to another prison.
Finding Jeffries still there, he checked out the visitor information. “Visiting hours 10:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. Plenty of time. You might not be able to go in with me’only one adult per visit. But I’m a P.I., and sometimes they’ll bend the rules a little if there’s a good reason.”
“I’d like to give it a try. If I can’t get in, I’ll wait in the car.”
He helped her clear the empty orange-juice glasses and the plates that had held the bagels and cream cheese she had made them for breakfast.
Ben raised his coffee mug and downed the last few drops. “Let’s get going.”
Claire grabbed her purse and they started for the door when his cell phone rang. He recognized the number. “Brodie,” he said to Claire.
“What have you got?” he said into the phone.
“Got a lead on a kid, blue-eyed, black-haired, about nine or ten,” Ty said. “He’s working for an ex-con named Rueben Gonzales, got him making drug deliveries. Word is he’s a fairly new addition to Gonzales’s crew.”
Ben’s adrenaline started pumping, his pulse pounding. “How do we get to him?”
“I’ve set up a meet, told him the kid was worth a couple of grand if he’s the one we’re looking for. I figured you’d be willing to pay if it’s him.”
“I’ll pay whatever it takes.” In the underworld, a runaway like Sam could be a valuable commodity’depending what Gonzales had in mind for him. His hand unconsciously fisted. “What time’s the meet?”
“Noon. A bar called La Fiesta, five thousand block of Whittier Boulevard, east of the I-5. I’ll meet you there.”
Ben closed the phone, looked up to see Claire’s eyes locked on his face. “Is it... Is it Sam?”
“I won’t know till we get a look at him. Guy named Gonzales is using him as a drug mule.”
Her legs seemed to give way, and she sat down hard in one of the kitchen chairs. “Oh, my God, Ben.”
“Take it easy. We don’t know if anything bad has happened to him. Hell, we don’t know for sure it’s him.”
She swallowed, shook her head. “If he’s... If he’s been hurt or...or abused...I’ll never forgive myself.” She started crying, her long hair falling forward around her face.
Ben eased her up out of the chair and turned her into his arms. Her body shook as she sobbed against his shoulder. “Take it easy, baby. There’s no use crying until we know what’s going on.”
She hung on a moment more, took a shuddering breath and moved away, her green eyes glistening with tears. “I should have come to you. I should have found out for myself what you were like.”
He reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek. “So now you’re sure I’m a good guy?”
Claire’s chin went up as he had known it would. “Well, so far you’ve been great, but technically it’s too soon to make a definitive evaluation.”
He felt the rare pull of a grin he didn’t release. “Look, you thought you were doing what was best for Sam. That means a lot to me. You may not have made the right call, but you cared enough to come to Texas to find me. You’re doing everything you can to help me find Sam.”
She wiped away the last of the dampness on her cheeks. “I thought he would wait, give me a chance to work things out.” She swallowed. “I thought, in time, the judge would reconsider and grant me custody. I wanted that, Ben. I wanted that so much. I should have told him, let him know how much I cared.”
Her lips were trembling. Worry lines marred her forehead. She was different from most of the women he knew, stronger, more concerned. He wanted to haul her back into his arms and kiss her. Hell, he wanted to do a lot more than that. But Claire deserved more than the lust he felt whenever he looked at her.
“I’ve got to get going. I want to take a look around, check the layout. With people like these you can’t be too careful.”
“I’m going with you. If it’s Sam, he’ll need me.”
“Not this time, Claire. I can’t protect you and Sam both.”
He went into the bedroom to retrieve his Nighthawk .45, pulled it out of its holster, checked to be sure the clip was full, then shoved the magazine back in. Sliding the pistol back into his holster, he clipped it to his waistband behind his back beneath his black T-shirt.
He dug into his duffel and took out the envelope filled with cash he had brought from the safe in his house. Leaving two thousand in the envelope, he left the rest of the cash in the bag. He wasn’t a rich man, but he wasn’t poor, either. After he’d left the SEALs, the skills he’d acquired had earned him big money, most of which he had stashed away. He made a good living as a P.I., and he’d saved a lot of that, too.
He returned to the living room and found Claire pacing.
“I can’t just sit here and do nothing.” She followed him to the door. “Take me with you.”
She was standing in the entry, her eyes full of worry, slender and elegant, so damned pretty. He paused in front of her, bent his head and kissed her, just a soft melding of lips. “Not this time, angel.”
Ben forced himself to walk away.
* * *
La Fiesta was a pink stucco building in an area at the west end of East L.A. Ben was glad the meet wasn’t farther into the neighborhood. Here, only half the signs were in Spanish. Farther along the street, there was no English at all.
He drove around the block, wishing he wasn’t in a damned-near-new, highly jackable, bright red Honda Accord, wishing he wasn’t garnering looks from the sullen young toughs loitering on the street corners.
He spotted another new car pulling up in front of him a little ways from the bar, a black Chevy Silverado with chrome wheels and wide tires. Tyler Brodie spotted Ben, stepped down from the cab and walked over.
“Nice ride,” Ben said. Ty was wearing the same scuffed cowboy boots and jeans Ben remembered, but his baseball cap was dark blue today with a gold Lakers emblem on the front.
“I just bought it. I was driving a little Toyota Tundra, same red as what you’re driving. It drew too damned much attention.”
Ben’s mouth edged up. “Yeah, I’m sure no one notices those fancy chrome wheels.”
Ty grinned.
Ben tipped his head toward the Accord. “This is Claire’s car.”
Brodie shoved his bill cap back, eyed the car with interest. “A red-car woman? I wouldn’t have figured.”
Ben couldn’t stop a smile. “I guess you never know.” He was starting to like Tyler Brodie. He might have a youthful, pretty-boy face, but he took his work seriously. “You think they’re here?”
“Some of them will be. Not Gonzales. He’ll be waiting for word we’re here first.” Brodie caught a glimpse of what could only be a weapon in Ben’s waistband beneath his black T-shirt.
“Nighthawk .45,” Ben told him.
Brodie opened the flowered sport shirt he was wearing, exposing the shoulder harness underneath. “Beretta M-9. Old habits, you know.”
Standard-issue military weapon. Once a marine, always a marine. “Let’s go.”
Ty caught his arm. “Just one thing...I got a hunch you’d rather shoot these guys than pay them. I don’t like these lowlifes any better than you do, but keep in mind this is how Johnnie and I make our living. We can do a lot more good, help more people, if we keep our information channels open.”
Ben flicked a glance toward the bar, thought of the boy, thought Brodie