Hard Ride to Dry Gulch

by Joanna Wayne

“Good thing the suspects I interrogate don’t read me the way you do.”

  “What did the caller really tell you, Travis?”

  “You’re not totally off base,” he admitted. “But I didn’t lie to you, Faith. There is a good chance that Cornell is in or near Laredo, perhaps on the Mexican side of the border.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “You’re not going to give up until I level with you, are you?”

  “No, but I can handle this. I’m tougher than I look.”

  “I’m figuring that out.” He started to sit down beside her, but then walked over to the desk chair and pulled it over instead. He sat facing her, inches away, a pained look glazing his dark eyes.

  “John, that’s the caller’s first name. I’d like to leave the rest anonymous for now. Anyway, he says there will be a warrant out for Cornell’s arrest before morning.”

  Her temper erupted. “What are the charges?”

  “John didn’t say. He didn’t want to talk over the phone, but my guess is that they have to do with smuggling drugs across the border.”

  “Why would you guess that?”

  “Because of Georgio’s involvement in this. If he’s using your son to run drugs, then it would explain why he bugged your house once he found out Cornell was trying to get in touch with you.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “Cornell would never get involved in smuggling—unless...”

  “Go on,” Travis encouraged.

  “Unless he’s being blackmailed by Georgio. Only I can’t imagine what he could have done that would give Georgio grounds for blackmail.”

  Faith knew what Travis was thinking, the same thing she’d be thinking if this was someone else taking about her son. That she was a mother who refused to think her boy capable of committing a crime, even though he’d clearly had a life he’d kept secret from her. A lover who was an erotic dancer. That he was possibly the father of a child, a grandson or granddaughter she’d never seen or rocked to sleep or sung a lullaby to.

  A suffocating ache swelled in Faith’s chest. In her mind, Cornell was still a child. Had she clung too tightly? Had she needed him to need her so badly that she’d blinded herself to what was going on with him? Had he turned to Georgio instead of her?

  And now...

  “The young men whose murders you’ve been investigating, Travis. Do you think it’s possible Georgio had them killed for crossing him?”

  Travis reached over and took her hands in his. He massaged her palms with his thumbs. “I don’t think there’s anything Georgio is not capable of, Faith.”

  “Then if he thinks Cornell is about to be arrested, he might go after my son himself, to keep him from implicating him under interrogation.”

  It had taken her a few minutes to come to this conclusion, but Travis would have thought it the second he took that call. “And to think I almost played right into Georgio’s hands.”

  “But you didn’t,” Travis said.

  “We have to find Cornell before Georgio does,” Faith said, a new sense of urgency making her more determined than ever. “We have to get to Laredo at once. Charter a plane. I’ll find a way to pay for it.”

  “I can take care of the flight, Faith. But you just heard me explain how dangerous this could be. I can’t take you with me. Surely you understand that now.”

  “I only understand one thing. We have to find my son and there is no time to waste. And I will be going either with you, Travis, or on my own.”

  “You make it hard for a man to protect you, Faith Ashburn.”

  “But it means a lot that you want to,” she admitted.

  She wanted to say more. Tell him that when this was over, how much she’d love to be held in his strong, protective arms and taste his tempting, heroic lips.

  But first they had to find Cornell. She had the needs of a woman, but the heart of a mother.

  * * *

  THE JARRING RING of the doorbell interrupted the fourth phone call Travis had made in search of a charter service that could get the two of them to Laredo tonight without swallowing his meager checking account. He heard deep male voices in the house mingling with R.J.’s weaker one.

  Hopefully, the company would leave before Travis was forced to interact with them. He had too much on his mind for small talk.

  “No plane available before morning,” he said, reiterating what the woman on the other end of the phone had just told him.

  “I’m sorry, but there’s a major international energy conference in town and people have been jetting in and out all week,” she added.

  “What about your turboprop planes?”

  “Have one that might be available about 1:00 a.m., but I’ll have to see if I can locate a pilot. Regulations won’t let the guy piloting it now clock any more hours without a significant break.”

  “Okay. I may get back to you.”

  But first Travis would get back to John Patterson and ask to be informed immediately if and when Cornell was arrested. If he was behind bars, not getting there before tomorrow would pose no problems, though Travis was certain Faith wouldn’t see it that way.

  Travis massaged the back of his neck, a futile effort to relieve the ever-building tension.

  Faith put a hand on his shoulder. “No luck?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Cornell, about to be arrested. I can’t bear the thought of him behind bars and yet I wish he would be. Then I could at least talk to him, know he’s safe. We could get this horrible misunderstanding straightened out and I could take him home.”

  As always the desperation in her voice turned Travis inside out. He longed to hold her close and whisper that everything would be all right, but it would be an empty promise. And once she was in his arms, with her soft body pressed into his, comfort wouldn’t be the only thing on his mind.

  He wanted to kiss her, had wanted to since the night he first laid eyes on her in the Passion Pit, though he hadn’t admitted that to himself then. Now the desire was entangled with his need to keep her safe and help her find her son.

  The urgency should have cooled his sensual cravings. Instead, it was making them worse.

  He heard R.J.’s scuffling footfalls outside the guest room, followed by taps on the door.

  Travis walked over and flung it open.

  “I got a couple of guys in the kitchen I’d like you to meet, Travis.”

  Not the best of times for being sociable, but Travis could use a cup of coffee and a break from the lustful urges that were starting to pummel his senses.

  R.J. leaned against the doorframe. “You’re welcome to join us, too, Faith. I think you’ll be interested in what the Lamberts have to say.”

  Reluctantly, Travis closed his computer and followed Faith and R.J. to the kitchen.

  One of the men was refilling his coffee cup. The other was sitting at the table, his elbows resting on an unfolded map of Texas. Both looked the part of real ranchers. Tanned. Lean and muscular. Dressed in jeans and Western shirts and wearing work-worn cowboy boots.

  R.J. took care of the introductions. Tague and Damien Lambert. The names sounded familiar. Perhaps Leif had mentioned them.

  “I don’t mean to pry into your business, but I hear you’re in a hurry to get to Laredo,” Damien said once Faith and Travis had coffees in hand.

  “We were hoping to get there tonight,” Travis said. “Not having much luck with that, though.” He let it go at that, not willing to get into details with a couple of strangers.

  “We have a new four-seater Piper we use mostly for ranch business,” Damien said. “It’s not as comfortable as the corporate jets owned by Lambert Oil, but it’ll get you to Laredo with no problems and it’s available. All we’d have to do is fill it with fuel.”

  The Lamberts, one of the
richest oil and ranching families in Texas. No wonder the names had sounded familiar. “Do you have a pilot?” Travis asked, suddenly fully engaged.

  Tague grinned. “Me. And it just so happens I have a few hours to kill.”

  “Are you offering to fly Faith and me to Laredo tonight?” Travis asked.

  “Yeah, if you’re interested. Only problem is I’ll have to fly straight from Laredo to A&M in the morning for a seminar I’m leading on innovative breeding ideas.”

  “No problem there,” Travis said. “We can find a commercial flight back. It’s just getting there that’s urgent.”

  “Then I guess it’s settled.” Tague lifted and tipped his cup as if it were a crystal flute and they were making toasts.

  Problem solved almost too easily, Travis decided. Easy always made him suspicious. “What’s the charge?”

  “No charge. Just call it a neighborly gesture.”

  “A very thoughtful gesture,” Travis said, shocked that R.J., a womanizing boozer who hadn’t bothered to keep in touch with any of his own children for most of his life, was such good friends with a family as socially elite as the Lamberts.

  “R.J. says you’re looking at some real trouble that needs immediate attention,” Damien said. “If we can help, it would be a downright sin not to.”

  “Plus, we’ve all been there,” Tague said. “When trouble hits, you need family and friends. No questions asked, by the way. No explanations required. It’s the cowboy way of doing business.”

  Travis knew the cowboy way. It wasn’t so different from the cop code. But none of his cop friends owned prop planes.

  “If you’re sure you don’t mind, Faith and I will definitely take you up on your offer.”

  “We’re sure,” Tague said.

  They worked out the details over a second cup of coffee. Two hours later they had taken off and were headed toward Laredo.

  * * *

  GEORGIO STARED AT the traffic ahead, cursing the other drivers, seething with anger. Things were going south at the speed of light. Somehow Faith Ashburn was behind all this. He should have given the word to have Cornell killed the second he’d heard that the mixed-up kid had called his mother.

  No, he should have had him killed the first night Faith had showed up at the Passion Pit. The woman had always been trouble. Too gutsy. Too determined. A pit bull without a leash.

  Instead he’d stupidly found her amusing, been impressed by all that motherly concern. A quality his own mother had sadly lacked.

  Georgio had figured that after a few months, Faith would grow weary and leave the search for her son to the police. Cops, or any other law-enforcement officials for that matter, had never been much of a challenge for Georgio. Either they were too tied up by rules and regulation to be effective, or they could be bought.

  Travis Dalton was the exception. He and his latest partner, Reno Vargas, had dogged Georgio constantly for the past eighteen months, had been in and out of his clubs more often than any of his paying clientele. Asking questions. Making Georgio’s customers and employees nervous.

  And now Cornell had screwed up royally. There was a warrant out for his arrest. He was on the run—not only from the hapless border agents, but apparently from Georgio, as well. There had been no contact.

  The kid couldn’t possibly think Georgio wouldn’t know about the incident. Or maybe he could. Cornell was naive enough to buy into everything Georgio had told him to this point. Naive and desperate.

  In spite of that, Georgio had started to like Cornell. He’d even anticipated a few romps with Faith.

  Too bad that both Cornell and his mother would have to die. Georgio liked his problems wrapped up neatly, and there was one thing you could always count on with corpses. They never squealed or testified.

  Chapter Twelve

  Faith stared straight ahead at the string of red taillights that stretched out in front of their rented sedan. Her muscles were stiff from the constant tension. The lining of her stomach felt as if it had been smeared with acid.

  She stretched and pulled one foot onto the seat with her. “How much farther to the truck stop where we’re supposed to meet John?”

  “Ten more miles.”

  “Did you ever tell him that I’d be with you?”

  “No, but there’s something else I should tell you. John is not just a friend. He’s a border-patrol agent.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that originally?”

  “He’s talking to me unofficially. That’s why we’re meeting at the truck stop. I’m not sure he’ll be as open if I show up with you.”

  Her frustrations swelled yet again. “Cornell is my son. I have every right to know why he’s being arrested.”

  “I’d still like to talk to John alone first.”

  “So I just sit in the car?”

  “No. I’m not comfortable with that.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “You go in first,” Travis said. “Take a seat and order from the menu, even if it’s just coffee. I’ll come in a few minutes later and go sit by John. After that, I’ll just have to play this by ear.”

  “I don’t see why you get to call all the shots, Travis.”

  “Because I’m a cop and you—”

  The ringing of her phone interrupted his answer. She checked the caller ID.

  Unavailable.

  Faith’s breath caught. Her heart pounded. “It must be Cornell,” she whispered. “Hello?”

  She heard breathing on the line, but no voice.

  “Cornell. Cornell.”

  “Mrs. Ashburn.”

  A woman’s voice. Low. Shaky. Faith took a deep breath and bit back tears as dashed hope churned in her stomach.

  “Yes,” she said. “Who’s calling?”

  “You don’t know me, but my name is Angela.”

  Faith’s heart skipped a beat. “Angela Pointer?”

  “Yes, ma’am. How do you know about me?”

  “From emails found on Cornell’s computer. Have you talked to Cornell? Do you know where he is?”

  “I don’t know where he is. He wouldn’t say, but I did hear from him. He’s in trouble, Mrs. Ashburn. Bad trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?” If she pretended not to know anything, perhaps Angela would tell her the full truth.

  “I can’t say. But he wants you to know that no matter what you hear, he loves you. And he’s sorry for all he’s done.”

  “What has he done, Angela? What has he done that he would need to apologize to me for?”

  “He’s broken the law. He wants you to know that it’s all his doing, and he doesn’t want you to get involved. Don’t try to find him.”

  “If Cornell broke the law, he had to have a very good reason. I can help him, Angela. I’m with a cop right now who’s on his side. I just have to know where to find him.”

  “He doesn’t want you to look for him, Mrs. Ashburn. He loves you. Just know that.”

  “I do, but I have to find—”

  Angela broke the connection. Faith held tight to the phone, willing her to pick up again, but the phone stayed silent. Her one link to Cornell had vaporized into thin air.

  “I take it that was Angela Pointer,” Travis said.

  “Yes. She refused to tell me, but I’m sure she knows where Cornell is. We have to track down that number.”

  “I’ll call the precinct and have someone trace the call. What did Angela tell you?”

  Faith shared the gist of the message, new fears forming as she did. “I think Angela is turning against Cornell, if she was ever with him. She worked for Georgio. It makes sense that they were both involved in Cornell’s disappearance.”

  “Anything’s possible,” Travis agreed.

  The possib
ilities made Faith nauseated. If she was right, this conniving, lying woman might be the mother of her grandchild—a child that might never be part of Faith’s life.

  Memories flooded her, of the first time she’d held Cornell in her arms. She’d worried that she wouldn’t know what to do, feared that she might not even like the baby who would soon take over her life.

  But then he’d wrapped his tiny fingers around one of hers and wrapped himself around her heart. That the tiny infant could be a living, breathing being, part of her, part of his father, had seemed like a miracle almost beyond comprehension.

  At that moment, she’d become a real mother.

  She remembered his first seizure. Faith had walked into his room and found him writhing on the floor, his eyes rolled back in his head. And then there was the night she and Melvin had stayed at his bedside all night, crying, praying, afraid he wouldn’t make it until morning. Each breath had been a struggle—for Cornell and for them.

  That same sick panic that she was about to lose him was taking over again.

  She looked up as Travis slowed and then pulled into the parking lot of a truck stop. The big rigs were parked in the back. A few cars, two pickup trucks and a cluster of motorcycles lined the front.

  Travis parked near the front door. “I’ll call my partner while you go inside,” he said. “I want to get someone tracing that phone number pronto.”

  “What does your friend look like?”

  “Mid-fifties, receding hairline, salt-and-pepper hair. Wearing a red plaid shirt.”

  She realized then that he’d already spotted the man through the wide, dirt-smeared windows. She nodded, then opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement.

  A few seconds later, she walked right by the secretive border-patrol agent. There was a gun at his hip. No doubt loaded and ready to fire.

  A gun that he would undoubtedly use to kill her son if it came to that.

  * * *

  “FIND ANGELA POINTER,” Travis said once he’d filled Reno in on the latest phone call from her. “If we do, I’m almost positive she could lead us to Cornell.”

  “I’m working on it,” Reno said. “I’ve also put a tail 24/7 on Georgio. If Cornell screwed up smuggling a cache of drugs for him, Georgio will do his best to keep Cornell from being arrested and interrogated.”