Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Can - By Kat Martin Page 0,8
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?”