Kat Martin - Against the Edge

“How long will it take them to get the DNA?” she asked as he started the engine.

“They’ll have the blood type by tomorrow morning at the latest. Getting the DNA and running it through CODIS will take a couple more days.”

“CODIS...that’s the criminal offender database. I’ve dealt with it in my work.” Social Services had to know as much as possible about the people they were trying to help. The system gave them badly needed information.

“It only works if the DNA from the blood belongs to someone in the system. If that’s the case, they’ll be able to tell us who it is.”

She glanced out the window, saw the sun sitting low on the horizon, the afternoon slipping away. “Sam’s blood type is O-negative. He took a fall off a skateboard, cut his arm and had to have stitches. I went with Laura to the emergency room.”

“O-negative. Same as mine.” Something flashed in his eyes. Not relief that the boy was his. Something a father might feel when he spoke of his son. “They would probably have taken a sample of his DNA when he went into the foster care program.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Claire didn’t say more. She didn’t want to think that the blood belonged to Sam, that he might have been seriously injured. There had been no sign of a child, she reminded herself. Chances were the blood was Troy’s.

As soon as they got back to her apartment, Ben went to work on his laptop, trying to find something on the name Troy Bennett. He also called his friend in Houston, a guy named Sol Greenway, he had told her, a computer expert, and put him to work, as well.

Now Ben was pacing, waiting to hear back from his friend. Clearly, Ben wasn’t a patient man.

His iPhone rang. He picked it up from where it sat next to his laptop and pressed it against his ear, looked at her and shook his head. Not the lab or Sol Greenway.

“Brodie. What’s up?”

She couldn’t hear what Tyler Brodie was saying on the other end of the line but Ben’s face looked grim when he hung up the phone.

“What is it?”

“Brodie talked to the cops.” Ben stuck the phone in his pocket. “They said Sam’s teachers knew he was unhappy. The police are sticking to their theory that Sam’s a runaway. They’re checking local hangouts, places where kids congregate who’ve left home.”

“I could talk to them again, try to convince them. I know it’s Bridger. Laura said he promised he would find a way to pay her back for what she did to him.” She glanced away. “And he wanted to hurt me, as well.” She looked back at him. “Maybe this time the police will listen.”

“Look, Brodie’s going to check the runaway angle, too. He says he knows some of the lowlifes who lure these kids into working for them. They use them for drug mules, get them to steal. Traffic them. He’ll find out if any of these guys have seen Sam.”

Claire’s heart jerked. “Traffic them? Oh, God, Ben.” Her eyes filled and she started shaking. She had blocked that kind of possibility out of her mind. She couldn’t stand to think of Sam being sexually abused, suffering in some terrible way.

She felt Ben’s arms go around her, drawing her against his powerful chest. “It’s all right. We don’t know that’s happened. From the start you’ve been convinced Sam didn’t run away, that it was Bridger who took him.”

She looked up at him, into his strong, handsome face. “What if I’m wrong?”

“Are you?”

She swallowed. She was risking Sam’s life. Claire shook her head. “No.” She eased away from him, felt the loss of his warmth.

“Then we keep looking for Bridger. My instincts say you’re right. Bridger wanted revenge against Laura. With her dead, he wants payback from you. He went to see Sam on at least two different occasions. Sam was desperate to escape and Troy used that desperation to convince the kid to go with him. We just have to figure out where he’s gone.”

His cell rang again. Claire watched his expression, read his determination to find his son. She thought of the way he had tried to comfort her. She hadn’t expected his sympathy. Ben Slocum didn’t strike her as a sympathetic man. But he had surprised her at Bridger’s apartment. Surprised her here. There was no mistaking his concern.

He ended the call. “That was Sol. Troy Bennett worked as a crane operator in Vegas. He lived with a woman, an exotic dancer named Sadie Summers. His old VISA bills show he left town about six months ago and came to L.A.”

“How does your friend Sol know all that?”

Ben’s mouth edged up. “Sol doesn’t say and I don’t ask. But I need to talk to Sadie Summers.”

He started for the bedroom, but Claire caught his arm. “I’m going with you, Ben. We’re in this together. I promised Laura.”

“Fine, get on the phone and charter us a plane out of Santa Monica. It’s only a little over an hour flight. If we get going, we can be back late tonight.”

Claire didn’t argue. She had money in the bank, enough to rent the plane. She got on the internet and found a charter company, arranged for a flight from the Santa Monica airport to McCarran Field.

“We’re all set,” she called out as she walked down the hall. “The plane’ll be ready to leave in an hour.” Ben’s door stood open. She stopped in the opening. He stood beside the bed, naked to the waist, a yellow oxford-cloth shirt lying on the bedspread ready to be put on.

Claire just stared. Her heart was pounding, the blood rushing to her head. It was impossible to look away from all those perfect muscles. Impossible to keep from thinking of sex, which she hadn’t had since her breakup with her former boyfriend, Michael Sullivan, five months ago.

Rarely before that, since he was gone so much.

“Keep looking at me like that, angel, and we’re going to have to add a couple hours to our departure.”

She stared into those ice-blue eyes that were anything but cold and felt light-headed. “A couple of hours?”

“I’d prefer to take the rest of the day, but we have things to do.”

Her face heated up. “Oh. Oh, my God.” Turning, she hurried back down the hall, embarrassment washing through her. She couldn’t believe she had gawked at him that way. It wasn’t like her to let a man’s appearance affect her. She was interested in brains, not brawn. Well, usually.

In her bedroom, she grabbed a small overnight bag out of her closet, tossed in a change of underwear, a clean T-shirt, a sweater, her makeup bag and travel kit. By the time she walked into the living room, her composure had returned.

Ben was unplugging his laptop, putting it in its case.

Claire lifted her chin. “If you didn’t want to be stared at, you shouldn’t have left your door open.”

Ben’s mouth edged up. “Actually, I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I’m hoping you’ll return the favor.”

Heat slid through her as she thought of those amazing eyes running over her half-naked body. She wondered if he found her attractive. What kind of woman appealed to a hard man like Ben?

“As you rightly pointed out,” she said, staring at him down the length of her nose, “we don’t have time for those kinds of distractions.”

“Yeah, unfortunately.” He grabbed his laptop case and the black canvas duffel he’d brought with him, though clearly he’d only packed enough for the night. “I doubt we’ll be staying, but you never know what might turn up.”

She grabbed her overnight bag and they headed out the door.

Less than two hours later, she climbed down off the wing of their chartered Cessna 310 and crossed the tarmac next to Ben, toward the rental car she had arranged. The sun had set, but the lights of the casinos were so bright it didn’t seem dark in Las Vegas.