Childfinders, Inc.: An Uncommon Hero

Lucky for her.

Pushing the book she was holding back into its space, she walked up to the man who had just entered and smiled at him. “I see you’re back. Come to see if I needed rescuing again?”

He’d taken measure of her as he’d walked in and still wondered if there was some sort of mistake. But it was too much of a coincidence for him to shrug off. What he needed was to find a way to find out her social security number. That might be more difficult than he’d anticipated if the store manager had agreed to pay her off the books.

“Oh, you strike me as someone who can take care of herself. If I hadn’t intervened yesterday, you probably would have decked him.”

He had a dimple, she realized. And a sense of humor. She found that an extremely sexy trait. “My boxing gloves are in the shop,” she said wryly. “Jon’s not here if you came to see him.”

“Jon?”

“The store manager.” Obviously the name meant nothing to him. “I’m sorry, I’m just taking a stab at why you’re here.”

He wondered what she would say if he answered her truthfully. If he told her that he was looking for Gloria Prescott and the little boy she’d abducted. Probably nothing. At close quarters, the woman looked cool enough to be able to pull it off. If she was Gloria.

“To do some research, actually.”

Savannah had managed to access Gloria Prescott’s transcript at the University of San Francisco for him. He’d discovered that while her degree was in the field of studio arts, specifically sculpting, she’d minored in American history. He’d guessed that the preponderance of courses on Native Americans meant her interest lay there. The drive up from Bedford had given him ample time to come up with a scenario.

He looked around. “Do you have a Native American section? I’m working on a project and I’m kind of stuck. I need all the input I can get.”

Ben saw interest enter her eyes. “Native American? What kind of a project is it?”

He pretended to hesitate. “You’d probably laugh.”

That made her smile. “No, I wouldn’t, try me.”

He’d chosen his story carefully. “It’s a screenplay—you probably hear that all the time. Everybody and his brother is writing one, or knows someone who’s writing one.”

Her smile was nothing short of encouraging. If this was Gloria, he could easily see why McNair had lost his head. Whether she was blonde or brunette, there was something about the woman’s smile that got to a man, made him want to puff up his chest and do something extraordinary to make her take notice.

“I don’t,” she told him.

He caught her off guard by putting out his hand. “Ben Underwood. Now you know me, so you know someone who’s writing one.”

The smile turned into a soft laugh that wafted around him like the first breeze of spring, full of promise at what was to be.

“All right, Ben Underwood, what’s your screenplay about?”

“The Battle of Wounded Knee.” Other than Custer’s last stand at Little Big Horn, it was the only Indian battle that he was vaguely aware of.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, holding back a laugh.

“You’re not going to believe this, but I minored in Native American studies at UCSF.”

“You’re kidding.” He looked properly impressed. “Damn, but this is my lucky day. Maybe you can help fill in the gaps for me.”

“Maybe,” she echoed, her mouth curving.

He did his best not to notice how inviting that looked.

Chapter 4

So far, so good, Ben thought, returning her smile. He’d managed to establish a beachhead, however small. But he was a long way from winning the battle yet.

What he needed was to gain her trust so he could get to the bottom of what was going on. As of right now, he still wasn’t a hundred percent certain that he had the right woman. All he had to go on was the slightly out-of-focus photograph McNair had given him and a likeness of Gloria Prescott that Savannah had lifted from the DMV records she’d accessed. The only similarity between that and the woman he was looking at was they looked to be approximately the same age.

Ben summoned what latent acting talents he had and infused his voice with what he hoped was the right amount of enthusiasm. One of his best friends was a would-be screenwriter. Ben did his best to imitate the way he’d heard Nick talk when he was going on about his project of the moment.

“You know, this is almost like fate, meeting you.”

He touched her shoulder lightly as he spoke, initiating contact, but making certain that it couldn’t be misconstrued as anything remotely sexual. If the other day was any indication, she probably had more than her share of that, but he’d noted that the slightest bit of physical contact between people instantly brought them to a more familiar plane. He did his best to walk the fine line.

“Listen, I’ve got an idea.” Ben dropped his hand, as if suddenly aware of what he was doing. He saw a hint of a smile on Gina’s face and congratulated himself on his instincts. “I know you’re working right now, but maybe we could grab a bite to eat later when you knock off and—”

Having displayed what he thought was just the right amount of eagerness, he stopped, as if realizing how his words had to sound to her.

“I know you’re probably thinking that this is a come-on, but it’s really not. I really do need your help. I want to be accurate about this and I’m willing to pay you for your time.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Not much, I’m afraid—unless you’re willing to take percentage points in my script.”

Though she was trying to maintain her distance, Gina had to admit that this eager screenwriter did sound cute, stumbling over his words. She hoped he was better on paper. But she did appreciate that he realized she might be getting the wrong impression about his offer. Not many men would have picked up on that.

From the look of him, Ben Underwood seemed like the last word in manliness. Someone Aunt Sugar would have referred to as “a man’s man—and a lady’s heart-throb.” Yet he was unapologetically sensitive to her feelings. After what she’d been through, he seemed more like a figment of her imagination than a real person.

Still, she had to turn him down.

“I can’t tonight, I’ve got to close up.” She was surprised at the regret she felt. Gina chalked it up to loneliness. “But I think I can manage tomorrow night after work, if that’s all right.” She could see he looked disappointed. “Unless you’re in a hurry.”

Ben noticed one of the other clerks looking their way and turned just slightly so that his body blocked her view of the other man. He didn’t want her getting distracted while he made his pitch.

“I am—I’m getting close to my deadline.” He paused, thinking that it was a lucky thing he’d decided to get a motel room close by. “But tomorrow night will be great,” he added genially.

Intrigued, she cocked her head. “Deadline?”

The shrug was self-deprecating, with just enough boyishness thrown in to captivate her. Mischievous as a boy, he’d spent his childhood pleading his case to a tough audience. Looking sincere had become an art form. Dominican nuns ordinarily brooked no nonsense.

“I gave myself a deadline. If I didn’t make it as a screenwriter within five years, I was going to stop fooling myself and go into the family business. I’ve got six months left.”

She surprised him by whistling softly. His eyes lingered on her puckered lips.

“That’s cutting it pretty close.” She moved to the right, out of the way of a customer who was browsing through the section where they were standing. Perforce, she moved closer to Ben. “What’s the family business?”

He silently apologized to Nick, whose life he was plagiarizing. “Furniture-making.”

Gina studied him. She could definitely see this handsome stranger doing that. Wearing a leather apron over worn jeans and a checkered work shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves. Goggles perched atop his thick, black hair, the smell of freshly sawed wood about him. You’re getting carried away, she warned herself. “Are you any good at it?”

Humor glinted in his eyes as he laughed, thinking of Nick. Every time Nick attempted to make something, it was inevitably reduced to a pile of splinters and wood chips. He had no idea why Nick’s father was so adamant about his joining the business.

“I would be if the family had a sideline making and selling toothpicks. My creativity lies in other directions, but if I can’t make a go of it, my father insists I come into the business. Maybe as a sales rep.”

He made it sound like a life sentence with no possibility of parole. She found herself warming to him. “We’ll see what we can do. I’m not free tonight,” she repeated, “but I can point you toward an excellent book to get you started.”

“Sounds great.”

She led him to the American history section. One of the shelves was labeled Native American Studies. Eight years ago, it had been her personal baby, the one section she’d convinced Jon to set up. Now that she was back, she intended to keep on top of it religiously, making sure any new, relevant books were ordered while old standards were kept in stock.

She noticed two books were out of alphabetical order. Switching them to the right place, Gina selected one title and handed it to him. “This should be very helpful.”

“Thanks.” He nodded toward the small table that was off to the side. There were several throughout the store, besides the ones at the coffee shop in the center of the store. “Mind if I…?”

Reading sections of a book before you bought it had become an accepted custom. “Help yourself. That’s why the tables and chairs are here.”

Ben made himself comfortable and opened the book to the first page. This was going to be slower going than he would have liked, he thought, but he felt he had no option. He needed something more to go on than just a glaring coincidence before he brought McNair in or the police down on the bookstore clerk. What if, by some strange twist of fate, he was wrong? Truth had been known to be stranger than fiction.

And if he was right, if this woman was Gloria Prescott and she was impersonating a dead woman, he needed to find out where she was keeping Andrew. His proceeding cautiously could mean the difference between life or death.

Mixed into all this was the question that was beginning to hound him. How could someone whom everyone he’d spoken with so far thought was a saint, have done something so heinous as to kidnap a child, no matter what her motive? If this woman with the winning smile and the killer figure was Gloria Prescott, she was either a consummate actress who had managed to fool her co-workers, her friend and her aunt, or something just wasn’t right.

Any way he looked at it, he had a puzzle whose pieces weren’t fitting together.

With a sigh, Ben lowered his eyes to his book and returned to playing his role.

Darkness pressed its face against the bookstore’s large bay windows, peering in forlornly. It was a few minutes shy of nine o’clock, and except for Gina, he was the last one in the store. He’d spent the last few hours watching her interact with people, trying to form an opinion. Trying, also, to be objective and not swayed by the fact that she moved with the grace of a spring breeze, or that when she smiled or laughed, everyone around her seemed to light up. Him included.

He’d also wound up reading the book she had recommended. Even though his mind wasn’t really on it, he had to admit that parts of it had managed to catch his attention and seep in. Maybe he’d mention the subject matter to Nick when he got home. Most success stories began as accidents. Who knew, this might be Nick’s long-awaited accident.

Glancing at his watch, he verified the time. Nine. That meant she’d be closing up and going home soon. Maybe he could change her mind about tonight. The sooner he gained her confidence, the sooner he could get to the bottom of this.

He rose to his feet, feeling stiff. He’d stayed in one position too long. The wound he had gotten when he was shot in the line of duty, protecting his partner, whispered its presence along his body. He rotated his shoulders, trying to work out the discomfort.

Gina was at the register. Ben made his way over to her and placed the book on the counter between them, then took out his wallet.

“You’re right, it’s an excellent book.” Handing her a twenty, he watched her ring the sale up. The last of the day. “Maybe we could go get that dinner now and discuss it.”

She was tempted, she realized in surprise. What’s more, it felt good to be tempted. She’d thought that perhaps, all things considered, she would never entertain that sensation again. But tempted or not, there was no way she could say yes, not tonight. Betty, her teenage baby-sitter, could only stay until nine-thirty. Jesse was asleep and she wasn’t about to wake him. Besides, she doubted that this would-be screenwriter, sensitive or not, would welcome a six-year-old’s company at dinner.

Handing him his change, she slipped the book into a bag with the store’s logo on it. “I’m afraid I can’t. There’re…complications.”

He played it as if she wasn’t the suspect he’d been sent to track. “Husband?”

“No.” She held up her left hand to substantiate her answer.

“Boyfriend?”

This time, Gina smiled as she shook her head, thinking him sweet and wondering if she was a fool for thinking it. “No.”

Ben raised his brows in a supposed last-ditch, far-out guess. “Strict parents?”

She laughed. “No. Just…complications.”

Gina wondered how her son would take to being referred to as a complication. In reality, he was the most uncomplicated, most wonderful part of her life. But arranging her schedule around him, picking him up at school and making sure he was safe at all times, did lead to a great many complications.

“If you come by the store tomorrow,” she told him, hoping that he would, “I’ll let you know about dinner.”

“Why don’t you just give me your home phone number and I’ll call you?” He made the suggestion as casually as he could.

He seemed like a nice person, but she’d made a costly error in judgment before. It was better to be safe than sorry. “Coming by the shop would be easier.”

“Here, let me give you my cell phone number just in case you need to get in touch with me.” He wrote it down on a slip of paper and handed it to her. Folding it, she slipped it into her pocket. “You’ve aroused my curiosity, you know.” Ben realized his mistake the instant the teasing remark left his lips. A wary look had entered her eyes. He immediately went into damage control. “Will I have to guess anyone’s name, climb up a ladder made of golden hair or slay a dragon before I earn the pleasure of your company and get access to your knowledge?”

Ben silently breathed a sigh of relief as he saw her smile again. “No, nothing like that, I promise.” Taking out the day’s cash, she put it into a metal strongbox, then slipped a cover over the cash register.

The cop in him had him glancing toward the front door. This wasn’t known to be the most savory location in San Francisco. “Should you be here by yourself doing that?”

The note of concern caught her off guard. So did the warmth stirring in response. “I’ve done this before. The front door locks automatically at nine. I’m going to have to use a key to let you out.”

“Why don’t I wait until you’re finished and walk you to your car?” He wasn’t certain if it was the man he was pretending to be or the man he was who made the offer.

There was a part of her that yearned for just that. To have someone walk her to her car, to offer her his protection by mutual agreement. But there was a part, a much larger part, that had become very leery of protectiveness because it could so easily turn into possessiveness. And that led to dark places.

So, very politely but firmly, she turned him down. “Thank you, but there’s no need for that.” Gina cut him off before he could offer a protest. “And Jon would be upset if I let someone remain in the store when I put the money into the safe.” Slipping the strongbox beneath the counter, she came out from behind it and deliberately led the way to the front doors. Unlocking them, she pushed one open and held it for him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ben.”

“Count on it.”

Walking to his car, he thought of following Gina when she left the bookstore. But it was harder tailing someone at night than in the light of day, and if for some reason she spotted him, it would definitely spook her. He didn’t want to undo the groundwork he’d just spent the last few hours laying down. He was going to have to wait. Tomorrow night, he’d find a way to get himself invited back to her place. Once he knew where she lived, he could return and nose around while she was at work.

Chapter 5

Despite the fact that it had been busy ever since they’d opened their doors this morning, Gina’s eyes darted toward the electronic doors when she head the tiny buzzer sound, announcing the entrance of a new customer. It was a woman in her late forties. The rise in adrenaline leveled off.

This was stupid.

She had a great many more important things on her mind than a good-looking man supposedly writing a screenplay about the massacre at Wounded Knee. A very good-looking man, her mind amended automatically and entirely against her will.

“Next, please,” she called to the orderly line of people who stood behind the deep purple plush ropes strung up solely to keep them in their place.

A heavyset man with an armload of books walked up, depositing them on the counter. Tilted, the books scattered every which way, mostly sprawling out on her side of the counter, some falling beneath. Offering a vague, sympathetic smile at the flustered man, Gina gathered the books up.

For all she knew, Gina thought as she began ringing up the sale for the hapless customer, Ben’s story about needing to do research for his screenplay could have all been just an elaborate pickup line. When she’d turned him down for dinner, not once but twice, that might have been the end of it.

Gina scanned two more books quickly, punching in the total, telling herself it was just as well that he hadn’t returned.

No, it hadn’t been just about a pickup, she thought, still carrying on the internal debate. He’d sounded sincere. She knew it. Besides, he’d come to her rescue the first time she’d met him and he hadn’t tried to come on to her then. Sure he was sexy, but he didn’t seem to be deceitful. Maybe he was exactly what he seemed, an earnest dreamer pursuing his dream. An earnest, sweet, good-looking dreamer.

Ben Underwood might be a dreamer, but she couldn’t be, Gina reminded herself, slipping all the books she’d just rung up into a shopping bag and then handing it to the man with a vague smile.

“Have a nice day,” she told him. She was in no position to daydream like normal people. She wasn’t normal people. Not right now, at any rate. She was a woman on the run and she had to remember that.

Maybe not, a small voice whispered within her. Maybe the running was finally over. Maybe the man who’d robbed her of so many nights’ sleep had decided she was too much trouble to pursue any further and had given up looking for her. Maybe she was finally safe.

Safe.

God, but she’d never realized how overwhelmingly seductive the four-letter word could be. Safe. Safe to go about her life doing everyday things, safe not to be constantly looking over her shoulder, wondering, worrying. Safe not to see shapes hidden in the shadows, afraid that she was being followed.

The front door buzzer sounded. She lost her place in counting out the next customer’s change.

“Sorry,” she murmured, beginning again.

The man buying the massive cookbook looked at her as if she were incapable of counting beyond five. “Maybe I should have given you a charge card.”

The slightly condescending tone and tolerant expression on his patrician face made her want to whip out her college diploma to show him that she was quite capable of conducting monetary transactions of any amount.

A lot of good that would do, she realized ruefully. The name on the diploma didn’t match the one on her name tag.

“Please come again,” she murmured as cheerfully as she could muster.

The man mumbled something in response that was lost on her as she found herself looking up into eyes that were almost Wedgwood blue. Ben had come up on her blind side and was now leaning against the counter, blocking the next customer.

“Hi, are we still on?”

Was it possible for him to look better today than he had yesterday? Or was that just the self-imposed drought in her life that was making her suddenly thirsty? Thirsty for the companionship of a personable man who wanted nothing more from her than just her mind.

“On?” she echoed.

The customer took her books to the clerk at the next register, giving Gina an envious look. It wasn’t lost on Gina.

“For tonight,” Ben prompted. He didn’t appear annoyed that she seemed to have momentarily forgotten. “You said that you couldn’t go out after work last night, but that you probably could tonight.” He looked at her hopefully. Or was that just her imagination?

She’d talked to Betty, who had checked with her mother last night. Since tonight was a Friday night and Betty hadn’t hit the dating circuit yet—her mother referred to Betty as a late bloomer—Gina was assured of a sitter for Jesse.

Now all that remained was taking that final leap from self-proclaimed female hermit to socializing woman. Easier contemplated than done.

For most of her life, she’d loved company, loved going out. She’d always been a people person, until she’d had her trust betrayed at a college fraternity party. McNair had resurrected the leeriness that had come to define and delineate her life for months after her rape, making her hold all men suspect. Looking for ulterior motives.

She hated being that way, and yet…

“Oh, right.” Gina beckoned forward the next customer who was about to bypass her. “I can take you here,” she told the woman, then looked at Ben. “Um, I’m not so sure that I can, after all. There’s the store, we don’t lock up until ten tonight—” As she scanned the book, the numbers popped up on the register.

“Don’t they let you go out for dinner?” Ben dead-panned.

“I’ll lock up for you tonight, Gina,” a deep voice on her other side rumbled.

She glanced toward the other register, not surprised to see the slightly superior look gracing the face of the tall, thin, prematurely balding young man. The man with the improbable name of Joe Valentine had regarded her as an interloper when Jon had given her responsibility of the store over him. Joe had been working at the bookstore a total of two and a half years and considered himself not just a clerk, but Jon’s assistant. Gina had changed all that and he made no secret of the fact that he didn’t care for it.

“After all, it’s not like I haven’t done it before,” Joe said smugly.

There went her last excuse, she thought, secretly glad of it. She liked being divested of excuses, because part of her really wanted to see Ben again, under any pretext. Pretexts made her feel that it was all right. “Thanks, Joe, as long as you don’t mind.”

“Hey, where else am I going to go?”

“It looks like it’s all settled, then,” Ben said to her. “Unless you don’t want to.” He knew if he left it open like that, she wouldn’t feel he was trying to pressure her into anything.

Oh, she wanted to, all right. Maybe a little too much. “It’s not that—”

“Something else?”

The cop in him rose to the fore. He peered at her, keeping his voice casual, wondering if her resistance involved Andrew in some way. Was she keeping the boy someplace accessible? Was there someone else involved? Was this not just about revenge, the way McNair thought, but a child kidnapping ring with Andrew the latest victim?

It was a horrible thought, but one that was far from new. Ben knew that Cade’s own son had been kidnapped for just that reason. It had taken Cade three years to find the boy again. Darin Townsend was the reason ChildFinders, Inc. existed.