Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Canyon) (8 page)

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

T
o 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.”