Lost and Found Page 10

  "I don't know. I have a feeling this isn't quite the image they're going for. I can't see yuppies responding to this picture."

  "I disagree. I think it has a certain charm. I'd have to have my hair done, of course." She reached up, pulled one side of her hair back and looked haughty. "How's that?"

  Sam nodded, his expression solemn. "I think I see it now. Yes, you're right, this is definitely the image they need."

  She let her hair fall, her laughter clear and ringing in the hollow confines of the van. "You know, I have to admit, you do know how to show a girl a good time. I haven't known a dull moment since we met."

  "I could say the same about you. You started out by trying to shove me off a balcony and then I got shot at, spent the day in a cave, was attacked in the woods, got a bullet in my truck, was beat up in a parking lot and had to pick a lock to get in here. Yes, I would have to say life hasn't been dull with you around."

  "Are all your cases this exciting?"

  He winced. "Don't call them cases. I told you, I'm not a detective. I just find things for people. And no, they're not all this exciting. Usually I manage to avoid getting shot at. Sometimes I don't even get beat up."

  "Sounds like a dull life." She took another swallow and handed him the bottle, unaware of the unconscious intimacy of the gesture. Sam looked at her and then lifted the bottle to his mouth, taking a drink. He grimaced and handed it back to her.

  "That stuff always tastes like Alka-seltzer."

  "Why did you buy it if you don't like it?"

  "Because I figured you would like it."

  "Because I'm rich?" She grinned. "Your prejudices are showing. Actually, I have even been known to drink tap water."

  "No!" Sam's voice expressed complete disbelief as he dug around in the pack and pulled out a can of Coke.

  "Really. You know, growing up rich isn't quite like most people think. I bet you think it was terrific."

  "I suspect it had its ups and downs." He held the Coke at arm's length and popped the top. It foamed up and ran down the sides of the can, dripping onto the dusty floor.

  "More downs than ups, I think."

  She drew her knees up to her chest, her body swaying with the movements of the truck.

  "I used to wish I'd been born without any money."

  "Believe me, that has its ups and downs, too."

  "I suppose. But it would have been nice to have had a nice normal family with a mother and father and maybe a brother or sister. Someone to talk to. You know, just like The Brady Bunch or Eight Is Enough or one of those shows." She shook her head and drank the last of the Perrier, tucking the bottle into a fold in the moving pads.

  "I guess real life is never that neat and tidy."

  Sam took a sip of Coke, watching her, seeing a loneliness that made him want to comfort her. "It must have been really tough losing your parents like that."

  "It was. I was with them, you know."

  "No, I didn't know."

  "I was in the backseat asleep. I don't remember the crash, of course. I just remember waking up all of a sudden and knowing something was terribly wrong. The whole front of the car was destroyed. The roof had been crushed and I was trapped on the floor of the back. I kept calling my parents. They didn't answer and I think I knew they weren't going to answer ever again."

  She wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them against her chest, her face still. "I screamed and screamed and screamed. Actually, it's pretty funny because the only real injury I had was my vocal cords. I strained them. That's why my voice is so raspy. They said it was a miracle that I was alive but I didn't feel very miraculous. It took me years to get over the guilt that they'd died and I hadn't."

  Sam stared at her, the soda forgotten in his hand. He wondered how many people had ever seen through the tough exterior to the frightened little girl beneath. He had the feeling not many people had bothered to look. It shamed him to think that he, too, hadn't really looked below the surface of the "spoiled brat."

  "I think it's natural to feel guilty when someone you love dies. It must be a lot harder when you're a child."

  The words sounded shallow. He wanted to say something that would ease her pain forever but that wasn't possible.

  "Yeah. Well, I got over it eventually. I'm afraid I wasn't a very attractive child, though. I used to throw the most awful screaming fits. When I think about it, I almost feel sorry for Aunt Dodie. My cousin Lance was a sneaky little weasel but, on the surface at least, he was a perfect child. I don't think Dodie knew what to do with me."

  "What did she do?"

  "Ignored me, usually. If she had company, she'd shut me in my room until I stopped screaming and then she'd come in and explain how that simply was not 'acceptable behavior for a Malone.'" Babs laughed. "I'm afraid I've been a terrible failure in her eyes. I never have learned how to be a Malone."

  There was a sharp pop and Sam realized that his fist had been gradually tightening around the can he held. Now one side bent sharply inward. He stared at the can, counting slowly to ten and then to twenty. In those few light words, he saw a frightened, lonely child—her world in pieces around her—and an emotionless woman who couldn't be bothered to give her any of the love she was crying out for. If he'd disliked Dodie Davis before, he conceived a positive hate for her in that moment.

  "So, what was your childhood like? How did you get into running a lost and found department?"

  He glanced up, hoping the light was dim enough to conceal the rage he knew must be in his eyes. Babs was still sitting with her chin resting on top of her updrawn knees, her hair framing her face in heavy waves. She looked like a pixie, her delicate features shadowy.

  Sam shrugged. "Not much to tell. I had a disgustingly normal childhood. My parents created a home right out of Leave it to Beaver. My mom is a born homemaker in the truest sense of the word. I went to school, got a degree in history and discovered that there isn't a whole lot you can do with a history degree but teach. I didn't want to teach so I had a variety of odd jobs for a while. Gradually, I got into finding things for people."

  "Seems an odd thing to do—find things for people. How do they find you? An ad in the Yellow Pages?"

  "Word of mouth, mostly. They know someone who knows someone who knows me. Sometimes I find them. People put ads in the classifieds when they're looking for someone or something."

  "How do you go about finding things? How did you find me?"

  He shrugged, uneasy with the topic. "Luck, I guess."

  "Luck? It seems like it's got to be more than luck for you to stumble over that old hotel like that. I mean, there are a million places they could have taken me. How did you know it was that one?"

  Sam took a swallow of his drink, stalling for time, wishing he could find a way to avoid the question. But, looking into Babs's bright, curious gaze, he knew there would be no avoiding it.

  "I look at a map and sort of get a feeling." He said it casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

  She stared at him, her eyes intent in the dim light. "You looked at a map and figured out where I was?"

  "Well, not exactly. I got a feeling of where you were but that only pinned it down within a couple of hundred miles. Then I came up here and drove around. I remembered your uncle mentioning the hotel and it seemed like a good place to take an heiress if you were going to kidnap one. Pretty simple, really."

  "Simple? I don't think so." She stared at him, fascinated, and Sam shifted, looking around for a distraction. Unfortunately, in the back of an empty moving van, distractions were not easy to come by.

  "You're psychic."

  Sam winced at the pleased announcement. He usually didn't have to explain how he'd gone about finding something. Most clients were simply delighted to have their property back and they didn't care how he'd gone about getting it. On the rare occasion when someone did ask, he usually managed to mutter enough mumbo jumbo so they thought they knew how he'd done it, even if they couldn't have explained it. Babs'
s reaction was precisely the reason he avoided talking about his methods.

  "I'm not psychic. I just have a knack for finding things."

  "Sure. You looked at a map and knew within a hundred miles or so where they'd taken me. The police obviously didn't know it. That's more than a knack. You're psychic."

  "No."

  "Yes."

  "No."

  They stared at each other for a moment and then Babs shrugged. "Have it your way. You can call it anything you want but you and I both know it's true."

  Sam drained his Coke and crumpled the can with a satisfying crunch. "You're like arguing with a mud fence."

  "I'm afraid I've never argued with a mud fence. Are they always right, too?" Babs looked at him, her face the very picture of polite inquiry. Reluctantly, Sam laughed.

  "No, they're just very stubborn. And they don't change their minds."

  "I'm perfectly willing to change my mind when I'm wrong. But I'm not wrong this time."

  "Psychic is not a word I'm comfortable with. I have a knack—a gift, if you want to get maudlin about it. Some people know when it's going to rain—I know where lost things are. It's not a big deal."

  "It must be neat to find things that people thought they'd never get back."

  "I suppose that's one reason why I keep doing it instead of getting a real job. There's nothing like handing some little kid his lost dog and watching his face light up." He grinned. "Of course, the pay on that kind of job tends to be a little chancy. Jawbreakers and marbles don't pay the rent. But every once in a while someone asks me to find a stolen car or some lost jewelry and I charge a hefty fee for those jobs."

  "Am I the first person you've found?"

  "No, I've located a couple of runaways and once I found a little boy who'd gotten lost."

  "I bet his parents were thrilled to get him back."

  "They were pretty happy."

  "Must be nice to have someone who's happy to see you come home safe and sound." The wistfulness in her voice captured his emotions, reminding him that no one seemed to care whether or not she came back.

  "I bet Emmet is worried sick about you." It was a weak offering, since for all he knew Emmet didn't even know Babs was missing. But he couldn't stand the loneliness in her eyes.

  "If he knows about it. He's out of the country quite a bit, you know."

  "Well, you must have friends who are worried about you. A boyfriend?" Funny, how unpalatable that thought was.

  Babs shrugged. "No one close. People always talk about money opening doors but it closes quite a few, too. You never know whether someone likes you for yourself or for your money. Usually it's the money. You certainly wouldn't have come looking for me if there hadn't been a reward offered."

  She said it without malice but Sam winced anyway. He wanted to tell her that he would have looked for her anyway, but it would have been a lie. He'd been motivated by the money. Just like everyone else she knew.

  "What about the people you work with? You must have friends there. Or don't you work?" He arched one brow, challengingly, wanting to shift the tone of the conversation.

  Babs wrinkled her nose, acknowledging the challenge. "Wouldn't you just love to find out that I'm like the lilies of the field—I toil not and neither do I spin."

  Sam grinned. "Only if the shoe fits."

  "Well, it does and it doesn't. I don't work a nine-to-five job. It would be a little silly to pretend I needed to. I do quite a bit of volunteer work, though."

  "Arranging flowers at the hospital."

  "Sometimes. I also spent two months in Ethiopia working with famine victims. I've done quite a bit of work with the Red Cross in different parts of the world. It sounds pompous, I suppose, but I kind of feel that when you've got as much money as my family does, you should do a little something to help other people with it."

  "You could donate money. No one would expect you to get involved personally."

  She shrugged uneasily. "I guess. It's more satisfying, though, when you can feel like you actually made a difference personally."

  Sam watched her, trying to imagine her in dirty khakis giving aid to victims of disaster. It wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. He was discovering that there were several sides to Ms. Babette Malone. It was a discovery he didn't entirely welcome.

  "I'm starving. What have we got to eat?" Babs's question put an end to the uncomfortable conversation—uncomfortable for both of them.

  Isolated in the back of the moving truck, they might have been the only two people in the world. There was no one else to talk to, nothing else to do. It created an odd feeling of intimacy, a closeness that made them feel as if they'd known each other for years rather than a few short days.

  "Looks like it's getting dark."

  Sam glanced up at the windows. The light had been fading so gradually, he hadn't really been aware of it. Babs's comment made him realize that it was getting difficult to see inside their moving hideaway.

  "We'd better figure out where we're going to sleep tonight. Looks like our friend plans on driving straight through."

  "Well, he stopped long enough for lunch," Babs grumbled.

  Sam grinned, remembering her exasperation when he'd refused to let her leave the truck except for a quick trip to a service station rest room. He didn't want to risk their being left behind—not when he was running out of money. As it .turned out, they'd have had plenty of time to get a meal but there'd been no way of knowing that. So they'd sat in the back of the truck, which was growing uncomfortably warm, and waited for their unwitting host to return.

  "The poor guy had to eat."

  "Considering how long he took, he must have eaten enough to feed an army."

  "He's a big guy."

  Whatever Babs might have said was lost in a series of sneezes. The truck hit a bump, throwing her off balance and Sam caught her arm, holding her steady until the fit eased. It was the second time in the last hour that she'd had a sneezing fit.

  "Are you catching a cold?" He reached out to put his hand on her forehead but she pulled away.

  "It's just the dust in this truck. I think I'm allergic to packing blankets."

  Sam didn't insist on checking for fever. He wasn't sure he'd be able to tell anything anyway. Their close confines had done nothing to cool the ache that had begun with last night's kiss. He gathered a stack of packing blankets and spread them out in a makeshift bed, trying not to think about spending yet another night sleeping with Babs only inches away.

  She wasn't his type. He kept telling himself that but it didn't seem to help. Somehow, over the course of the last few days, his type seemed to have changed. Big brown eyes and a slim little frame were beginning to look more and more appealing.

  It didn't matter how many times he reminded himself that it was just their proximity—or the differences in their life-styles. He tried remembering his first impressions of her as a spoiled rich brat, but now what he saw was a frightened woman who'd been willing to risk her neck to try to escape.

  He thumped the packing blankets with unnecessary vigor, too aware of Babs just a few feet away. He wanted her. He allowed the thought in. He wanted her. In fact, he ached with the wanting. But that didn't mean he was going to do anything about it. Not only was it bad policy to get involved with a client, it wasn't smart to get involved with a woman who was rich enough to make Fort Knox look like a coin collection. Besides, she was too vulnerable, too dependent on him. Only a scoundrel would put the moves on a woman in her position.

  He poked his foot into the stack of blankets. Too bad he was such a nice guy. Scoundrels had all the fun.

  He turned, forcing what he hoped was a normal smile. Whatever he'd planned to say was forgotten when the truck hit a deep rut. Babs stumbled and Sam reached out, catching her close, bracing his feet apart to take her weight.

  She was such a lightweight against him. Sam shifted his hold to her waist, intending to set her away. Somehow, his hands lingered, feeling the warmth of her skin through he
r shirt. Babs tilted her head back, looking up at him. The light had almost disappeared, replaced by the occasional flash of brilliance as they passed a street lamp. In the darkness, her eyes were deep, mysterious pools full of secrets and promises. Her mouth was soft, inviting. An invitation he couldn't quite resist.

  Her mouth felt as soft as it looked. Her hands quivered against his chest but he could only guess at the emotions that caused it. It was a monumental effort to stop with a simple kiss. He wanted more, so much more. His mouth drew away from hers reluctantly and he stared down into her eyes.

  Now was the time to make some light remark, some casual comment that would ease the tension. He'd say something witty and urbane and they'd both be reassured that a kiss was nothing much these days, nothing much at all.

  He opened his mouth—and the truck hit another rut. This one felt as if the left side wheels had just fallen into the San Andreas Fault line. Sam's hold tightened on Babs and he heard her soft gasp as his feet shot out from under him and they tumbled onto the thick mound of blankets he'd so carefully stacked.

  Babs landed on top of him, her slight weight pressed along his body. In a passing flash of light, Sam saw her eyes, wide and startled. All thoughts of casual comments slid from his mind. She felt so right against him, so dangerously, wonderfully right.

  His hand slid up her back, his eyes never leaving hers. He held his breath, waiting for her to object, knowing he'd die if she didn't want him as much as he wanted her. His hand clasped the back of her neck, her hair sliding like watered silk over his fingers.

  Babs quivered and he paused, trying to read her expression in the light of passing street lamps. But he didn't need to see her face. Her hands moved up his chest to rest on his shoulders and it didn't take any urging from him to bring her face down to his.

  This kiss was different from others they'd shared. This time the passion was in the open. He wasn't offering her comfort or companionship. He was offering pure masculine need, a hunger for her. Her breath left her on a sigh as his lips opened, his tongue sliding between her teeth to stroke sensuously over hers.

  Sam kept one hand at the back of her head and slid the other down her back to her hips, pressing her closer, letting her feel the pressure of his need. She tensed for a moment, as if half-frightened, and then her body went limp against him, her mouth softening magically. Sam felt her total acceptance sweep over him, blowing the flame of his need even higher.