Page 19 of Sam to the Rescue

“Yes ma’am. Hear that little man?” He tickles the baby and while they play, I dress in black jeans, black t-shirt, and duck my head out the window.

Deciding the weatherman was right, I don a light, loose blazer that covers my weapon and wave goodbye. “I told the Kaplans I’d meet with them this morning. See you in a bit.”

A few minutes later, on the sidewalk in front of our office, I point to the cafe next door. “Want to talk there?”

“Yeah, that would be good.” Gil holds the door for Marta and I follow.

After ordering, we sit facing the street and watch the Arab woman on the sidewalk. While Muslims are common in our neighborhood, the full burqa is not. She carries a baby tucked tightly to her chest.

The scene seems out of place and yet somehow familiar.

I put these thoughts on hold for later and focus on my clients. Marta’s puffy eyes and distraught tone make me feel guilty for not having done more. “Haven’t you heard anything at all?”

“I will soon. I’m sure. Did you bring your father’s electronics?” I should have more clues by now. Perhaps, with more intel, Jason can locate him.

“Here.” The lawyer slides a black leather computer bag across the table while his wife wrings her hands.

“His cell phone is there, as well. My dad never left it behind before.”

“Wait. This isn’t the first time he’s gone missing?” This revelation could be a game changer.

The lost man’s daughter sniffs and dabs her nose with a tissue. “Well, no, but not for a long time. My mother used to complain he’d disappear and come home without telling her anything.”

In my experience, a leopard seldom loses his spots. “I’m sorry but I need to ask. Did your father cheat on her?”

“I don’t think so. They were so much in love.” Frowning as Gil stands, Mrs. Kaplan hangs back and whispers, “There is one thing you should know. After mom died, Dad connected with some old marine buddies. Hopefully, you can log into his computer and find more.”

“Try not to worry. I’ll call you as soon as I find something.”

Chapter 11

Suds

“C’mon, Mikey. Time to go to work.”

“Da-da-da-deeeeeee.” My son holds out his arms.

“Darn straight I’m your dada but it might be nice, for your mama’s sake, if you could say her name once in a while. Understand little buddy?”

He giggles as if it’s funny as hell and when I pack his go-bag, he points to his bottle. “Ba-ba.”

“Yessir. You are correct. Now, try momma.”

“Da-da-da-da-da…” He sings nonstop as I set him in the stroller and begin my lesson. “The thing about ramblin’ son, is this. You need to tell folks some intel, but not too much. Basically, it’s all about the delivery. Understand, this is a mighty powerful weapon I am handing down to you, man to man.”

My little guy listens, eyes wide, as I roll him to our office. In front of the glass door, I pull him out of his walker, fold it with one hand, and tuck him under my arm.

“Honey, I’m home.” My impression of Jack Nicholson must be pretty impressive because Sam snickers as she winds down the iron staircase.

Damn, I miss this place but she’s right. Living in this loft would be way too dangerous for a kid. And, according to her, the lack of another bedroom could,damage a child for life. Still, a clever architect should be able to work some magic and I’m more than ready.

Man cannot survive without a front door.

Once my son is settled in his playpen, I lean over, tip up Sam’s chin with an index finger, and devour her kissable lips. “Hello sexy momma.”

“Hey. No using the ‘S’ word around the baby.” Her tone admonishes as she refocuses on her computer screen.

On the table next to it, a hard drive of a dismantled laptop lays on its side connected by a bunch of wires to her USB port.