Against the Edge

He cast her a glance. “You don’t think I can remember that far back?”

She smiled. “I know you’re only thirty-three. I just meant some people kind of block out their childhood.”

“Well, I remember mine way too well.”

She mulled that over, knew from Laura that he’d had a tough, lonely childhood. “Sam was unhappy. I think that’s the reason he left with Troy. Troy had known his mother. That was the connection. And Troy has this dog. Pepper. A black Labrador retriever. Sam’s crazy about that dog.”

“I want to see those files, but we need to get on the road. In a missing-child case, time is crucial. You should have called me the day he disappeared. Hell, you should have called me two years ago when Laura told you my name.”

Her chin inched up. She didn’t know Ben Slocum, only what Laura had told her about him and what she’d been able to dig up on the internet. “Maybe I should have. I guess that remains to be seen.”

His jaw went hard. He looked as though he was fighting to stay in control. He released a slow breath. “I keep a bag packed. Old habit. I’ll grab it and we’re out of here. It’ll take a little longer to get through airport security, since I’m traveling with a weapon.”

“A weapon? You’re taking a gun?”

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with here. I’m not going empty-handed.”

She didn’t know how she felt about that. He was ex-military, though. If anyone ought to know how to use a weapon, she supposed it would be Ben.

He wasn’t gone five minutes, returning with a black canvas duffel slung over a heavily muscled shoulder. Ben put out a new batch of dry food for the cat, who had his own high-tech security cat door into the backyard, checked the auto-watering bowl, then went outside and drove his Denali into the garage. Then they headed out to her rental car for the trip to the airport.

“You drive. On the way, I’ll go through the files.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t like his high-handedness, but she liked his take-action attitude. So far the police had come up with nothing. They believed the Robersons, believed Sam had run away.

Claire didn’t believe it for a minute.

As she drove toward the airport, Ben sat in the passenger seat poring over the files she had brought in the hope that if he decided to help her the information might be useful.

“Laura Maryann Thompson,” he read. “Born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, December fourteenth, nineteen eighty. It lists the schools she attended. Pittsburgh Community College is where we met.”

“She was your same age, right? You were both sophomores? You were putting yourself through school, planning to join the navy when you graduated.”

“That’s right.”

As the car rolled along, Claire flicked him a sideways glance, saw him studying her face.

“So she talked about me,” he said. “What else did she tell you?”

“She said your father was a steelworker. That you worked with him at the mill part-time to put yourself through school. She said your mother left when you were nine years old.”

“That’s right. The same age as Sam. She tell you my dad worked like a dog just to put food on the table? He was a good man but he was a lousy father. Mostly I had to fend for myself. It wasn’t the kind of life I’d want for a kid of mine.”

Claire made no reply. Laura had told her Ben had been pretty much on his own since grade school, since the day his mother walked out of the house. She’d said she admired what he had made of himself.

“What happened to Laura’s parents?” Ben asked as she merged onto the 59 Freeway heading north. “They were nice people. Samuel was her father’s name.”

“They died in a car wreck six months after Sam was born. I think that was part of the reason she started drinking. She wasn’t good at handling responsibility.”

Ben’s jaw looked tight. “I would have helped with the boy. All she had to do was ask.”

Claire didn’t tell him that Laura hadn’t asked him for help because she didn’t want to burden him. The reckless, devil-may-care boy she had loved in college wanted excitement and adventure. He hadn’t been ready for marriage or fatherhood. Even years later when he had come to L.A., he wasn’t ready to settle down.

Or at least that was what Laura believed.

Ben looked down at the file. “Says she married a guy named Tom Schofield in 2001. Divorced a year later. No kids. Why not?”

“Laura said she didn’t love him. She said she tried to, but it just wouldn’t work.”

He looked up as they took the turnoff to the airport. “That night in L.A....she told me she was on the pill.”

Claire could feel those icy eyes on her. He was waiting for her to say something, but she didn’t want to betray Laura’s trust.

“Tell me the truth,” he pressed. “Did she get pregnant on purpose?”

A shaft of weariness slid through her. “Laura wasn’t on the pill, if that’s what you’re asking. She wanted your baby. There was no way to be sure she’d get pregnant that night, but she was happy when she found out.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“As it turned out, she wasn’t well suited to be a mother. She loved Sam, but the responsibilities of raising a child were just too much for her to handle.”

Ben fell silent, but she could feel the anger rolling off him in waves. Laura had borne him a son. She had needed his help, but she had refused to ask.

Neither had Claire. And some of his anger was definitely aimed at her.

* * *

They missed the 11:10 flight out of Bush International, but got tickets for the 2:20. Ben had wanted to stop by the Atlas Security office, where he worked as a freelance P.I., and put the company computer whiz, Sol Greenway, to work digging up something’anything’on Troy Bridger. But it was Sunday, and after Alex and Sabrina’s wedding and late-night reception, everyone was sleeping in. No one would be at work till Monday morning.

If he found anything that would give Sol a place to start, he’d call him at home. The kid was always willing to help.

While they waited in the busy terminal for the later flight, Ben went through Claire’s files a second time. The information on Sam tugged at a place in his heart he didn’t know he still had. His son was a straight-A student. He played baseball and soccer. His teachers liked him and he had lots of friends.

Clearly Sam was a lot more outgoing than Ben ever had been.

A document he had missed the first time slid out from behind another piece of paper. Sam’s birth certificate. The father was listed as Benjamin Slocum. It made him mad all over again.

“Why didn’t the welfare department call me? I thought they went after deadbeat dads for child support.”

Claire’s gaze swung to his. She had big green eyes, he noticed, though it was hard to tell with a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of her nose as she read the paper.

“You weren’t a deadbeat dad. You didn’t even know you had a son. And they didn’t go after you because Laura stopped taking assistance after just a few months. She thought it was demeaning.”

“I’m not surprised. Her mother was a member of the DAR.”

“Daughters of the American Revolution.”

“That’s right. She was always proud of her family heritage. She had a lot of self-esteem’at least back then.”

The terminal buzzed with noise around them, making it a little hard to talk. “So if she wasn’t getting assistance, why were you still involved?”

“I told you, because we were friends. Better than friends, if you want the truth. I can’t explain it. I was a couple of years younger. At first I felt sorry for her, raising a kid by herself. As I got to know her, something just clicked between us. And I admired her for trying to make it on her own.”

“Did she?”

“She worked as a secretary in an insurance company. She drank too much, but she managed to control it enough to keep her job.” Those big green eyes zeroed in on him. “And there was Sam. He’s really special. Smart. Tough. Yet amazingly loving. He took care of Laura more than she took care of him. You can be proud of him, Ben.”

His throat felt tight. He had a kid named Sam. A son he could be proud of. He was out there somewhere and he was in trouble.

“I’m going to find him. I won’t stop until I do.” He felt Claire’s hand on his arm, looked down to see long, slim fingers, no wedding ring.

“We’re going to find him, Ben. I promised Laura I’d make sure Sam got a good home. I intend to keep my word.”

* * *

With the time change, the plane landed at 6:00 p.m. The October weather wasn’t much different in L.A. than in Houston, eighty degrees, clear skies and sunshine.

“There’s no reason for you to stay in a hotel,” Claire said to Ben as she wheeled her carry-on along the crowded corridors then took the escalator to the ground-floor exit. “I’ve got an apartment in Santa Monica. You’d have your own room. We can brainstorm, work the leads you come up with.”

She shoved through the terminal doors and stepped out on the sidewalk, where a heavy gust of wind hit her, plastering the narrow skirt of her conservative yellow suit to her legs. A few feet away, buses and taxis rushed past. Cars crawled along and limousines darted in and out, picking up the rich and famous who frequented the L.A. airport.

Ben shook his head. “Look, Claire, I’m a private investigator. Finding people is one of the things I do. The information you’ve given me is going to help. If I need something else, I’ll call you. Just give me your cell phone number, and’”

“No. That isn’t going to happen, Ben. You don’t seem to understand. I promised Laura on her deathbed that I’d take care of her son. I failed to do that. Now I have to make this right. I promised Laura’and not you or anyone else is going to stop me.”

Something shifted across his features. Might have been a hint of approval, but probably just a trick of the light.

His voice softened. “Look, I get it. You’re trying to do the right thing. But I’m a professional, Claire. Aside from that, I’m the boy’s father.”

“You’re his father in name only. Sam doesn’t even know you exist. He isn’t going to just fall into your arms. Dammit, he might not even go with you if you find him.”

“What about your job? Don’t you have to work?”

“I...umm...took a leave of absence. I have a small inheritance from my grandfather. I can afford to take some time off.”

Those icy eyes were filled with turbulence, his features hard.

“I need to be there,” she pressed, “to make sure he understands what’s happening to him. For God’s sake, Ben, he’s just a little boy!”

Ben tipped his head back and stared up at the cement overhang above them. He seemed to be trying to pull himself together. “All right. We’ll try it your way. But I’m not letting you slow me down. If I need to move fast, I will.”

“Okay, that’s fair enough.”

“I’m gonna need to rent a car.”

“You can use mine. If I need to, I can borrow one from a friend.”

He hesitated a moment more, then nodded. “All right, then I guess that’s it. Let’s go.” He didn’t like it, she could tell, but he was a smart man and her logic was sound. Sam didn’t know him. He wouldn’t trust him. But he trusted Claire.

And she had let him down.

Her heart pinched. She’d failed him and now she had to make it right. Claire just prayed Ben Slocum was a different man than the reckless heartthrob Laura had portrayed him to be.

* * *

Ben found Claire’s car parked in the overnight lot. A nearly new red Honda Accord. Interesting, since Claire Chastain didn’t strike Ben as the red-car type. Those women were fiery-tempered. Impulsive. Passionate. Then again, it was hard to figure the currents running beneath a female’s facade.

As he plucked the keys from her hand, he took another long look at her. In the sunshine, her dark hair had deep red highlights. Mahogany, he’d call it. He wondered what it would look like unbound. Her cheekbones were high, her skin smooth and clear, and there was a tiny cleft in her chin.

He’d been so angry, so worried about the child he never knew he had, he hadn’t looked at Claire Chastain as a woman. A very pretty woman. Now that he did, he wished he hadn’t.

Under different circumstances, it would be fun to discover what lay beneath her cool reserve. To find out if she would be a red-car woman in bed.

Not this time. He had more to think about than his sex drive’or hers. And though he clearly interested her in a number of ways, he wasn’t sure that interest included sex.

If it did, it didn’t matter. He had a son to find. And after that’

For the first time it occurred to him that from this day forward his life would be never be the same. If he didn’t find Sam, he would always think about him, worry about him. Wonder where he was. Wonder if he was alive. If he was happy.

If he did find him, he would have to be a father to the boy. He’d need to make a home for him, see him properly raised. Ben’s life would be completely changed.

“It’s almost seven o’clock,” Claire said as he loaded his canvas duffel and her carry-on into the trunk of her car. “What should we do first?”

“I want to talk to the family Sam was staying with. See what they have to say.”

“The Robersons. They live in Calabasas. It’s a pretty long drive. Shall we call them? Let them know we’re coming?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want them showcasing. I want to see the way they live. And I don’t want to give them time to put up their defenses.”

“All right. Why don’t you let me drive since I know how to get there?”

Ben tossed the keys back to her, rounded the car and settled himself in the passenger seat. As she slid behind the wheel, he tried not to notice the length of pretty thigh exposed when Claire’s yellow skirt slid up.

He leaned back against the headrest. “I could get used to having a female chauffeur.”

Her gaze swung to his. “Was that a joke? Did Ben Slocum just make a joke?”

His mouth edged up. “Not much of one.”

Her features softened. “We’re going to find him,” she said with an amazing amount of determination. “Troy Bridger, or whatever his name really is, thinks he’s gotten away with stealing Sam, but he’s wrong.”

“You’re that sure that’s what happened?”

“I know Sam. Troy used his dog to get Sam to go with him.”

Ben studied her face. The set of her jaw and the steel in her voice made him wonder if he’d been shortsighted when he’d formed his initial opinion of Claire Chastain.

Three

The Robersons were a decent family who earned money by being part of the foster care program. They had two kids of their own and two or three fosters at any given time who were waiting for permanent placements.

Sam had been one of those.

The trouble was that twelve-year-old Kenny Roberson and his ten-year-old sister, Tammy, were spoiled and somewhat selfish. And Kenny was often a bully. Since the Robersons tended to take their kids’ side over the other children in the house, the environment could be stressful.

From the start, Sam had refused to take Kenny’s guff. He’d stood up to the older boy and because he had, he’d had a tough time getting along with the family.

Claire’s gaze fixed on the highway stretching ahead of her. It was dark now, rows of taillights as far as she could see. “I have a feeling you’re as stubborn as Sam. If he’d only waited another couple more weeks...”

Ben’s hard look sliced toward her. “You should have called me. I would have come for him.”

“I didn’t know that. I’m beginning to think some of the things Laura told me were wrong.”

“Some of the things? She hadn’t seen me in years.”

“No, but she sort of kept track of you. That’s how I knew where to find you.”

Ben’s black eyebrows went up. “How’d she do that?”

“She had a Facebook friend in Houston. A woman you slept with.”

“Jesus! Who was it?”

“I don’t know. I told her someone like that wasn’t a reliable source.”

Ben didn’t say more. She thought he was wondering, thinking about the life he’d been leading, wondering what it would be like to have a son.

Claire was wondering what kind of a father he would make.

She continued along with the stop-and-go traffic heading north. It wasn’t five minutes later that she glanced over to see Ben sound asleep in the passenger seat. Watching those thick black lashes resting so peacefully against his cheeks reminded her that he had been awake half the night having sex. A little tremor of awareness slipped through her, which Claire firmly ignored.

Her mouth thinned. That she was thinking about Ben Slocum in any context other than Sam’s father irritated her more than a little. Claire jammed her foot on the gas, then slammed on the brakes as the taillights brightened on the Cadillac in front of her. The Accord jerked to a sudden stop, but Ben Slocum didn’t wake up.

Or at least he pretended not to.

* * *

Ben sat up the minute Claire turned off the engine. The brief nap had at least cured his headache. They were parked at the curb in front of a beige two-story stucco house in a subdivision northwest of L.A. The neighborhood the Robersons lived in looked family friendly.

Ben cracked open his door and so did Claire, and both of them got out. An overturned blue bicycle and a deflated basketball lay in the grass in front of the porch. Ben climbed the stairs and rapped on the door.

A woman answered, mid-forties, bleached blond hair and a plus-size figure. “May I help you?”

“Hello, Mrs. Roberson,” Claire said when the woman recognized her. “I’m sorry to come by so late, but this is Sam’s father, Ben Slocum. He wanted to talk to you and Bob, ask you some questions.”

“I thought Sam’s father was dead.”

Ben stepped into the porch light. “Unless your eyes are playing tricks, I’m just as alive as you are and I need to talk to you about my son.”

He felt Claire’s hand on his arm, warning him to take it easy. She returned her attention to the woman and managed a tentative smile. “Ben’s a private investigator, Martha. He’s hoping you can help him.”

“It’s getting late,” Martha said. “You should have called first. Tomorrow’s a school day. I have to get the kids to bed.”

“This won’t take long.” Ben brushed past her, making his way into the house. There were toys scattered around, but no kids in sight. He could hear them playing somewhere upstairs. The living room was neat, with sturdy furniture and inexpensive lamps. He could see into the kitchen, and it was clean, too. He couldn’t complain about that.

“I just wish you had called,” the woman said.

Ben caught the sound of heavy footfalls and turned to see a burly man, bald and grim-faced, thumping down the stairs.

He walked into the living room. “What’s going on in here?”

“Bob, this is Sam’s dad, Ben Slocum,” Claire said. “He’s hoping you and Martha can help him find his son.”

“It’s late. Come over tomorrow when the kids are in school.”

Ben’s blood begin to simmer. “My son is missing. Since it was your responsibility to watch out for him’which you failed to do’I would think you’d be interested in helping me find him.”

“Listen, mister. Sam ran away. The police are looking for him. I don’t care who you are’I want you out of here.”

Claire gasped as Ben grabbed a fistful of Bob Roberson’s white T-shirt and slammed him up against the wall. “My son is out there. He’s only nine years old. You’re going to answer my questions. Now. Right this minute.”

From the corner of his eye, he spotted the wife slipping toward the cell phone on the kitchen table. Claire stepped in front of her, blocking her way. Score one for the lady.

Ben slammed Roberson once more against the wall. “You hear what I’m saying?”

Roberson swallowed. “Yes. Fine. What is it you want to know?”

Ben let him go and stepped back out of his comfort zone. “Did Sam take his clothes when he left?”

“Yes, most of them, anyway. That’s how we knew he wasn’t taken against his will.”

“Did you or your wife ever talk to Troy Bridger?”

Martha answered, her face a little pale. “I did. He said he was a friend of Sam’s mother’s. He asked if he could speak to the boy. I told him he could but they had to stay in the living room.”

“Did he mention any plans he might have had, something he was going to do? Any place he was going or where he was originally from?”

“No.”

“How about after that? Did you see him again?”

“He came over one other time. It was a Saturday. I was busy making lunch...that’s how I remember. I figured he would keep Sam occupied. The boy was always underfoot, causing some kind of trouble.”

One of Ben’s eyebrows went up. “Is that so?”

“Yes, it is. Sam couldn’t get along with the other kids.”

“You mean he couldn’t get along with Kenny and Tammy,” Claire corrected. “Your two kids. Sam got along fine with Suzy and Tim.”

“Just because that’s what Sam told you doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Ben looked at Claire, noticed the mutinous set of her chin and figured it must be gospel. “The day Sam went missing...did you see Bridger that day?”

“No.”

He turned to the husband. “How about you?”

“No. Look. Sam’s run away once before. He came home the same day. That’s what happened this time. He left on his own.”

Ben chewed on that. He didn’t know what the boy might do. He had to trust Claire’s judgment. He just hoped he was trusting the right person.

“How long did you wait after Sam disappeared before you called the police?”

Silence fell in the living room.

Ben’s jaw tightened. He moved into Roberson’s space. “How long?” he asked softly.

“Two days. We figured the kid was having a tantrum, all right? We thought he’d come back when he got hungry.”

Ben’s hands fisted. “You don’t know what a lucky man you are, Roberson. You’re lucky I’m smart enough to know that if I started pounding on you, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

Turning, he strode out of the house. He didn’t hear what Claire said, just the sound of her heels on the sidewalk behind him as she hurried to catch up.

“I’m driving,” he said. “Give me the keys.”

“You’re too angry to drive. I’ll get us home.”

“We aren’t going home. Give me the goddamn keys.”

Claire tentatively placed them in his hand, and his fingers closed around them. A few minutes later, he was heading down the freeway toward Hollywood, working to keep his speed under control and his temper in check. He hadn’t gotten much out of the Robersons, but he had a friend in L.A. who owed him a favor.

It was time for Ben to collect.

* * *

By the time he turned off the Hollywood freeway onto Sunset Boulevard, Ben’s temper was under control. He’d been stationed in San Diego during his days with the teams. He knew his way around L.A. enough to get by. And to help, Claire had a GPS mounted on the dash. He had plugged in the destination street address before he’d pulled away from the curb.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Claire said after a lengthy silence that told him how much she disapproved of his behavior at the Roberson house.

“No wonder Sam ran away. What a pair of a-holes.”

“Yes, well, if they call the police, it’ll only cost us more time.”

“They won’t call the police. Roberson’s too scared I’ll come back and beat the crap out of him. Which I’m more than tempted to do. The man waited two days, Claire. Two days.”

“I know. I knew you’d be angry if I told you.”

“I missed it in the police report. Probably a good thing.”

The corner of her mouth curved up. She had a very pretty mouth when she wasn’t scowling. Nice full lips, glossy pink lipstick.

“Laura said you had a temper.”

His gaze moved from her mouth to her eyes. “I’d never hurt a woman. I wouldn’t hurt a kid, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking that Sam wouldn’t put up with Kenny’s bullying. That’s why the Robersons didn’t really like him. He’s three years younger than Kenny, and yet he was the leader in the house, the one the other two foster children looked up to.”