Nobody's Child (Georgia Davis Series) by Libby Fischer Hellmann Page A

Bruce!” she called as she slid out of her car. “Is that you?”
    The guy whipped around. Even though she was twenty yards away, a look of panic overspread his face.
    As she trotted across the street, Kreisman appraised her, and some of the panic faded. He was trying to figure out whether he knew her.
    “It
is
you, isn’t it?” She pasted on a grin and kept her voice friendly, almost flirty.
    But when she was within a few feet of him, his eyes narrowed, and he began to turn away. “Sorry. You’ve got the wrong guy.”
    “You’re not Bruce Kreisman?”
    “I don’t know who you’re talking about.” He headed for Benny’s door.
    “You sure you’re not the Bruce Kreisman with an outstanding arrest warrant in Miami?”
    He froze, his back to Georgia. Then he turned around slowly. A cagey look came over him. He had to be thinking that she was “just” a woman. Less of a threat. She was used to it. He backtracked in her direction, a determined look replacing the fear. The asshole thought he had a plan.
    She stood her ground and blew on her hands. The cold, battering wind fell just short of the Hawk.
    He stopped. “Who the hell are you?”
    “My name is Georgia Davis. I’m an investigator.”
    “An investigator?” His voice broke on the word.
    “I’m private.”
    Something in his eyes caught. “I told you I’m not Kreisman.” His face darkened; he looked like he was going to flip her off. Again he spun around as if to leave. Then he stopped. “But the guy who used to own this car was.”
    “Excuse me?” Georgia faked a confused expression.
    “Yeah. I bought this car off of Craigslist. Guy’s name was Kreisman.”
    “So you are…”
    “Josh. Keller.”
    And I’m Taylor Swift,
Georgia thought. She wrapped her muffler tighter around her neck. It was too cold to play games. “Sorry, that won’t cut it, Bruce.” She fished in her pocket, drew out a sheet of paper, and pointed to a photo. Although the printout was black-and-white and not the best resolution, the similarity to the man standing in front of her was unmistakable.
    Kreisman swallowed. He looked like the kid who’d blown off his homework then was called on in class.
    “Look, it’s too cold to talk out here. Let’s go to my car.” Once in the Toyota, she asked, “So how long have you been in Chicago?”
    His gaze flitted everywhere except toward Georgia.
    “About six months, I figure,” she said.
    No response.
    “Well, believe it or not, this is your lucky day, Bruce. I don’t want to make trouble for you. In fact, I’m not interested in
you
at all. You help me out, and I go away. Forever.”
    Now he looked directly at her. “What do you want?”
    “Information.”
    He hesitated, licked his lips, then gave her a brief nod.
    “How many delivery guys does Benny’s have?”
    He was quiet for a minute. Then, “Depends on the day. And shift. There are usually two of us. When it’s really busy, they use a messenger service.”
    “When is your shift?”
    “It changes, depending on the day. Nothing routine.”
    “But you do have regulars, right? Businesses, customers that order a lot?”
    He shrugged in mute acknowledgment.
    “I’m looking for a young girl. Maybe blond. Definitely pregnant. Do you remember delivering to someone like that?”
    “Shit, lady. There are thousands of women like that all over Chicago.”
    “How about during the past couple of weeks?”
    A glint in his eyes told Georgia he knew something, and a smug look came over him. “I might. What’s in it for me?”
    She volleyed the smug look back. “You really have to ask?”
    He glanced around, then nodded.
    “Really?” He was testing her. “Okay, well, you can’t say I didn’t try.” She grabbed her car key, still in the ignition, and fired up the engine.
    His brow furrowed. “What are you doing?”
    “You haven’t given me much choice.” She pulled out her cell. “You can get out now. Have a nice day.”
    His worried look intensified, and he