LITMIR.BIZ

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      Ben tapped the envelope stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans. “They get it if they’ve got my kid.”

      Following Brodie, he made his way in through the front door. La Fiesta was a restaurant as well as a bar and the place was busy with the lunch crowd. The smell of tortillas, meat and cheese made Ben’s stomach growl. Bagels and cream cheese wasn’t bacon and eggs.

      Mexican pop music played in the background. Ty slowed as a beefy Hispanic with stringy black hair down to his shoulders approached them.

      “This way, amigos.”

      There was no one in the bar except more of Gonzales’s men. They didn’t come forward to pat them down, didn’t need to, since it looked like all of them were armed.

      Ben’s conceal carry wasn’t valid in California. At the moment, he didn’t care.

      The others moved a little away, leaving their leader to handle the exchange.

      “Señor Brodie. I see you have brought your friend.” Rueben Gonzales was lean and hard, his skin as brown as old oak. A scar ran from the corner of his mouth to his ear, making him look like one badass son of a bitch.

      “Where’s the boy?” Ty asked.

      Gonzales tipped his head toward a door at the rear of the bar and an instant later, in walked a short, fat banger pushing a black-haired boy in front of him.

      For several heartbeats, Ben stood frozen. Then the kid stepped into the light and looked at Ben, and he knew the boy wasn’t his son.

      Ty said nothing, just stood there waiting for Ben’s decision. Ben kept staring at the kid. He was older than nine, maybe ten or eleven. There was a bruise on his cheek and his lip was split. He had a shiner that was turning purple. His blue eyes looked resigned and yet there was a spark of defiance there.

      The fat man moved forward and tipped the kid’s chin up so Ben could get a better look. The fat guy grinned. “This one’he is a virgin. He is too much trouble so you get him cheap.”

      Ben’s stomach knotted. He looked at the kid and blind rage struck him. His jaw turned to steel and he exploded, throwing a punch that landed so hard against the fat man’s jaw it sent him flying backward over the bar. Beer glasses slid the length of the counter and catapulted into the air. A woman screamed as the guy crashed to the floor, breaking more glasses and heavy bottles of booze, groaning but not getting up.

      Ben heard the unmistakable ratcheting of pistol slides. When he turned, he saw four semi-autos pointed in his direction. Ty Brodie pointed his M-9 at Gonzales.

      “The price just went to twenty-five hundred,” Gonzales said calmly.

      Ben pulled the envelope out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. “Two thousand. That’s all I brought. I’ll take the kid off your hands and he won’t give you any more trouble.”

      Gonzales gestured to his men, who put away their weapons. Ty reholstered his pistol. Gonzales picked up the envelope, opened it and thumbed through the hundred-dollar bills. “This is your lucky day, amigo. Take the boy and go.”

      The kid didn’t resist when Ben put a hand on his shoulder and guided him out of the bar, wove through the restaurant, then outside to the Honda Accord. Ty walked a few feet behind him.

      “I’m glad you got your son back,” Brodie said once they were back to their vehicles. “For a minute there it was kind of touch-and-go.”

      “He’s not my son.”

      Ty’s dark brown eyebrows went up as Ben opened the door and settled the boy in the passenger seat, clicked the seat belt into place across his chest. “He’s not mine, but he’s someone’s. I couldn’t just leave him there. I’ll take him to Claire. She’ll know how to handle it.”

      Brodie clapped Ben on the back. “I’ll keep looking. I’ll let you know if anything turns up.”

      “Thanks. You’re a good man, Brodie. You can watch my back anytime.”

      “Same here.” Ty headed for his pickup, and Ben slid behind the wheel and started the engine, glad to be leaving the area.

      “What’s your name?” he asked the boy as he drove up onto the freeway, heading back to Santa Monica.

      “Ryan.” The kid’s battered features turned hard. “I won’t let you hurt me. I’ll run away as soon as I get the chance.”

      “No one’s going to hurt you, son. I’m going to get you home.”

      “I don’t have a home.”

      Ben’s gaze swung back to the boy. “No mother or father? No relatives?”

      The kid didn’t answer. Which meant there was someone. Just not someone he wanted to go back to.

      “I’ve got a friend,” Ben said. “She can help you find a place, people you can trust to take care of you.”

      The kid’s chin cocked up. “Why should I believe you?”

      “Because I’m telling you the truth.” Ben pulled out his P.I. badge and tossed it into the boy’s lap. “I’m looking for my own son. His name is Sam. You haven’t seen him, have you? Black hair like yours? Eyes more like mine.” He fixed one of his glacial stares on the boy. Ryan’s eyes were a much darker blue than his own.

      The boy shook his head. “There were other kids around, but none with eyes like yours.”

      “Where you from?”

      The kid didn’t answer.

      “That bad, huh?”

      “If they make me go back, I’ll just run away again.”

      Ben wasn’t sure what the authorities would do, but if the boy’s home life was really that bad, he figured they would put him in foster care.

      “When you talk to them, tell them the truth. Tell them what it was like there. Don’t spare the details. I don’t think they’ll make you go back if it’s that bad. I think they’ll find you a better place to live.”

      The kid looked up at him with so much hope in his eyes Ben’s chest clamped down. “You really think they’ll help me?”

      “Yeah, I do.” Ben’s gaze strayed from the road back to the boy. He wondered what Claire would say when she saw he’d brought the wrong kid home.

      * * *

      “Get in the goddamn truck!”

      Sam tried not to cringe at the vicious look on Troy’s face. “There’s a law against drunk driving,” he said.

      “I don’t give a shit.” Troy reached over and cuffed his head. “Do as I say. Get in the truck before I kick your skinny little ass.”

      Troy’s black Lab moved forward, his tail between his legs. Pepper whined and pressed against Sam’s leg. Sam moved far enough away that Troy couldn’t reach them. “Come on, Pep, we gotta get going.”

      Pepper was Troy’s dog but sometimes Troy was mean to him, just like he was to Sam. He and Pep were friends. The black Lab stuck by him no matter what. Troy wasn’t usually too bad a guy, except when he got drunk. When he drank, he got crazy mean. Sam was afraid of him then, and Pepper was, too. Lately he had been that way a lot.

      Sam climbed into the old white beat-up Chevy, waited for the dog to jump in, then slammed the door. He buckled his seat belt like his mom had taught him, even though Troy never used his.

      The engine roared to life and the truck pulled out of the gravel lot in front of The Roadhouse, spitting up dirt as the car fishtailed back onto the highway. Troy had been in there drinking beer for at least two hours while Sam and Pepper waited outside.

      Before that, they’d been staying with a lady Troy knew. She was nice. She baked them a cake and let Pepper sleep with him on the bed in

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