Cold Case at Cobra Creek Page 9

  She glanced in the fridge and pulled out a platter of leftover turkey and made herself a sandwich. Although she had no appetite, she’d forced herself to eat at least one meal a day for the past two years, telling herself that she had to keep up her strength for when she brought her son home.

  Would that ever happen?

  She poured a glass of milk and took it and the sandwich to the table and turned on the TV to watch the news report.

  An attractive blonde reporter, who identified herself as March Williams, introduced the story by showing a picture of Ron Lewis. She recapped the details of the accident two years ago.

  “Police now know that Lewis was an alias, and that he was wanted on other charges across the state. They also know he was murdered and are searching for his killer.” She paused for dramatic effect. “But another important question remains—where is little Benji Freeport?” A photograph of Benji appeared, making Sage’s heart melt.

  “Three-year-old Benji Freeport lived with his mother, Sage Freeport, who owns a bed and breakfast in Cobra Creek. The morning Lewis disappeared, he took Benji with him. Police have no leads at this time but are hopeful that Benji is safe and still alive. If you have any information regarding this case or the whereabouts of Benji Freeport, please call the tip line listed on the screen.”

  Sage glanced at the Christmas tree and Benji’s present waiting for him. Each year she’d added another present. How big would the pile get before he came back to open them?

  The treetop star lay in the box to the side, taunting her. She had opted not to hang the star, because that was Benji’s job.

  Battling tears, she folded her hands, closed her eyes and said a prayer that someone would recognize Benji and call the police.

  That this year he could hang the star for Christmas and they’d celebrate his homecoming together.

  * * *

  DUGAN STOPPED AT the diner and ordered the meat loaf special. He’d learned to cook on the open fire as a boy on the rez, but he’d never quite mastered the oven or grocery shopping.

  Food was meant for sustenance, a necessity to give him the energy to tackle his job. Manning the ranch meant early mornings and manual labor, both of which he liked.It helped him pass the days and kept him busy enough not to think about being alone.

  Not that being alone had ever bothered him before. But seeing Sage and the way she loved her son reminded him of the way his mother had loved him before she died.

  And the way he’d felt when he was shuffled from foster home to foster home where no one really wanted him.

  What had Lewis told Benji the day he abducted him? Where was he now?

  He knew the questions Sage was asking herself, because they nagged at him.

  Two old-timers loped in, grumbling about the weather and their crops. An elderly man and woman held hands as they slid into a booth.

  Sheriff Gandt sat in a back booth, chowing down on a blood-red steak.

  Donnell Earnest loped in, claimed a bar stool, removed his hat and ordered a beer.

  Nadine, the waitress behind the counter, grinned at him. “Hey, Donnie, you all right?”

  “Hell, no, that Indian guy was out asking questions about my business.”

  Nadine glanced at Dugan over Donnell’s shoulder. “I heard he’s looking for Sage Freeport’s kid.”

  “Yeah, and Ron Lewis’s killer. Son of a bitch deserved what he got.”

  “I hear you there,” Nadine murmured.

  Donnell rubbed a hand across his head. “Rankins called me, said Graystone was out there bothering him. That guy starts trying to pin Lewis’s murder on one of us, we gotta teach him a lesson.”

  Dugan rolled his hands into fists to control his temper. The jerk was just venting. God knows, he’d heard worse.

  Still, the names and prejudice stung.

  The one woman he’d been involved with years ago had received the brunt of more than one attack on him by idiots and their prejudice. She’d broken it off, saying he wasn’t worth it.

  His daddy had obviously felt the same way.

  He’d decided that day that his land and work were all that mattered.

  A cell phone rang from the back. Then the sheriff jumped up from his booth and lumbered toward the door. “I’ll be right there.”

  Anger flared on Gandt’s face as he spotted Dugan. “What the hell were you doing out at the Rankins ranch?”

  Dugan squared his shoulders. “I just asked him some questions.”

  “That’s my job.” Sheriff Gandt poked Dugan in the belly. “Because of you nosing around, Wilbur Rankins just killed himself.”

  “What?”

  “He shot himself, you bastard.”

  Dugan’s mind raced. “Wilbur Rankins was dying of cancer. Why would he kill himself?” To end his pain?

  “His son said he was upset about that news broadcast about Ron Lewis swindling folks in Cobra Creek. Said his daddy was too humiliated to live with people knowing he’d been foolish enough to lose his land.”

  Dugan silently cursed. The story hadn’t revealed any names, though. “You going out there now?”

  “Yeah, I’m meeting the M.E.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Hell, no,” Gandt said. “You’ve done enough damage. You’re the last person Junior Rankins wants to see.”

  Dugan held his tongue. But as Gandt strode from the diner, doubts set in. Had Rankins really killed himself?

  Or had someone murdered him because he’d talked to Dugan? Because they thought Rankins knew more about Lewis’s death than he’d told them?

  * * *

  SAGE CLEANED THE ROOM the couple had stayed in, needing to expend some energy before she tried to sleep.

  That bloody whistle kept taunting her.

  She stripped the bed, dusted the furniture and scrubbed the bathroom, then put fresh linens on the bed and carried the dirty sheets downstairs to the laundry room. Benji’s room with the jungle theme and his stuffed animals and trains beckoned her. After she started the wash, she went back to his room and traced her finger lovingly over his bedding and the blanket he’d been so attached to.

  She lay back on the bed and hugged it to her, then studied the ceiling where she’d glued stars that lit up in the dark. Benji had been fascinated with the night sky. She could still hear him singing, Twinkle, twinkle, little star, as he watched them glittering on his ceiling.

  Did he dream about her, or did he have nightmares of that car crash? Had he felt safe with Ron or frightened?

  A sob tore from her throat. Where was he, dammit?

  She gave in to the tears for a few minutes, then cut herself off as she’d done the past two years.

  She could not give up hope.

  Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she tucked the bear beneath Benji’s blanket, then whispered good-night. One day she would bring Benji back here and he’d know that she’d never forgotten him. That not a day had gone by that she hadn’t thought of him, wanted to see him, loved him.

  She turned off the light and closed the door, then walked to her room and slipped on her pajamas, latching on to the hope that the news report would trigger someone’s memory, or a stranger would see Benji in a crowd or at school and call in.

  Exhausted, she crawled into bed and turned off the lights. Dugan’s face flashed behind her eyes, the memory of his comforting voice soothing. Dugan was working the case.

  If anyone could find her son, he could.

  Outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes, jarring her just as she was about to fall asleep. A noise sounded in the hall. Or was it downstairs?

  She pushed the blanket away to go check, but suddenly the sound of someone breathing echoed in the room.

  Fear seized her.

  Someone was inside her bedroom.

  She needed a weapon, but she didn’t have a gun. If she could reach her phone...

  She moved her hand to try to grab it off the nightstand, but suddenly the figure pounced on top of her, and a cold hard
hand clamped down over her mouth.

  “Lewis is dead. If you don’t stop asking questions, you’ll be next.”

  Chapter Eleven

  A cold chill engulfed Sage.

  “Did you do something to my son?” she whispered.

  “Just let it go,” he hissed against her ear.

  The fear that seized Sage turned to anger. She would never let it go.

  Determined to see the man’s face, she shoved an elbow backward into his chest. He bellowed, slid his hands around her throat and squeezed her neck.

  Sage tried to scream, but he pushed her face down into the pillow, crawled on top of her and jammed his knee into her back, using his weight to hold her down.

  “I warned you.”

  Sage struggled against him and clawed at the bedding, but he squeezed her neck so hard that he was cutting off the oxygen. She gasped and fought, but she couldn’t breathe, and the room spun into darkness.

  * * *

  DUGAN PLUGGED ALL the aliases Ron had used into the computer, then entered the name Janet to see if he could find a match.

  The computer scrolled through all the names but didn’t locate anyone named Janet associated with any of the aliases. The name Janelle popped, though.

  Janelle Dougasville lived in a small town outside Crystal City, one of the addresses listed for Mike Martin. Dugan checked records and discovered she had a rap sheet for petty crimes and was currently on parole for drug charges. He jotted down the address. He’d pay her a visit first thing in the morning.

  If she’d been in contact with Lewis around the time he’d disappeared, she might have known his plans and the reason he’d taken Benji with him.

  If he’d known he was in trouble, why take a child with him? A child that would slow him down and bring more heat down on him?

  It didn’t make sense.

  What if he’d left Benji with someone before the accident? Was it possible he’d dropped him off with an accomplice? Maybe with Janelle?

  His phone buzzed, and he checked the number. Not one he recognized, but he pressed Answer. It might be a tip about Benji. “Dugan Graystone.”

  “Mr. Graystone, this is D. J. Rankins.”

  Dugan frowned. “D.J.?”

  “Wilbur’s grandson. I saw you at the house before, when you came and talked to my dad.”

  “Right. I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather.”

  A labored breath rattled over the line. “That’s why I’m calling. You came asking him about his land, and he was real upset. He and Daddy got in a big fight after you and that lady left.”

  What was the boy trying to tell him? “What happened?”

  “Daddy called Grandpa an old fool for falling for that Lewis man’s scheme, and Grandpa yelled at Daddy to get out, accused Daddy of waitin’ on Grandpa to kick the bucket so he could get his land. Then Daddy grabbed his rifle and stalked off.”

  “Was that when your grandfather killed himself?”

  A tense minute passed. Then Dugan thought he heard a sniffle.

  “D.J.?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. I...probably ought not to be callin’. My dad is gonna be real mad.”

  But still the kid had called. “D.J., you called because you thought it was the right thing to do. Now, tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Another sniffle. “I don’t think Grandpa killed himself.”

  * * *

  SAGE SLOWLY ROUSED back to consciousness. The room was dark, and she couldn’t breathe. The musty odor of sweat and another smell...cigarette smoke? A cigar? Shoe polish?

  Dizzy and disoriented, she rolled to her side and searched the room.

  What had happened?

  She gasped, her hand automatically going to her throat and rubbing her tender skin as the memory of the intruder surfaced. The man...big...heavy...on top of her, holding her down. Strangling her...

  Those threatening words. “Lewis is dead. If you don’t stop asking questions, you’ll be next.”

  God... Was he still in the inn?

  She froze, listening for his voice. His breathing?

  But only the sound of the furnace rumbling echoed back.

  The wind rattling the panes had woken her. He must have broken a window downstairs and snuck in.

  Trembling, she slid from bed, grabbed the phone and punched Dugan’s number. She hurried to look out the window, searching for her attacker outside, but clouds obscured the moon, painting the backyard a dismal gray.

  The phone rang a second time as she hurried to her bedroom door and peered into the hallway. Downstairs seemed quiet, but what if he was still in the house?

  The phone clicked. “Sage?”

  “Dugan, someone broke into the inn. He...threatened me.”

  “Is he still there?”

  “I don’t think so,” Sage said.

  “Where are you?”

  “In my bedroom.”

  “Lock yourself inside and don’t come out. I’ll call you when I arrive.”

  Sage stepped back inside the room, closed the door and locked it. She flipped on the light, then looked into the mirror above her vanity. Her hair looked wild, her eyes puffy, the imprint of a man’s fingers embedded into her neck.

  She tried to recall the details of her attack. How big her attacker was, how tall... Had she felt his beard stubble against her cheek when he’d whispered that threat in her ear?

  Fear clouded her memory, but she heard his voice playing over and over in her head. A gruff, deep voice. Definitely male.

  But who was he?

  * * *

  DUGAN SPED FROM his ranch toward Cobra Creek, his heart hammering. Sage had sounded shaken, but she was all right.

  Unless the intruder was still there....

  His tires squealed as he swerved down Main Street, then hung a right into the drive for the B and B. The drive was empty, but he spotted Sage’s car in the detached garage. He scanned the street and property, searching for someone lurking around.

  A dog roamed the street but took off running when his headlights startled him. A trash can lid rolled across the neighboring drive, clanging. Down the street, a truck rumbled, heading out of town.

  Could it be the intruder’s?

  He hesitated, considered following it, but what if Sage’s attacker was still in the house?

  He flipped off his lights, parked and cut the engine. Pulling his weapon from the holster inside his jacket, he texted Sage that he was outside. Then he slowly approached the inn.

  The front door was locked, and no one was around, so he eased his way to the fence, unlatched the gate and stepped inside, scanning the property. At least two miles of wooded land backed up to the creek. A walking trail wove through the woods, and park benches were situated by the water for guests to lounge and relax.

  Sage didn’t have enough land for horseback riding, but a ranch close by catered to guests craving the western experience. That ranch belonged to Helen Wiley, a middle-aged woman who loved kids and families and offered riding lessons to locals and tourists.

  The silhouette of an animal combing the woods caught his eye, and he stepped nearer the woods to check it out. Deciding it was a deer, he turned and glanced at the back of the inn.

  A rustic deck spanned the entire back side, with seating areas for guests to relax and enjoy the scenery. The deck was empty now, although one of the windows was open, a curtain flapping in the wind.

  The intruder must have broken in through the window.

  He kept his gun trained as he climbed the steps to the deck, then he checked the open window. The glass was broken. He’d come back and look for prints.

  Right now he wanted to see Sage, make sure she was safe.

  His phone buzzed with a text, and he glanced at it. Sage wanted to know where he was.

  He texted, Back door.

  He turned the doorknob and it opened easily. The intruder had obviously snuck in through the window but exited the back door, leaving it unlocked.

  Didn’t Sage have
a damn alarm?

  He inched inside the kitchen, tensing at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Keeping his gun braced at the ready, he crept through the kitchen to the hallway and waited.

  Seconds later, Sage came running down the stairs. Pale and terrified, she threw herself into his arms.

  * * *

  SAGE HAD BEEN alone with her grief and fears and the terrifying questions in her head for so long that she couldn’t drag herself away from Dugan.

  How long had it been since someone had held her? Taken care of her?

  Two years...but any affection Ron had had for her had been an act.

  Dugan stroked her back, soothing her. “It’s okay now, Sage.”

  She nodded against him, but she couldn’t stop trembling. “He choked me until I passed out.”

  His big body went so still that she felt the anxiety coiled in his muscles. “God, Sage.”

  He pulled away just enough to tilt her face up so he could examine her. Rage darkened his eyes when he spotted the bruises.

  “Did you get a look at him?” Dugan asked, his voice low. Lethal.

  She shook her head, her heart fluttering with awareness as he traced a finger along her throat. “It was too dark. And he threw me facedown on the bed and shoved my head into the pillows.”

  “What else do you remember?”

  “He smelled like sweat and something else—maybe cigarette smoke? He said Lewis was dead and that if I didn’t stop asking questions, I’d be next.”

  “Damn,” Dugan muttered.

  Her gaze locked with his, the fierceness of a warrior in his eyes. Eyes the color of a Texas sunset.

  Eyes full of dark emotion—anger, bitterness, maybe distrust.

  And hunger. Hunger followed by a wariness that made her realize that he felt the sexual chemistry between them just as she did.

  “Stay here. Let me search the rest of the inn.”

  She nodded and hugged the wall as he inched up the stairs to the second floor. His footsteps pounded above her as he moved from room to room. Seconds stretched into minutes, a moment of silence making her catch her breath in fear that her attacker had been hiding in one of the other rooms to ambush Dugan.

  Finally, he appeared at the top of the staircase. “It’s clear.” He tucked his gun back into his holster and strode down the steps.