"I'd appreciate an extra set of hands."

"Glad to help. I'll check if anyone else is free, too," he promised. He looked at Veronica. "I wish we could have met under better circ.u.mstances, Ms. Lancaster."

"So do I," she replied with feeling.

As Ben walked away, Veronica entered Ziev & Sons just ahead of Chad. The air inside the small shop felt stagnant and warm, heated, no doubted, by the hot words that were flying back and forth between what Veronica a.s.sumed was father and son.

The two hardly seemed aware that there was anyone else in the shop until she and Chad were almost at the counter.

The arguing halted abruptly as the two men turned in unison away from each other and toward them. The frowns creasing both faces faded into smiles that were less than sincere, despite their width.

"How may we help you?" the younger one asked.

Chad produced the photograph and laid it on the counter. "Have either one of you seen this boy today?"

The older of the two men splayed his hands on the counter and leaned down to get a better look. He squinted, then shook his head. "No, I haven't seen him. Have you, Habib?" he asked the other man.

Habib picked up the photograph and studied it for so long Veronica began to hope again. But then he placed the photograph back on the counter and shook his head.

"No. I am sorry."

Chad knew it was probably pointless to ask, but he had to. "Did either one of you see someone using the telephone that's right outside your store?"

"No. Is the boy missing?" Habib asked.

"Yes, he is," Veronica answered. "He's my son. Are you sure you haven't seen him?"

"Lady, I am sorry. All kids look alike to me. I do not know if I have seen him or not." He looked again at the photo, studying it intently. "But for sure not today."

Her heart sank a little lower as she tucked the photograph back into her wallet.

"Thank you for looking."

The two men watched in silence as she and Chad walked out.

Once outside, Veronica drew a long breath, trying not to give in to the despair

that hovered around her like a storm cloud. She looked at Chad as the door to the shop closed behind them. "Now what?"

He took her arm, gently drawing her behind the store, where his vehicle was parked. "Now we get you home. You need some rest." He held the pa.s.senger door open for her.

When she lowered herself into the seat, it felt as if her knees were buckling.

"I'm not going to be able to sleep," she protested.

Getting in on his side, Chad started the car, then waited for a break in traffic before edging out. "Maybe not, but you can give it a try." She began to protest some more, but he cut her off, pointing out the obvious. "You're not going to do your son any good by running yourself down."

The short tether she had on her nerves snapped again. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not be preached to right now."

He spared her a look that told her, he wasn't about to get into any sort of verbal confrontation with her. "No preaching. Just common sense."

Veronica turned away from him and looked out the side window. What was wrong with her? He was only trying to be helpful. Why did she keep biting off his head for saying things she knew were true?

"You know, I'm not really as b.i.t.c.hy as I sound."

He smiled in her direction. "Duly noted." He saw her reflection in the window. He doubted if he'd ever seen a sadder woman. Or one quite as beautiful. "If it helps, I've known women who seem a great deal stronger than you completely disintegrate when faced with what you're going through. I think you're holding up pretty well."

"A Lancaster isn't supposed to disintegrate." She could almost hear her grandfather's gruff voice saying the words in her ear.

"What is that-a family motto?"

"Something like that." There were memories waiting to get in. She kept them locked out. "My grandfather told me that the day my parents were buried. I was crying."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve. Stephanie was ten." And they had clung to each other, afraid of what was going to happen next. Afraid of facing life without the parents they loved so dearly.

"Did your grandfather take care of you?"

"We had a nanny until we were sent away to school. Brighton Academy took care of us, if you could call it that," she replied. It all seemed like something out of another lifetime now. "My grandfather shipped us off to boarding school two days after the funeral. He didn't want to be tied down. Having us around interfered with his social life."

Twilight was weaving thin, dark threads over the area. She shifted in her seat to look at him, seeking some kind of a.s.surance that would see her through the lonely, bleak night ahead.

"What did your partner mean by saying you have an inside track on these cases?"

He didn't like having the conversation swing back to him. He was far more interested in finding out more about her. Links to events could sometimes be found in the oddest places. He'd learned long ago not to disregard anything too soon.

"He's not my partner. Technically, we all work our own cases." That wasn't what she was asking. He was stalling and he knew it, but he didn't like talking about himself. He'd been forced to endure being the media's obsession of the month after his accidental return and then his father's apprehension and subsequent trial. It had forever forged a loathing of the spotlight.

But maybe she deserved to know a little about the man she was placing her faith in, he thought. Besides, if she really wanted to know, a simple trip to the archives of any major newspaper could edify her about his past! He could put a more honest spin on it.

"My parents were divorced when I was seven. When I was eight my father took me away. He made it look as if I'd been kidnapped."

She stared at him. "Kidnapped? What about your mother? What did she think?"

"She thought what everyone else did-that someone had kidnapped me." The story had

been told to him over and over again by people who meant well, people who had wanted him to know what an impact his loss had been. But all it had done was make him feel guilty that he hadn't somehow realized what was going on. Guilty for believing the lies his father had told him to make him accept what had happened.

"My father played the part of the bereft, grieving parent, even joining my mother in an all-night prayer vigil. He was right there with her, handing out flyers, talking to the police, pretending to do what he could to find me, when all along he knew I was living with one of his friends in another state. I guess he did it to get even with my mother for leaving him."

"When did you find out you'd been kidnapped?"

"Not until two years later. We had a big argument and I ran away from home. I hitchhiked back." At almost eleven, he'd been resourceful.

Living with an alcoholic father had made him older than his years. "I had this crazy idea that I could move in with my best friend."

Curiosity and sympathy pushed her further into his story. "Why not with your mother?"

"I thought she was dead. That's what my father told me. That was the excuse he gave me for why we were moving away. He said that she and my brother and sister had died in a car accident and I was coming to live with him." He spared her a look.

"At eight, you don't think your father's lying to you."

"What did your friend say when he saw you?"