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differ ent?”
    Parker Simms was different—though she didn’t want to ask herself why. Sandy was half-right, though; most people’s doubts hadn’t slowed her down. But they had bothered her. Like everyone else, she wanted acceptance and approval.
    She glanced down the hallway to make sure she was still alone. It was empty. “Okay. Okay, I’ll give Parker the benefit of doubt. But if he’s a lousy partner, I’m ditching him. I can’t afford the distraction.”
    “No, you can’t.”
    Caron didn’t like Sandy’s tone. Something hid there, but she couldn’t put her finger on what exactly. Still, if he was willing to vouch for Simms... Well, the least she could do was to talk to him. “I’ve got to go.”
    “Keep in touch.” He sounded anxious.
    Caron quirked a brow at the phone. “Three-one-two-two-four,” she said, repeated the code number that let her access his answering machine for messages. That was how they’d always kept tabs on each other during a case.
    “Right.”
    After hanging up, Caron ducked into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her cheeks and wrists, then went out to the dining room.
    Parker stood up at a secluded booth and waved her over. When she’d been in the car and seated in Sandy’s office, she hadn’t realized just how big he was. But standing next to Simms, it was obvious. At least six-three, and as broad-shouldered as a linebacker.
    “Well, did Sandy give you the green light on me?”
    Direct. She liked that. But she didn’t like the gleam in his eyes. He could be a charmer when he wanted to, and she had no use for charmers. “He vouched for you, yes.”
    “Good.” Parker laced his hands together on the scratched tabletop.
    A waitress stepped up. He smiled at her, and the woman nearly drooled. The female in Caron fully understood that; he was a dynamite-looking man. A curl teased his left ear. She wanted to brush it back.
    “Caron?” His tone cued her he’d asked before.
    “Sorry.” What was she doing having fantasies about touching the man? She didn’t even like him. Her face flushed hot. “Excuse me?”
    “What will you have?” the waitress asked.
    “Coffee.”
    “Cream and sugar?”
    “No. Black.” She saw the corner of Simms’s mouth turn down, and asked the waitress, “Do you have candy bars? Butterfingers?”
    “No.” She pointed with the tip of her pencil through the window. “Seven-Eleven does. Right across the street.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Sir?” The waitress shifted toward Parker, her expres sion softening.
    “Coffee, black,” he said with a smile that could undoubtedly twist an unsuspecting woman right around his pinky.
    “Yes, sir.”
    Caron wasn’t unsuspecting. Her leg stung like fire. She grimaced and slapped at it. Nothing was there, but the sting didn’t ease. The little girl? Caron wondered.
    The waitress returned with the cups. Chilled, Caron wrapped her hands around hers to warm them. “So, Parker Simms, tell me. Why do you want to work with me when you don’t believe there’s been an abduction?”
    His cup stopped in midair. He took his time sipping, then answered. “I don’t.”
    Was he intentionally being ambiguous? “You don’t want to work with me, or you don’t believe there’s been an ab duction? Which do you mean?”
    “Both,” he said, without a trace of remorse.
    His ease made her edgy. “So why waste your time?”
    “I prefer working alone.” Steam from his coffee had him squinting. “But I’m not willing to risk being wrong about this.”
    That, she completely understood. But he was still fenc ing with words. Direct, but cagey. She had the feeling they were discussing two different topics, and she was only privy to one. She was certain he hadn’t disclosed his real reasons for getting involved. So maybe it was time to stop being defensive and take the offensive.
    “Why are you putting your backside on the line in a case you don’t believe exists? And, please, don’t tell me it’s for your