by Rita Herron
“Y-yes,” Thacker stammered.
“Where did you go shooting?” Deputy Whitefeather asked.
Thacker wiped sweat from his neck. “To the pond on the north side of my property. My daddy set up a little fishing camp there years ago. That’s always where we went to shoot.”
“Can anyone corroborate your story?”
Fear streaked Thacker’s face. “No. I...I was alone.”
Cash couldn’t stand the tension another minute. Tyler’s life might be hanging in the balance, and Whitefeather was beating around the bush, probably worried about violating the bastard’s rights.
No one had given a damn about his rights when Jasper threw him in a holding cell and refused to let him call anyone for two days. “Is Tyler out at that fishing camp?”
Thacker stumbled backward, his mouth agape. “What do you mean? Why would Tyler be here?”
“Whoever murdered Sondra took Tyler.” Cash’s agitation mounted. “You’d better not have hurt him, Thacker. Now take us to him.”
“I didn’t take the kid.” Thacker looked panicked. “That’s the God-honest truth.”
“Then you won’t mind if we search your property?” Deputy Whitefeather said.
Thacker sucked in a sharp breath, then glanced from one of them to the other, worry darkening his eyes. “You’re serious? Sondra’s little boy is missing?”
“Yes,” BJ said. “He may be in danger. So if you know where he is, tell us. The DA will go a lot easier on you if we find Tyler alive.”
Chapter Twelve
BJ studied Thacker. He was shaking in his shoes.
Because he was innocent or guilty?
He seemed sincerely shocked that Sondra was dead and that Tyler was missing.
You’ve been wrong before.
“You can look around all you want,” Thacker said. “Sondra’s son isn’t here.”
“Did you take him somewhere else?” Cash asked.
“I told you, I didn’t kidnap that kid.” Ronnie scraped a hand through his shaggy, unkempt hair. “Why would I take the boy? I wanted Sondra, not him.”
Cash gave him a cold look. “Maybe you killed Sondra in a fit of passion, but the boy was there and you had to do something, get rid of him.”
“You’re crazy,” Thacker said.
Cash ignored the man’s barb. “Then you had the boy and decided to use him to extract some cash out of Elmore.” Cash gestured at the run-down farm equipment parked by the dilapidated barn. “Looks like you need some updates around here.”
Ronnie shook his head vehemently. “I wanted to fix the place up to impress Sondra. If she’s gone, I’ve got no incentive.”
* * *
“IF YOU’RE INNOCENT, let us look around inside,” BJ said.
Thacker scowled “Don’t you need a warrant?”
“You want me to get a warrant,” the deputy said. “Makes it sound like you’re hiding something.”
Ronnie gripped his hands together. “I ain’t hiding nothing.”
Deputy Whitefeather tossed BJ a pair of latex gloves. “Koker, wait outside and don’t touch anything, you hear me?”
Cash silently cursed. He wanted to do something, dammit. He’d never in his life left his fate to strangers.
BJ is defending you, he reminded himself. And the deputy may be your half brother.
If he couldn’t trust them, he couldn’t trust anyone.
Still, he didn’t like depending on anyone else. Or owing them.
Whitefeather hooked a thumb toward his SUV. “Take me to the pond where you went skeet shooting.”
BJ disappeared inside the house, and Cash leaned against his truck, images of Tyler haunting him as the deputy drove across the farm with Thacker.
“Where are you, Tyler?” Was he safe? Hurt? Terrified?
Did he know that his mother was gone?
A sick feeling welled in Cash’s gut as another possibility occurred to him.
Tyler had been with Sondra the night she’d called him in a panic. He’d heard the little boy’s voice in the background.
He hadn’t come into the bar with her, but what if she’d locked him in the car? That would explain why she’d been in such a hurry to go outside to talk.
Cash’s anxiety mounted. What if Tyler hadn’t been kidnapped for a ransom? What if he’d witnessed his mother’s murder and the killer took him to prevent Tyler from talking?
* * *
BJ KEPT HER senses alert as she entered Thacker’s house. She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for, a toy or kid’s blanket—anything, that might indicate a child had been in the house.
Or that Thacker had kept something of Sondra’s—a souvenir of some sort.
His history of stalking, the restraining order against him, plus the fact that he was at the bar the night Sondra was killed and had no alibi all made him a viable alternative suspect to Cash, at least enough to cast reasonable doubt on Cash’s guilt.
She scanned the entryway. A coat rack with a denim jacket draped over it. Muddy work boots on the floor. She had a clear sight into the den, which held a faded brown plaid couch and a leather recliner. A deer head hung over the mantel. Dark hues and paneling made the place feel masculine, but the threadbare curtains and pillows gave it a dated feel.
No signs a female had been inside. BJ dug through the desk looking for motel receipts indicating that he’d booked a room at the motel where Sondra had been murdered, but the only paperwork she found were past-due bills.
She moved to the kitchen next. The outdated linoleum was ripped, and the cabinets desperately needed painting. A chipped pine table held empty coffee cups and dirty dishes along with takeout bags. The refrigerator held a carton of milk, eggs, stale bread and leftovers. No kids’ cereal or juice or any sign that Tyler had been here.
She examined the pantry and coat closet, then moved to the extra bedroom. An ancient iron bed with a faded throw and tattered carpet. Nothing suspicious.
Next she scoped out Thacker’s bedroom. An oak bed with a rustic quilt, brown armchair, curtains hanging askew. Again, no signs of a female or a child.
Thacker had supposedly stalked Sondra, though.
Stalkers were obsessive; they fed their fantasies by keeping photographs or objects belonging to the people they were infatuated with.
She searched Thacker’s dresser drawers. Nothing female inside.
Still not satisfied, she dropped to her knees and peered under Thacker’s bed.
A boot box.
Her interest spiked, she pulled it out and lifted the top. There were dozens of pictures of Sondra inside.
Candid shots of Sondra in town, exiting a restaurant, entering a store, at the park with Tyler, riding on the ranch with Tyler.
A cold chill rippled up BJ’s spine.
In the pictures, Sondra looked beautiful with the sun glinting off her sun-kissed skin and hair. The love and adoration for her son brought tears to BJ’s eyes.
A mother and son’s bond was special.
If Tyler was alive and they found him, he would grow up without his mother.
That fact alone hardened her resolve to find the truth.
* * *
CASH SCANNED THE property for a place Thacker could hide Tyler. He strode around the outside of the house in search of a crawl space, root cellar or emergency underground fallout shelter, but found nothing.
Damn.
A dilapidated barn that looked as if it was sinking into the ground sat to the right. He started toward it, but BJ shouted his name just as he reached for the wooden door.
“Cash, I told you not to touch anything.”
He kicked the dirt at his feet, but stepped to the side. “I haven’t touched anything. But we should give this place a look.”
<
br /> She blew out a breath that sent her bangs flying upward as she walked toward him. She looked so damn sexy, he wanted to feather his fingers through the strands.
Good grief. How long had it been since he’d been laid?
He couldn’t remember. He’d been so damned focused on working and saving money for his own spread that his personal life had been put on the back burner. That was the only reason he was attracted to this uppity lawyer lady.
Only she didn’t seem quite as uppity as he’d first thought. With her hair tangled around her cheeks, she looked downright earthy. He wondered what she’d look like if she ever let go.
She paused at the door, her gaze dark and intense. “I found pictures of Sondra inside. Thacker definitely had an unhealthy obsession with her.”
Cash clenched his jaw. “You find anything else?”
She shook her head. “No signs of Tyler or that he’d been in the house.”
“You know if he was watching Sondra, even if he didn’t kill her, he could have seen the person who did.”
“I’ll ask him.’ BJ said.
“Check the pictures. Maybe he caught someone else watching her in one of the pictures he took.”
“Good point.” BJ examined each one, scrutinizing the backgrounds. “I don’t see anything here.”
Cash sucked in a breath. “I searched the exterior. No root cellar or emergency fallout shelter where he could have hidden Tyler.”
BJ reached for the wooden door to the barn. “Then let’s look in here.” She jiggled the latch, but it was locked. Cash scanned the area, then spotted some tools in a corner of the makeshift carport. He found a pair of bolt cutters, then broke the lock.
Cash held his breath and paused to listen as she opened the door.
* * *
BJ PULLED A small flashlight from her pocket and waved it around the interior of the barn. With the two windows boarded up, the space was dark, and a stench permeated the air.
A low sound, like scratching, drifted to her, and she paused. Tyler? Was he locked inside something in here?
She scanned the floor and walls. Shelves had been built on the far side, and farm tools hung nearby. A wooden door to the left probably led to a tack room. She crossed to it, then jiggled the knob, but the door wouldn’t open.
It had been nailed shut.
“Something’s inside.” Cash grabbed a tool from the wall, rushed back to her and used the tool to rip out the nails. Wood cracked and splintered. Cash jerked the door open and BJ shone the flashlight across the space. Dirt and straw on the floor. An old saddle and ratty blanket on the wall.
“I don’t see anything,” BJ murmured.
Cash gestured toward the corner. The wood in the corner was rotting, and several boards were cracked. He yanked one away. “Looks like raccoons got in.”
BJ covered her nose as the stench grew heavier.
“Two dead inside the wall,” Cash pointed out. Animal droppings. “Looks like there might have been a whole family, but the others got out.”
Relieved it wasn’t Tyler, BJ sighed and backed from the room. Cash followed, his own relief palpable in the breath he exhaled.
“There’s nothing here,” BJ said.
Cash lifted the flashlight and aimed it toward the back of the barn. “There’s another door.”
BJ followed him past the tools, weaving between a rusted wheelbarrow and a bundle of hay. Cash pushed the door open, and they stepped into a pen that led to two stalls.
Hay bales were stacked in one corner. Cash headed toward them. Was Tyler behind the bales?
Cash lifted one and threw it to the side, and BJ jumped in to help. One by one, they moved the bales until they could see behind the stack.
Nothing.
Relief blended with disappointment. Where was Tyler? Was he on this ranch or were they wasting precious time?
* * *
THE BARN WAS EMPTY.
If Tyler was on the ranch, where was he?
Cash’s gut tightened. What if the boy was here but he wasn’t alive? There were acres of land where Thacker could have hidden—or buried—him.
Nausea rose to his throat. Surely to God Thacker wouldn’t have been so cruel.
Cash stepped outside into the pen and searched the ground for freshly turned earth. The soil was dry, flat, with hay scattered around as if the wind had blown it into the pen.
He opened the gate and scanned the area, then noticed footprints in the dirt. Following the path the footprints made, he walked up the hill, where they ended by a cottonwood.
He sucked in a breath. The grass beneath the tree was patchy, the dirt disturbed. It also created a small mound.
Fear shot through him. The mound was small—the perfect size for a child’s grave.
Chapter Thirteen
BJ sensed something was wrong.
Cash had rushed up the hill as if he’d found something. Now he stood ramrod straight, his head bowed, his face strained.
She took a deep breath and hurried to join him, her heels digging into the dirt. When she reached the cottonwood, she gently touched his shoulder. “Cash, what is it?”
He pivoted, the grim expression in his eyes tearing at her heart. Then he gestured toward the ground.
BJ’s chest clenched at the sight of the mound of dirt. Denial screamed in her head as the memory of her own son’s grave flashed before her. Her pulse quickened. A dizzy spell overcame her, and she staggered sideways.
“I’m going to get a shovel,” Cash said gruffly.
A fine sheen of perspiration coated BJ’s neck, and she leaned against the tree and forced calming breaths just as her therapist had taught her. For months after she’d lost her husband and son, she hadn’t wanted to go on. She’d wanted to join the two of them in heaven.
Her therapist assured her those feelings were normal, that she just needed time to heal. Everyone told her the grief would lessen over time.
It hadn’t. Sometimes a picture or a song or seeing another child brought it all back, pain so raw that she felt as if she was drowning in it.
The wind kicked up, shaking the leaves and adding a chill to her already trembling body. Her vision blurred.
Her little boy’s face appeared. It’s okay, Mommy. I love you.
Tears burned her eyes, and she blinked, willing them not to fall until she was back at the cabin, alone.
One slipped down her cheek, anyway.
Reality returned as Cash appeared with a shovel. His hand brushed her cheek. “BJ?”
She sighed, stifling emotions that had a will of their own.
“Are you okay?” Cash asked, his voice low. Concerned.
She brushed the tear away. “He can’t be in there, Cash. He just can’t.”
His mouth tightened, then he gave her arm a quick, soft squeeze. “Go back to the car. I’ll let you know when I finish.”
She shook her head. She had to be here. If Tyler was in the ground and Cash dug him up, the police would have dozens of questions. Why was Cash at the grave? How did he know where the boy’s body was?
Because he’d buried him...
* * *
CASH CLENCHED THE shovel with a white-knuckled grip. BJ looked as if she was going to faint. Was she just worried about Tyler, or was something else wrong?
He touched her hand and her skin felt clammy. “At least sit down, BJ. You don’t look well.”
She nodded weakly, then stumbled a few feet away from the mound, sank onto the grass and leaned her head back against the tree. “You should wait on Deputy Whitefeather.”
“If he’s searching the farm, he may be a while.” And Cash had to know if Tyler was buried here. He sensed BJ did, too.
“We still need to wait, Cash. If there’s a body an
d you contaminate it with your prints, it’ll be hard to prove that you didn’t put it there.”
Cash jammed the shovel into the ground. Anger, worry for Tyler and anxiety fueled his adrenaline, and he paced back and forth. “You can’t think I’d put a little boy in the ground.”
BJ shook her head. “I don’t, but believing you and proving your innocence are two different things. If I’m going to clear you, you have to take my advice.”
“Of course I want you to clear me, but Tyler is more important.” Although if Tyler was buried by the tree, it was too late to save him.
That fear made his knees give way. He caught himself and stiffened his spine. Dead or alive, he’d find Tyler, and he’d make whoever took him pay.
An engine rumbled, and Deputy Whitefeather’s SUV chugged down the graveled drive. Hope spiked that Whitefeather had found Tyler safe. Cash rushed down the hill toward the SUV.
Whitefeather slid from the driver’s side and Thacker from the passenger seat. Cash gave the deputy a questioning look.
“No sign of Tyler,” Deputy Whitefeather said in a low voice.
“I told you, I didn’t take the boy,” Thacker said. “You’re wasting time talking to me when you should be looking for him.”
Cash cleared his throat. “There’s a grave at the top of the hill, Thacker.”
Whitefeather pivoted, leveling Thacker with a suspicious look. “You buried someone on your property?”
Thacker bounced his leg up and down. “No, it’s my dog. He died a couple of months ago.”
Whitefeather crooked his head toward the hill. “Let’s see.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Thacker said in a childish whine.
“Kidnapping and murder are not anything to joke about,” Whitefeather said.
“I...didn’t mean it like that,” Thacker argued.
“I found a shovel.” Cash pointed to BJ. “We were waiting on you.” BJ had insisted, but the deputy didn’t have to know that.
Whitefeather jerked his thumb at Thacker. “Come on, let’s see if you’re telling the truth.”
Thacker glared at Cash, but led the way. Cash followed behind Whitefeather, his pulse hammering.
If Thacker was lying and they found Tyler in that grave, he’d kill the son of a bitch with his bare hands.
