Bucking Bronc Lodge 04 - Cowboy Cop Page 7

  She took Timmy’s hand. “Why don’t you help Justin while I call your daddy?”

  Justin grabbed one of the grooming brushes and handed it to Timmy. “Let me unsaddle him, then you can start brushing him down and we’ll give him some food and water.”

  Jordan stepped aside, removed her phone from her pocket and punched in Miles’s number. She tried to steady her breathing but the realization that someone had tried to kill her—or Timmy—was settling in, her fear mounting.

  * * *

  MILES GRIPPED THE PHONE as Blackpaw relayed the information he’d gleaned from Renee Balwinger’s file. Renee had met Dugan while he was on trial, then visited him several times in prison. She’d also given him an alibi the night Marie had been murdered.

  Now she was dead.

  “Was she married? Divorced?” he asked.

  “Married. And get this, her first husband was in jail for abusing her.”

  Good God. “So she’s a glutton for punishment.”

  Blackpaw sighed. “Or Dugan seemed like a prize compared to her old man.”

  “Right, I forget, he’s a real charmer.”

  “He’s a ladies’ man all right. A sociopath who looks and acts normal. He dresses well, has impeccable manners, is a successful businessman. He’s had investments in several different companies. Women throw themselves at him.”

  “Yet the bastard likes to carve them up behind closed doors.” Miles tilted his hat back and studied the grayish-black sky. “Please tell me he left some evidence behind.”

  “Sorry. You know better than that.”

  Miles dragged his hand down his chin. “I keep hoping he’ll make a mistake. Any word on his whereabouts?”

  “No.”

  “How about Paul Belsa?”

  “Nothing. I checked with the airlines and couldn’t find a ticket for him anywhere.”

  Dammit. This just kept getting better and better.

  Miles’s phone beeped in that he had another call, and he checked the number. Jordan.

  Fear clawed at his insides. What if something was wrong?

  Had Timmy opened up or had a setback?

  Perspiration rolled down the back of his neck. “Mason, Jordan’s calling. Keep looking for Dugan and Belsa. I’d better take this.”

  “I’m on it. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Miles connected to the other call. “Jordan?”

  “Miles,” Jordan said, her breathing rattling over the line, “Timmy and I rode out to the creek, but someone shot at us.”

  “What?” For a moment, Miles couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. “Is he—”

  “He’s fine,” Jordan rushed on. “The gunshot spooked his horse and Smoky threw him, but he wasn’t hurt.”

  Miles loosened the collar of his shirt. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I checked him over and didn’t see any injuries. We rode back to the stables together.”

  Miles was already heading to his Jeep. “Where is he now?”

  “In the barn helping Justin groom Winnie.”

  Miles fired up the engine, tires squealing and spewing dirt as he sped toward the stable. “Did you see the shooter?”

  “No, I think he was hiding in the woods. I saw movement, a shadow, but that was it.” She hesitated. “Maybe it was one of the kids target practicing?”

  Miles cursed and spun the vehicle down the drive. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

  “It’s possible.”

  He gritted his teeth. “It was Dugan. He’s here.”

  “How do you know that? Has someone spotted him?”

  “No, but why else would someone shoot at you?”

  A strained moment of silence stretched between them as he approached the stables. Then he spotted Jordan by the railing, screeched to a stop, threw the Jeep into Park, jumped out and jogged over to her, stuffing the phone in his pocket. The sight of her pale face made his stomach knot.

  Jordan was trying to put on a brave face, but she was shaken as well.

  And she had protected his son. Probably saved his life.

  He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her, thank her.

  Kiss her.

  But he had to see his son first. Had to know his little boy was safe and alive.

  * * *

  JORDAN’S CHEST CLENCHED as she followed Miles into the barn. The moment he saw Timmy beside Justin, he raced to him and dragged him in his arms. “Are you okay, sport?”

  Timmy looked startled but gave a slight nod and allowed Miles to examine him for injuries. When Miles was satisfied, his shoulders fell in relief.

  She was still contemplating Miles’s question—why else would someone shoot at her if not to get to Timmy?

  “Miles, we need to talk.”

  Miles faced her, his stance protective. “I don’t want to let Timmy out of my sight.”

  Jordan lowered her voice. “I know and I understand, but you’re scaring him.” She nudged his hand. “Come on, we’ll be right outside the barn.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he finally gave a clipped nod of agreement then turned back to Timmy. “Stay with Justin until I get back.” He gave Justin a pointed look. “Watch him like a hawk.”

  “Sure thing.” Justin gestured toward Timmy. “Come on and help me with Smoky.”

  Timmy followed Justin, and Jordan and Miles stepped outside the barn. “What are you going to do, lecture me?” Miles asked, his tone angry.

  Jordan sighed. “No, Miles, I understand your fear. Don’t you think I was shaken by the shooting?”

  His jaw relaxed, a contrite expression in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I...just can’t stand the thought of losing my son.”

  Sympathy mushroomed inside Jordan’s heart, and she squeezed his arm. “I understand that, and I am trying to help.”

  A pained look flared in his eyes, then a second of remorse. “I know, and you did. You saved him, Jordan. I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

  Guilt suffused Jordan. She wanted to comfort him and make his pain go away.

  She wanted to pull him in her arms and hold him and...

  She could do none of those things. The man was grieving for Marie. “You don’t have to thank me. I care about Timmy and would never let anyone hurt him.” God help her, but she had to tell him the whole truth.

  “I know, it’s your job,” Miles said gruffly. “But Timmy’s my life.”

  She understood. And she had to do everything possible to ensure that little boy was safe. Even if it meant opening up old wounds by confiding her past. “You asked me about the shooting. Maybe it wasn’t about Timmy but about me.”

  A tortured moment passed and Miles seemed to be considering her statement. “What are you talking about?” he asked tightly. “Why would someone want to hurt you?”

  Jordan took a deep breath. “Two years ago, my younger brother was gunned down by a gang member outside San Antonio.”

  Miles stilled, the air growing thick. “How old was he?”

  “Thirteen,” Jordan said, a knife twisting in her gut.

  “Was the shooter caught?”

  The teenager’s face flashed in her mind. He had the coldest eyes, a face hardened by the life he’d led on the streets. “Yes, but the police warned me that his gang might retaliate and come after me.”

  Miles cursed. “So you think one or more of these gang members might have followed you here?”

  “I don’t know,” Jordan said honestly. “But I just thought you should be aware that it’s a possibility.”

  “Does Brody know?”

  “Yes.” A chill skated up her spine at Miles’s condemning look. “He and I have both scrutinized the counselor and campers’ files and backgrounds and nothing suspicious has shown up.”

  “I can’t believe you’d come here and put others’ lives in jeopardy,” Miles said in a cutting tone.

  Her guilt deepened, but she stood her ground. “I discussed it with Brody at length. If you f
ind evidence that it was this gang that shot at us, I’ll leave.”

  Perspiration beaded on Miles’s forehead, defeat and worry darkening his eyes. Then he glanced at the sky where the last remnants of daylight lingered. “I’m going to call one of the security guards to help me search for those bullets. I’ll get one of the others to stay with Timmy. Maybe you shouldn’t be around him until we figure out what’s going on.”

  A sound behind them erupted, and Jordan turned to see Timmy behind Miles. He looked stricken, panicked, more upset now than before. Then he ran toward Jordan and threw his arms around her legs, a sob escaping.

  * * *

  MILES’S STOMACH CLENCHED. Timmy was looking up at him as if he was terrified of him.

  And he was obviously growing attached to Jordan.

  He could understand why. She was kind and gentle and probably reminded him of his mother.

  Except she was nothing like Marie.

  Marie had stayed at home with Timmy but not because she’d wanted to. When the bottom fell out of the real estate market, she’d lost her job. She’d been depressed about it and had had a short fuse with both Miles and their son.

  Jordan stooped down and pulled Timmy into her arms and stroked his back. “It’s okay, Timmy. Everything’s going to be fine, I promise.”

  Her gaze met his, and Miles felt sucker punched at the raw sensitivity in her eyes. Knowing she’d lost her brother somehow made him look at her differently. She wasn’t just a shrink; she was someone who’d experienced grief firsthand.

  And judging from the way her voice had warbled when she’d confided about her brother, she had her own guilt to deal with.

  He’d been hasty in telling her to stay away from Timmy. Obviously Timmy needed her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, both to her and his son. He moved closer to Timmy and knelt beside him. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

  Timmy loosened his arms around Jordan and looked up at him, his big eyes swimming with anguish.

  “Why don’t you walk Timmy to dinner and stay with him while I go look for those bullet casings?”

  Jordan frowned and patted Timmy one more time. “It might be faster if I went with you. Then I can show you exactly where we were.”

  She was right.

  “Okay, let’s both walk Timmy to the dining hall. He can stay with Brody.”

  “Timmy’s group is going to tell stories around the campfire after dinner,” Jordan said.

  He gave a quick nod. He would make sure one of the security guards was there to protect them.

  He stepped aside, phoned Haddock and asked him and Wes Lee to meet him at the dining hall. When he relayed the latest events, Lee agreed to watch over the group while Haddock saddled horses for them to ride out for the search.

  He and Jordan settled Timmy with Carlos and his group. Timmy looked wary, but Miles assured him he would be back, then he and Jordan headed over to meet Haddock.

  “How many shots were fired?” Haddock asked Jordan.

  Jordan rubbed her temple in thought. “Three, four, maybe. It happened so quickly that it spooked Smoky and he threw Timmy. Then I grabbed Timmy and we rode back.”

  “I brought flashlights,” Haddock said, then handed one to each of them. Miles checked his gun as he climbed on his horse, and they followed Jordan as she led them toward the creek.

  Admiration for Jordan mounted in his chest. She had saved his little boy. And now she was trying to help with the case. He tried to ignore the way the wind tossed her silky blond hair in disarray around her shoulders, his body reacting in spite of his better sense. Jordan was sexy and smart and caring...and the confident way she rode in the saddle coupled with the way her butt looked in those tight jeans stirred his blood.

  Something that hadn’t happened in a long damn time.

  Then she slowed her horse to a walk and began to point out where she and Timmy had been when the shots rang out, and Miles forgot about her sex appeal as he began to comb the area for the bullets meant to kill his son.

  Haddock and Miles both shined flashlights across the ground as they rode the area, then Jordan slowed her horse, climbed down, tied Winnie to a tree and began to search herself.

  “Exactly where were you two when the shots were fired?” Miles asked.

  Jordan twisted her head around and pointed to a large rock shrouded by shrubs. “We stopped there and looked at the creek, then the first shot rang out and our horses jumped. We moved over by the trees and another shot pinged by, then Smoky threw Timmy.”

  Miles angled his head to study the direction the shots might have originated from, then gestured toward Haddock. “Search around that boulder. I’ll take the woods.”

  Haddock climbed down and began to comb the area while Miles probed through the brush near the woods. He found one casing. “I got one. It looks like it’s from a .38.”

  He twisted his head and flashed the light across the neighboring trees and spotted an indentation in an oak, so he walked over and dug the bullet from the tree. Haddock located one more, and Jordan found another below a mesquite near the spot where Smoky had thrown Timmy.

  Miles saw the imprint of his son’s shoes and an image of Timmy lying helpless and bleeding on the ground hit him, and his anger surged hot and fast.

  “I’ll send these to my partner to have them analyzed,” he told Jordan and Haddock. “If we find this gun, at least we’ll have some evidence.”

  The urge to get back to Timmy made him jog to his horse. Haddock and Jordan turned the bullets they’d found over to him and he wrapped them in a handkerchief. Dammit, he wished he’d brought evidence bags. But at least they’d found proof that there was a shooter.

  Only Dugan had never used a gun before.

  Although his partner might. And Dugan could have hired someone to shoot at Jordan, then kidnap Timmy.

  Another question nagged at him. How about this man Paul Belsa?

  Did he own a gun?

  If he’d killed Marie, he would have the same motive as Dugan. Miles couldn’t stop pursuing either man yet.

  * * *

  TIMMY WAS SO COLD. The fire was hot, but he couldn’t stop shaking. The noises...the voices. The gunshots.

  His mama’s scream...

  Kenny and Malcolm scooted up next to him. They were talking about something. The horses. A ghost.

  Or was it a monster?

  Timmy saw the real ghosts. The monsters. They were all around him. Hiding in the trees. In the bushes. Behind the big rocks he used to like to climb.

  The orange from the fire shot up toward the sky. Then he saw the red again. Red everywhere...

  His mama’s face...her eyes staring at him. Empty. The whites bulging. Her mouth...her lips hung open. Purple and blue...

  Then the scream came again. Louder... It wouldn’t stop.

  Then it was all quiet.

  And it was black again. So black he heard the monster coming for him.

  It was in the trees now. He saw it before. Today when he and Miss Jordan were riding.

  The monster...

  It was going to get him and make him dead like his mommy.

  Chapter Seven

  Timmy’s scream jerked Miles from a deep sleep.

  A sleep that had been fitful, so he was disoriented when he heard the sound, and for a moment thought it was in his head. He blinked through the darkness, rubbed his bleary eyes, then cocked his head to listen.

  A low sob ripped through the air.

  His heart jackknifed, and he sprang off the bed, grabbed his gun from the nightstand drawer and raced toward his son’s room. Senses honed for trouble, he scanned the hallway between the two bedrooms, then the den, for an intruder, but the shadows from the moonlight streaming through the window proved to be tree branches.

  A second later, he pushed open Timmy’s door and quickly swept his gaze across the interior. The night-light he’d left on illuminated the room just enough for him to see no intruder. Only Timmy was fighting some invisible monste
r in the bed.

  He left his gun on the dresser by the door, then rushed to his son and eased down beside him. Timmy was thrashing at the covers, kicking and sobbing, a guttural sound that tore at Miles’s heart.

  He reached for Timmy to wake him, but suddenly his little boy vaulted off the bed and dived into the corner.

  “Timmy, it’s me, Dad.” Emotions thickened his voice. “You’re having a nightmare but I’m here now.”

  Timmy didn’t seem to recognize him. His eyes were glazed, wide with fright, his mind obviously still lost in the throes of the dream.

  Or the memory that had imprisoned him for weeks.

  Slowly Miles rose and moved toward him, but Timmy shrank back, then picked up a sneaker and threw it, the horror in his sob gut-wrenching.

  Miles inched toward him again, holding his hand out, praying his son would wake. “Son, you’re safe now, Dad’s here.”

  But Timmy wailed like an animal, and Miles paused in his tracks. A sense of helplessness engulfed him. He had no idea what to do.

  Except to call Jordan.

  Timmy might respond to her.

  He glanced at the clock and realized it was two in the morning and she would be asleep, but Timmy rocked himself back and forth so hard he banged the walls. Miles grabbed his gun then rushed from the room and retrieved his cell phone.

  His fingers shook as he punched Jordan’s number. Seconds later, she answered, her voice heavy with sleep.

  “Hello?”

  “Jordan, I’m sorry to wake you, but it’s Timmy.”

  Sheets rustling echoed over the line, and he realized she was getting out of bed. “What’s wrong?”

  “He had a nightmare and I can’t get him to wake up.” Miles’s voice cracked. “I tried to comfort him, but he won’t let me near him. He started wailing and threw his shoe at me and now he’s banging the wall.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  The line went dead. Miles moved to the front door and unlocked it, hoping Jordan could help Timmy since his son didn’t want him.

  * * *

  JORDAN’S CHEST ACHED at the sight of Miles’s forlorn face. She wanted to console him and assure him that Timmy’s actions weren’t personal, that he would work out his grief and trauma in his own way.