by Rita Herron
The boy shrugged, his leather jacket straining his linebacker shoulders. “We weren’t doing anything wrong.”
The girl yanked on a jacket, then inched up behind the guy, her eyes wide with fear. “Please don’t hurt us, mister.”
“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” Dugan said, irritated they’d drawn him away from Sage’s. What if someone really was watching her house, and Dugan was chasing two randy teenagers and that person got to Sage?
“I thought you were stalking the inn, here to cause trouble for the owner.”
The boy said a dirty word that Dugan didn’t even use himself. “We came here ’cause Joy’s mama won’t let me come to the house.”
“I can’t say as I blame her,” Dugan said, “considering you’re mauling her daughter and cussing like a sailor.”
“He wasn’t mauling me,” the girl said, her tone stronger now. “I’m seventeen. I make my own choices.”
These teenagers weren’t his problem. When he was the boy’s age, he was probably doing the same thing.
Dugan tucked his gun back in his holster, then gestured for them to settle down. “Go on, get out of here.” He gave the boy a warning look. “And don’t come back to these woods again.”
“No, sir, we won’t.” The boy grabbed the girl’s hand, and they hurried back toward the wide part of the creek where they’d crossed in a small boat from the other side.
Something about seeing that boat nagged at Dugan. The creek ran wide and deep in certain areas and eventually emptied into the river that kayakers, rafters and boaters frequented. People could park in one area and boat to the other. In fact, rafters or boaters often parked cars in two areas, one where they put in and the other where they got out.
He remembered glancing at the report showing the location of Lewis’s crash.
He wanted to see that report again. And he wanted to go back and walk the search grid, as well. Maybe the sheriff and his team had missed something.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING Sage rolled over, sated and more rested than she had been in ages.
Memories of making love with Dugan the night before floated back in a euphoric haze.
But the bed beside her was empty. Not just empty but cold, as if Dugan hadn’t slept there.
She’d been so deep in slumber that she hadn’t even known when he’d left her bed.
Two years of exhausting, sleepless nights had finally caught up with her.
But morning sunlight poured through the window, slanting rays of light across the wood floors and reminding her that today was one more in a long list where Benji wasn’t home.
One more day closer to another Christmas she would spend alone.
God, she was so tired of being alone.
Her heart clenched as if in a vise. What if she never found him? Could she go on day after day without knowing? Would the fear and anxiety eventually destroy her?
Throwing off the covers, she slid from bed. Muscles she hadn’t used in forever ached, but with a sweet kind of throb that had eased the tension from her body and chased the nightmares away. At least for a little while.
She hurried into the shower, regretting the fact that the inn was empty of guests. At least having to cook breakfast for guests gave her something to do to start the day. Some sense of normalcy when nothing in her life for the past two years had been normal.
Dugan...was he still here?
She quickly showered and threw on some clothes, then dried her hair and pulled it back at the nape of her neck with a clip. Last night had sent them hunting down a false lead.
But today might provide another lead to pursue. She firmly tacked her mental resolve into place.
Rejuvenated by the night of mind-blowing sex, she pulled on boots and hurried to the kitchen. A pot of coffee was half-full and still warm. She poured herself a cup, then searched the living area for Dugan, but he wasn’t inside.
Had he left? Why hadn’t he told her?
She took her coffee to the back porch and found him there in one of the rocking chairs. He looked rumpled, his beard growth from the day before rough and thick, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep.
“Have you been out here all night?”
“Off and on.”
She sipped her coffee and sank onto the porch swing, using her feet to launch it into a gentle sway. “Why did you leave the bed?”
Silence, thick and filled with regret, stretched between them for a full minute before he spoke. “I offered to do a job, Sage. I shouldn’t have slept with you.”
True. But his words stung. Still, she sucked up her pride and lifted her chin. “So, what do we do today?”
“Last night I saw a shadow in the woods and came out to check it. Turned out it was a couple of teenagers necking in the woods.”
Why was he telling her this? “So?”
“I ran them off, but it started me thinking about the day Lewis crashed.”
“I don’t get the connection.”
“The teenagers tied a boat downstream. They took it back across the creek where they’d probably left a car.”
Sage sipped her coffee again, the caffeine finally kick-starting her brain and dragging her mind away from memories of bedding Dugan again.
That was obviously the last thing on his mind.
“Anyway, after the crash, no bodies were found in the fire or anywhere around the area. Which made me start thinking—if Benji is alive and he didn’t die with Lewis, who we now know was murdered—how did the shooter escape? As far as I know, the police report didn’t mention another car. No skid marks nearby or evidence anyone else had stopped until the accident was called in.”
Slowly, Sage began to grasp where he was headed. “You’re thinking that whoever killed Ron escaped on a boat across the creek?”
Dugan shrugged. “It’s possible.” He stood. “It’s also possible that Lewis was meeting someone else. It’s just a theory, but let’s say that he had reconnected with his first love, Sandra Peyton.”
“The woman who’d been pregnant and lost his child.”
“Exactly.” Dugan stood. “What if she was meeting him and he planned to take Benji to her so they could have the family they’d lost?”
Hope sprouted in Sage’s head again.
They had to find Sandra Peyton. But if she had Benji, she probably didn’t want to be found.
* * *
DUGAN WANTED TO look at that report again, and see the area for himself, so he drove to the sheriff’s office.
Sage insisted on accompanying him. Luckily Gandt was out, but the deputy was in. Once Dugan explained that he was helping Sage look for her son, the deputy pulled the file, handed it over and allowed Dugan to make a copy while he returned some phone calls.
“Was there any mention of a boat?” Sage asked as she looked over his shoulder.
“I’m looking.” Dugan skimmed the report. The accident had happened at approximately six-forty. A motorist had called it in when she saw the fire shooting up from the bushes.
Sheriff Gandt had arrived along with the fire department, but the car was already burned beyond saving. Once the fire had died down and the rescue workers found no evidence of anyone inside, Gandt organized a search party to comb the area.
During that two-hour interval, Lewis’s shooter had escaped.
Dugan spread the photos of the area across the desk in the front office. Sage made a low, troubled sound as she studied the pictures. The land looked deserted. The weather had been cold that day, patches of dead brush and desolate-looking cacti.
“No boat,” Sage said.
“The shooter could have been following Lewis. He caused the crash, then shot Lewis...or he shot him first, causing Lewis to crash.”
“If he shot him first, why not let the fire take care of destroying evidence and his body?” Sage asked.
“Because finding the body proves Lewis was murdered, that he didn’t die in an accident.”
Sage shivered. “If the shooter dragged him
out, he must have been bleeding. But I don’t see blood in the pictures.”
“You’re right.” Dugan analyzed each one, looking for signs that a body had been dragged from the car, but saw nothing.
He tried to piece together another possibility. What if Lewis had planned to meet someone and fake his death with the car crash? Perhaps whoever it was he’d met had turned on him and shot him.
But why not leave Benji?
Maybe the shooter took Lewis and Benji at gunpoint, shot Lewis, then dumped his body? But again, why take Benji? Because he was a witness?
“Sage, I’d like to go back to the scene and walk the area.”
“If you think it’ll help.”
“Sometimes I work with a dog named Gus. He’s an expert tracker dog. Do you have something of Benji’s that carries his scent, for Gus to follow?”
Another pained look twisted Sage’s face. “Yes.”
The deputy was still on the phone, so Dugan mouthed his thanks and they left. He drove to the inn, and Sage hurried inside to get something that had belonged to her son.
* * *
SAGE CLUTCHED BENJI’S BLANKET to her and inhaled his sweet scent. Even after two years, it still lingered. She hadn’t washed it, and had held on to it for his return, the memory of him cuddling up to it so vivid that it still brought tears to her eyes.
She blinked them back, though, and carried the blanket to Dugan, who was waiting in his SUV.
“He slept with this all the time,” Sage said. “I...don’t know how he made it the past two years without it.”
Dugan squeezed her hand as she laid it in her lap. “Hang in there, Sage.”
That was the problem. She was hanging on to the hope of finding him alive and bringing him home.
As strong as she pretended to be on the surface, she didn’t know if she could handle it if that hope was crushed.
Her mind traveled down that terrifying path that had opened up to her two years ago, to the possibility that he was dead and that they might find his body lying out in the wilderness somewhere. She’d seen the stories on the news and had no idea how parents survived something so horrible.
Dugan drove to his place, a ranch with horses running in the pasture and cattle grazing in the fields, and she forced herself to banish those terrifying images.
“I didn’t know you had a working ranch.”
Dugan shrugged. “I have a small herd, and I train quarter horses in my spare time.”
“And you still have time to consult on cases?”
“Search-and-rescue missions mostly. I have a couple of hired hands, teens from the rez, who help out here.”
They climbed out, and she noted the big ranch house. It was a sprawling, rustic log house with a front porch, a house that looked homey and inviting.
A large chocolate Lab raced up and rubbed up against Dugan’s leg. He stooped down and scratched the dog behind his ears. “Hey, Gus. I’ve got a job for you.”
The dog looked up at him as if he understood.
“Did you train him?” Sage asked.
Dugan nodded. “I need to grab a quick shower and change clothes.”
Memories of the two of them making love the night before teased her mind, but she reminded herself that he’d stayed with her because someone had tried to kill them, not because he was in love with her.
“Gus, come.” Dugan instructed the dog to stay at the front door when they entered, and she noted the Native American artifacts and paintings of nature and horses on the wall. Dark leather furniture, rich pine floors and a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace made the den feel like a haven.
Dugan disappeared into a back room, and she heard the shower water kick on. She tried not to imagine him naked again, but she couldn’t help herself.
Trace and Ron had been good-looking men, but more business types than the rugged, outdoorsy rancher Dugan was.
She spotted a collection of arrowheads on one wall and handwoven baskets on another. But there were no personal touches, no photographs of family or a woman in the house.
She couldn’t imagine why a sexy, strong, virile man like Dugan didn’t have a woman in his life.
He probably has dozens.
She dismissed the thought. She had to concentrate on finding Benji. When she brought him home, he would need time to acclimate. Like Humpty Dumpty, she’d have to put the pieces of her family back together again.
Dugan appeared, freshly shaven and wearing a clean shirt and jeans, and nearly took her breath away. Lord help her.
He attached his holster and gun, then settled his Stetson on his head and called for Gus. “Are you ready?” he asked.
She nodded and pushed images of Dugan’s sexy body from her mind.
Finding Benji and rebuilding her family was all that mattered.
* * *
DUGAN PARKED AT the site of the crash, and they climbed out. He knelt and held Benji’s blanket up to the dog to sniff. Gus was the best dog he’d ever had. He had personally trained him, and so far the dog had never let him down.
Although with two years having passed, it was doubtful he’d pick up Benji’s scent.
Gus took a good sniff, then lowered his nose to the ground and started toward the creek. Dugan followed him, Sage trailing him as Gus sniffed behind bushes and trees and along the creek bank.
But Gus ran up and down the creek, then stopped as if he’d couldn’t detect Benji’s odor.
Dugan wasn’t giving up. He began to comb the area, pushing aside bushes and bramble. Sage followed his cue.
Weeds choked the ground, the dirt dry and hard along the bank. Dugan leaned down to see something in the brush.
A second later, he pulled a tennis shoe from the weeds.
The devastation in Sage’s eyes told him the shoe had belonged to her son.
Chapter Seventeen
“That’s Benji’s shoe.” Sage stepped closer. “How did it get in the bushes?”
Dugan didn’t want to frighten her with speculations, so he tried to put a positive spin on it. “He could have lost it near the car and an animal found it and carried it here.”
Gus sniffed the ground again, and Dugan searched the bushes for the other shoe or any signs of Benji.
Grateful when he didn’t find bones, he released a breath. Gus turned the opposite direction and sniffed again, then followed the creek, heading closer to the town and the inn. But again, the time and elements made it impossible to track.
However, they did find an area used for putting boats in and out.
Sage wrung her hands together as she looked across the creek. “Maybe Ron realized he was in trouble, that someone was on to his scam, and he planned to meet that woman Sandra here. Or Carol Sue, one of his other girlfriends or wives?”
Dugan knew she was grasping at straws, but he didn’t stop her. “Sounds feasible.”
“Maybe he handed Benji off to this woman before he was shot,” Sage said.
Dugan shrugged. He doubted that was the case, but he’d be damned if he destroyed Sage’s hopes without proof.
They spent another hour coaxing Gus with the blanket and shoe, but they turned up nothing, and Gus kept returning to the site where Dugan thought a boat had been.
The fact that they didn’t find Benji’s other shoe meant he could have still had it on or that it had floated downstream.
His phone buzzed, and he checked it. Jaxon.
He connected the call. “Yeah?”
“I have an address for Martin’s girlfriend, Carol Sue.”
“Text it to me.”
They hung up and the text came through. Carol Sue lived about forty miles from Cobra Creek.
With no traffic, he could make it there in thirty minutes.
But as he and Sage and Gus headed back to his SUV, he spotted something shiny in the grass. He paused, bent down and brushed a few blades away, then plucked a bullet casing from the ground.
“What is it?” Sage asked.
He held it up to the light. “A
bullet. I’ll send it to the lab for analysis.”
If it was the same one that had shot Lewis, identifying the bullet could lead them to the gun that had shot the man.
And to his killer.
* * *
SAGE FOLLOWED DUGAN into the lab, where he dropped off the bullet casing he’d found in the weeds by the creek. He introduced her to Jim Lionheart, who ran the lab.
“It’s bent, but it looks like it’s from a .38,” Lionheart said. “I’ll run it. Lots of .38s out there, though. If you bring me a specific gun, I can match it.”
“I’m working on it,” Dugan said. “Did you see the M.E.’s report on Wilbur Rankins’s death?”
Lionheart shook his head no. “You want me to pull it up?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
Dugan followed Lionheart to the computer. “Why are you interested in his autopsy?”
“Rankins’s grandson called me and said he heard his father and grandfather arguing before he heard the shot.”
“You mean his grandson thinks his own father killed his grandfather?” Sage asked.
“He was suspicious. Of course, Gandt didn’t even question it.”
Lionheart accessed the report, a scowl stretching across his face. “Hmm, odd. Rankins was shot with a handgun. But most of the ranchers around here use rifles or shotguns.”
Sage saw the wheels turning in Dugan’s head.
“Find out if the bullet I brought in is the same kind that killed Rankins.”
“Will do.”
“Didn’t they do an autopsy?” Sage asked.
“It’s standard in a shooting, but I don’t think they’ve ordered one. Since Junior’s daddy was dying of cancer anyway and was humiliated by the questions I was asking about the land deals, Junior figured his father just wanted to end the pain.”
“I’ll call you when I get something.”
Dugan thanked him, and Sage walked with him back to his vehicle. “But why would Junior kill Wilbur?” Sage asked. “If he wanted his land, he’d eventually get it.”
“Good question,” Dugan said. “And one I intend to find the answer to.”
* * *
QUESTIONS NAGGED AT DUGAN as he drove toward the address he had for Carol Sue. There were too many random pieces to the puzzle, but they had to fit somehow.
