Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Can - By Kat Martin Page 0,13
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