Cowboy in the Extreme Page 14

  But Kim blamed him for losing Lucy and not protecting them and for leaving her years ago, and no matter what he did, he’d never earn her trust again.

  Defeat weighed heavily on his chest as he strode into the dining hall to meet his employees. The ranch hands consisted of good old boys and young cowboys who wanted to learn the ropes of a working ranch, men like he’d been, hungry to work their way up. He also had four groomers and two trainers as well as the cook for the ranch hands, a robust woman named Hazel.

  The noisy rumble of voices quieted as he entered and stepped up in front of the crowd. “As you know, my daughter, Lucy, is still missing. At this point, we don’t have any leads. Carter Flagstone, the man we originally believed responsible, did not abduct her. Last night Kim received a ransom call and we made a drop, but the kidnappers escaped with the money and there’s still no word on Lucy.”

  A few sympathetic whispers resounded through the room. Brandon searched each of the men’s faces, looking for anyone suspicious, overly nervous or anxious to leave.

  “The sheriff has questioned whether or not someone close to me might be involved,” Brandon said. “I don’t want to point fingers or put anyone on the spot, but if any of you have seen or heard anything or have any information that might help me find Lucy, I’m doubling the reward.”

  He studied the faces again as he finished his speech, hoping they understood that he meant business.

  If one of them had betrayed him, he’d regret it.

  KIM BATTLED PANIC as she raced into Brandon’s study. Earlier, she’d seen him store extra cash in a safe behind his desk so she dropped to her knees to open it. Dammit, what was the combination?

  She tried his birthday, then his wedding date—she’d emblazoned that date in her head years ago—but neither worked. Frustrated, she banged her fist on the safe. She could call Johnny, but he’d demand to go with her just as Brandon had, and this time she refused to take any chances.

  She had to open the safe. She racked her brain, then punched Johnny’s birthday, the day Brandon had graduated from school, the day Carter was arrested. Then she tried Brandon’s sister’s birthday, but none worked. Sweating, she checked her watch.

  It would take her a half hour or more to reach the address the kidnapper had given her. She had to hurry.

  On a whim, she plugged in her own birthday and was shocked when the safe door clicked open. The realization gave her pause, but she didn’t have time to dwell on the reason Brandon had used it. She grabbed the cash inside and counted it. It wasn’t nearly a hundred thousand, but if she padded the bottom of the bag, maybe it would appear to be. And she didn’t have time to call Johnny or wait on Brandon for more.

  She grabbed the bag Johnny had used to bring his money to them and stuffed the money inside. Thankfully Brandon had walked to the dining hall, so she grabbed his keys and rushed outside to his truck.

  Her heart raced as she climbed in, turned on the ignition and the headlights, and sped down the drive.

  “I’m coming to get you, Lucy,” she whispered. “Just hang on, sweetheart. This time I’m bringing you home.”

  She felt for the gun in her purse. If the kidnapper didn’t bring her daughter to her, she’d shoot him and make him tell her where Lucy was. Nothing was going to stop her this time.

  She’d find her daughter or she’d die trying.

  THE MEMORY OF LUCY riding Spots sent a wave of despair through Brandon as he walked past the stable. But his cell phone trilled, and he quickly connected the call. “Woodstock.”

  “I ran that background check on your employees’ financials like you asked,” Hollister said. “A name popped up, Farley Wills. Apparently he was heavily in debt, but he recently deposited a hundred thousand to a new account.”

  Brandon tensed. Farley was in his sixties with a gimp leg and a wife who hadn’t been able to work in years. Where had he gotten that kind of money?

  “It’s not the whole million you gave up in ransom, but it’s suspicious.”

  “He’s here on the ranch. I’ll find him,” Brandon said in a clipped tone. “Anything on that corporation?”

  “It was a dummy corporation. I’m trying to trace the person behind it. Whoever set it up knew what they were doing and intentionally covered his tracks.”

  Brandon silently cursed, then hung up and jogged back to the house to pick up his SUV. When Brandon had hired Wills, the older man had been out of work for months, his wife ailing, and he’d sold off the house he’d owned for forty years to pay off his wife’s medical bills. He also had a son in Afghanistan.

  Suspicions nagged at Brandon. He’d felt sorry for the old man and had wanted to help him.

  He rounded the corner and froze. The SUV was gone.

  Kim.

  His heart started hammering like a jackhammer. Had she heard from the kidnapper? If so, why hadn’t she called him?

  Fear clawed at his chest, and he rushed inside. “Kim!”

  A quick look in the kitchen, and there was no note. Nothing to tell him where she’d gone.

  Dammit.

  She’d been upset. Had she simply taken a drive?

  Or had she gone to meet the kidnapper?

  He’d hoped that last night made a difference, that she trusted him, that she wouldn’t do something foolish. But if she’d gone to meet the kidnapper alone, she might get herself killed.

  God…he couldn’t go on if he lost Kim and Lucy....

  Hand shaking, he punched in her cell phone number, but it rang once, twice, three times, four, five, then rolled over to voice mail.

  “Kim, where are you? Call me. I have to know you’re all right.”

  Their earlier conversation echoed in his head, and he realized she blamed him for losing Lucy, for insisting he accompany her on the drop.

  Hoping she’d turn to Johnny, he punched his friend’s number and sighed in relief when Johnny answered.

  “Johnny, have you heard from Kim?”

  “No, why? What’s wrong?”

  “Kim and I had an argument. I went to question my employees, and when I got back to the house she was gone.”

  “Gone?” Johnny asked. “What do you mean gone?”

  “I mean she’s not here.” Brandon paced the kitchen, tunneling his hand through his hair. “She took my SUV and left without a note. I tried her cell, but her voice mail picked up. I was hoping she’d come to you—”

  “Dammit, Brandon, I haven’t heard a word. What did you two argue about?”

  “Us. Lucy. She blames me, man.” Emotions thickened Brandon’s throat.

  Johnny muttered a curse. “She’s just upset, Brandon—”

  “I know that, but she’s right. I’m Lucy’s father, I should have kept this from happening.”

  “Stop it,” Johnny said in a sharp tone. “Blaming yourself won’t bring Lucy back. We have to figure out where Kim is.”

  Brandon paced the floor. “She must have heard from the kidnapper, and she’s gone on her own—”

  “And may be walking into a trap,” Johnny said in a strained voice.

  Yes, and it was his damn fault.

  “Did Hollister turn up anything?”

  Brandon bowed his head into his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose to stem his emotions. “He’s checking out that dummy corporation.” He snapped his head up. “And he found some discrepancies in one of my ranch hands’ financials. I’m going to see him now.”

  “I’ll drive out there.”

  “No,” Brandon said. “I may need you for backup later. Wait until I call.”

  Johnny made a frustrated sound. He didn’t like it but he agreed, and Brandon located the keys to the old pickup he kept in one of the storage barns and jogged outside. It took him three attempts to start the damn thing, but finally the engine chugged to life, and he sped toward the cabin where Wills lived. He tried to remember if he’d seen the old man in the dining hall, and recalled seeing him limping toward the back door.

  Night was falling, the sun dip
ping behind the tops of the oaks, casting gloomy shadows as more storm clouds brewed. As he parked, he spotted Farley loading something in the back of a truck.

  Luggage? Was he about to take off?

  He screeched to a stop and jumped out, braced to tear the old man apart.

  “Where are you going, Wills?”

  Farley turned to him, wiping sweat from his forehead with a worn handkerchief.

  “Nowhere,” he said. “Just going to haul off some trash.”

  “You were at the dining hall,” Brandon said. “You know what I’m up against.”

  Guilt lined the man’s weary face. “Yeah, I was there.”

  Farley dropped his head and stared at his crooked fingers. His hands were shaking and when he raised his head, fear and resignation settled in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Woodstock. You’re a good man.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I…didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Especially that little girl.”

  Brandon’s blood went cold. He had to swallow twice to make his voice work. “What are you saying? You didn’t mean to hurt her?” He grabbed Farley’s arm and forced him to face him. “What did you do to my daughter?”

  Wills’s eyes went wide. “I…I didn’t do anything to her, I swear.”

  “Then what the hell did you mean?” Brandon said through clenched teeth. “And where did you get that hundred thousand?”

  Wills’s face crumpled. “My son, he was killed in a bombing in Afghanistan,” he said in a raw voice. “He had a life insurance policy.”

  Brandon’s chest clenched. He’d had no idea. But that didn’t explain his comment about Lucy.

  “I’m sorry, Farley. Honest, I am. I didn’t know.”

  Farley shrugged. “Imagine that. My son died a hero when I’m half-crippled and still here. And now I’m using that money to try and save my wife.”

  Sympathy for the man ballooned inside Brandon. But he still had questions. “That’s awful, Wills,” Brandon said. “But please tell me. What did you mean about hurting Lucy?”

  Wills rubbed at his gimp leg. “I don’t know if it has anything to do with her disappearance or not. Maybe I’m wrong.”

  Brandon gripped his arm. “Listen, just spit it out and let me decide.”

  “I hate to get anyone in trouble—”

  “Tell me, dammit!”

  Wills wheezed another labored breath. “Boyd Tombs,” Wills said. “The night Kim and Lucy came here, I saw him out near the northern pasture. He was with someone, they were talking in low voices.”

  “What were they talking about?”

  “About you. About Lucy.”

  “What about her?”

  “That she was your little girl.”

  The air tightened in Brandon’s lungs. “Who was he talking to?”

  The man’s brows crinkled. “Your wife, Mr. Woodstock. That’s why I didn’t say anything. I…thought Boyd and her were sneaking around, you know, having an affair. It never occurred to me they’d do something like kidnap your child.” He tugged his arm away from Brandon, his frown deepening the lines around his eyes. “I mean, why would they?”

  Brandon had no idea.

  It wasn’t like Marty needed money. And he thought she’d moved on. That she was getting remarried.

  Then again, his ex-wife had an obsessive streak and was spoiled rotten. She always got what she wanted, and he’d realized after marrying her that she’d set her hooks into him.

  Her pride was hurt when he’d asked for a divorce, but he’d never considered the fact that she’d do something to get revenge on him.

  “Did you hear anything else?” Brandon asked. “Maybe they mentioned a trip they planned to take, some place they were going?”

  Wills shook his head. “No, but Boyd hasn’t been back to work the last two days. Called in sick, so it started me thinking.”

  Brandon nodded. “You should have come to me sooner, Farley.”

  “I know,” Wills said. “But I ain’t been myself since Roy died. And it’s not like I heard them say they were going to do something or seen ’em take Lucy.”

  His voice cracked and the tears in his eyes made Brandon realize the man was suffering.

  But so was he. And his little girl was, too.

  And how the hell had Marty found out that Lucy was his?

  “Did they say anything else about Lucy? Or maybe mention a place they might meet up?”

  Wills shook his head. “No. Like I said, that’s all I know.”

  Brandon raced toward his truck, punching the sheriff’s number as he sped back to the house.

  “You think your ex-wife kidnapped your daughter?” Sheriff McRae asked after Brandon explained his conversation with Wills.

  “I don’t know,” Brandon said. “But if Marty told Tombs Lucy was my child, he could have orchestrated it. Then again, it’s possible they planned it together. Can you send some cops over to her house and her father’s ranch?”

  “I’m on it,” the sheriff said. “And what about this Boyd Tombs?”

  “See what you can find out on him.” He parked the truck and flew into the house, then ran to the computer to check Tomb’s background information. Maybe there was an address....

  But as he sat down in front of the computer, the opened email caught his eye, and he frowned.

  Marty had sent him a message. She still loved him? She wanted to help?

  Was she delusional?

  Dammit, he had to get to the bottom of this.

  He scrolled through the employee data, then cursed as he spotted one of Boyd’s references. Tyler Anglin, the foreman for Marty’s father’s ranch.

  Boyd must have met Marty while at her father’s estate. She’d probably seduced him into doing whatever she wanted.

  So it was possible they had conspired to kidnap Lucy.

  But who had been behind it? Boyd or Marty?

  Boyd probably needed the money. But he’d met the young man and couldn’t imagine him concocting such a scheme.

  Marty was the smart one. Manipulative. Cunning. Charming.

  The one who had a motive to hurt him.

  His mind raced as the last months of their marriage played through his head. The fights over everything. His ranch. Traveling. Her desire, no, obsession, to have a baby.

  His refusal because he feared he’d pass on that genetic disease.

  If Marty had wanted revenge and discovered Lucy was his child, she could have easily manipulated Boyd into helping her.

  But if Marty was behind this, surely she wouldn’t hurt Lucy....

  Still, they had found that blood. And he didn’t know Boyd well enough to be certain that if he lost his temper or things turned sour between him and Marty, that he wouldn’t.

  He groaned, his heart heavy. He had to think like Marty.

  If she had Lucy, she wouldn’t hide her at her father’s or at her own place.

  So where would she take her?

  KIM SLOWED THE SUV, the headlights blazing ahead to reveal a small log cabin nestled in the midst of acres of woods. Flower beds bloomed in reds, yellows and golds, and a welcoming wreath hung from the front door.

  This cabin looked homey, like a vacation retreat, not deserted and run-down like Baxter’s property.

  What was going on? Did she have the address correct?

  She glanced down at the notes she’d scribbled, then rechecked the road sign and the number on the box and frowned. Yes, this was it.

  Still, the hairs on her nape stood on end. The kidnapper had sent her here for a reason.

  To trap her into some false sense of safety?

  Because Lucy was here?

  Or to kill her this time?

  Inhaling to calm her nerves, she cut the engine, removed the gun from her purse, tucked it in the back of her jeans and pulled her shirt down to cover it, then grabbed the duffel bag. Leaves and twigs snapped and crunched beneath her feet as she climbed out and looked around.

  The caller had insisted she put the money in the wo
od box on the porch. But she didn’t intend to leave without her daughter this time, so she stayed alert as she walked up the stone walkway to the porch. The cabin sat on a hill overlooking the river which raged over jagged rocks below. The drop-off was steep, and she shivered, wondering how deep the water was at that point, and trying to fight the panicky feeling that the kidnapper might have killed Lucy and dumped her in the river.

  A twig snapped from the direction of the woods. Insects buzzed. Leaves rustled. Shadows moved from the thicket of trees nearby. Then the hiss of a snake.

  Another sound from the left startled her, and she jerked around, but a figure moved toward her and knocked her to the ground.

  She kicked and fought, but something hard and sharp slammed against her temple. Stars swam in front of her eyes. Then the world spun in a drunken rush and she fell into the darkness.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brandon searched his memory banks for Marty’s friends’ names.

  The only two he could think of were Andrea Meriweather and Susie Peterman. Both were just as spoiled and materialistic as Marty. Both drenched in diamonds and designer outfits and servants—the lifestyle Marty had wanted.

  The one he abhorred.

  Hell though, he didn’t know their numbers. But he would find them. He tried the phone book, but as he’d feared, their numbers were unlisted. What now?

  Remembering that both of them belonged to the garden club in town, he looked that up on Google and found the number. But the snooty woman who answered refused to cooperate.

  “We are not in the habit of releasing our members’ personal contact information.”

  “But this is an emergency,” Brandon shouted.

  The phone clicked silent.

  He cursed and punched in the P.I.’s number. “I need two phone numbers.” He explained his reasons and gave him the women’s names and within minutes the man had hacked into the information.

  “Thanks,” Brandon said. “And find out anything you can on a man named Boyd Tombs. He worked for my ex-wife’s father before coming to work for me. I think he may be involved in the kidnapping.”