She began to cry again as she pulled herself up and went to the door. Her throat ached from screaming, calling for help, crying, pleading for someone to find her, to save her. When had that been? She felt confused, not sure how long she’d been here—let alone how long she’d be held here. Her hands were bruised and scraped from pounding on the door in the semidarkness of the small room. She hurt from lying on the thin blanket on the cold concrete.
Closing her eyes, she tried to sleep again, wanting to go back to her horseback-riding dream. Sleep pulled at her. She felt so weak.
When she woke again, she knew that someone had been in the room. She bolted upright and looked around, wrinkling her nose as she smelled the man’s aftershave.
Her gaze shot to the corner, to the bucket and what had been put next to it. She rose slowly, crawling across the floor because she didn’t think she could stand. Next to the bucket was a roll of toilet paper, another plastic bottle of juice and a couple of granola bars.
She grabbed the bottle of juice and drank down half of it. She’d never been so thirsty. Setting the bottle aside, she took one of the granola bars and hungrily devoured it, then gobbled down the second granola bar. As she moved back to her spot against the wall nearest the boarded-up window, she took the juice with her, trying not to drink it all—just as she tried not to think about what would happen if the man never came back with more juice and food.
Her body felt weightless after a few moments, and she felt herself falling back to sleep even as she tried hard to listen for the man to come back. She feared he wouldn’t. All she could hear was the beat of her heart, the sound of her slowing breaths. Her eyelids dropped closed. If only this was just a bad dream and she could wake up in her room at the ranch. She promised herself that she would eat whatever Elaine cooked, that she wouldn’t act like a brat, wouldn’t lie. She would do anything.
A sob rose in her throat. But the memory that she’d fought so hard to push away came back in horrifying detail as sleep tried to pull her under again. The pickup and camper pulling up as she waited for the school bus. The woman behind the wheel putting down her window and calling her by name, calling her over.
Waiting for the bus? You want a ride to school?
She’d been wondering if she’d met the woman before. People knew Holly Jo because of Holden. Everyone knew HH, as she’d taken to calling him after learning his middle name was Hank. Holden Hank McKenna.
She’d looked down the road, wondering where the school bus was, when she’d heard a sound behind her. She didn’t see him, just the large shape of the man, as he’d grabbed her.
He’d pressed a wet, stinky rag to her mouth as she tried to fight him off. She heard him say, She’s bigger than I thought, stronger. I’m going to have to sedate her.
The woman had revved the truck engine. Hurry! The bus will be coming.
Holly Jo had felt herself being lifted off the ground and carried toward the back of the camper. She’d kicked and kicked, some of her blows landing as she screamed until he covered her mouth. After that, she’d suddenly felt sick, and everything darkened and went black.
She shoved the memory away again, wishing with all her heart that she hadn’t walked over to that pickup. That the school bus had been early. That she didn’t still have the nasty taste in her mouth or feel sick, her head and her stomach roiling as sleep pulled her thankfully under again.
THE SHERIFF HAD heard about Birdie Malone being in town, asking questions regarding her father’s death. Before that, the PI she’d hired had been doing the same thing. Stuart was surprised this was the first time she’d come by to see him.
“Please have a seat,” he said, waving her into a chair in his office. “What can I do for you?”
“You can release Brand Stafford,” she said. “There’s no way he knows anything about a missing person if that person went missing anytime between ten last night and noon today.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How would you know that?”
“I was at a bar where he stayed until it closed at two a.m., and he went home and didn’t get up until almost noon.”
“You’re sure he never left the ranch?”
“Positive. A friend took him home after the bar closed, and another friend followed to give the driver a ride back to town. I followed them all the way to the house where they put him to bed. He didn’t emerge until, like I said, almost noon.”
“You will swear to that?”
She sighed. “I would have known if he’d left.”
“Let me get this straight. You followed him home, and then what?”
“I went inside the house, and we both went to bed.”
“I’m assuming at some point you slept.”
“I’m a light sleeper. He didn’t leave the ranch.”
“You and Brand Stafford?” The sheriff cocked his head at her. “What exactly is your relationship?”
“We just met this morning. I was having a look around the ranch when he finally woke up and saw me. He’d just come from the shower. Hadn’t even taken the time to get dressed.” She smiled. “I introduced myself, and we realized how much we had in common.”
“When you followed him last night, you’d never met?” She shook her head. “But you stayed in the house last night.”
“In the bedroom next to his. It was empty.” She shrugged.
“You broke in?”
“The door was open.”
“You don’t have a romantic relationship with him?”
“I’m trying to find evidence to prove that Charlotte Stafford killed my father. I don’t plan to stop until I see her behind bars with her son CJ. I figure one of the Staffords knows something, so I’m trying to get as close to the family as I can.”
Stuart leaned back, shaking his head. “I would think you wouldn’t have much good to say about the Staffords. Why would you give Brand an alibi?”
“Because I know where he was during the time the person went missing.” She studied him, eyes narrowing. “Why would you think Brand had anything to do with your missing person case in the first place?”
The sheriff didn’t answer. “You say you followed him home. Did he make any stops?”
“You mean the friend driving him home? Just one. They stopped at the McKenna mailbox. It looked like they put something inside and left.”
“Did you see anyone else around the McKenna Ranch mailbox?”
