His voice was quiet and authoritative. “If Gloria’s in some sort of trouble, I might be the only one who can help her.”
Carla sat looking at him for a long moment, then began typing.
The electronic doors opened and closed.
The chill that ran up her back was immediate, drenching her with an icy wave. Though she was in one of the aisles, her eyes darted toward the front.
How long before that reaction would leave her? Before she could hear the doors opening and not be compelled to look, holding her breath and praying. It wasn’t natural to feel this way, as if she were doomed to cross and recross a tightrope stretched over a bottomless pit with slippery shoes.
He wouldn’t track her here, she insisted silently. He didn’t know enough about her to know about this place. And even if he did and was still looking for her, she wasn’t really here. Not the way he knew her.
She was safe.
The breath she’d been holding escaped as recognition came. Gina’s mouth curved. The man who had gotten between her and that pushy jerk the day before yesterday had returned.
What was he was doing back? When she’d left, he’d asked her to point Jon out, or rather, the store manager. That meant Jon and the stranger didn’t know each other, so it wasn’t personal. Jon hadn’t mentioned anything to her, but then, he’d been in a real rush to leave after taking that call from his brother.
He told her he had to take some time off and left her in charge, just like that.
Funny how you could work with someone for so long and not know anything about him. She’d spent all four college years working in the store, and in all that time, Jon had never mentioned even having a family. He’d been closemouthed as far as things like that went.
Pot calling the kettle black. She certainly wasn’t in a position to throw rocks right now, she mused. Jon didn’t know all that much about her, either. Nor had he asked anything, not even when she’d suddenly appeared out of the blue three weeks ago, asking for her old job back. All he’d said was sure, then added an addendum: If she needed him, he was around. To prove it, he’d gotten her in contact with a friend of his who was trying to sublet his condo. She had a job and a home within one day, thanks to Jon. He was one in a million.
He hadn’t even made any comment about her changed appearance when she came in the first day. Just asked her what name she wanted to go under. Nothing more.
Gina suspected that World War Three could probably break out right in front of the bookstore and as long as it didn’t intrude within the doors, Jon would remain oblivious to it.
Lucky for her.
Pushing the book she was holding back into its space, she walked up to the man who had just entered and smiled at him. “I see you’re back. Come to see if I needed rescuing again?”
He’d taken measure of her as he’d walked in and still wondered if there was some sort of mistake. But it was too much of a coincidence for him to shrug off. What he needed was to find a way to find out her social security number. That might be more difficult than he’d anticipated if the store manager had agreed to pay her off the books.
“Oh, you strike me as someone who can take care of herself. If I hadn’t intervened yesterday, you probably would have decked him.”
He had a dimple, she realized. And a sense of humor. She found that an extremely sexy trait. “My boxing gloves are in the shop,” she said wryly. “Jon’s not here if you came to see him.”
“Jon?”
“The store manager.” Obviously the name meant nothing to him. “I’m sorry, I’m just taking a stab at why you’re here.”
He wondered what she would say if he answered her truthfully. If he told her that he was looking for Gloria Prescott and the little boy she’d abducted. Probably nothing. At close quarters, the woman looked cool enough to be able to pull it off. If she was Gloria.
“To do some research, actually.”
Savannah had managed to access Gloria Prescott’s transcript at the University of San Francisco for him. He’d discovered that while her degree was in the field of studio arts, specifically sculpting, she’d minored in American history. He’d guessed that the preponderance of courses on Native Americans meant her interest lay there. The drive up from Bedford had given him ample time to come up with a scenario.
He looked around. “Do you have a Native American section? I’m working on a project and I’m kind of stuck. I need all the input I can get.”
Ben saw interest enter her eyes. “Native American? What kind of a project is it?”
He pretended to hesitate. “You’d probably laugh.”
That made her smile. “No, I wouldn’t, try me.”
He’d chosen his story carefully. “It’s a screenplay—you probably hear that all the time. Everybody and his brother is writing one, or knows someone who’s writing one.”
Her smile was nothing short of encouraging. If this was Gloria, he could easily see why McNair had lost his head. Whether she was blonde or brunette, there was something about the woman’s smile that got to a man, made him want to puff up his chest and do something extraordinary to make her take notice.
“I don’t,” she told him.
He caught her off guard by putting out his hand. “Ben Underwood. Now you know me, so you know someone who’s writing one.”
The smile turned into a soft laugh that wafted around him like the first breeze of spring, full of promise at what was to be.
“All right, Ben Underwood, what’s your screenplay about?”
“The Battle of Wounded Knee.” Other than Custer’s last stand at Little Big Horn, it was the only Indian battle that he was vaguely aware of.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, holding back a laugh.
“You’re not going to believe this, but I minored in Native American studies at UCSF.”
“You’re kidding.” He looked properly impressed. “Damn, but this is my lucky day. Maybe you can help fill in the gaps for me.”
“Maybe,” she echoed, her mouth curving.
He did his best not to notice how inviting that looked.
Chapter 4
So far, so good, Ben thought, returning her smile. He’d managed to establish a beachhead, however small. But he was a long way from winning the battle yet.
What he needed was to gain her trust so he could get to the bottom of what was going on. As of right now, he still wasn’t a hundred percent certain that he had the right woman. All he had to go on was the slightly out-of-focus photograph McNair had given him and a likeness of Gloria Prescott that Savannah had lifted from the DMV records she’d accessed. The only similarity between that and the woman he was looking at was they looked to be approximately the same age.
Ben summoned what latent acting talents he had and infused his voice with what he hoped was the right amount of enthusiasm. One of his best friends was a would-be screenwriter. Ben did his best to imitate the way he’d heard Nick talk when he was going on about his project of the moment.
“You know, this is almost like fate, meeting you.”
He touched her shoulder lightly as he spoke, initiating contact, but making certain that it couldn’t be misconstrued as anything remotely sexual. If the other day was any indication, she probably had more than her share of that, but he’d noted that the slightest bit of physical contact between people instantly brought them