by Rita Herron
Sage lapsed into silence until they neared the outskirts of Cobra Creek.
“I almost feel sorry for Beverly,” Sage said. “She really thought he was coming back to her.”
Dugan winced. “He fooled her like he did everyone else.”
“Like he did me.” Sage’s tone reeked of self-disgust. “The minute I realized he took Benji with him, without asking me, I was done with the man. He knew how protective I was of my son. Even if he had simply gone shopping, like I thought at first, I would have been furious.” Her voice gained momentum. “You just don’t do that to a mother.”
Dugan agreed.
“If Beverly was right about Carol Sue, and she shot Ron, what did she do with Benji?”
“I’m going to call Jaxon and ask him to search hospital and church records nationwide for any child who might have been abandoned or dropped off around that time.”
“That should have been done two years ago.”
“I agree,” Dugan said, his opinion of the sheriff growing lower by the minute. Gandt should have explored every avenue to find Benji.
“But if Carol Sue dropped him off, surely Benji would have told someone his name.”
A dozen different scenarios ran through Dugan’s mind. Not if he was injured, confused, or traumatized. Or if she’d threatened him.
But he tempered his response so as not to panic Sage. “If Carol Sue did leave him, she might have given false information, signed him in using a different name.”
“You’re right,” Sage said. “The woman could have claimed he was her child, given a fake name and said she was coming back for him.”
Dugan nodded. “I’ll call Jaxon now.”
His phone buzzed just as he reached for it, but suddenly a car raced up behind them and a gunshot blasted the air, shattering the back window.
Sage screamed, and he swerved and pushed her head down, then checked his rearview mirror as the car sped up and slammed into their side.
Chapter Eight
Sage screamed as a bullet pinged off the back of the SUV. Dugan swerved sideways and sped up, but the car behind them roared up on their tail.
“Stay down!” Dugan shouted.
Sage ducked, clutching the seat edge as Dugan veered to the right on a side road. The SUV bounced over ruts in the asphalt, swaying as he accelerated. Suddenly he spun the car around in the opposite direction, tires squealing as he raced back onto the main road.
“What’s happening?” Sage cried.
“I’m chasing the bastard now.”
Sage lifted her head and spotted a black sedan peeling off and getting farther and farther way. “Who is it?”
“I didn’t see his face.” He pressed the gas to the floor and tried to catch the car, but they rounded a curve and the driver began to weave.
Dugan closed the distance, pulled his gun and shot at the sedan’s tires. The car screeched to the right, skidded and spun, then flipped over and rolled. Metal scrunched and glass shattered as it skated into a boulder.
A second later, the car burst into flames.
Dugan yanked the wheel to the left to avoid crashing into it, then swung the SUV to the side of the road and threw it into Park.
Then he jumped out and ran toward the burning vehicle. Déjà vu struck Sage, images of flames shooting from Ron’s car two years ago pummeling her.
That night she’d been terrified Benji had been inside the car.
Today...the driver had shot at them. Tried to kill them.
Why? Because she was asking questions about Benji?
She jerked herself from her immobilized state and climbed out. Dugan circled the car, peering in the window as if looking for a way to get the driver out. But the gas tank blew, another explosion sounded and flames engulfed the vehicle.
Sweat beaded on her forehead, the heat scalding her. She backed away, hugging the side of the SUV as she watched Dugan. He must have realized it was impossible to save the driver, because he strode back toward her, his expression grim.
“Did you see who it was?”
“A man. I didn’t recognize him.” Dugan punched a number into his phone. “Jaxon, it’s Dugan. I want you to run a plate for me.”
Dugan recited the license number, then ran a hand through his hair while he waited.
“Who?” A pause. “No, send a crime team. He’s dead, but maybe they can find some evidence from the car.”
When he hung up, Sage asked, “Who did the car belong to?”
“Registered to a man named Joel Bremmer.”
“Bremmer?”
Dugan nodded. “One of Ron Lewis’s aliases.”
Sage gasped. “But Ron is dead, so he couldn’t have been driving the car.”
Questions darkened Dugan’s eyes. “I know. The M.E. will work on ID once he gets him to the morgue.”
Sage gritted her teeth. “Do you think he was working with Ron?”
“That’s possible.” Dugan traced his thumb under her chin. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, although she was trembling. Heat reddened his face, the scent of smoke and hot metal permeating him.
“Someone doesn’t like us asking questions, Sage. But that means we might be on the right track to finding some answers.”
Dugan’s gruff voice wrapped around her just as his arms did, and for the first time in two years, she allowed herself to lean on another man.
* * *
DUGAN STROKED SAGE’S BACK, soothing her with soft, nonsensical words.
Whoever the bastard was driving the car—he had almost killed them. An inch or two to the right, and that bullet would have pierced Sage’s skull.
Cold fear and rage made him burn as hot as the fire consuming the shooter’s car.
If Sage had died...
No, she was fine. So was he. And he wasn’t going to stop until he unearthed the truth. The fact that someone had shot at them meant he was on the right path. That someone was afraid he’d find Lewis’s killer and Benji.
A siren wailed, and Dugan released Sage. “Are you all right now?”
She nodded and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, thanks, Dugan.”
Blue lights twirled as the sheriff’s car and a fire engine careened toward them. The fire truck screeched to a stop, three firemen jumping down along with a female firefighter who’d been driving.
They rushed to extinguish the blaze while Sheriff Gandt lumbered toward them. “What happened?”
Dugan explained, “The car ran up on us, and the driver shot at us.” He pointed out the bullet hole in the back of his SUV. “I swerved to avoid him and he sped past. Then I turned around and tried to catch him, but he lost control and crashed.”
Gandt scowled as he looked from Dugan to Sage. “He just come up and shot at you, out of the blue?”
Dugan choked back an obscenity. Gandt was the sheriff and he had to cooperate. If he didn’t, the jerk would probably lock him up and then he couldn’t find the truth. But he didn’t like it. “Yes.”
“You’ve been asking questions about Lewis?”
Dugan nodded. “Turns out Ron Lewis had a few other names he went by,” he said. “Then again, I’m sure you already know that.”
A cutting look deepened the sheriff’s eyes. “Of course. I am the sheriff.”
“Right. Have you made any progress on solving his murder?”
“I’m working on it,” Sheriff Gandt said, “which means you need to stay out of my investigation.”
Sage spoke up. “We’re just trying to find my son.”
“Right.” This time Sheriff Gandt’s tone was sarcastic.
A crime van rolled up, interrupting them, and Gandt’s mouth twitched with irritation.
“You called them?”
Dugan nodded. “I figured I’d save you the time.”
The van parked, and two CSIs exited the vehicle and approached them.
Gandt crossed his beefy arms. “If you know something, spit it out, Dugan. Because if I find out you’re holding b
ack, I’ll haul your butt in for interfering with a homicide investigation.”
Dugan gritted his teeth. The hell he would. “I’ve told you all I know.” He gestured toward the charred remains of the sedan. “Tell me when you identify the driver. I’d like to know who tried to kill me.”
Gandt’s steely gaze met Dugan’s, a challenge in his expression. “Sure thing. After all, I was elected to serve and protect.”
Dugan bit back a surly remark, took Sage’s arm and they walked back to his SUV. He had a feeling Gandt would have handed the shooter a gun if it meant getting Dugan out of his hair.
But he’d survived a rough childhood, taunts about being a half-breed, other taunts about being a bastard kid. And then the fights as a teenager, when he’d defended himself.
Gandt couldn’t intimidate him into doing anything. In fact, his obstinacy only fueled Dugan’s drive to get to the bottom of Ron Lewis’s murder.
His phone buzzed, and he checked the number. George Bates at the bank.
Sage slipped into the passenger seat, her expression troubled as she watched the firefighters finishing up.
He took the call. “Dugan Graystone.”
“Listen, Mr. Graystone, after you left the other day, I got to thinking about Lewis and that development and looked back into some foreclosures. Worst part of my job, but sometimes I don’t have a choice.”
“Go on.”
“There were two that troubled me. Two ranchers I threatened foreclosure on, but they paid me off at the last minute. When I asked how they came up with the money, neither one wanted to tell me. They just said they’d had a streak of luck.”
“How so?”
“In both cases, the ranchers were in bad trouble financially. I think they worked out some kind of deal with Lewis, that he offered to pay off their debt by loaning them money from his own company.”
Money that he might have earned through another scam.
“What happened?”
“One of the men came to me complaining that when he got behind on the payments, Lewis took over his property. Said something about he hadn’t read the fine print.”
Dammit. That fit with what Lloyd Riley had told him. If Lewis had a large party interested in paying big bucks for the property once he took control of it, Lewis could have turned a big profit by picking it up at foreclosure prices and then reselling.
And Lewis would have given the men he’d conned motive for wanting him dead.
“When Lewis disappeared, the ranchers asked me to keep it quiet that they’d been cheated.”
A strong motive to convince Bates not to go public, to void the deal. Although technically, they would have had to go through legal channels, fill out paperwork, and look at Lewis’s will, if he had one.
“Which ranchers wanted the deal covered up?”
“I don’t want my name mentioned,” Bates said. “Bank transactions are supposed to be confidential. If folks think I talk about their private business, they’ll quit coming to me.”
“I understand. Just give me the names.”
“Donnell Earnest,” Bates said. “And the other man was Wilbur Rankins.”
“Where are they now?”
“Both are still here. When Lewis died, they refused to move, said they had reason to believe the deals weren’t legal. That they had a ninety day window that hadn’t passed. And so far no one has come forward to uphold the contracts they signed.”
Suspicious in itself. If Lewis had investors or a legitimate corporation, someone would follow up on the deals.
Dugan thanked Bates, then made a mental note to talk to both Earnest and Rankins.
He punched Jaxon’s number as he started the engine and pulled back onto the road. He asked Jaxon to research children, specifically three-year-old boys, who were left at churches, orphanages, hospitals or women’s shelters around the date Benji disappeared.
“Also find out everything you can on these names. Martin’s girlfriend, Carol Sue Tinsley. Handleman’s wife, Maude. And a woman named Beverly Vance. Any one of them could have killed Lewis.”
Jaxon agreed to call him with whatever he learned and then Dugan headed toward Donnell Earnest’s ranch outside Cobra Creek.
* * *
SAGE’S NERVES FLUTTERED. “You know, Carol Sue could have just run off with Benji. Or since she volunteered at a shelter, what if she faked spousal abuse to get help, then left Benji at one of those women’s shelters. From there, they could have disappeared and we may never find them. Carol Sue could have changed their names a dozen times by now.”
“Those groups do have underground organizations to help women escape abusive relationships,” Dugan agreed. “But we have no real reason to suspect that Carol Sue took him. She may have just freaked out when Martin was arrested and decided to skip town in case she was collared as an accomplice.”
“Or she could be dead, too,” Sage suggested.
“Maybe. Hopefully Jaxon will find something on her.”
Another frightening scenario hit Sage. “What if Benji was hurt or in shock? If he was in that crash or witnessed the shooting, he could have been too traumatized or terrified to talk.” Or the shooter could have killed him so there would be no witness left behind.
God...
Dugan squeezed her hand. “I know it’s hard not to imagine the worst that could happen, but Benji’s age could have worked to his advantage. Toddlers and young children don’t make reliable witnesses. And killing a child takes a certain brand of cold-bloodedness that most people don’t possess.”
“You sound like you have a trusting nature,” Sage said wryly.
Dugan made a low sound in his throat. “Not hardly. But I think the fact that we haven’t found Benji may be a good sign that he’s alive.”
Sage tried to mentally hang on to his words.
It was all she had. Besides, she wasn’t ready to give up.
She never would be.
* * *
DUGAN REFUSED TO SPECULATE with Sage, because all the scenarios she mentioned were possible and dwelling on them wouldn’t do anything but frighten her more. God knows he’d seen his share of bad outcomes. He’d even met a couple of men he’d called sociopaths.
But intentionally taking the life of a toddler... That was a different breed. A sociopath, maybe.
He was banking on the fact that Lewis’s killer wasn’t one of them.
Sage’s comment about Carol Sue triggered questions.
What if the woman had abducted Benji? If she was aware of Ron’s various identities, she might have adopted another name and be living somewhere, raising Benji as her own son.
He phoned Jaxon and asked him to look into that angle and to talk to the people at the shelter where Carol Sue volunteered.
Meanwhile he wanted to check out some of Ron’s aliases. Maybe he’d get lucky and find one of them was still active.
He reached the drive for Donnell Earnest’s ranch, the Wagonwheel. Dugan turned the SUV down the dirt drive and drove past several barns and a horse stable. Donnell raised beef cattle, but Dugan saw very few cattle grazing in the pasture.
He parked in front of an ancient farmhouse. Live oaks spread across the dry lawn.
“What’s his story?” Sage asked as they climbed out.
“Apparently Donnell Earnest was in trouble financially. Lewis offered the man a loan to help him pay off his bills, but when he fell behind, Lewis took ownership of his ranch. Bates said that no one has come forward from Lewis’s company about the deal, and that there was a ninety day window that hadn’t passed before Lewis died, so the ranchers think the deal wasn’t legal.” He paused. “Of course, with Lewis’s phony ID, they would have had reason to question the legality anyway.”
“If they’d discovered he was using an alias,” Sage pointed out.
True.
A scrawny beagle greeted them by sniffing his boots and Sage’s leg. She bent to pet him, and Dugan walked up the rickety stairs.
Before he could knock, a heav
yset guy with a thick dark beard appeared at the screened door, a shotgun in his hand.
“Get off my property or I’ll shoot!” Donnell shouted.
* * *
“THE HIT WAS BOTCHED. Graystone and the Freeport woman are still alive.”
“Dammit to hell and back. That body washing up at the creek was a big mistake.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. But the guy deserved to die.”
“That’s not the point. The point is that I don’t want to go to jail.”
“Don’t worry. They’ll never know what happened that day.”
“You swear. Because that Freeport woman is about the most persistent woman I’ve ever known.”
“I told you not to sweat it.” He’d take care of her if he had to.
They’d come too far to get caught now.
Chapter Nine
“Listen, Mr. Earnest,” Dugan said. “I need to ask you some questions about the deal you made with Ron Lewis.”
“That’s none of your business,” Earnest growled.
Dugan gently eased Sage behind him. “I know he cheated you and I don’t care. I’m trying to help Ms. Freeport find her little boy. He disappeared the day Lewis did, and his mother misses him.”
“I do.” Sage stepped up beside Dugan. “I just want to find him, Mr. Earnest. He’s probably scared, and he doesn’t understand what happened to him.”
Donnell waved the gun in front of the screen door. “What makes you think I know something about your kid?”
Sage started to walk forward, but Dugan caught her arm. “Careful. Stay back.”
But Sage ignored him. “I know you don’t have Benji,” Sage said. “But I know Ron Lewis conned you out of your property.”
“This land is mine!” Donnell bellowed.
“Yes, it is. Ron Lewis was not the man’s real name,” Dugan said. “He had several aliases and used them to swindle others besides you.”
“You mean that deal was no good?”
“It’s not legal,” Dugan said, hoping to gain the man’s trust. “The lawyers and bank will have to sort out the details.”
The big man seemed to relax and lowered his gun. “That’s good news, then.”
