by Holmes, Dee
“Pamela’s old boyfriend,” Oscar said. His eyes narrowed in disgust. “God, I couldn’t stand that kid. He was too old for her. Mouthy and flip and always looking at Pamela like his greatest wish was to see her naked.”
“Probably was.”
“Now what?”
“We’re looking for the car.”
“Did the lock expert say anything else? Like the three girls were being held against their will?”
“No.”
“Which is it?”
“He didn’t mention anything out of the ordinary. Six teenagers hanging out in front of a convenience store is a pretty common sight. He got the car info and opened the door. They all piled in and drove away. Three girls and three guys.”
“Doing God knows what.”
“Look, Oscar,” Booth said, understanding the man’s frustration. He was feeling it himself. “Take the news we have as progress. The car will be spotted and stopped. Kids might think they’re smart, but there isn’t a trick they can come up with that hasn’t been done a hundred times before.” Booth glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes had passed. “I have to go. Someone is with Lisa and waiting for me. I’ll call the other two fathers and let them know what’s going on.
“Try not to worry too much. We’ll get Pamela home safe.”
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN BOOTH RETURNED, Kathleen had put a number of items into the cart.
“What’s all this stuff?” Booth asked.
“Food.”
“But it’s all raw.”
“It’s called fruits and vegetables. You can eat them as is or cook them.”
“I don’t do much cooking. Rita and Arlene take care of me,” he said, gesturing to the two women working the deli counter.
“But you can’t eat deli food all the time.”
“Why not? I like it, I don’t dirty dishes and it’s quick.”
Kathleen sighed. “What about a real meal with meat and potatoes and vegetables? Since it’s summer, a steak on the grill, or maybe chicken? Potatoes baked on the coals.”
Booth grinned. “I’m starving.”
They made their way up the dessert aisle, where Booth grabbed a package of chocolate-chip cookies. Kathleen picked up a box of animal crackers for Lisa.
“I should think you would be hungry if all your meals are processed foods and store-made side dishes.”
“It’s not that bad. I go to my mother’s for dinner once in a while.”
“Cooking steak and potatoes on the grill isn’t difficult. And steamed zucchini. A great summer meal.”
“When do we eat?” He opened the animal crackers, gave Lisa one and popped two into his mouth.
“We?”
“Sure. It’s no fun eating alone, and if I’m going to buy steak, I’d like to share it with someone other than the beagle next door.”
She laughed. “I think I got myself into this one.”
“An interesting dilemma, wouldn’t you say?” he commented smugly.
“Wait a minute. All this food talk, and I almost forgot. Rita, or maybe it was Arlene, said that the manager’s daughter ran away and you’re looking for her? Her name’s Pamela?”
“That at least changes the subject,” Booth muttered. “Yeah, her name’s Pamela Roanquist. She and two other girls took off some weeks back, and we’ve been trying to find them. George had some news—the first real break we’ve had—and I wanted to tell Pamela’s father.”
“How odd, or maybe just coincidental. I met a young woman at the Powell Street Center named Pamela. She only came once. I don’t think anyone else met her.”
Booth shrugged. “It’s a common name.”
“As I recall, she was short with curly red hair. She said she liked playing the guitar.”
Booth looked at her closely. “Did she wear a nose ring?”
“Yes.”
“Terrific,” he muttered with a scowl. “We checked all the places she was known to hang out. No one mentioned the Powell Street Center.”
“As I said, she was only there that one time. Maybe she never told anyone. Some of the boys quit coming because they got teased for doing sissy things.”
“Music being sissy.”
“Yes.”
“So you’re saying that Pamela went there secretly?”
“I think it was more like checking the place out, and for whatever reason, she chose not to come back. I went through the names of all the new enrollees just yesterday. Pamela’s name wasn’t on the list. I would have remembered, because their music interest is stated beside their name.”
“I see she made an impression on you.”
“We talked about making a career of music, and I told her how very competitive the field is. Like most teenagers, kids see these rappers or rock groups making millions and think they can do it, too. Pamela was more interested in country music, and she had a guitar at home. I told her to bring it in, that I’d love to hear her play. But I never saw her again.”
Booth folded his arms. “This is amazing. All this time, you’ve known about Pamela, and I’m running up blind alleys.”
“I didn’t know I had information that was important.”
He peered at her. “I have a feeling that you have a lot of important information if I could only figure out the right questions.”
She busied herself looking for an animal cracker shaped like a lion for Lisa. “We were talking about Pamela.”
“Hmm. Yes, we were, weren’t we? Anything else you recall about her?”
“She mentioned she wanted to go to Nashville to see some friend named Diana whose brother worked at the Grand Ole Opry.”
“Did she happen to give you a last name of this friend?” he asked, still astonished at how much information she had about Pamela Roanquist.
“Sorry.”
He shook his head. “This is incredible, but a better lead than I’ve had since she took off with her girlfriends. I’m gonna go call this in so we can alert the police in Nashville. Be right back.”
Kathleen continued down the condiment aisle and had just turned into the snack-foods section when Booth came back, plucked a bag of chips off the shelf and dropped it into the cart.
“All set,” he said. “Now we wait.”
Rearranging things so the chips didn’t get crushed, she asked, “How long do you keep looking for someone who has run away?”
“It remains an open case. With these girls it will stay active because they’re local, and the families want constant updates.”
“Do you get a lot of runaway cases?”
“Local kids?”
“Anybody. I guess I’m wondering how much you take on? Say some Maine kids ran away.”
“If they were declared runaways, we’d have them in the system. If we got a call from a police department in Maine saying they thought the kids were in the area, we’d pay closer attention. Otherwise, we depend on license checks, arrests, something that would directly involve the police. Their names would show up on a missing-kids database, or if they’re wanted for something, even a minor traffic violation, their name would show up on a national computer system.”
“Then how is it I read about people staying hidden for years?”
“As I said, they have to do something to draw attention to themselves. These kids locked themselves out of their car. We had an escaped fugitive once who was clear down in Texas. She went to a bar one night and got into a fistfight with another woman. The cops were called, ran a computer check on her and, bingo, she was arrested.”
“She was stupid.”
“Yep.”
“So you’re saying that if someone is smart, they can stay hidden for years.”
“Depends on a hundred different circumstances, but, yeah. If a guy was careful, low-key and stayed out of trouble, he could probably hide for a long time. Most people mess up. They drive too fast, or like the woman in the Texas bar, they forget they’re supposed to hiding and make a spectacle of themselves and get nailed.”
> Booth picked up a package from the meat counter. “So how about this one?”
Deep in thought, Kathleen blinked and then glanced at the chuck steak. “No, that’s for pot roast You want a sirloin steak, or a porterhouse. Here. This one looks fine.”
“Not big enough.”
“Booth, it’s over a pound.”
“But not enough for both of us. Now this one, there’s a steak.”
“My God, it costs almost as much as Gail’s rent.”
“So here’s the deal,” he said, dismissing the price. “I’ll cook it if you come and help me eat it.”
She started to refuse, and then almost instantly changed her mind. Why not? She liked him, she was weary of being suspicious and jumping at every unexpected word or event. Like George wanting to talk to Booth. Very routine and totally unrelated to her. Too many more of those over-the-top reactions, and she’d have only herself to blame if Booth learned the truth. Besides, she was tired of thinking only about her own situation. It had been many weeks since she’d fled Wyoming, and so far nothing had occurred to make her think the Rodeo police knew where she was.
Now Kathleen knew better than to do anything obvious. If the Rodeo police knew where she was or were actively searching for her in the area, Booth would be aware of it. She’d probably dropped way down on any priority list of fugitives—unless Sheriff Faswell had become a lot more energetic about his job than Kathleen remembered Steve saying he was. She was probably a lot safer than she’d ever allowed herself to believe. But that didn’t mean she shouldn’t be cautious. Her own carelessness could trip her up.
Still, this was one meal, not an intimate relationship, and she’d agreed to try being friends. She adored Booth’s daughter. And frankly, she was getting tired of eating alone.
“All right,” she finally replied.
Booth had folded his arms, and shaking his head, he said, “All that thinking just to say okay?”
Stay cool and light, she reminded herself. This isn’t serious, this is just fun. “I’m just making sure I can handle your seduction techniques.”
He raised an eyebrow. “‘Techniques’? As in wine and dine you and then take you to bed?”
“That’s one way.”
“Not mine.”
“Thank God.”
“Interested in my way?”
Instantly, she wanted to say yes, but clamped her mouth shut. That would come under the category of flirting, or at the very least, teasing.
Then he looked at her in a way that made her feel he was reaching inside to all those feelings she wanted to hide.
In a voice so low she had to move closer to hear him, he said, “When we go to bed, you’ll be just as eager as I am.”
She shook her head. “My God, you’re serious.”
“Chemistry is serious stuff.”
“But I don’t love you. I don’t even know you very well.”
“That goes both ways. But love and a long acquaintance aren’t the same as chemistry.”
“You make it sound so uncontrollable. That scares me.”
“You, babe, scare the hell out of me. I still love my wife. I have a daughter who needs to know who her mother was and how much she is missed. The distraction of serious sex is not my choice, believe me.”
Serious sex? As opposed to casual sex? Was there a difference? Kathleen swallowed to relieve the dryness in her throat.
The sounds in the store slipped away, leaving a riveting tension throbbing between them and pulling at something dark and hot. He hadn’t touched her, and yet he enfolded her, she could smell him and taste him and in some deep primal way, she felt as if they had connected centuries ago—not just in some ritual dance of desire, but by some eternal bond.
She looked away, shaking off the strange sensation. Centuries? Eternity? How ridiculous.
Second thoughts clamored through her. She needed to get her bearings and sort out her feelings before spending an evening with him. After the kind of day she’d had, she was feeling far too vulnerable.
“It can’t be tonight,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t start probing.
“To sleep with me, eat with me or both?”
Kathleen blinked, then felt color flush her cheeks. “You are too quick, Booth Rawlings.”
He grinned and gave her a brief one-arm hug. “I couldn’t resist, babe. You walked right into that one.”
“I’m going to have to work on my responses.”
“No. I like them just as they are. Honest and straightforward.”
Kathleen hated the deceit that was becoming far too entrenched in her. If there were two things she had not been with Booth, they were “honest” and “straightforward.”
“As for getting together tonight,” he said, “it’s out for me, too. I have to work. In fact, I’m going to go in early and do some checking on this latest turn in the missing-girls case.”
Perfect. She had breathing space.
“How about Wednesday night?” Booth asked.
“All right.”
Booth walked over to a stack of sale items while Kathleen closed the almost empty box of animal crackers, letting Lisa hold the string handle.
She smiled at the pleasant turn of events. She had three days to anticipate something positive and fun. She felt almost buoyant, as though her life had taken a decisive turn. My God, had she been that lonely, that starved for a normal life? She winced. Of course she was starved for a normal life. She hadn’t had one in years. Not since the first year of her marriage. Not since the doctor had told Steve that her inability to get pregnant might be his problem. Steve had refused to believe it, had blamed her, and from then on their marriage had deteriorated. For five years, she’d lived with Steve’s abuse, the apologies, her own attempts to mend their relationship, when actually there had been nothing left to put back together.
Dammit, it was about time she put herself back together and started living again. Nothing wicked or wild that would get her into trouble. Just a summer night enjoying grilled steak with a friend, maybe some wine. She loved the idea. As for all his talk about sex and heat—well, she’d simply sidestep all that.
Feeling better than she had in months, she had to restrain herself from twirling around and flinging her hands in the air. Instead she put the steak he’d selected back into the meat case.
“What are you doing?” Booth asked, spilling cans into the cart.
“Since we’re not going to eat until Wednesday, I’ll come in and get the steak then.” With her domestic instincts moving into high gear, she said, “They have some gorgeous fresh blueberries. Do you like cobbler?”
“If you’re going to make it, I’ll like it.”
“What a sweet thing to say.”
“Hey, we’re making progress, aren’t we?”
Lisa giggled and clapped her hands. Booth dropped an arm around Kathleen’s neck. “I think she approves.”
“She’ll love my blueberry cobbler.”
“I meant of us.”
Automatically Kathleen started to protest, but then stopped herself. She didn’t want to spoil such a happy moment.
“Why, Booth Rawlings, is that you? I don’t believe what I’m seeing.”
Kathleen felt him stiffen, then saw him paste a bland look on his face and turn to face the woman speaking to him.
She was short and lumpy in a mustard-colored dress with a lace collar, buttoned up so that her neck disappeared, giving the impression that her head sat directly on her shoulders. Kathleen guessed she was about seventy. Her face was pinched and grim, and the look in her eyes said her life was made up of gossip that she relished, even while she disapproved. Her arms clutched a white purse with frayed handles.
“Gladys.”
“It is you,” she said as if his crime was acknowledging it.
“How are you?”
Ignoring the question, she looked at Kathleen. “This isn’t one of Angie’s friends. I don’t recall ever seeing her around your wife.”
Despit
e her confrontational comments, Booth made the introductions, although it was obvious to Kathleen he would have preferred to take Lisa and her and walk away.
To Kathleen, he explained, “Gladys is a widow. She lived a few houses from Angie and me.”
“I was like a mother to Angie,” Gladys said earnestly. “I watched over her when she was pregnant, helped her when Booth was too busy working, even taught her how to knit. She promised me I could help take care of her baby just like I took care of her. And when she died, I volunteered to take care of the little angel.”
“That was very generous of you, Mrs. Hucklebee,” Kathleen said.
“Well, he didn’t think so. Did he honor Angie’s memory by doing what she wanted? No.” She glared at Booth. “He refused. Then he moved away, and not once has he ever invited me to see Angie’s baby.”
Kathleen could feel the fury rolling off Booth, and thinking the best way was to humor Gladys, she offered, “Then this is your chance to meet her. Isn’t she beautiful?”
Gladys moved a few steps closer, and Booth moved, too. No question his intent was to place himself between this woman and his daughter. Kathleen put her hand on his arm, giving him a look that said, “Indulge Gladys.”
Booth narrowed his eyes, and Kathleen nodded, the meaning of their silent exchange clear.
“I don’t want her near Lisa.”
“I know. But nothing can happen here.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know that, too.”
Lisa grinned when the older woman gently touched her tiny hand still clutching the animal-cracker box.
“She looks like Angie,” Gladys said, her voice softer, growing nostalgic as she drew closer.
“Yes, she does.”
And for a few seconds the woman’s face softened in a grandmotherly way, her eyes focused on Lisa.
Then she straightened and gave Kathleen a wary look. “How do you know? You didn’t know my Angie.”
“Booth has told me about her, and I’ve seen pictures. She would be very proud of her daughter.”
Then, just when Kathleen thought the woman had been satisfied, she turned to Booth. “So when do I get to baby-sit?”
Booth tugged the shopping cart closer, his restraint obvious.
