Finally, she received permission to leave. She knew the police were simply doing their jobs, but she wished they’d give her concerns a higher priority. Since more than half an hour had passed, clearly no one had managed to pick up Gina.
Weary and upset, Sonya trudged down the staircase. She hesitated at the sight of the tall man leaning against his car, silhouetted in the glow of a security light.
Why was he waiting? Her annoyance dissipated as she remembered his attempt to substitute for Gina as a hostage. Under other circumstances, she might even welcome his presence after the way he’d leaped to her rescue with old-fashioned masculine protectiveness. She hadn’t believed that existed anymore.
“Barry Lowell.” He extended a hand.
“Sonya Vega.”
His palm felt large and slightly rough. When they shook, he winced as if his ribs hurt. “You’re sure you didn’t break something?”
“Just bruised. Believe me, if I’d cracked a rib, I’d be writhing on the ground,” he said dryly.
Even so, he’d suffered for her sake, and Gina’s. “I didn’t know reporters were so good with their fists.”
“I can hold my own.” He neither bragged nor pretended false modesty, she noted with grudging approval. “Planning to hunt for that girl?”
“Someone has to.” She ignored the two cruisers on the far side of the lot, dome lights still flashing. In one, an officer sat talking on his radio. Sure, the police would keep an eye open, but they obviously didn’t consider this an emergency.
Barry reflected briefly before saying, “I don’t usually get involved in other people’s business, but…”
“Oh? That wasn’t the impression I had when you followed me into the park.”
A smile fleeted across his face. “You were on an errand of mercy. I had a suspicion the situation might get rough, which it did.”
Sonya recognized, and rejected, an impulse to play the poor helpless female. Okay, so tonight’s events had shaken her. But life had taught her not to lean on anyone, no matter how tempting.
And she was tempted, much as she loathed her own weakness. Tempted to rely on the big strong man the way she’d once trusted her fiancé. Maybe because she found this guy unnervingly appealing.
Better get moving, fast. “Well, I appreciate the chivalry, but I’m in a hurry.”
“To land in the middle of a shootout?” he demanded. “Frankie will go hunting for Duke to collect that debt, and Duke’s already lost too much face in front of his girlfriend, which means he’ll have to fight back.”
“Then I’d better find Gina before they start World War III,” Sonya responded sharply. “I certainly don’t get the impression the cops are having any luck.”
“So you’re taking on the job,” Barry concluded. “Okay. I’ll help.”
Capable as the guy seemed, she disliked his presumptuousness. And having a male protector along might escalate tensions with Duke. “You’ve shown you can defend yourself, but do you have any experience with gangs, Mr. Reporter?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Also knives and crude homemade weapons. You see a lot of those in prison.” His jaw worked. “I’m an ex-con. That’s why I was disturbed about getting caught with a gun.”
The admission surprised her. The clothes and refined speech, touched by a slight Southern accent, didn’t fit her idea of a crook. As for the sexy male vibes he radiated, Sonya usually wasn’t attracted to losers.
Still, lots of people rehabilitated themselves after a rough adolescence. Perhaps he’d mixed with the wrong crowd when he was younger. By now—mid thirties, she guessed—he’d evidently pulled his act together.
That didn’t make him a suitable companion for the night’s mission. She was having enough difficulty winning Gina’s trust without dragging in a stranger. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass.”
He folded his arms, studying her. “You’re not used to accepting help, are you, Doc?”
“I’m not stupid enough to rely on men. They don’t stick around when you need them.” She hadn’t meant to reveal that much. Or to sound so bitter.
“If I were describing you for the paper, I’d say prickly as a cactus,” he observed. “Except that it’s a cliché.”
“Cactuses survive pretty well in the desert.”
He renewed his request. “Why not let me ride shotgun…figuratively speaking?”
“The answer’s no.” She couldn’t tell him that she found him a little too handsome. Or that she wasn’t quite as independent as she’d believed. “Much as I hate to break off this little flirtation, I’ve got a couple of lives to save. Enjoy your trip home.” She clicked open her car door.
“I didn’t realize we were flirting.” He appeared amused at the suggestion.
“That was sarcasm.”
“Ah. My favorite means of communication.”
Darn it, she liked him. And wondered again at her vulnerability. Had she really sunk to seeking support from a confessed ex-con? Talk about red flags!
Sonya slid inside. “Goodbye, Mr. Lowell.” She started the engine, and felt his eyes follow until she cleared the lot.
Only as she accelerated did she consider that she had neither a plan nor any idea where to search. Gina and Duke had moved out of their last known apartment several weeks ago. He had no relatives in the area, and she was estranged from hers.
The girl’s mother and stepfather refused to have anything to do with the boy since he’d made a pass at one of her younger sisters. Gina had nearly left him over the incident but had relented, apparently so desperate for an emotional connection that she was willing to believe her sister had lied.
In Sonya’s opinion, the girl was trying to fill the void left by her long-absent father. The well-meaning stepfather had entered her life too late.
If only Gina had grown up in a loving family like the Vegas. Sonya missed her parents a lot.
They’d sold their restaurant in Fullerton several years ago and were spending their retirement traveling in a motor home. Her sister, Franca, and brother Ben, who were close in age and considerably older than Sonya, had bought homes near each other in Arizona. Her brother Don served in the air force, and her once-close group of cousins had scattered around the country.
As she scanned the sidewalks on the slight chance of spotting Gina, Sonya acknowledged that eagerness for a home was part of what had made her susceptible to a romance with an older doctor. She’d ignored the subtle warning signs about Reuben Nestor, a forty-four-year-old internist with hospital privileges at North County Med Center.
He’d been handsome and attentive, with an air of solidity. Like Sonya, he’d longed to have kids. She’d accepted his explanation that he’d divorced his first wife not because she suffered from multiple sclerosis but because they’d argued constantly.
Two years ago, on a clear evening like this, Sonya and Reuben had been heading to dinner when a drunk driver had barreled through a red light and smashed into Reuben’s car, pinning Sonya. Although the seat belt and airbag had saved her life, severe pelvic injuries had required emergency surgery.
She’d awakened to learn that she’d undergone a hysterectomy due to the severe bleeding and tearing caused by her crushed pelvis. Barely into her thirties, she’d lost the ability to have children.
Reuben had assured her it made no difference, and they’d talked about adopting, or hiring a surrogate. But as Sonya endured