward the group of boys inside the rec hall. “That's one of the local gangs,” he told Jared. “They have a tendency to run off anyone not one of their homeboys.”

“Shit.” Disappointment was a massive stone around his neck. God, he was tired. He was so freaking tired and he just wished he could go home.

Tears burned behind his eyelids, prickled his nasal passage and he turned his back so the kid with the funny, raspy voice wouldn't catch sight of them and think he was a damn baby. “Thanks for the heads-up,” he said gruffly. Blowing out a weary breath, he trudged away from the place that for one brief, shining moment he'd believed might actually provide a few hours of sanctuary.

“Hey, wait up!” The kid caught up and gave him a friendly nudge. “What's your name? I seen you around, here and there. I'm P.J.” He dug a grimy hand into his pocket and pulled out a candy bar. “You want half?”

Jared surreptitiously knuckled away a couple of tears that managed to leak past his guard. Glancing at the kid from the corner of his eye, he saw him studiously looking the other way and thought maybe he wasn't the only one who succumbed to the occasional overwhelming bout of helplessness. For some reason, the realization made a difference, and after a swipe of his nose with his shirttail, he squared his shoulders. “Yeah. Sure.” He was careful when he reached out to accept the portion of candy bar P.J. offered, because what he really wanted to do was snatch it out of the little guy's hand. He couldn't quite remember when he'd last eaten. He'd killed off the brandy last night, but hadn't had any solid food since long before then. Resisting the urge to stuff the entire candy bar in his mouth, he took a small bite. “Thanks.”

“No problem. So, you never told me your name.”

“Jared.”

“That's prett—uh, a good name.” He cleared his throat, but his voice was even raspier than before when he said, “What were you hoping to get outta The Spot, Jared?”

“Hell, I don't know. Someplace to just…be, I guess. Do you know what I mean? I just wanted somewhere I didn't have to leave the minute I got settled.” He noticed the griminess of his own hand as he brought up the candy for another bite. “And I'd sure like a shower. Maybe I oughtta go to the Salvation Army, after all.” He'd been avoiding those kind of shelters, for fear someone might recognize his face. The truth was, though, he didn't even know if he'd been on the news here. What was hot news in Colorado Springs might not be worth mentioning in Denver. And he was rapidly reaching the point where he could hardly stand his own smell.

“Trust me,” P.J. interrupted his thoughts, “you wanna steer clear of the S.A. Way too many mean sum-bitches there.”

“The
Salvation Army
isn't safe?” Jared stared at P.J. in shock. “Aren't those the people who ring bells and say ‘God bless' when you drop money in their collection pots outside the stores at Christmas time?”

“Yeah, we ain't in Kansas anymore, Toto.” P.J. shrugged. “It's not the people running the place who are gonna hurtcha—they're all pretty nice. But a lot of the homeless grown-ups using the joint?” Blowing out a tuneless, expressive whistle, he shook his head. “They'd just as soon punch you in the face as give you the time of day.” Then he brightened. “We could head on over to Sock's Place, though.”

“What's that?”

“It's another drop-in center. Well, it's really kind of a church, but it's tight. You can get a meal and shower there and catch a few hours sleep. Whaddya say?”

“Sounds good.” It sounded
great.
Like a little piece of heaven. He wasn't about to say that aloud, though. Playing it cool was difficult, but he sure as hell didn't have to come off sounding like a hick.

It also felt really nice, he admitted a few minutes later as he and P.J. set off for the new place, to have someone to hang out with. Right up there near the top of the Horrendo-meter was how alone he'd felt in this ongoing nightmare. It was good to have someone to talk to.

Not that he did much of the talking. P.J. seemed to be a jawer by nature; he had an opinion on everything under the sun and didn't hesitate to state it. That was fine with Jared. The smaller boy had obviously been on the streets longer than he had and he was a font of good information that most likely would have taken Jared weeks to learn for himself.

Studying the other youth as P.J. skipped backward in front of him, telling him ways to blend in around the Auraria College campus in order to catch some rest during the days, he thought the two of them probably looked like Mutt and Jeff. He possessed the Hamilton genes, which meant he was tall and rangy, all long arms and legs. To his disgust, he wasn't the least bit buff, but Cook said that was because he was still growing into his bones. She insisted he'd be buff enough before he knew it.

He wasn't exactly holding his breath waiting for that to happen, but compared to P.J. he could have been a fricking graduate of the Charles Atlas school of bodybuilding. The other boy was nearly a foot shorter than he and so fine-boned that he appeared almost girlishly delicate. To be fair, that impression was gained mostly by
what was on view: the little dude's big-eyed face and stick-thin arms. The rest of him was buried beneath a T-shirt about three sizes too large and a pair of wide-legged jeans that sagged off his skinny hips and pooled their frayed hems around sneakers that had seen better days. Somehow Jared doubted that the rest of P.J. was any more filled-out, though. Hell, his face didn't even exhibit a trace of fuzz yet.

“How old are you, anyway?” he demanded.

“Gonna be fifteen in a few months.”

“Yeah?” Jared studied him skeptically. “How many months do you consider a few?”

“'Bout twenty.” P.J. grinned unrepentantly. “How about you? I bet you must be around eighteen, huh?”

“Not until November.”

“I was close.”

Jared snorted. “Closer than thirteen is to fifteen, anyhow.” But his disdain was all for show, and they both knew it. “So, what does P.J. stand for?”

“Priscilla Jayne.”

Jared stopped dead. “You're a
girl?
” His voice cracked on the last word, but he was too busy staring and reassessing to care.

“Of course I'm a girl! Jeez! Why does everybody think I'm not?” Looking down at her chest, she plucked the cloth away from its flat planes. “It's because I ain't got no boobies, isn't it? Well, I'm gonna have 'em someday, you know. I'm just a late bloomer.” Her little triangular face went forlorn. “I'd sure have a lot less money troubles if I had 'em now, though.”

“How's that?” Now that he knew she was a girl, he was amazed he hadn't tumbled to it the second he'd clapped eyes on her. Shit. In hindsight, it seemed so obvious.

“If I had a nice rack—or, okay, any boobs at all—I could turn tricks and my money problems would be yesterday's news.” But she made a sour face. “All right, the truth is, part of me is just as glad that's not an option, but if you tell anybody I said so, I'll deny it. Don't cha think, though, that the whole sex thing seems really…icky?”

“Well,
yeah.
” He looked at her and thought she didn't look all that much older than his niece Esme. His stomach rolled at the thought of some sweaty old man rolling around on top of her and he reached out to rap his knuckles against the top of her backward-facing baseball cap. “Hel-lo! Letting fat old guys do whatever they want to you with their pudgy damp hands? Be glad you don't have the stuff.”

“Yeah, well, easy for you to say. I bet
you
could make a bundle.” She gave him a jaundiced once-over. “It must be nice to be gorgeous.”

He made a face at the latter comment, but warmed inside all the same at the thought of someone thinking he was good-looking. He also perked up at the idea of making some money. He was down to his last twelve dollars. “Women will pay for sex?” That didn't sound like such a bad deal. He'd only had sex twice, but he'd liked it.

A lot. P.J. made a rude sound. “Not women, you dumb-shit. Men.”

“No fucking way!” He jumped back, as if the very notion were contagious. “That's
sick.
”

“Yeah,” she agreed glumly. “Like I said, the whole deal is really icky.”

“It's not the sex that sucks, P.J. I'm no big expert, but I'd rank getting laid right up there with hot-fudge sundaes. That's with
girls,
though. I'm not into the guy-guy thing.” The mere thought made him queasy.

“Hot-fudge sundaes, huh?” She regarded him with some interest. “I like those. Whaddya wanna bet, though, that only boys get that out of sex? Girls probably end up with mud pies that only look like sundaes.”

“Hey!” He felt vaguely insulted by her assertion until he thought of Beth Chamberlain, with whom he'd shared his first sexual experience. “Well, maybe it is better for guys the first few times.” Then Vanessa Spaulding, an older woman of nineteen who'd taught him a thing or two, popped into his mind. “But if a guy knows what he's doing, it gets way better.”

“That's good to know.” P.J. shrugged. “Still, if it's all the same to you, I'd just as soon skip the sweaty groping and go straight to the chocolate-covered ice cream.”

He laughed. It was the first thing he'd found remotely amusing since tearing out of the Colorado Springs mansion, and suddenly things didn't seem quite as scary now that he had someone to hang out with. He gave the young girl a friendly shove to the shoulder. “You're all right, you know that? I'm glad we met.”