stood in one of the pens, no dogs that he could see. He crept up to the window on the side of the first double-wide, pressed himself against it and peeked into the living room.
A man and his wife, older, gray-haired, sitting on the sofa watching TV. A little long-haired lapdog looked over at the window and started yapping, but the dog was too comfortable in the old man’s lap to give more than a couple of high-pitched barks.
Ben backed away and headed for the second house. As he drew near, he heard male and female laughter and the sound of country music. Through the living room window, he counted seven people clustered around a big flat-screen TV, drinking beer and watching a football game.
No Sam in sight. From the photos he had seen of Troy Bridger, he wasn’t there, either.
A big-busted redhead seemed to be the hostess, laughing loudly, upending a bottle of beer. Lyla Holden. Quietly, he circled the house, checking the bedrooms, listening for the sound of anyone inside, listening for the voice of a child.
As near as he could tell, neither Troy Bridger nor his son was in the house.
Ben headed back to Claire.
* * *
Claire felt as tightly wound as a clock spring. With every heartbeat, she listened for the sound of gunfire. When her cell phone rang, she jumped three inches and whacked her elbow on the steering wheel. With a deep breath, she looked down at the caller ID and recognized Ben’s number.
“Don’t panic,” he said. “I’m right beside you.”
She whirled, saw him through the passenger side window.
“Open up,” he said, reminding her she had locked the car. She flipped the locks and Ben slid into the seat.
“I was trying not to scare you.” The corner of his mouth edged up. “I guess that didn’t work.”
“What happened? Did we get the wrong house?”
“Right house. No Sam or Bridger, at least that I could see from outside. Lyla’s in there with six other people, four men and two women. They’re watching a football game.”
“What do we do?”
“Wait. Angel, you’re about to find out how boring a P.I.’s job really is.”
She didn’t remind him not to call her angel. She was beginning to like the way it sounded when he said it. “So we wait until morning?”
“We wait until the game’s over. Lyla’s a lot more likely to answer our questions without half a dozen other people around. Start the engine. We need to get close enough to watch the house.”
She started the car but left the lights off and idled past the first house, which was now dark inside, then stopped in between the two houses and turned the engine back off. The curtains were open enough to see people moving around inside.
“You might as well relax. This may take a while. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? I’ll wake you when it’s time to go in.”
Her eyes swung to his. “I get to go with you?”
“It’s getting late. I’m not trying to scare the woman into talking. She’ll be easier to handle if you’re there with me.”
“Right. I think that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t want her to know I’m Sam’s father. I don’t want her getting on the horn and calling Troy, warning him we’re coming after him.”
“I should have thought of that.”
His lips faintly lifted in the corners. “I’m the detective, sweetheart. You’re doing just fine.” Ben settled in to wait, and Claire tipped her seat back and tried to relax. They’d been up late every night. When she had been able to sleep, it had been brief and restless.
She closed her eyes, concentrated on the night sounds outside the car window, the hoot of an owl and the horses nickering in their pen, the faint sound of country music playing in the house. The next thing she knew, Ben was nudging her awake.
“Time to go.”
Claire blinked and looked down the road toward the house. The lights were still on, but the music was silent. The clock on the dash said 11:00 p.m.
“They’re all gone?”
“All but one. I have a hunch he’s spending the night in the lady’s bed. We need to get in there before they get too hot and bothered.”
Claire cracked open her door, Ben did the same and they climbed out of the car. Quietly closing the door behind her, Claire took a breath to steady herself and started walking next to Ben toward the porch.
* * *
“That the doorbell?”
Inside the house, Ben heard the woman on