Just Eight Months Old...

Hannah crouched lower. The two men spread out. Hannah backed up farther until she bumped into something hard and warm. She gasped.

“Quiet,” Chad whispered, gripping her hips.

Hannah’s stomach contracted, the most intimate part of him pressing against her bottom. She tried to wriggle from his grasp.

“I don’t like this,” one of the other men said. “What if they’re cops?”

The second guy hurried past, then doubled back.

“Would you just stay still.” Chad’s warm breath filled her ear.

“Yeah, you’re right,” the other guy said. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t think what we’re looking for is here anyway.”

Chad finally pulled away from her. Relief swept over Hannah, strong and complete, leaving a sense of exposure in its wake. “Stay here.”

“Where are you going?” Hannah whispered, clutching the stun gun with shaky hands.

Chad rounded her and rushed full steam toward the two men as they opened the front door. He hit one in the back of the knees, sending him hurtling onto the front steps.

“Chad!” Hannah rushed forward. Chad jerked to look at her. The free man hit him in the back of the head with his flashlight. Chad stumbled slightly, then leaned against the wall for support.

The first man grabbed the second and they disappeared through the door.

Stuffing her stun gun back into her belt, Hannah rushed to Chad.

He shrugged her hand from his arm. “What were you doing, Hannah? I thought something had happened to you when you yelled out like that.”

She tried to gather her wits around her. Her fear for his safety had distracted him and given the other guy an open opportunity for attack. She had meant to spare him pain, instead she had caused it. A stupid mistake.

But his name was out before she’d had time to consider the consequences.

Chad hurried to the door. Hannah followed. She barely made out the two shadows running through a shrub-darkened lawn two houses away.

“Great, just great.” Chad closed and locked the door then flipped a switch to his right. A car-size chandelier filled the foyer with its bright, blinding light. He softly muttered a curse.

Hannah reached out, then stopped, unsure if it was a good idea to touch him. If ever touching him again would be a good idea. Still, it was her fault he’d been clobbered with a flashlight. She reached out again, ignoring his curious stare, half expecting him to push her away.

She carefully probed the back of his head with her fingers, ignoring the clean softness of his sandy brown hair, and the memories that rushed back at seeing her fingers entangled in the thick mass. Her breath snagged in her throat.

“I thought so.” She located the marble-size bump at the base of his skull and found the blow hadn’t broken the skin. “You’ll live.” She tugged her hands away from him and refused to meet his gaze.

His first question echoed through her mind. What were you doing, Hannah? And what had she done? Never in her years as a cop, then as a skip-tracer, had she put someone else in danger.

She tried to shrug off her uneasiness, but it wasn’t easily dismissed. Instead, she turned from him and examined an overturned vase. If she couldn’t explain to herself what had happened, how was she supposed to explain it to him?

“At least they didn’t find whatever it is they were looking for,” she said.

“Yeah, them and about three other search teams.”

Hannah glanced around the ransacked foyer and the many rooms that snaked off it. “Well, since you’re probably not up to that staircase, why don’t you take the first floor?”

“You’re a real hoot, McGee.” Chad massaged the back of his head, his gaze still questioning.

Hannah quickly scaled the stairs to the second floor. Maybe it wasn’t too late to back out of this case. Just hand the information over to Chad, and wave at him as he drove off into the night.

Coward.

She glanced around the second floor hall. Only that morning she hadn’t had any problem taking on Eddie the Snake and Jack Stokes. So what was it about being with Chad again that made her act like somebody’s…mother.

“Oh God,” she muttered, the impact of her thoughts hitting home.

She hurried down the hall, thrusting aside the unwelcome insight and trying to focus on the case.

Who were the two men they’d run into and what exactly had they been looking for? She’d have to take a look at the data Schindler had given her. See what Persky and Furgeson were accused of stealing and whether or not the police recovered it. She didn’t think the information would help her find either of them, but it might give her an idea how deep a hole they had dug for themselves.

She turned on the overhead light and sifted through a bureau in the master bedroom. The bottom drawers held nothing of use, unless you were a six foot two, two hundred and fifty pound man. Hannah rummaged through socks, T-shirts and long johns. She pulled a pair of the latter out. If this was any indication of how big the man was, she and Chad had their work cut out for them.

She closed the drawer in exchange for one of the top ones.

“Gambling chips.”

Hannah stared at the array of blue and red discs. Closer inspection told her they were from Atlantic City. Not unusual for a New Yorker, except Persky seemed to be a regular visitor. Faded matchbooks were also scattered among the drawer’s contents. Hannah picked them up one by one, only to toss them back. There were a few from different casinos, but the majority were from one in particular. She picked up the older-looking of the matchbooks. She was searching for any sign of a phone number, a name, anything that would give her an idea where Eric might be. Granted, she could be jogging down the wrong avenue, but it was worth a try. Clichés were clichés because they happened so often.

She was getting nowhere quick when she opened one with faded blue ink on the inside cover.

Hannah leaned against the bureau, holding the book up to the light.

“Find something?” Chad stepped through the doorway.

Hannah glanced at him. “You’re not done down there already?”

“Gone through every drawer, every cupboard, and looked under every seat cushion.” He displayed envelope-size pieces of paper. “The only articles worth anything were in his desk. Our friend likes to keep old bills for comparison.”

Hannah looked up from where she stared at the matchbook, catching the thoughtful, unguarded expression on Chad’s rugged face. A sense of the familiar wound through her. For a moment she was reminded how well she and he had worked together brainstorming ideas for Seekers. She absently rubbed at the stain on her vest and tugged her gaze from his.

“Are there any phone bills?” she asked.

Chad sifted through the pile in his hands. “Visa, MasterCard, gas company…here we go.” He held a bill out to her. “A love note from old Ma Bell, herself.”

Accepting the itemized bill, Hannah continued to manipulate the matchbook. “Can you make this out?”

Chad looked over her shoulder. Every muscle in her body tingled in alert. With barely a hesitation, he said, “It’s a girl named Rita Minelli’s phone number.”

Hannah dropped her hand to her side. “I’ve been trying to read this thing for five minutes and you take one look and tell me exactly what it says?”

Chad grinned at her. “I’ve copied a few numbers on matchbooks in my time.” He took the number from her.

Hannah didn’t need the reminder of how uncommitted his lifestyle was. “Very funny.”