Jake (A Wyoming Sky Novel)

by R. C. Ryan

  “How long ago was that?”

  “I’m guessing it was eight years ago. My father’s second wife had died, and shortly after that he hired Arabella to clean his house. Sometime after that he married her and Cory was born. Cory’s seven now.”

  “So, the kid’s mother and this guy in the picture were drifters?”

  Meg shrugged. “I really don’t know anything about them.” She handed Raven the spiral notebooks. “I believe these belonged to Cory’s mother. As you study them you’ll notice that she’s often signed the papers as Hazel Godfrey, but in most instances, that name is crossed out and replaced with Arabella.”

  “Sounds like Hazel Godfrey decided to reinvent herself.”

  Meg nodded. “That’s what I think, too. But I have no clue about this Blain. Except…”

  “Except what?” Raven’s tone sharpened.

  “I think he was in the back of the church during my father’s funeral. I can’t be certain. By the time the service ended, the pew was empty. But it’s just a feeling I have.”

  “Okay. It stands to reason that he’d know your father, if the girl he’d been traveling with worked for Porter and later married him. Could he be related to our mysterious Hazel-slash-Arabella?”

  “Cory said she had no relatives. But then, I don’t know how reliable he is. He’s just a kid.”

  “A kid who left the safety of a ranch before daylight and hasn’t been heard from since.”

  Meg clutched her hands together at her waist.

  Seeing it, Raven gave her a reassuring smile. “We’re going to find him, Meg. And then we’re going to get to the bottom of all of this.”

  “I know you will, Raven. You’ve never let me down before.”

  “That was business. All you had to lose before was a verdict in a trial. I understand the difference. This time it’s personal. You have a whole lot more riding on the outcome. So just remember this: whoever persuaded the kid to leave doesn’t have any idea of the powerful enemies he’s just made. My team and I play for keeps.”

  Meg let out a long, deep sigh. “Thanks, Raven.”

  “Now let’s talk about your father. I want to know his friends, his enemies, his life as others knew him, and especially his secrets.”

  Over coffee the two talked for more than an hour. During that time, Raven made an occasional notation in an e-mail, which he would immediately send to his operatives.

  At last he stood. “Since your ranch was the target of a vandal, I’d like you to accept the hospitality of the Conway family for a little while longer.”

  “Why? What do you have in mind?” Meg asked.

  “I’d like to use your place as a sting, in the hope of drawing our vandal out. I’ll have one of my operatives drive you to the Conway ranch, so that your rental car can remain here, parked in the barn. I’ll have a red-haired female moving around the house both day and night, in case our vandal is watching from somewhere nearby.”

  “You don’t think binoculars will point out the difference between me and one of your operatives?”

  Raven merely smiled. “You know better than to question our work, Meg. We’re good at what we do.”

  She sighed. “Yes, you are. And you’re right. I realize that this is different from every other time. I have a lot more at stake.” She could feel the tremor returning to her voice and struggled to remain calm. “He’s just a little boy, Raven. A scared little boy.”

  Determined to hold herself together she unclenched her hands and turned away abruptly. “Let me pack and I’ll be ready to leave in half an hour.”

  “Good girl.”

  He watched her climb the stairs before starting yet another e-mail to his people in the field.

  When Jake returned from a nearby ranch, he was surprised to find Meg in the kitchen, surrounded by Sierra and Cheyenne, Phoebe and Ela. It was obvious from the tea cups and the plate of chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven that the women had spent some time talking and bonding.

  Jake’s eyes lit with pleasure. “Hey, you. I didn’t see your car.”

  She couldn’t hide the pleasure she felt just seeing him. “Raven…William Raven, the head of the detective agency I’ve hired, wanted me to leave it at my ranch, in the hope of luring the vandal out of hiding.”

  “Good. I hope it works.” He studied her face, seeing the worry and the weariness she couldn’t hide. He wanted to hold her. Needed to. Instead, he had to satisfy himself with a touch of his hand to her cheek. “No word yet on Cory?”

  “None.” The single word nearly stuck in her throat. All through the long, endless day, she’d been on a roller coaster of emotions. Each time the phone rang, or someone came to the door, she’d felt a surge of hope, expecting to be told Cory had been found. And with each disappointment, she’d experienced a terrible hollow emptiness.

  Her only salvation had been listening to the fascinating stories told by Jake’s sisters-in-law, who had faced down their own demons recently. Cheyenne had recounted her threat at the hands of a sociopath who had been like a brother to her. Sierra then talked about the stalker who had tried to carry out an elaborate plan to steal her away to a foreign country.

  As a trial lawyer, Meg had thought she’d heard everything. Betrayal. Embezzlement. Grand theft. Murder. But always before, the victims had been clients. These women had become her friends and most loyal supporters, and it helped tremendously just knowing that she wasn’t alone.

  “Well, you’re in the company of some pretty strong women here.” Jake winked at old Ela, whose face softened as she returned his smile.

  “Yes, I am. I can’t believe the things they’ve been through.”

  Jake helped himself to a warm, sticky cookie, before brushing a kiss over Phoebe’s cheek. “Now that was worth coming home to. And so is this.” He surprised even himself by leaning down to kiss Meg’s cheek, as well. He didn’t care who was watching. “Now I’d better shower and change. I smell like a barnyard.”

  As he walked away whistling, the others had gone completely silent.

  Meg touched a hand to her cheek and wondered at the strange feeling of peace that came over her. As though, oddly, she’d come home. Silly, she knew. Home was thousands of miles away from here.

  Still, as Phoebe poured more tea, and the women resumed their chatter, the feeling persisted.

  While her whole world was in turmoil, and her fear for Cory a raw and palpable wound, a sense of calm came over her, as softly, as gently as the touch of a butterfly’s wings.

  She pictured Cory in her mind, riding up in time to join them for dinner. He would lead Shadow to his stall, take time to admire Honey and her pups, before joining them at the table to help himself to a big slice of Ela’s corn bread.

  He has to come back. Please, heaven, she thought fiercely. She didn’t know what she would do if that scruffy little boy didn’t come back and give her a chance to show him that she could be a real sister to him.

  She wasn’t even aware of the big, wet tears that were rolling down her cheeks, until the others gathered around her to gently hold her in the circle of their embrace.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  About time you got here, kid.” Blain Turner stepped from the shelter of a stand of evergreens and caught the reins of Cory’s colt before hauling the boy from the saddle.

  Seeing him, Shadow’s ears flattened, and the colt sidestepped quickly away.

  Blain tugged roughly on the reins, and Cory reached out to soothe and quiet the colt.

  “Did you tell anybody you were coming?”

  “No.” Cory swallowed hard. His erratic heartbeat could be seen beneath the thin T-shirt he wore with his dirty denims. Beneath Jake’s hat his hair stuck out in wild tufts, and it was plain that he’d been forced to move quickly.

  “Just so you don’t try any funny business, hand over your phone.” Blain held out his hand.

  Cory reached into his pocket, before his eyes took on a wild, deer-in-the-headlights look. “I guess I…lost it.” />
  Blain swore. “You’d better know the cell phone number of that sister of yours.”

  Cory swallowed. “I do.”

  Blain pulled out his own phone and held it in his hand. “Tell me the number. And be quick about it.”

  “What do you want with her? You said if I came you wouldn’t bother her anymore.”

  “Shut up and give me her number.”

  “No. You said—”

  Blain’s hand shot out, slapping the boy so hard his head snapped to one side. “Give me her number, or next time it’ll be your colt here. And you know what I can do to him.”

  “You said you wouldn’t hurt him again.”

  “That’s up to you. If you do as you’re told, I’ll leave your horse alone. If not…” He shrugged.

  With his arm around Shadow’s neck, Cory spoke the numbers. Blain punched them into his own phone’s menu before tucking it back in his pocket.

  “Let’s go.” Pulling himself into the saddle of his borrowed mare, he grabbed hold of the colt’s reins, just to ensure that Cory couldn’t turn tail and bolt.

  Cory climbed on Shadow’s back and was forced to hold on to the saddle horn while Blain urged both horses to move.

  As they melted into the woods, Blain kept a firm hold on the kid’s reins as his mind raced ahead to the next step in his plan. He considered himself an expert on always having a plan while being on the run.

  It had started when he was twelve, living on the mean streets of Detroit, and found himself in juvenile detention for the first time. Over the next six years he’d been in and out of foster care, and had spent so many months in everything from military-style camps to lockups that he’d been labeled incorrigible. His rap sheet was longer than his arm and leg put together. Everything from petty larceny to breaking and entering to carjacking. By the time he’d aged out of the foster-care system he’d graduated to armed robbery, and he knew that his next offense would land him in prison. He was cagey enough to know that he needed a fresh start.

  The fifteen-year-old runaway he’d met in juvenile detention was just the ticket. Hazel hated her abusive foster father enough to offer the use of his car if Blain would take her along. Three weeks and dozens of gas station and party store robberies later, they’d landed in Wyoming, ready for a fresh start.

  Keeping a firm hold on the colt’s reins, Blain turned his horse away from the ranch house in the distance and headed into the high country.

  The shed was concealed in a cluster of evergreens, and far enough from the rangeland that no one ever came by. It had been closed up for years now, and though the roof was sagging and the floor rotting, it was sturdy enough to imprison one little boy and his colt.

  When they halted, Cory turned wide eyes toward the man. “You said we were going away.”

  “And we are. After I take care of some business.”

  Cory swallowed. “You said if I came alone you’d let Shadow go. He knows the way back to the barn.”

  “Which is why I can’t turn him loose yet. If he returned without you, we’d have the whole town out searching for you, wouldn’t we? And we wouldn’t want that.”

  “But you said—”

  “Shut up.” His hand shot out, catching Cory on the side of the jaw.

  Inside the shed Blain Turner tied the boy’s wrists and ankles, and then he led Shadow inside and hobbled the colt.

  He nodded toward the door. “I won’t be back until I have what I want. Until then, if you have to pee, you’ll just have to wet yourself.” His lips peeled back in a sneer. “Probably won’t be the first time.” His smile dissolved into a feral, steely-eyed look he’d perfected years ago when facing guys twice his size. “And just remember. If I find out you tried to be a hero, I’ll slice you up and feed you to the wolves. And your sister, too.”

  “You said you wouldn’t hurt her.”

  “That’s up to her. She does what I tell her, or she’ll be joining you.”

  “But you said—”

  “I lied.” Blain threw back his head and laughed. “Got that, kid? I lied. And you bought into it.”

  He forced the door shut and braced a tree limb against it. Then he mounted his horse and rode away.

  He’d come across this hiding place while working briefly for Porter Stanford. This was where he’d kept his stash, and whenever he could slip away, he’d spend hours getting high. The pay for wrangling a herd had been fair enough, he supposed. The working conditions good, if you liked living up in the hills with nothing but cattle to talk to. But once he’d persuaded old Stanford to hire Hazel to clean his house, the pay had been considerably better.

  At first she’d manage to filch a pair of gold cuff links and a tie tack that had brought a bonus at the loan shack in Crawford, a town two hundred miles from here. Twice she’d even found money the old coot had stashed in his kitchen drawer. But when she’d suffered guilt for stealing from an old guy who was nice to her, Blain had a better idea. Instead of settling for a few pieces of ratty jewelry or petty cash, she could have it all, if she played her cards right.

  As Porter’s wife, she would have access to Stanford’s bank account. Even a stock portfolio, if the old geezer invested in stocks. And an entire ranch. Acres and acres of Wyoming rangeland, complete with herds of brown gold, which was what the hicks around here called their cattle. Herds of them, as far as the eye could see.

  And all she had to do was agree to marry Porter Stanford.

  It took some heavy-duty “persuading.” Of course, Blain had to make sure that none of the bruises were visible on her face or arms, or Porter might have become suspicious. But in the end, she went along with it. And, as he’d promised, she became the person she’d always wanted to be. A respectable lady. Mrs. Arabella Stanford.

  For a while it was so easy. Fifty dollars here, a hundred there. Enough drugs to keep Blain high and happy. The old man was so crazy in love with his new bride, he never even bothered to check his bank statements. But then, gradually, it all changed.

  She said she liked the old guy. He was the first person who had ever been kind to her. And then there was the coming baby. The old man was elated. He acted like a proud peacock, strutting around, being extra generous to her. She decided she didn’t want her old life anymore.

  Or her old friend.

  She stopped meeting Blain. Said she was sick. Then she stopped giving him money. Said the old guy was finding errors in the bank statements and getting suspicious.

  Blain let it slide until the brat was born. Then he found her alone one day out behind the barn and let her know that she either got him money or he’d go to Stanford and let him know the truth about her.

  He’d told her she’d just have to lie to her husband about the bruises. Tell him she’d slipped and fallen. Whatever it took. But at least the money started again. Just like he’d figured.

  It started at a hundred a week. Then two hundred.

  And then she’d up and died.

  By then he’d lost his job with Stanford. No surprise. Once old Yancy Jessup had taken over as foreman, Blain found himself out in the cold. So he got a job fixing ranch equipment on the Mercer place, about fifty miles from here. But the lure of easy money kept calling to him.

  There had to be a way. For weeks after Arabella died, he’d been mulling over the idea. Then one night, after getting liquored up, he decided he’d go right to the source.

  And like he thought, after what he’d had to say, the old guy caved.

  A thousand dollars. Just like that. Jackpot.

  Stanford had said it would be a one-time payment, but Blain knew he’d back down. The old man would keep on paying because he couldn’t afford not to.

  And now the golden goose had died.

  But it didn’t have to be the end of the rainbow. The kid was his ticket to the big pot of gold. Time for the sister to step up. Unless she wanted to see the golden goose sacrificed for her greed. Because Blain Turner had an ace in the hole. And he wasn’t afraid to use it.

&nbs
p; He headed toward the ranch house in the distance. He’d watch and wait. And when the time was right, and Stanford’s daughter had worked herself up into a frenzy of worry, he’d strike like a rattler.

  “What do you have for me, Raven?” Meg gripped the phone like a lifeline.

  “We have a couple of solid leads, Meg.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s too soon. I’d rather wait until I have something concrete. But I can say that you were right about the boy in the photograph. His name is Blain Turner. Twenty-six. He aged out of the Michigan foster-care system at eighteen and took off for parts unknown. Hazel Godfrey was a fifteen-year-old runaway. I don’t know anything more than that yet. But they both spent time in juvie. We’re trying to find out if they were ever there at the same time.”

  “Why would he want to lure Cory away?”

  “I don’t have that answer yet, Meg. But it’s only a matter of time.”

  “Time.” Meg paced to the window of her room at the Conway ranch and stared out at the sun setting behind the peaks of the Tetons in the distance. “With each hour Cory is away, the clock is ticking. He’s only seven, Raven. He could be lying somewhere, bleeding.” Her imagination had been working overtime ever since this morning. “I’ve worked on too many criminal trials to fool myself into believing there aren’t evil people out there, just waiting to prey on helpless little kids.”

  “Stop tormenting yourself, Meg. Just hold a good thought, and let us do our jobs. We’ll get this bastard. I promise you.”

  “More than that, I want Cory safe. And you can’t promise me that, Raven.”

  “No, I can’t. But I give you my word, I’ll do everything in my power to find him, Meg.”

  She gave a long, deep sigh. “I know you will, Raven. Has there been any activity at my ranch?”

  “Nothing yet. I have a female operative inside, and several more watching from a distance. So far, nobody has come close. But it’s early. I still think whoever lured Cory away will try to make contact.”