Lost and Found (9 page)

"
T
his is, quite possibly, the most miserable excuse for a vehicle I have ever seen in my entire life." Babs was more resigned than angry and Sam threw her a quick smile.

"You've just never ridden in the back of a truck before. Actually, this isn't bad at all."

"Have you made a habit of hitching rides in the backs of moving vans?"

"No. But I've done it once or twice and this one isn't bad. Look, we've got all the luxuries of home. Blankets, windows, a roof to keep off the rain and I've even got some food. I picked up a few things this morning while you were shopping, not to mention the biscuits I took from the cafe."

"Don't mention them. Please." The dim light was enough to show him that she looked a little green around the edges, and he gave her a sympathetic grin.

"You'll get used to it. It's like sailing. It just takes a few minutes to get your sea legs."

She threw him a sour look. "I'm a lousy sailor."

"Come on. Sit down and lean your head back. If you talk to me real nice, I'll give you a bottle of Perrier. That'll help settle your stomach."

"Don't even say the word stomach." But she let him settle her onto a stack of furniture pads and leaned her head against a higher stack. Sam dug around in his pack, coming up with a familiar green bottle. He pried off the lid and handed it to her. It was still cool and she had to admit that the dry, fizzy taste of it felt good in her stomach.

She leaned back, feeling the queasiness subside. Looking around, she was struck by the humor of the situation. She giggled and Sam looked at her, one black brow raised in question. She raised the bottle in a mocking salute.

"This is probably the first time in the history of the company that Perrier has been consumed in the back of a moving van by two people who are on the run from they don't even know what. Perhaps I should write the company. They might want us to endorse it."

"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."