For whatever reason. Michael’s ex could be a career woman. Hell, for that matter she could be in prison. What did she know?
Except that she didn’t want to know.
Because one thing was for certain. After her relationship with Jason, after loving his daughter so completely and then losing her because Jason was a creep and Bessie was his, she could not—would not—ever take on another man with a little girl she had no right to love.
* * *
WITH HER HEART firmly blocked from any further attraction to the bounty hunter, Sara let him into her home. They were standing on the tile floor of her living room. Porcelain tile. Italian porcelain tile. A housewarming gift from her parents. They’d had it installed throughout the nineteen-hundred-square-foot home, except for in the bedrooms. Those they’d had carpeted.
She would have argued. Except that she loved her mother’s decorating taste. And didn’t have the same knack.
“Wow.” He only said the one word. The wide-eyed expression on his face as he glanced around told her that his upbringing had probably been very different from hers.
“Have you really gone three years without a real date?” Let it go, Sara. You got the answers you needed to clear your conscience. And have no further interest.
“Yep.”
“She hurt you that badly?” Not a Nicole question. Or a Sara one, either. She was no longer interested.
“Who?”
“Your ex-wife.”
“Yep.”
Walking around, he looked toward the expensive leather furniture. The rich mahogany tables, the built-in entertainment center with a fifty-inch flat-screen smart TV. She could count on one hand the times she’d watched it in the past year.
“The bathroom’s right here,” she said from the open space leading into the kitchen and less formal family room area. Her new sectional was in that room. With another flat-screen smart TV. The electronics had been a gift from her brother. Opening the white solid-wood door, she revealed a full bath with a tiled shower-and-tub combination. Her private bath contained the shower with two heads and separate garden tub. “Towels are under the sink.”
He glanced up over from where he was standing in front of the entertainment center, studying the knickknacks on various shelves. “Thanks.”
“The spare bedroom is down here.” She started down a hall opposite the one leading to her bedroom suite. He didn’t follow.
“I’ll be fine on the couch. I plan to sleep in my clothes. It’s not that many hours until dawn, and there’s no reason to dirty sheets.” He wanted to be prepared to leave on a second’s notice, she translated.
He was glancing at the leather in her living room.
“In that case, the couch is in here,” she said, switching course to head through the kitchen.
This time he followed her. And didn’t say a word as he took in the second, less formal, more comfortable living area.
“The couch has recliners on each seat,” she said. “You’ll be far more comfortable.” Opening a hand-painted cedar chest, she pulled out pillows and a blanket and tossed them on one part of the sectional. “The recliner’s controls are right here.” She sat down to demonstrate the electrically wired buttons.
He sat down next to her. Played with his seat’s set of controls. His feet raised and lowered with no apparent reaction from him. And then, resting his elbows on his knees, he clasped his hands and faced her. “Can we get to work now?”
Jittery when she’d told herself she wouldn’t be, Sara stood. Grabbed two bottles of water—one for her and one for him. If he didn’t want it now, he might need it in the night. She took a seat several spaces away from him.
She was going to tell him only what she thought would help him find Nicole. Her second key decision.
A decision strengthened by the fact that he had a daughter. There’d be no more personal tidbits passing back and forth between them.
The man wasn’t her guest. He wasn’t even her friend.
He was the man she intended to lie to whenever necessary so she could get a victim safely back to the Lemonade Stand and prevent her from becoming a homicide statistic.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I THINK THE first place we should look is wherever homeless people hang out.”
Michael’s expression sharpened. She had his full attention now. “Why?”
“I know she’s gone to a homeless hangout before.”
After the latest bogus arrest. Trevor had let Nicole sit in jail for a couple of days that time. And when he’d posted bail, convincing the mother of one of his Ivory Nation’s brothers to agree to take custodial responsibility for her, he’d taken her home instead and locked her in a room. She could hear her son cry. But she couldn’t go to him. And, legally, hadn’t been allowed in the home with him.
She’d picked the lock on the door with a pin from the bracket that held up the window blinds after she’d heard him go to bed. Then she’d moved silently into their son’s nursery, intending to grab him and get out, wasting no time on gathering things to take with them, but he’d caught her.
He’d kicked her out, and the woman she was supposed to have been staying with had reported that she’d skipped town.
She’d run for two days that time before she’d stumbled upon a homeless hangout in a sewer drain that carried clean run-off from the mountain during spring thaw.
The fact that Nicole, who showed very clear OCD tendencies in her need to be clean and have everything clean around her, had been desperate enough to overcome her dirt phobia showed Sara what an extreme situation they were dealing with.
Nicole had turned to the only place her husband wouldn’t look for her. A place of filth.
Weary, but determined not to desert her son as long as she had an ounce of energy left, she’d asked for permission to catch a few hours’ sleep under a patch of paper ads.
She’d stayed on the periphery of the compound for a week, focusing, she’d told Sara, on the clear mountain water that traveled through the sewer pipe and into a reservoir several miles away. Until a meth-addicted, ragged old woman had told her about the Lemonade Stand. She’d said she knew someone who’d gotten help there once.
“Do you know where the sewer was?” Michael asked.
She shook her head. Didn’t matter where that particular gathering of homeless people had been. Nicole had been in San Diego. Farther from Santa Raquel than LA, where Trevor was keeping Toby. No way would Nicole go all the way back there.
What mattered was that Trevor and his goons hadn’t found her there.
“It was a random thing. She said that she got the best night’s sleep she had in years posing as a homeless person.”
“Do you know of any hangouts around here?”
“No.”
“I’ll do some checking. And with the whole sleeping thing in mind, I’d like to start out before dawn. If she goes there to sleep at night, that would be our best time to catch her.” He looked as though he was going to say more and stopped.
“What?”
Watching her acutely, he said, “I was going to add that I know she’s exhausted.”
“How do you know that?”
“I personally chased her for more than three hours this afternoon and evening.”
“She saw you?”
“Yes.”
“So she didn’t just get a glimpse of you. She got a good look at you? Does she know who you are?”
He grabbed his bottle of water and took off the lid. “I can’t speak to what that woman knows.” He took a long drink.
To avoid looking at her while he lied?
Or because he was really thirsty?
“All the more reason for her not to know that we’re together,” Sara said, pleased that he’d just further solidified h
er motivation for approaching Nicole alone. For being completely out of his sight. A stipulation he didn’t yet know.
This was going to work.
She just had to make certain that when it happened she’d have enough time to send word to the High Risk Team and whisk Nicole away from him.
She told herself that the sadness she felt, knowing she was ultimately going to betray the bounty hunter, was just a residual feeling from the hot tub and would soon pass.
* * *
HE WAS OUT on the couch by midnight. Up by four. Out of the condo by four-fifteen.
“Remember, you find her, I approach,” Sara said as she locked her front door.
“Agreed.” He was twenty minutes into this day and already lying.
Does she know who you are? Sara’s question from the night before still rang in his ears. He’d said he had no idea what she knew.
He knew damned well that Nicole thought he was a friend of Sara’s. Looking for her on Sara’s behalf. Because he’d told her so himself the day before when he’d been attempting to get her out from under the bush and into his custody.
And there was the real reason he’d agreed to her crazy scheme. Him with a woman beside him as he worked.
Because if Nicole saw Sara, it gave validity to the story he’d told her. With Sara by his side, Nicole wasn’t as likely to run from him.
And as soon as they got close enough, he was going to find a way to take the woman into custody without Sara getting hurt.
There was no denying the fact that he cared if Sara got hurt. More than just him caring about a stranger. He hardly knew her and yet—she’d brought to life feelings that had been dormant since Shelley’s death.
He couldn’t deny that that meant something.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” Michael asked one more time, albeit more halfheartedly than he should have, to get rid of his temporary partner before he gave her any more opportunity to intrigue him.
“Yes.”
She’d gone to bed when he had. Gotten up when he had, as far as he knew. Was dressed in jeans and a prim white blouse. She’d done something with her hair that made it look rumpled and styled at the same time. Was wearing makeup today. And had rolled a pillow, blanket and duffel out to his SUV on top of a cooler that had him curious.
Normally if he got cold fast food on the job he considered himself lucky.
Moving to the back of the vehicle, he unlocked the hatch, turned to reach for her things, to load them, only to find that she’d wheeled her cargo to the back passenger door and was loading up his backseat just fine by herself.
And so it went.
They made a concise sweep of the Santa Raquel beaches, benches and sewage drains. Neither of them spoke much. When Michael walked fast, Sara kept up with him. When he turned a corner suddenly, she didn’t question him.
Or argue.
He could have been on his own, working efficiently as always, if not for the light floral feminine scent permeating his car. And the mysterious cooler in the backseat.
By eight in the morning, they’d traveled more than fifty miles of coastline. With no sign of Nicole. They’d shown her picture around. And when she’d suggested that she try going it alone, Michael stood in the shadows, keeping her in sight while Sara approached people with the missing woman’s photo.
“My approach might get us somewhere faster,” she’d said. “I’m a woman looking for a missing woman that I care about. Not a big thug out to bring her to justice.” She’d never confirmed Nicole’s identity, but they both knew they were looking for the same woman. And that Sara knew her.
He took the hit silently. And had agreed that her theory might have some merit.
Their results were the same, however. Still no Nicole.
Wherever Nicole had stayed that night, she’d picked a good place.
Technically, Sara could get away with breaking client confidentiality if she truly believed her client’s life was in danger. Michael knew that. But she still hadn’t done so. He didn’t push.
While Michael drove, Sara texted. He didn’t ask who she was communicating with. She didn’t tell him.
By eight thirty he was frustrated as hell. They didn’t have so much as a hint to Nicole’s whereabouts. And he seemed to be aware of Sara’s every damned breath. Missing Mari. And hungry.
Not a good combination. They were on their way to a bridge ten miles up the coast. Some homeless guy had told Sara that people hung out under the bridge sometimes.
And if Nicole wasn’t there, he was going back to canvassing bus stops, interviewing drivers and checking out local gas stations. She had to pee someplace.
“You planning to share whatever’s in that cooler back there?” He smiled at Sara.
She didn’t smile back.
“You want an apple?”
“That’s all you brought?” He couldn’t hide his disappointment. She was a woman. Hell, his mother would’ve had a four-course meal packed in there. “A rolling cooler filled with apples?”
“No.”
“What else have you got?” Her food wasn’t his.
But he was providing the transportation. And wasn’t above bartering.
He could pull off the road anytime he wanted to. Buy some food. But the morning was wearing on. If Nicole had spent the night with the homeless, they didn’t have much time before she’d be up and gone.
“Peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. Full of protein and carbs. Carrots and celery sticks. Some peaches. A box of crackers. And the rest is bottled water.”
“How many sandwiches?” He cased both sides of the road as they drove. Even watching passing vehicles for a silhouette that looked anything like Nicole. She’d been known to hitchhike.
At this point he wouldn’t put carjacking past her.
“I didn’t count. A loaf of bread’s worth.”
He’d been in the shower a total of seven minutes that morning. She’d worked fast. Or he’d slept too soundly in the cozy room off her kitchen to notice her preparing their lunch.
Nah...she worked fast.
“You intend to eat that many by yourself?”
“Of course not.”
“Then may I have one, please?”
“For breakfast?”
“No.” He glanced at her. And shouldn’t have. “For dinner. I’m behind a meal.”
“You didn’t have dinner last night?” She’d unbuckled and was already bent over the seat as she reached into the cooler behind them.
Which put her ass far too close, and visible, for any kind of comfort.
“I was forced into custody, remember?” It was a stretch. Even for a guy in a bad mood.
“You should have said something!”
He would have. If he’d been hungry.
“You had me over a barrel.” Didn’t hurt to keep her thinking she was the one in charge.
The cooler lid shut and she was handing him an unwrapped sandwich. In her hands she held two peaches and two bottles of water.
Taking a bite of the sandwich she’d given him, Michael relaxed back in his seat just a bit.
He liked having Sara Havens around.
* * *
SARA COULD HARDLY swallow the peach she’d chosen for her own breakfast. Every minute that passed, every mile that passed, was another chance for Trevor to get to Nicole before they could. She’d texted Lila to make sure that someone had checked with all of the known shelters in California to see if Nicole had managed to make it to any of them for safe harbor.
Someone had.
Nicole hadn’t.
At least Michael Edison was hell-bent on finding her. She’d give him that.
Too bad it was for the wrong reasons.
He’d finished the sandwich already.
And was halfway through the peach. The bottle of water she’d opened and left in the cup holder was untouched.
He smelled good, was her kind of gorgeous and when he wasn’t chasing innocent people, he ran a kennel for rescues.
And he had a six-year-old daughter, which made him completely unattractive to her.
“Did it say anything about Trevor Kramer in the police report you read?” She wiped peach juice off her chin with the back of her hand and wished she’d grabbed some paper towels from the roll she’d shoved in her duffel bag at the last minute.
“Yes, and I spoke with him.”
She studied him, using every skill she had to try to discern whether or not he’d reacted favorably to mention of the man. Trying to read his body language. Vocal tone. Facial expression.
“You know Trevor?”
“A bounty hunter talks to anyone he can who might know his runner...”
“You just met him, then.”
“He’s a distraught husband and father whose whole family has fallen apart due to meth addiction. It’s not a new story.”
“Nicole is not a meth addict.”
“You think she’d tell you if she was?”
She had none of the tells. Her teeth were pristine. Her skin looked healthy besides the bruising her ex had inflicted. She’d allowed Lynn to give her a medical exam, and something like drug abuse would have been fairly easy to ascertain if it was to the point of the addiction he described.
But Sara didn’t say so. Because, as Lila had pointed out after speaking with Sanchez, Michael might not be as eager to help them if he realized that Nicole wasn’t a runner. He’d been adamant about doing his job. Period.
He also might be in with the cop, Miller. And with Travis. According to Sanchez, the Ivory Nation’s tentacles were far-reaching.
Sara pulled a plastic bag out of her purse, dropped her half-finished peach into it and held it out for his pit, too.
The longer she sat in the car with nothing to do but think and worry, the more Sara became bothered by the fact that her companion was intent on sending Nicole to her death. But they needed him for his tracking skills. So that they had someone on the job immediately and around the clock until she was found.
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