by Rita Herron
He parked and went around the Jeep to join Jordan. It was almost noon now and the sun had fought through the fog and hazy morning sky, slanting shadows on the sidewalk. The neighborhood seemed quiet: a few cars scattered here and there indicated stay-at-home moms or quite possibly with the economy, the unemployed.
Jordan remained quiet but kept pace with him as they climbed the front stoop. Toys littered the neighbor’s yard but Connor’s didn’t have any, suggesting the man was single and childless.
Maybe he lived alone? Or did Janet Bridges live with him?
Miles raised his fist and knocked, and Jordan tapped her foot while they waited. Miles inched sideways to check the garage and noted an older-model Volvo parked inside.
Hmm, was the man home? Or did he own a second car?
Jordan rang the bell again while he slipped to the side and peeked in the windows. Furniture in place, but no sign of anyone there.
Curious, he motioned to Jordan to follow him, and they walked around back. No fence, no guard dog... The back door was open.
Instincts born from years of police work kicked in, and he motioned for Jordan to stay back. She nodded, obviously sensing something was wrong.
Gun at the ready, he stepped into the threshold of the doorway. The moment he did, the stench of death hit him.
A second cautious step inside, and he saw blood splattered across the floor. He felt Jordan behind him as he slowly moved forward. Then he spotted a man’s body on the floor.
Dammit. It had to be Connor.
He’d been shot in the head, his brain matter and blood covering the floor and dotting the walls in a sickening spray.
Chapter Seventeen
Jordan gasped at the sight of the dead man.
Miles threw up his arm to keep her behind him. “Step back outside, and don’t touch anything, Jordan. I need to see if the woman’s here.”
Jordan nodded, her heart pounding as she backed out on the stoop to wait. She understood his concern—this was a crime scene now. They couldn’t contaminate the evidence or it might interfere with arresting and prosecuting the killer.
What about Janet Bridges? Was she dead in there as well?
Had Dugan killed them both?
She jammed her hands in the pockets of her jacket to keep from clutching the railing and scanned the backyard in case the killer was watching. Two houses over, she spotted a woman pushing a small child in a swing. A dog barked in the distance, starting a chorus as other neighborhood dogs joined in.
Trees shook in the breeze, then a shadow moved.
She froze, prepared to scream for Miles, but the man moved into view and she realized it was the mailman.
She exhaled a sigh of relief, then paced the yard, her senses alert for strangers. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. Where was Miles?
What if the killer had been waiting and ambushed him? She hadn’t heard a gunshot or any commotion...
She stepped back up to the doorway and called his name. “Miles, are you okay?”
Footsteps pounded on the wood floor, then he appeared, frowning.
Jordan wanted to rush to him and throw her arms around him, to feel him next to her, living and breathing. “I was worried.”
“Sorry.” He shrugged. “The woman’s not here, but I did a quick search to see if there was any clue as to where she is or where Dugan might go.”
“Did you find anything?”
He shook his head. “No. I even checked the man’s message machine but there was nothing.”
“How about a cell phone or computer?” Jordan asked.
“No cell. If he had one, the killer must have taken it. I looked at his computer but didn’t find any references to Janet Bridges.”
“If she was hiding from Dugan, maybe she changed her name or they used a code.”
Miles worked his mouth side to side. “Probably. I have to call this in and get a forensics team to process the scene.” He called the number, identified himself, then explained about the body and gave the police the address.
“Yes, he was dead when I arrived. No sign of the killer or the woman Janet Bridges.” He explained his reasons for being there as he carefully sidestepped the body.
Minutes later, a siren wailed and a police car careened down the street and into the drive. Miles peeled off his gloves and jammed them in the inside pocket of his jacket, then took Jordan’s arm and escorted her around front to meet the police.
He stowed his weapon and identified himself as soon as the uniformed officer exited his patrol car.
“Detective McGregor. I called in the murder.” He flashed his badge and the two officers approached. “This is Jordan Keys.”
“Officers Rameriz and Stoner,” the heavier cop said by way of introduction. “What were you two doing here?”
“The man who lived here was friends with a female who was once close to Robert Dugan. We thought she might know where he was headed.”
Another car drove up, and a man wearing a gray suit and wire-rimmed glasses strode toward them carrying a medical bag. “Assistant medical examiner Carson Pullman,” the man said. “Where’s the body?”
Miles gestured toward the house. “Kitchen. In the back.”
Officer Stoner followed the medical examiner while Officer Rameriz took their statement. “Did you touch anything inside?”
Miles shook his head. “I did a sweep through in search of the woman and to make sure the house was clear, then put on gloves and checked the computer.”
Rameriz raised a brow. “How did you get in?”
“We knocked on the front door but there was no answer, so we walked around back. The door was open.”
“Unlocked?” Rameriz asked. This time he angled his head toward Jordan for confirmation.
“Yes,” she said. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t go inside. When Miles spotted the blood, he told me to stay outside while he made sure the killer was gone.”
Rameriz gave a short nod and closed his notepad. “All right. Thanks for calling it in.”
“You’ll get a forensics team to process the scene, won’t you?” Miles asked.
Rameriz nodded. “They should be here any minute.”
“I did a preliminary check of the man’s computer, but didn’t find anything. Ask them to look for any references to a woman named Janet Bridges. Also any family member’s name, or mention of Robert Dugan.”
“You think she was helping Dugan?” Rameriz asked.
Miles made a hissing sound. “I don’t know. Her girlfriend claims she was running from him. My guess is, he tracked her here and killed this guy to try to find her.” He tipped his Stetson as if to shade his eyes. “Whether or not Connor gave her up before Dugan offed him is the question. And if we find her, she might have information to help us nail Dugan on the other murders.”
“You’re sure he did this?” Rameriz asked. “Maybe Janet Bridges killed Connor and she’s joined Dugan.”
Jordan considered that possibility. “At this point we can’t be sure,” she admitted. “For all we know, he killed the boyfriend, then forced her to go with him.”
Rameriz chewed over her suggestion. “I’ll have the team search the computer, his car, his phone records and see what we can find.”
Miles’s phone buzzed at his waist. He thanked the officer, then checked the caller ID box. “I need to get this.”
He turned away for a second, spoke into the phone, then clicked it off and turned back, his body jumpy. “Dugan has been spotted near the border. We have to go.”
He grabbed Jordan’s hand and they rushed to his Jeep.
* * *
MILES’S MIND RACED with panic as he drove down the highway. If Dugan had been here and killed Connor, had he found Janet Bridges? Had he killed her or kidnapped her? If so, maybe she would at least keep Timmy safe....
“Where were they spotted?” Jordan asked.
“Near Rio Grande City.”
Jordan checked her watch. “He’s making good time.�
��
“Yeah, especially to have stopped here looking for his old girlfriend.” He tossed his Stetson to the seat and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Why would he take the time to do that? He knows we’re after him. He has a hostage. And he must know she’s been hiding from him. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t know,” Jordan said, although her brows were pinched in thought. “He and I discussed his mother and the fact that he didn’t have a father. I think the lack of that family is deeply rooted in his psychosis.”
Miles cursed. He didn’t want to understand Dugan, and he especially didn’t want to hear some sob story about how bad he had it growing up.
Dammit, he’d had a rough life, too, and so had half the men he knew. Especially the ones who’d started the BBL.
But that hadn’t turned them into serial killers.
“I don’t see how this helps,” he admitted in frustration.
Jordan pressed a hand to his arm. “Understanding his behavior, his reasons for his sickness, can be useful when we catch him. We can use those details to help calm him and get him to turn himself in.”
“You’re talking about profiling, aren’t you?”
Jordan nodded. “It works.”
“So how does it explain what he’s done now? The fact that he took time out to hunt for Bridges gave us more time to track him.”
“His actions may not make sense to us, but in his mind, they’re logical. But if we follow his thought process we can predict his next movements.” Jordan tapped her fingernails on her thigh. “What if he always wanted that happy family, a mother to love him, a child of his own?”
“I’m not following.” He sure as hell didn’t want the bastard raising Timmy.
“Maybe I started him thinking about his mother. The reason he wants her dead is so he can kill the source of his pain.”
“That makes sense.” In a demented way.
“He said you ruined his life, his future. What if he’s planning his future after he murders his mother?” She twisted her hands together. “He loved this woman Janet so once the slate is cleared by getting rid of his mother, he wants to build a life with her. Maybe have that happy family.”
Miles saw red. “Him and Bridges and Timmy. That’s what you’re suggesting.”
Jordan sighed and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “If that’s his mindset, Miles, it means he won’t hurt Timmy.”
His chest ached, but he latched onto the hope she offered, no matter how irrational it sounded to him. He had to.
Thinking that Timmy might be dead was something he couldn’t live with.
He would keep looking for him. And he would find him.
And bring him home.
Jordan squeezed his hand, and he squeezed hers in turn, grateful she was with him. If she wasn’t, he’d be falling apart.
“Miles, there was something else about Dugan that struck me as odd. He had a nervous tic, and his eyes...seemed funny, glazed, almost glassy as if he was on medication.”
“He’s a psycho,” Miles said flatly.
“Yes, but at the trial he didn’t exhibit any of those signs. It makes me wonder if he’s sick. An illness might explain some of his behavior. It could have incited him to come after you instead of resuming his life once he was freed.”
“I don’t give a damn about his health,” Miles snapped.
“Just consider the possibility,” Jordan said. “Call your friend and have him find out if Dugan had had any recent medical issues. An illness might have pushed him over the edge into coming after you.”
“He came after me for revenge,” Miles said.
“Just check,” Jordan said. “It might be important later.”
Miles cursed but called Blackpaw, explained Jordan’s theory and asked him to look into Dugan’s medical records. Mason agreed.
“Have you found Ables?” Miles asked.
“I’m five minutes from his last known address,” Blackpaw said. “And I did find out that Dugan’s real mother was still alive. Her name was CeeCee.”
“Thanks.”
Miles disconnected and rubbed a hand through his hair. They rode the next hour in silence, the air thick with worry and fear. All Miles could think about was that Dugan had increased the distance between them.
That even though Jordan thought he might be planning this fictional deluded life with the Bridges woman and his son, Dugan was essentially crazy.
Crazy, volatile, desperate. Not a good combination.
Desperate people did desperate things when cornered.
Dugan was like a time bomb waiting to explode. All it would take was the wrong person, the wrong comment, someone trying to stop him, to push his trigger, and he might ignite and hurt Timmy.
Early-evening shadows hovered above the city as they approached, the open space and wilderness giving way to gas stations, motels and small housing developments.
Rio Grande City had once epitomized the Wild West. But civilization and progress had made its mark. Miles frowned. Not always a good thing.
Worse, Rio Grande City was too close to the border for comfort.
Jordan rubbed her shoulder, and a seed of guilt nagged at Miles. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Just tired,” Jordan said. “I’ll grab some water and take a painkiller when we stop.” She seemed to be studying the passing scenery as if she might spot Dugan and Timmy somewhere in the mesquites dotting the side of the road. “Where was he last seen?”
“There.” Miles pointed to the convenience store ahead, then swerved into the parking lot. Jordan and he climbed out and walked up to the store entrance.
A bell tinkled as they entered, and on instinct, Miles scanned the store for trouble. A couple of teenagers hovering by the magazine rack, probably looking for Playboy. A trucker buying cigarettes. Two women in too-tight jeans and shirts tied at their waists, who looked as if they’d been rode hard and put up wet, leaving the bathroom.
Miles strode up to the Native American woman behind the counter. Her gray hair dangled in a braid down her back, her dress hung on skin that was leathery and sagging. Half of her teeth had rotted out. She could have been sixty or ninety—he couldn’t tell. But life had definitely been rough on her.
He removed his badge from his pocket and introduced himself, then handed her a flyer Blackpaw had faxed with the other papers showing a picture of Robert Dugan. “Ma’am, you were the person who reported that you spotted this man, Robert Dugan?”
Her gnarled fingers curled around the printout as she studied it. It was Dugan’s mug shot alongside a photo of him at the trial. Hell though, for all he knew, Dugan could be wearing a disguise by now.
The trucker lumbered outside to his eighteen-wheeler and the two women followed, while Jordan combed the aisles for water and aspirin.
“Yeah, that was him.”
Panic warred with relief inside Miles. “He had a little boy with him?” He showed her Timmy’s picture next. Just the sight of it nearly brought him to his knees.
She chewed on her lower lip for a minute, then wrinkled her nose. “Can’t say I saw the boy.”
Jordan moved up beside him and slid her hand to his arm for support.
“You didn’t see the little boy at all?” Miles asked in a choked voice.
She shook her head. “No, sir. Like I told that other cop come by, man in the picture left the police car outside and stole a pickup in the parking lot.”
“A pickup?”
“Yeah, belonged to my boy. He lets me drive it to work. Gonna be real mad it got took.”
Jordan rubbed his back. “Are you sure you didn’t see the little boy? Maybe he stayed low, or maybe the man had him wrapped in a blanket?”
“I’m sorry.” The woman scratched her brow. “But that truck...Billy had a storage bin in the cab. Covered with a tarp.”
“So he could have put Timmy in it and driven off?” Jordan asked.
The woman nodded. “I reckon he could have. But I didn’t h
ear nothing. No kid screaming or crying, I mean.”
Miles gripped the counter. If Timmy had been wrapped up and hadn’t been fighting or making noise, he might be hurt.
Or worse...
No, he couldn’t think like that.
But even as he ordered himself to be positive, seeds of doubt sprouted in his mind. If Timmy hadn’t been with him, what had Dugan done with him?
Had he killed him and left him somewhere along the way? Somewhere out in the miles and miles of wilderness where they might not find him for days?
Chapter Eighteen
Jordan felt the sense of despair pummeling Miles, and knew she had to do something.
She had been too late for her brother, but she would not be too late for Miles’s son. Or him.
She slid her hands up, cupped his face and forced him to look at her. “Listen to me, Miles. The fact that this woman didn’t see Timmy doesn’t mean he’s not alive.” She made her voice strong. “Do you hear me? Timmy is still out there and we will find him. I do not believe that Dugan hurt him. I just don’t.”
Miles heaved a sigh and searched her face, his expression so tormented that she dragged him into a hug. “Listen to me. We can’t give up. Timmy needs us to be strong and smart about this.”
“You’re right.” A shudder coursed through him, shaking her to the core with its intensity. He took a deep breath, stiffened and turned back to the woman. “I understand you didn’t see the boy, ma’am, but did you see which direction Dugan drove?”
Her wrinkles deepened as she angled her head to the left. “He went south.”
Toward the border, exactly where Jordan and Miles knew he would go.
“Thank you,” Jordan said as she took Miles’s arm and pulled him outside. “Come on, we need to go. You can alert the authorities that Dugan is coming, and maybe they’ll arrest him at the border.”
Miles jerked himself from his fear-induced stupor and nodded, then reached for his phone as they rushed back to his Jeep. He called his lieutenant as he started the engine, then explained where they were.
