Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Canyon) by Kat Martin Read Free Book Online Page A

understand I’m going in—one way or another?”
    “Just drive, frogman.”
    Ben Slocum actually smiled.

Five
    T roy Bridger lived in a run-down neighborhood not far from LAX. The apartment building had cracks in the plaster—probably earthquake damage—and the blue paint had faded to a washed-out gray. Unit four sat on the bottom floor, the curtains partially open. There was no on-site manager and no one around.
    The sun was moving west, the afternoon waning as they walked up on the porch and looked through the windows. The apartment was cheaply furnished, but Ben could see no one was living there.
    “I’m going to take a look inside,” he said. “Why don’t you wait for me in the car?”
    “If you’re going in, so am I. I might find something you miss.”
    “Breaking and entering’s a crime, angel. You’d be smarter to stay out of it.”
    Her chin went up. “I’m going.”
    Ben just shook his head. “I’ll go round back and find a way in, come back and open the door. Whistle if someone’s coming.”
    Her pretty green eyes widened. “I don’t know how to whistle.”
    Amusement slid through him. At least Claire Chastain was keeping him entertained. “You’ll think of something.”
    He headed around the corner to the rear of the building. Behind the apartment, each ground-level unit had a small fenced yard. Bridger’s had enough dog crap to tell him that Pepper had definitely been in residence.
    Using a credit card, he opened the cheesy lock on the back door into the kitchen. The good news was, the place hadn’t been cleaned. He made his way into the living room, past a worn tweed sofa with a couple of springs sticking out, and opened the front door for Claire.
    As she walked inside, her nose wrinkled at the musty, unpleasant smell. “It looks like he’s been gone awhile. Thank God the cleaning crew hasn’t been in.”
    Smart lady. “Doesn’t look like the cops have been here, either. Maybe the landlord wouldn’t let them in without a warrant.”
    “The Robersons convinced the police Sam ran away, so they probably didn’t try to get one.”
    He made a quick sweep of the living room and bedroom. “I don’t see any sign of a kid being here. Sam disappeared eleven days ago. If Bridger took him, they must have headed straight out of town.”
    “Let’s make sure,” Claire said.
    He nodded. “I’ll look in here. You take another look in the bedroom.”
    Claire disappeared into the other room while Ben made a slow sweep of the living room, looking for anything that might have information they could use. All he saw were old movie-ticket stubs, dirty Kleenex, candy wrappers and empty foam cups. Nothing of any value.
    Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he took out one of the small brown paper bags he carried for evidence collection, tucked the cup inside for a DNA sample.
    He wandered into the kitchen, found an overdue electric bill on the counter. The wet garbage had been carried out, but a lot of paper trash remained. He used a pen to poke through litter here and there, looking for any scrap that might lead to Bridger.
    His eye caught a haphazardly stacked pile of what looked like opened, discarded mail. Bridger’s name was on the envelopes and flyers, most of which were advertisements. All but one. A VISA credit card statement. The card had recently been canceled. This was the closing statement. No charges. No money owed.
    It had been mailed to unit four but the name on the envelope wasn’t Troy Bridger. It was Troy Bennett.
    Bingo.
    He refolded the piece of paper, stuck it back in the envelope and shoved it into his hip pocket. Looking up, he saw Claire walking back into the living room, her eyes wide, her face as pale as cotton.
    Ben started toward her, caught her shoulders to steady her. “Claire, what is it?”
    She looked up at him, moistened her lips. “Blood...”
    He urged her over to the sofa, sat her down on one of the sagging cushions. “Stay here.”
    Blood. It didn’t