Uncle Sarge. Bonnie Gardner
with the training.
No, she had a feeling that this story was going to wind up with a happy ending, and maybe it was foolish of her, but she wanted to see it through. Typing bits of information into a computer and waiting for it to regurgitate the answers was a living, but she longed to see the human side of her job. She wanted to see the results of her efforts.
This is business, she reminded herself. So why was she thinking about anything else?
“I FIGURE once I’ve eaten with a person, they have the right to use my first name. That okay with you, Ms. Bishop?” Rich glanced sidewards and chuckled at the flustered look on her face. “You can call me Rich. Tech Sergeant Larsen’s a little long, wouldn’t you say?”
“I—ah—er—yes. Sure.” She paused. “And you may call me Jennifer.” Then she added, “Rich.”
“Jennifer. It’s a pretty name. It suits you.”
She smiled and blushed. “I hope not. I always felt it was such an ordinary name. After all, every other girl in my class all through school was a Jennifer. I’d rather be a Rosemund or a Victoria. At least there aren’t fifty of them lurking around every corner.” Her smile quirked to the right.
“At least everybody knows how to spell it,” Rich said. “What if you really did have one of those unusual names that nobody knew. That could be a problem,” Rich said as she looked everywhere but at him.
“Yeah,” Jennifer murmured.
The litter from the take-out meal scattered in her lap seemed to be more important to Jennifer than continuing the conversation. Rich shrugged. After tonight, it wasn’t likely they’d see each other again. He shouldn’t be getting his feelings hurt because a woman—an ordinary-looking one, at that—didn’t want to make conversation with him.
Once they found Sherry’s house, Rich reasoned, and he’d assured himself that his sister was alive and well and living in Pensacola, he’d take Jennifer home, and he’d never see her again.
They rode on in awkward silence until they reached the bridge that crossed Pensacola Bay and led into the city. “I guess we should pick up a map.” Rich pulled into a service station. “I need to gas up anyway.”
“Good idea,” Jennifer said. “I’ll see if they have one while you pump.”
Jennifer reappeared before he had filled the tank. She unfolded the map and pored over it while he settled the bill.
“Ah, here it is. Smith Street,” she said as Rich started the engine. “It’s on the other side of town.” She directed him to the main artery and settled back against the seat.
Rich drew in a breath and steered the truck toward the northwest side of town.
Jennifer knew she should be breaking his tension by talking, but darn it, sitting this close to him, she could barely think. She’d thought he’d made her office feel small, but in the confines of his small pickup truck, separated only by the space between bucket seats, it was all she could do to breathe.
She would be so glad when they were done with this.
Jennifer glanced at his strong profile and his lean jaw starting to bristle with golden five o’clock shadow and wondered if she might just explore…No, she told herself, it was too soon. Besides, she knew about his kind of man. Those special tactics combat control operators were love ’em and leave ’em all the way. She’d already been left once. And once was more than enough.
She busied herself reading the map and watching the landmarks fly by. Finally, they pulled off the main road and into a neighborhood.
Only a few more blocks and Rich would reach his sister’s address. Only a few more blocks and he’d be reunited with the only relative he had. She smiled at that.
Most of Checkmate’s work was doing background checks for Okaloosa County businesses. She seldom saw the people she researched. She seldom reached out and touched the people whose lives she explored. It would be wonderful to experience something good and positive.
“Shouldn’t we be turning now?”
Jennifer snapped out of her thoughts and ran a finger along the course she’d marked. “About two blocks. Then turn left.”
The neighborhood was a relatively new one comprised of small houses, with small mortgages, for couples just starting out. Most of the yards were well tended, and most had one car in the carport and one in the drive. She and Duke had once lived in a neighborhood like this together. She sighed. Now, she lived there alone.
Finally, they came to the street. “Right turn,” Jennifer said with less than full confidence.
Rich turned, and Jennifer began scanning for house numbers. “I think we’re headed in the right direction,” she said. “It should be right around this curve.”
It was.
Rich pulled up to the curb and parked. He exhaled slowly as he assessed the appearance of the small, yellow bungalow. Sherry had always loved the color yellow, but she never would have let the lawn go so long without mowing.
He knew that from the way she’d loved to do the yard work when they were in foster care together. She’d always said she wanted to have a little yellow house with a white picket fence and lots of yard to putter in. There was no fence, but two out of three was pretty good.
The lawn looked as if it hadn’t been mowed in several weeks, and children’s toys were scattered throughout the tall grass. There was a very old minivan in the carport, but the second car, if there was one, was gone. A pile of newspapers filled the seat of a lawn chair on the tiny front porch. Though it was too early in the evening for lights to be on, the house looked dark and forlorn.
“Do you suppose they’ve gone on vacation?” Jennifer echoed exactly what Rich had been thinking.
He nodded. “You’d think they’d’ve canceled the paper, though.”
“Let me check the mailbox,” Jennifer said, pushing open the door. She came back in a minute. “Nothing there. Maybe, one of the neighbors is picking up their mail. But, if they were going on a trip, wouldn’t they put away their kids’ toys first?” she mused.
“Beats me,” Rich said. “Now what?”
“We talk to the neighbors. We’ve come this far, we might as well see what they know.”
The house to the right was as dark as Sherry’s with no cars filling the carport or the drive. But the one on the other side seemed cheery and open, and cooking smells wafted from that direction. “Guess we start with that one.”
Rich drew a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “Here goes nothing.” He rang the doorbell.
A plump, middle-aged lady appeared, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “May I help you?” Her expression was pleasant, but cautious, as she pushed open the storm door a crack.
Rich cleared his throat, struggling to dislodge the industrial-size lump, as Jennifer stepped forward and smiled reassuringly.
“My name is Rich Larsen. I’m looking for my sister, Sherry. I haven’t seen her in several years, but I think she lives next door.”
“Oh, Mr. Larsen. It’s so good that you’ve come,” the lady dithered. “I’m just so sorry you couldn’t have come sooner.” She pushed her screen door open and beckoned them in. “It’s too bad you couldn’t have come before…” Her voice trailed off, then she sighed. “It’s so sad.”
Chapter Two
She might as well have walloped him with a rifle butt. Rich staggered backward. Before what? No, he couldn’t have finally found her only to have…
Jennifer took charge. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. What’s happened?”
“You