The Street Where She Lives

“What did he say about Asada?” Ben asked.

Brewer shook his head. “He’s not telling. Not yet. But that he was picked up in South America is an excellent indication Asada is still there. They’ll find him. Soon.”

But Ben wanted more than just a promise. He wanted… Hell, he wanted this over. Unaccustomed to such fear, as he rarely got involved this personally in a story, he didn’t know what to do with it all.

But this wasn’t a story-this was his life. Emily’s life.

Rachel’s.

At the thought of her, his mind took him places he wasn’t prepared to go. Like back to the sponge bath incident from the day before. Rachel had stood in that bathroom nude, wet, glorious…and glared at him. Hadn’t mattered, not when he couldn’t tear his eyes off her curves, shimmering and molded by the water streaming down her tall, lithe body.

He was just a man, and a weak one at that. How was he supposed to maintain any sort of mental distance under these circumstances?

Thinking about Asada on the loose helped. “Soon could be too late.”

Agent Brewer, a twenty-year veteran and dedicated to his job-evidenced by the various awards on the walls of his small office-nodded. “I know your fear. But we’re doing all we can.”

Ben would be impressed only if Asada was caught. “If Asada’s still in South America, with his old contacts and in terrain he knows like the back of his hand, he can hide forever.”

“Better than being the States, hunting you down.”

“He could have men here. Men willing to do his bidding.”

Brewer sighed. “We’ve been reviewing tapes from L.A. International near the date of Rachel’s accident.” He pushed play on the remote on his desk, and images rolled across the TV on the wall, showing two dark-skinned men carrying briefcases, leaving a terminal at LAX. The date stamp was from six and a half weeks earlier. “These two men arrived from South America. We’re trying to track them down. Just wanted you to know what they look like.”

Terror sat in the pit of Ben’s belly like a rock. Terror and guilt. He’d brought all this on Rachel. The hospital stay, the pain, the limitations, everything…his fault.

The weight of that crushed in on him, making him stagger, then sink to a chair. “So why aren’t they making another move on either Rachel or Emily?” he asked hoarsely.

“Our theory is that with most of Asada’s assets seized, they can’t. He’s just watching, biding his time.”

And the cat-and-mouse game continued.

BY THE TIME Ben left Brewer’s office, South Village was well on its way to another prosperous day. Having lived elsewhere for so long, it was hard to reconcile the obvious wealth here with the world he knew, which could be full of suffering and hunger.

Stuck in traffic gridlock, he used his cell phone to set up some work for himself, writing a few stories he’d been collecting for a rainy day. He could do this from Rachel’s house during the day. Had to do this, in order to maintain his sanity.

“A home base?” his editor asked in joking horror. “You mean you’ll actually have an address? A land line?”

“Hard to believe, huh?”

“Well, this I’ve got to see. Stay in touch.”

Ben promised and turned onto Rachel’s street. Blissfully unaware of his world and all it contained, Emily sat on the top step of the house. She wore black jeans with a hole in one knee and a snug T-shirt that invited him to Take a Hike in the Angeles Crest Mountains. She had Patches in her lap, sleeping, and the laptop precariously balanced on her knees. Her head was down as she concentrated, her fingers flying over the keys. He could see the twenty- five-foot phone cord attached, running beneath the front door and back into the house.

Was it possible for his heart to squeeze any tighter? How could it be that this beautiful, sweet creature didn’t have friends except for her computer? The urge to hide her, to protect her from the big, bad wolf of life was overpowering, and for a moment he simply watched her, feeling such an ache he didn’t know what to do with himself.

When she noticed him standing there, she closed her computer and grinned, and just like that, his aching heart tipped on its side. God, he loved her. And except for the grace of God it could have been her Asada had gone after. Could still intend to go after.

That hardened him, made him determined to see that nothing, nothing, happened to this child of his heart. He came closer and scratched the groggy Patches on the head. He got his hand licked for his effort.

“I tried to tell Mom about Patches,” Emily said. “But she’s always sleeping. Or grumpy.”

“She’s hurting. Emmie, don’t wait outside for me.”

“South Village is a safe place, Dad.”

“Please, Em.”

“Jeez, okay.”

“And about the dog. You tell your mom today, or I will.”

“Man. You’ve gotten strict.” She glanced at her purple sparkling watch. “We don’t have enough time for artery cloggers.”

Strict? He was strict? Hell, he hardly knew how to be a dad and she thought he was strict? She didn’t know the meaning of the damn word. “How about McDonald’s on the way to school?” he asked.

She put her face next to Patches-who’d been scrubbed in the downstairs bathroom and brushed until the puppy practically shined-wordlessly asking for a sloppy doggy kiss. Patches obliged happily. “Mom hates McDonald’s.”

“So, I’ll pick her up something disgustingly healthy on the way back.”

She let out a slow grin that went a long way toward dissipating the chill he’d had since the early morning phone call. “Okay.”

“Seriously, though, you’re going to have to tell her about the puppy, Emily. I’m tired of hiding her.”

From smile to frown in a heartbeat. “I know.” She kissed the puppy right on the mouth, making him wince.

“Now,” he said.

“Oh, Dad. I can’t tell her now, she’s sleeping again. But I promise to do it first thing this afternoon.” For added effect she blinked her big, huge, adoring eyes at him.

Ah, hell. Strict? That was a joke. He was a sap, a complete sap. “The minute you walk in the door.”

“Promise. Dad?” She tilted her head and studied him more closely than he usually let people study him. “You care about Mom, don’t you? You know, like you used to, when you first had me?”

He’d been long gone by the time Emily had been born, though he’d come back right afterward for a rare visit to South Village. Rachel had refused to see him, but even now he could remember standing in front of the glass partition of the infant nursery, hands wide on the glass, nose pressed to it, staring at her, his baby. “Emily-”

“Because I know you used to love each other. I can see it in the picture Mom has.”

He blinked. “She has a picture?”

“In her jewelry drawer, beneath her ring box. You guys look really young, and you have your arms around her. She’s laughing.” Her gaze went wistful. “She’s laughing really hard and you’re looking at her like you really love her.”

Rachel had kept a picture of them. Hidden. Why would a woman who’d told him to go far, far away do such a thing? It made about as much sense as Emily hoping they still loved each other. “That was a long time ago, Em, you know that.”

“But that doesn’t mean your feelings have to change. Did you love me when I first was born?”

“Very much.”

“Do you love me now?”

Ben closed his eyes. “Of course I do. Em-”

“See? It could happen. You guys could make it happen, if you wanted.”

He sat down next to her, his long thighs brushing her shorter ones. Patches put her little head on his knee and looked at him with hero worship that matched his daughter’s. “Emily, I’m only here because-”

“Because I called you,” she said earnestly. “And I know I kinda fooled you, but you came. You came really fast.