Hard Ride to Dry Gulch

by Joanna Wayne

  The voice was soft and feminine. Her next words were icy, fearful, yet threatening.

  Chapter Seven

  “Stay away from Georgio.”

  Faith steadied the phone in her hand and kicked off the light blanket. Still reconciling herself to disappointment that the caller wasn’t Cornell, she let the woman’s words sink in.

  “Who is this?” she demanded.

  “Someone who knows what you’re up to. I’m warning you, back off before you make things a hundred times worse.”

  “Worse for who? You? Georgio?”

  “Yes. And for your son.”

  The words sent shock waves of dread rushing through Faith. She struggled to breathe. “If you know where my son is, please tell me. I beg you. Just tell me where he is.”

  “If he wanted you to know, he’d call you himself. Just back off and leave him be.”

  “I can help him. I will help him. He needs me.”

  But there was no one to hear the last of her words. The connection had gone dead.

  Faith tried to call the number back. Not surprisingly, there was no answer. She was being jerked around. But by whom? Who would know she’d seen Georgio today?

  The answer was obvious: anyone who happened to see her in the Passion Pit today. Maybe even Travis, though he hadn’t seen her. The only way he’d know she’d been there was if someone had told him.

  It wouldn’t have been Georgio. He’d made it clear he didn’t want the cops to know he was involved in the search. But that left the hostess, perhaps a bartender or any number of employees that she hadn’t noticed but who might have seen her.

  And one of them did not want Faith anywhere near Georgio. Which meant the woman had to know what had happened to Cornell. She might even be behind his disappearance.

  Faith needed to talk to Travis. He was a cop. He should be able to get a handle on the threat. Only discussing this with him would mean she’d have to level with him about seeing Georgio.

  She rolled over and pounded her fists into her pillow, so hard that a few feathers started poking through the case. Why hadn’t she given him at least a few days before defying all his stupid rules?

  When her need to pummel something passed, she got up and went to the kitchen. God, she hated this empty house. It creaked and echoed, and tonight it even spit accusations at her.

  Well, actually, it was rain pelting the windows and not spit she heard, but it had the same bewildering effect. She poured herself a glass of cold buttermilk, a habit she’d picked up from her granddad when she was just a kid.

  He’d insisted that the clabbered cream had a soothing effect on his stomach and his mind when he couldn’t sleep. It didn’t work for her, but weirdly, she’d developed a taste for it. A curse of being Southern, her Yankee grandma had teased. Thanks to her mother’s rebellious nature, Faith had spent far too little time with her grandparents before they and their small car had been crushed by an eighteen-wheeler. They’d died two days before Faith’s twelfth birthday. To this day, she missed them.

  Faith took the milk and walked out to the covered deck, which took up about half the backyard. She dropped to a rocker and sat in the dark, watching and listening to the steady rainfall as it puddled on the lawn and rushed through the downspout.

  Thoughts of her own parents filled her mind. She’d never really known her father. He and her mother had never married and he’d never been part of her life.

  But there had been plenty of men around. Her mother had been involved with a series of boyfriends, marrying three of them.

  She’d been going through her third divorce when Faith had met Melvin Ashburn, a surprise guest at her seventeenth birthday party. He’d introduced her to marijuana, alcohol and sex.

  And pregnancy.

  But she’d never expected to face that kind of rebellion with Cornell.

  Faith set the empty glass on the deck beside her, leaned back and closed her eyes. Going over the past wouldn’t help. She had to deal with the here and now. Things were no longer at a standstill.

  The buttermilk was useless. She should have had a whiskey.

  She got up, stretched and started to walk back inside. As she did, she had the creepy feeling that someone was watching her.

  Add paranoia to the mix of anguished emotions attacking her soul.

  * * *

  “I KNOW THE MEDIA is clamoring for a juicy ratings booster, Chief, but we’re not dealing with a serial killer out randomly targeting innocent teenage boys.”

  “We have four unsolved murders in eighteen months, Travis. All boys aged eighteen or under. No suspects.”

  “Three of those were known gang members and drug dealers. Get rid of drug smugglers like Georgio and you might stop some of those senseless murders.”

  “Then get the goods on Georgio.”

  “I’m getting closer,” Travis assured him.

  “But this last victim wasn’t a drug dealer or a gang member,” the chief said.

  “We don’t know that for certain yet.”

  “That’s the problem. We don’t know much. I need a suspect on this last murder before the mayor has my ass on the line.”

  “We’re working on it.”

  “So, do you and Reno have any evidence, or is this just a guessing game?”

  “I have a hunch.” That was it, and not much of a hunch at that.

  “Trying to tie this one to Georgio, too?”

  “Not to the man himself,” Travis admitted. “He’d never get his own hands bloody. But the victim had been seen in the Passion Pit a few times before he was killed.”

  The chief scratched his whiskered chin. “Damn. I thought sexting was supposed to be taking the place of strippers.” He threw up his hands. “That remark was not for citizen consumption.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Good. Now go out and find me a suspect before I get a Mothers March on the precinct. And before someone else’s son comes up dead.”

  Travis knew the chief. The last statement was his real concern. It was Travis’ as well. That was why he had to find Cornell Ashburn fast. He had to make sure he wasn’t their next victim.

  He pushed up his sleeve and checked his watch. Almost five o’clock and still no word on Cornell’s computer analysis. If Travis didn’t hear something soon, he’d give Clark a call.

  He went back to his office and back to work. He was still hard at it when one of the clerks came in and dropped a fax on his desk.

  “This just came. I figured you might be waiting around for it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Travis started to read. Clark had come through for him again. The surprises started on page two of the printout. Either Faith Ashburn had been lying to him or she had no idea what her son had been into.

  It was time to get down and dirty. The fairy tales were officially off the table.

  * * *

  FAITH SET THE round iron table on the deck with plates, silverware, napkins and two tall glasses of water. She considered adding wineglasses and a bottle of merlot, but had no doubt that even though Travis had suggested bringing Chinese, tonight’s meeting was business.

  There had been no missing his avoidance when she’d asked about the findings from Cornell’s computer. She was almost sure she wouldn’t like what he had to tell her.

  Table set and with a few minutes to spare, she went back to her bedroom to freshen up. Instead, she stood in the doorway, staring at the phone and feeling fresh pangs of guilt. Would she ever make it through the night without blurting out the truth about Georgio and the latest phone call?

  She forced her eyes from the phone and her feet to her dressing table. She never wore much makeup, but even that was long gone today. Her hair was slightly tousled, but she left it like that and brushed a smidgen of color on
to her cheeks and lips.

  Unzipping her black pencil skirt, a staple of her work wardrobe, she stepped out of it. White shorts, she decided. Casual but chic with the black-and-white pullover she was already wearing.

  Not that her appearance mattered. This wasn’t a date. She didn’t even remember dating. Well, she did, but only because her last one had been a disaster. It had ended with her throwing up on the man’s shoes.

  She’d go easy on the Chinese tonight. As rattled as her nerves were, there was definitely the possibility of an encore performance.

  The doorbell rang. She yanked up the zipper on her shorts and hurried to the entry. Please just let there be good news about Cornell.

  * * *

  “HOPE YOU’RE HUNGRY,” Travis said when she opened the door. Both his arms were busy juggling cartons of food. A bottle of red wine was tucked precariously under his right elbow.

  “Oops. I should have told you I’ve already eaten this year.”

  He grinned. “I may have gotten a little carried away while I was ordering, but it all looked so good. And I missed lunch. Maybe breakfast, too. It’s hard to remember on an empty stomach.”

  She took a few of the cartons from him before he dropped them and sent noodles and sauce splattering across her floor. “Do you mind eating on the deck?”

  “Would love it. I’ve been cooped up inside all day with cops, criminals, the chief and other undesirables. What can I help you with?”

  “You can open the wine. The corkscrew is in the top drawer next to the fridge.”

  “I can handle that. Not sure if the vino’s decent, but the salesman at the liquor store said it goes well with Chinese. I’m usually a beer man myself, pop a top and drink it straight from a longneck.”

  “So what’s the occasion?”

  “I fake a little sophistication from time to time.”

  He was trying too hard to keep things light. That could only mean bad news. She made a couple trips outside with the food and wineglasses. When she opened the cartons, sweet and spicy odors escaped and her stomach began to roll.

  Travis joined her as she dropped into a chair. He filled the wineglasses and then took the seat opposite hers. He held up his glass for a toast. “To a quick and successful search for Cornell.”

  A surge of hope swept through Faith as she clinked her glass with his. “Does this mean you found something helpful on his computer?”

  “We definitely have new information to work with. It could be helpful.” Travis passed her a container. “Shrimp fried rice. Hope you’re not allergic to seafood.”

  “No.” She put a spoonful on her plate and passed it back to him. He piled his plate high and took a bite before reaching for the next container.

  He might be hungry, but he wasn’t starving, not the way she was for news. “What new information?”

  Travis forked up another bite of fried rice. “Why don’t we eat and then get down to business?”

  “I can’t eat until I know.”

  He nodded while he chewed and finally swallowed. “What do you know about Angela Pointer?”

  “I’ve never heard of her.”

  Travis wiped his mouth on his napkin and took a sip of wine. “Evidently, she and your son were an item.”

  “When?”

  “Just before his disappearance. Are you sure he never mentioned her?”

  “Not only did he never mention her, but neither did any of his friends when I questioned them. Was she a student in his high school?”

  “He didn’t know her from school. Angela’s officially an exotic dancer, or at least she was when she and Cornell were exchanging hot and heavy emails.”

  “There must be some mistake. If Cornell had been serious about someone, he’d have told me about her. He’s always told me about his crushes.”

  “This appeared to be more than a crush. The two of them were apparently spending a lot of time together.”

  “He was home most nights—except when he was studying with friends.” And he had done that a lot just before his disappearance.

  Even as Faith protested, her doubts were growing. Involvement with an exotic dancer would explain his being at the Passion Pit. She’d never been able to buy that he’d inappropriately touched a stripper. Being aggressive was against his very nature.

  But if he and the young woman were sexually involved, their touching might have been seen as inappropriate by other employees or by Georgio.

  Faith could even buy that he’d kept the relationship a secret from her, knowing she would have disapproved. But where was he now? Where was Angela?

  More confused and disturbed than ever, Faith opened her wooden chopsticks and used them to push her food around on the plate. When she looked up, she realized that Travis had stopped eating and was watching her.

  She met his penetrating gaze and knew the worst might be yet to come. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  “A little.”

  “You may as well hit me with all of it,” she said.

  “Angela was pregnant.”

  “Pregnant?” Faith’s spirits took another plunge. This girlfriend she’d never even heard of had been pregnant ten months ago. The baby would have been born by now. An ache swelled inside her, but still her mind refused to wrap itself around the obvious implications.

  “That doesn’t mean Cornell was the father,” she insisted. “I can’t believe he would have kept my own grandchild a secret from me—not for months.”

  I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...

  Cornell’s words echoed in her head, haunting, tearing at her soul. Was this what he was sorry for? Getting a woman pregnant and running away with her? Putting Faith through hell for the past ten months?

  But why? Why wouldn’t he come to her? And where would he have gone with no money? The woman could hardly have worked at that profession while she was pregnant.

  She looked away, hating for Travis to see the tears burning in her eyes. She didn’t see him reach across the table, but felt his hands close around hers.

  Big hands. Rough skin, yet the touch was gentle. Comforting. Protective.

  “I’m sorry I had to tell you like this, but I couldn’t think of an easy way to break it to you.”

  “It’s not your fault. I asked for the truth. It’s just hard to swallow.”

  “Look on the bright side,” Travis said. “This makes it a lot more likely your son left of his own free will and that there was no foul play involved.”

  Travis was right, of course, yet her heart felt incredibly heavy. For Cornell to have done something so irresponsible, for him to have disregarded her fears and feelings this way, would mean she didn’t know her son at all.

  Travis’s thumbs stroked the back of her hands, but she wasn’t sure he was even aware of the soothing motions. His brow was furrowed, his lips stretched into a tight line. She could envision theories whirring in his mind, none of them giving her the answers she craved.

  Finally, she pulled her hands away and wrapped one around the stem of her wineglass. She tipped it up, stared into the swirling liquid and then took a large sip. She couldn’t avoid reality just because it didn’t suit her.

  “Looks like I wasn’t the mother I thought I was.”

  “Don’t go judging yourself. Teenagers are famous for making bad decisions. Besides, I have an idea we’ve just scratched the surface in this investigation.”

  “It was a deep scratch.”

  “It opened lots of possibilities, but we can’t be certain that Cornell was the baby’s father or that the girlfriend was even pregnant. It could have been a trap to get money out of him.”

  “He had no money.”

  “She might not have known that.”

  “That doesn’t explain his dropping off the face of the earth for
ten months.”

  “Until the phone call the other night,” Travis reminded her—as if she could forget. “He’s made the first step toward reaching out to you, and even though it sent you into panic mode, I have to think it’s a good sign.”

  She couldn’t argue the point in light of all she’d learned tonight. It didn’t lessen her desperation to find him.

  “We have to locate this Angela person,” Faith said. “Have you checked to see if she’s still working at the Passion Pit or if anyone there knows how to get in touch with her?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”

  Faith considered her options. She could talk to Georgio herself now that he’d agreed to help find Cornell. There was no reason to think he wouldn’t level with her.

  Pangs of guilt attacked again. She felt as if she was two-timing Travis, creating a lovers’ triangle. How crazy was that?

  Nonetheless, she had to tell Travis she’d talked to Georgio. If not tonight, then soon. She’d never been able to stomach lies and deceit, and this was proving to be no exception.

  She forced down a few bites of food while Travis ate ravenously. He ate like a man with an appetite and appreciation for the tastes and smells and textures. She’d be willing to bet he jumped into life with that same gusto.

  No holds barred. No limits. Daring the odds to play against him.

  “Have you ever been afraid of anything or anyone, Travis?”

  He stopped eating and looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers. “Sure. Probably wouldn’t be alive today if I didn’t have a healthy fear of thugs and addicts with guns.”

  “That’s wisdom and caution. I’m talking about real fear.”

  He put down his fork and wiped his mouth with the napkin. “I was scared to death when I was little, sure the monster that my foster mother told me would get me was waiting for dark to come, and me to close my eyes, before it snapped me up and ate me.”

  Faith shuddered. “Your foster mother frightened you like that?”

  “One of them did. She was a real sweetheart.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I got over it. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and a hell of a lot smarter.”