But if she wasn’t knocked out all the time, she reasoned, maybe she could find a way to escape. She wished Gus was here. He would help her. He thought she was smart. He also said that she was creative and clever and talented.
Maybe Duffy was right. Maybe Gus did have a crush on her. Would Gus miss her now that school was out for the summer? She wondered if she would ever see him again. If she would ever see anyone she knew. She didn’t even know how long she’d been in this room.
She’d seen a movie where the abducted man had made marks on the wall so he knew how many days he’d been trapped. When the man brought her food again, she would try to use the plastic spoon to make a mark on the wall. Or dig herself out of this room. She was thinking that neither plan seemed very smart when she heard the man and woman arguing again. Their voices sounded louder than before.
She listened, afraid HH hadn’t paid the ransom, afraid of what the man planned to do now.
Then she heard the footfalls. It sounded as if the man and woman were both coming down the hall toward her. Before she could scramble away from the door, she heard the woman cry, “Why do I have to do it? Please. Don’t make me hurt her.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
STUART WENT BACK inside the McKenna Ranch house. He hated to leave Holden to his own devices, but his instincts told him that Holly Jo’s deceased father was a lead he had to follow.
As he came back into the house, he looked up to see Bailey coming down the stairway dressed as if heading out on a date. The sundress bared her shoulders and most of her long legs. She smiled, aware that she had caught his attention and clearly enjoying it. The sweet scent of citrus beat her down the stairs.
Holden came out of his office as she started past, headed for the front door. Stuart moved to the side to let her by. She didn’t ask about Holly Jo, but then again, anyone could see that the girl hadn’t been found yet.
She slowed to pass him. Holden seemed to think Bailey was angry. She sure appeared that way. Defiant as well. But she was also in pain, the sheriff thought as he glimpsed something raw flash in her eyes. She met his gaze, held it for a split second. Then, dragging it away, her jaw tightening, she walked out.
He watched her go, more curious and intrigued by her as he followed the sexy swing of her hips with his eyes, unable not to. In the time they’d spent together during her middle-of-the-night visits, they never talked about themselves. As the night got late, she could withdraw as if afraid of getting too close.
Bailey was hiding something and not just from him, he told himself. Nothing to do with Holly Jo, though. No, it was something else, something she’d been hiding for months, maybe even years.
Why was it that the women he’d been most interested in were the ones who lied to him? Or kept secrets from him, some deep and dark, some downright dangerous. He wasn’t necessarily drawn to these women, he told himself. They were the ones who came after him. Was it because he was the law? Was that the attraction? Or did some women love getting close to the flame, but bailed before it engulfed them?
He, on the other hand, kept getting burned.
Dragging his gaze away, he told himself that he wasn’t going to let Bailey draw him into anything that risked his life or his heart. He’d already risked both and almost lost both. He wondered about Bailey’s relationships with men. Had she ever been romantically involved with anyone? Not that he knew of.
“Where’s she going?” Holden asked as he joined Stuart to watch his daughter drive off.
The sheriff shook his head. He didn’t have a clue. He’d been suspicious of Bailey’s secretive behavior for some time now, but since it didn’t appear to be illegal, he hadn’t pursued it.
“She’s been acting so distant lately,” the rancher said, more to himself than Stuart. “I don’t know about her.”
Neither did he. The worst part was that the more Bailey kept him in the dark, the more he wanted to drag both her and her secrets into the light. He realized that could be a fatal flaw of his when it came to women.
“I need to check out something,” Stuart said. “You know what to do if you hear from the kidnapper.” He started to warn Holden about keeping his temper, but knew it was a waste of breath. Holden McKenna did what he wanted despite the consequences, he feared—which could explain Holly Jo’s kidnapping. “Call me,” he said and headed for Billings and the Sanderson Funeral Home.
HOLDEN HAD NEVER been good at waiting. After the sheriff left, as he paced, he grew angrier. He hated feeling so helpless, and he swore what he’d do when he got his hands on the kidnapper. At the same time, he prayed that Holly Jo was safe and that he’d get her back.
Praying didn’t come naturally since he’d never done it before. His father hadn’t held with religion. “Bunch of thieves, telling you what a sinner you are while they take your money,” his father used to say. Margie had believed, though. He remembered her on her knees each night, thanking the good Lord.
He’d envied her faith. He had wanted to believe and wanted it now more than ever. He prayed, feeling as if he was covering his bets even as he suspected being such a hypocrite would eventually send him straight to hell. But he would do whatever he had to if Holly Jo got to come home. He’d done enough wrong in his life that he figured he was headed to hell anyway.
At the sound of the front door opening, he turned quickly to see his eldest son enter. Alone. Treyton stopped in the doorway as if not sure he wanted to come inside.
“Treyton.” He motioned him into his office. “Close the door.” He saw his son bristle and tried to moderate his tone. “Holly Jo’s missing.”
“I heard.” Treyton sneered and looked as if he was trying not to laugh.
“There is nothing funny about any of this.” That his son found humor in it both infuriated him and disappointed him deeply. How could Treyton be Margie’s son? No one was kinder than the boy’s mother. But Margie had died, leaving Holden to raise the kids pretty much by himself. He had no one to blame but himself for the way his eldest had turned out.
“What did you expect?” Treyton said, going on the defensive. “Who is she, anyway? And don’t give me that malarkey about you doing some friend a favor.”
Holden bit his tongue. Every time he tried to reach his eldest son, it turned into an argument. He wasn’t up to one today. “I just wanted you to know what was going on. If you hear anything...”
Treyton shook his head. “Why would I hear anything?”
“If you should see her...”
“Trust me, I’m not going to see her.” He turned and opened the door but stopped as if not finished.
Holden’s cell phone rang, saving him from whatever hurtful thing his son was about to say—and the argument that was bound to follow. “Close the door on your way out.”
His hope that the call might be something about Holly Jo vanished the moment he heard the neighboring rancher’s voice. He listened to the man say how sorry he was and finally cut him off with a thank-you and, “We need to keep this line open.”
He disconnected, trying to remember a time when he’d felt this miserable, this scared, this hopeless. He heard his father’s voice as clearly as if he were standing in this room. “Looks like your chickens have come home to roost.”
THE ORIGINAL OWNER of the Sanderson Funeral Home, Lloyd Sanderson, was long deceased. The person who greeted Sheriff Stuart Layton was John Banner, manager. Banner led him into his nicely appointed office and offered him a chair.
Stuart introduced himself and told him that he was inquiring about Robert Robinson, who died after a fall off The Rims. He gave him the date the officer had provided for Robinson’s death and waited as the man searched his files.
“Yes, I have it here,” Banner said. “He was cremated. There was no service.”
Stuart had been afraid of that. “I need to know about next of kin.”
“There’s his wife—”
