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descript, several years old, blue Nissan sedan—a car meant for surveillance—and the newer dark gray Hyundai Sonata that he’d rented for the day. Though he was certainly no prize himself, Mr. Dorell Cochran, the producer who’d had the misfortune of marrying the beautiful and wily Kimberley Babbs, had been clear that he was ready to pay almost any amount of money to get the goods on his wife.
“Do what you have to do,” the bear of a man had growled. “Just goddamn get it done.”
Sleazy work? Well, yeah. Not as satisfying as helping families find missing loved ones? That, too. But issues like the Cochrans’ paid the bills, handsomely, and though occasionally dangerous—Kingston did sport that scar behind his ear where a really pissed off football player who hadn’t been quite good enough for the pros had taken offense when Rex had convinced his terrified ex-girlfriend to go to the police and testify about all his criminal activities—at least it wasn’t boring. Luckily that brute was still in jail and Rex’s ear was still intact.
He’d been shot at once, too, though that was while he was still on the force. The bullet had missed by a good six inches. That’s what he told himself, though the memory of that still had the power to send a shiver down his back. It had served as one of the reasons he’d left law enforcement, though it was the bureaucracy that was the true culprit of his disillusionment. His current profession had found him rather than the other way around; people wanted help in all manner of family issues without the straitjacket of police policies. Not that Rex worked outside the confines of the law, usually. Just sometimes. In any case, his business had flourished over the past decade. He was at the point where he couldn’t do it all by himself and had been thinking of taking on a partner.
As he turned down the back hall, he made the mistake of garnering a look at the newcomer—a young woman in loose, drab clothing, a backpack slung over one shoulder, a dark blond braid draped over the other, facing down Bonnie as if they were readying for one-on-one combat. Bonnie, who was just as young, but dark-haired, half-Hispanic, and fiery when her authority was questioned was glaring at the newcomer with flashing dark eyes.
Rex immediately turned and headed to the front of his establishment, which was little more than a small reception area, two chairs, Bonnie’s desk, and a rather sickly looking plant in a pot near the window. “Hello,” he said, greeting the girl.
She regarded him with wary blue-green eyes. She would have been drop-dead gorgeous if she tried at all, but he could sense that appearance was way down her list of priorities. She had a grimness of purpose about her that clearly wasn’t going to be put off by the fact that Bonnie had puffed up like a bantam rooster.
“Are you the private investigator?” she asked. “Rex Kingston?”
“It’s Mr. Joel Kingston,” Bonnie corrected flatly.
“A lot of people call me Rex,” he said, seeking to pour oil on troubled waters. Sometimes Bonnie was more trouble than she was worth. “More people than call me Joel.”
“Do you find missing persons?” she asked, lifting her chin.
“Yes. Sometimes.”
“I would like to hire you to find my cousin.”
Bonnie put in tightly, “I told her the agency rates and she swore and said we were criminals.”
“I said, ‘God Almighty, that’s insane. You’re all a bunch of bandits down here,’ ” the girl corrected.
“Down here?” Rex questioned.
She circled the receptionist’s desk to shake hands with Rex, watching Bonnie like a hawk. “I came from the Oregon coast, a town called Deception Bay.”
“Hitchhiking?” Bonnie asked, wrinkling her nose.
The girl faintly smiled. “Mostly. My name’s Ravinia.”
Rex shook her hand. “Ravinia,” he repeated. “Do you have a last name?”
“It’s just Ravinia, for now.”
He stared at her. Folded his arms across his chest. “Okay, but if you want me to help you, you have to be honest with me. That’s the deal.”
Ravinia nodded slowly, her frown saying she was really thinking that one over.
Bonnie’s eyebrows shot up and the glance she gave him silently said See? I told you so. Nut job.
Ravinia caught the look and her own eyes narrowed at the receptionist before she turned back to Rex, jaw taut.
Purposely ignoring the interplay, Rex asked, “So, Ravinia, you want to find your cousin?”
“I have money.” She threw a defiant look Bonnie’s way.
Bonnie had lapsed into injured silence.
He could tell she thought he hadn’t backed her up enough. “I’m on my way out. Why don’t you come by tomorrow morning and we’ll discuss what you want to do.”
“I’ll pay your bandit’s rates if I have to, but I’m not leaving,” Ravinia said. As if to underscore her point, she dropped her backpack on the floor and sank down beside it, seating herself cross-legged on the floor.
