a nice day,” she told him. She was in no position to daydream like normal people. She wasn’t normal people. Not right now, at any rate. She was a woman on the run and she had to remember that.
Maybe not, a small voice whispered within her. Maybe the running was finally over. Maybe the man who’d robbed her of so many nights’ sleep had decided she was too much trouble to pursue any further and had given up looking for her. Maybe she was finally safe.
Safe.
God, but she’d never realized how overwhelmingly seductive the four-letter word could be. Safe. Safe to go about her life doing everyday things, safe not to be constantly looking over her shoulder, wondering, worrying. Safe not to see shapes hidden in the shadows, afraid that she was being followed.
The front door buzzer sounded. She lost her place in counting out the next customer’s change.
“Sorry,” she murmured, beginning again.
The man buying the massive cookbook looked at her as if she were incapable of counting beyond five. “Maybe I should have given you a charge card.”
The slightly condescending tone and tolerant expression on his patrician face made her want to whip out her college diploma to show him that she was quite capable of conducting monetary transactions of any amount.
A lot of good that would do, she realized ruefully. The name on the diploma didn’t match the one on her name tag.
“Please come again,” she murmured as cheerfully as she could muster.
The man mumbled something in response that was lost on her as she found herself looking up into eyes that were almost Wedgwood blue. Ben had come up on her blind side and was now leaning against the counter, blocking the next customer.
“Hi, are we still on?”
Was it possible for him to look better today than he had yesterday? Or was that just the self-imposed drought in her life that was making her suddenly thirsty? Thirsty for the companionship of a personable man who wanted nothing more from her than just her mind.
“On?” she echoed.
The customer took her books to the clerk at the next register, giving Gina an envious look. It wasn’t lost on Gina.
“For tonight,” Ben prompted. He didn’t appear annoyed that she seemed to have momentarily forgotten. “You said that you couldn’t go out after work last night, but that you probably could tonight.” He looked at her hopefully. Or was that just her imagination?
She’d talked to Betty, who had checked with her mother last night. Since tonight was a Friday night and Betty hadn’t hit the dating circuit yet—her mother referred to Betty as a late bloomer—Gina was assured of a sitter for Jesse.
Now all that remained was taking that final leap from self-proclaimed female hermit to socializing woman. Easier contemplated than done.
For most of her life, she’d loved company, loved going out. She’d always been a people person, until she’d had her trust betrayed at a college fraternity party. McNair had resurrected the leeriness that had come to define and delineate her life for months after her rape, making her hold all men suspect. Looking for ulterior motives.
She hated being that way, and yet…
“Oh, right.” Gina beckoned forward the next customer who was about to bypass her. “I can take you here,” she told the woman, then looked at Ben. “Um, I’m not so sure that I can, after all. There’s the store, we don’t lock up until ten tonight—” As she scanned the book, the numbers popped up on the register.
“Don’t they let you go out for dinner?” Ben dead-panned.
“I’ll lock up for you tonight, Gina,” a deep voice on her other side rumbled.
She glanced toward the other register, not surprised to see the slightly superior look gracing the face of the tall, thin, prematurely balding young man. The man with the improbable name of Joe Valentine had regarded her as an interloper when Jon had given her responsibility of the store over him. Joe had been working at the bookstore a total of two and a half years and considered himself not just a clerk, but Jon’s assistant. Gina had changed all that and he made no secret of the fact that he didn’t care for it.
“After all, it’s not like I haven’t done it before,” Joe said smugly.
There went her last excuse, she thought, secretly glad of it. She liked being divested of excuses, because part of her really wanted to see Ben again, under any pretext. Pretexts made her feel that it was all right. “Thanks, Joe, as long as you don’t mind.”
“Hey, where else am I going to go?”
“It looks like it’s all settled, then,” Ben said to her. “Unless you don’t want to.” He knew if he left it open like that, she wouldn’t feel he was trying to pressure her into anything.
Oh, she wanted to, all right. Maybe a little too much. “It’s not that—”
“Something else?”
The cop in him rose to the fore. He peered at her, keeping his voice casual, wondering if her resistance involved Andrew in some way. Was she keeping the boy someplace accessible? Was there someone else involved? Was this not just about revenge, the way McNair thought, but a child kidnapping ring with Andrew the latest victim?
It was a horrible thought, but one that was far from new. Ben knew that Cade’s own son had been kidnapped for just that reason. It had taken Cade three years to find the boy again. Darin Townsend was the reason ChildFinders, Inc. existed.
She almost said something about Jesse and being reluctant to leave him, but at the last minute decided not to. She was undoubtedly being overly paranoid, but there was no harm in keeping her private life private. No harm and maybe a great deal of good.
“No, nothing else.”
Score one for the home team. “Well then it looks like it’s settled. How about Wellington’s?” Ben asked.
She was familiar with the restaurant. It was a place she’d treated herself to once a month while she’d been attending college. The food was wonderful and the ambience even better. It was a place she could easily see him in, but not for the type of thing she’d thought he had in mind. Suspicions whispered in her ear again.
“Isn’t that a little fancy? I thought you just wanted to grab a bite to eat and talk about research.”
His smile disarmed her before he said a word.
“Who says the bite has to be in a fast-food place? Or that we have to chew fast?”
He saw the protest forming on her lips, saw the indecision in her eyes. He was winning her over, but he had to talk quickly to sustain his advantage. Getting her to a friendly, neutral place that might seduce her defenses was all part and parcel of his plan to get her comfortable enough to talk to him. The more she talked, the more likely she’d be to let something slip.
“Think of it as partial payment for your time,” he told her.
She couldn’t help smiling. “Script points and dinner?”
