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rude and arrogant, a complete macho jerk. How could Laura ever have fallen in love with him?
    But she had, Claire knew. Laura had loved Ben desperately. And she had never gotten over him. Loving Ben Slocum and having to give him up had ruined her life. Even having his child hadn’t been enough to save her from the depression she felt in losing him.
    Claire glanced at the door of the guest room. Laura had called him a heartthrob. He certainly had the most incredible male physique she had ever seen. Even the jocks in the gym didn’t look as good as Ben, whose hard-muscled body just seemed more authentic.
    As a former SEAL, it actually was. It didn’t mean she had to like him. Still, for Sam, she would try to keep an open mind as much as she could. Laura had loved him. There had to be something good about him.
    Then again, for a while, Laura had thought she was in love with Troy Bridger.
    * * *
    Ben went back to work on the laptop he’d set up on the kitchen table at 5:00 a.m. that morning. Claire was on the computer in her bedroom, digging for information same as he was.
    Her place was nice. Just a few blocks from the beach. It was an older building, condos rented as apartments, but the unit was in good condition, the living room comfortably furnished with a pale green sofa and chairs, a glass-topped black wrought-iron coffee table, cream and pale green throw pillows.
    There was an area with a glass dining table and upholstered, pale green high-back chairs. Lots of beach paintings hung on the walls. Overall, it was simple and elegant but not stark. The kitchen had white cabinets and a round white table with a butcher-block top. Lots of cream and pale green in the dish towels and pot holders, knickknacks on the walls.
    He glanced toward her bedroom. Aside from handing him a cup of coffee, Claire hadn’t said more than a couple of words since he’d run into her in the hall.
    He almost smiled. In only a thin silk robe, her thick mahogany hair curling around her shoulders, her bare legs exposed, she was one sexy lady. Since the last thing he wanted to feel was any sort of physical attraction to a woman he was trying to work with, he needed to keep her at a distance.
    It was working even better than he had planned. Which should have made him happy, but didn’t.
    He was beginning to like Claire Chastain. Yesterday, when she’d stood up for Sam, then stepped in to stop Martha Roberson from calling the police, that feeling had crept up another notch. Hell, he’d even felt a twinge of admiration. Claire was one determined woman.
    He still wasn’t sure if he wanted her to be right about Bridger having Sam or whether it would be better if his son were wandering the streets of L.A.
    Ben gazed down at the computer screen. He’d been surfing the net for hours, trying to find out about the people involved in the case. That was how he needed to look at it—as a case instead of a situation that involved his own flesh and blood. He had to be objective or he wouldn’t be able to do his job.
    He’d started with his ex-fiancée, Laura Thompson. She’d married Tom Schofield less than a year after he and Laura had split up. So much for her broken heart.
    Then again, Laura clearly didn’t have a heart, since he had found her in bed with another man just days after he’d given her an engagement ring.
    He tracked her through old newspaper articles: her engagement, her wedding to Schofield, their divorce six months later. Old courthouse documents filed not long after changed her name back to Thompson.
    He tracked her to Los Angeles where he had hooked up with her again. Her Facebook account was still open. He read personal posts, saw photos of Sam when he was younger.
    It was oddly surreal to see a smaller version of his own face staring back at him. Surreal and surprisingly emotional. When he thought of all the years he had missed with the boy—the Little League games, the parent-teacher meetings, Christmases and birthdays—anger