“I’m lost,” the woman said the moment Birdie whirred down her window. “On top of that, I’m running late. I’m supposed to be there by now. They’ll be sending out a search party. Do you know the Mullenses?” She glanced from Birdie to Brand and back.
Birdie shook her head, surprised and worried that she’d been wrong about everything, including this woman she’d followed.
“I think I should have turned left instead of right back at the main road.” She looked pointedly at Birdie. “I have to turn around and go back. Can’t wait for all the blond jokes when I tell him what I did.” She swung her ponytail and let out a laugh as fake as her nails.
Birdie looked toward the pickup. She couldn’t swear it was the same one. She feared everyone would be making fun of her for going off half-cocked. Her mother used to warn her about that.
“Birdie, sometimes you need to take a breath and think things out before acting.”
So maybe she’d always been this way. “Sorry I can’t be of more help. I also need to turn around. I didn’t realize how late it was.”
“Oh, I thought maybe you were lost, too.” The woman looked at her suspiciously as she shoved both hands into her leather jacket pockets and looked back up the road in the direction they had come. She seemed anxious to get moving, as if afraid of who else might show up.
Birdie realized the sheriff could show up at any moment. The woman was making her nervous, given how deep her hands were in her leather jacket pockets on this warm summer day.
“If you were following me, you were really following the wrong person,” the woman said. “I never get directions right. Unless you’re going to the Mullens ranch, too.”
Birdie shook her head. “Just driving around on our way to Broadus. Realized we’d never been down Cache Creek. Do you know where this road comes out?”
“Not a clue,” the woman said. “Clearly, I’m not from around here.”
Birdie glanced at the pickup’s license plate. This close, she could see that it was a Wyoming plate. She could even make out the numbers and letters under the smear of dried mud. The woman’s hands were still in her jacket pockets. She was glancing back down the road again, visibly nervous now as if she heard someone coming.
“Good luck finding the Mullenses. I better get going. I’ll back up so you can,” Birdie said and put her window up. The woman started to reach out as if to stop her from raising the window. Her fingers pressed against the glass for an instant. Birdie saw the clear print in the dust, and so did the woman, her eyes widening.
Birdie threw the SUV into Reverse and hit the gas, forcing the woman to step back and keeping her from wiping the print off the glass. As she hurriedly backed down the road, she saw the woman rush to her pickup. For a weapon? Or had she been fingering a gun in her jacket pocket while they were talking?
Would she chase after them? No. The woman had climbed behind the wheel and was now taking off down the road, leaving only dust behind.
For just a split second, Birdie thought about going after her again. She kept telling herself that she hadn’t been wrong about the pickup or the woman, even as doubt tried to shoulder its way in. Can’t wait for all the blond jokes when I tell him what I did. Before that, the woman had said they, as in the Mullenses. Just a slip of the tongue?
Birdie found a place to turn around, but didn’t get the chance before the sheriff came flying up on them. She knew before she saw his face that he wasn’t happy. She looked over at Brand. He was shaking his head as he reached for his door handle as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.
STUART COULDN’T HIDE his fury. He knew part of his mood wasn’t Birdie’s fault. She wouldn’t know what seeing the place where he’d almost lost his life would do to him. He hadn’t either. He’d thought he was working past it, but now realized it was still too fresh—just like when he looked in the mirror and saw all his visible scars. Abigail Creed had taken him by surprise and in a frenzy had stabbed him repeatedly as he’d tried to fight her off until he’d finally pulled his gun and killed her. By then, he was bleeding to death. If he hadn’t made the 911 call and help hadn’t been close by...
“It isn’t just that you risked your life,” he said to her after he’d gone down the road looking for the pickup and the woman Birdie had followed. He’d driven all over back in there, but had found no sign of the pickup or the woman. She was gone—just as he’d suspected. “It’s that you may have made things worse.”
Both Birdie and Brand were waiting when he returned from his search of the area for the possible kidnapper. Now he wrote down everything she remembered about the woman, including her Wyoming license plate number and that she suspected the woman had lied about where she was headed. He wasn’t surprised by any of it, except for the fact that Birdie hadn’t gotten herself and Brand killed.
Back in his patrol SUV, he ran the pickup’s plate. The pickup was owned by Jason Thomas of Laramie, Wyoming. Stuart had been unable to reach him and had asked Laramie law enforcement for their help. Laramie law enforcement called him back after contacting Jason at work.
He’d told the officer that his sister, Melanie Baker, borrowed his pickup and camper a week ago, confirming that Birdie’s instincts had been right. Given everything Stuart now knew, Birdie had followed one of the kidnappers. Like in the photo with Holly Jo, the woman wore a diamond ring that Stuart suspected would be a match, given Birdie’s description. The woman’s fingers had been buried in Holly Jo’s hair in the proof-of-life photo, so he probably wouldn’t be able to tell if she’d had a recent manicure or if one of the nails was chipped, as Birdie had said. But her nails had been painted blue.
As much as Stuart wanted to throttle her, Birdie had given them a definite lead. But if the woman was Melanie Baker and involved with the kidnapping, she had probably realized Birdie was following her and seen through Birdie’s guise. Ultimately that could get Holly Jo hurt—or killed.
“If she thinks you suspected her, she might talk her partner into moving Holly Jo. We’ve been waiting for the kidnapper to call with details on the ransom drop. You might have scared them off. You should have waited for me.”
Birdie shook her head. “I would have lost her. I wouldn’t have gotten a description of her and the pickup or the license plate number. You wouldn’t know who she is.” She looked toward the road she’d taken before encountering the woman. He could see that she still believed the woman hadn’t gone far.
“Do you know how many secondary two-tracks are off this one? She knew you were following her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she turned down this road only because she was afraid of leading you to where they were really holding Holly Jo.”
Birdie looked unconvinced.
“Birdie, I went all the way up the road to the mountains. There was no sign of her and no sign of any place where they could have been holding Holly Jo—let alone any sight of the camper that was on the pickup when you first saw it. She led you down a rabbit hole, and you took the bait. You’re lucky she didn’t pull a gun on you and shoot you and Brand.”
He saw Birdie shudder as if she’d realized that—before she’d gotten away from the woman. “The problem is, now she knows what you drive, what you look like. It won’t take much to find out who you are, Birdie.”
“If you’re trying to scare me—”
“I’m trying to make you see that you have no business taking things into your own hands,” the sheriff said. “I’m waiting for the kidnapper to contact me with a drop site,” he explained patiently. “He might panic now and not call.”
She shook her head stubbornly. “They want Holden McKenna to confess, but what they really want is money. They have asked for money, right?” Birdie said and nodded as if she could read the answer on his face. “They aren’t going to jeopardize that. Anyway, now you have the woman’s fingerprint. The moment she touched my driver’s-side window, I saw that she regretted it, but she couldn’t wipe it off because I pulled away too quickly.”
“Stop playing detective,” the sheriff snapped. He blamed all the crime shows on television and the rise of amateur sleuths. “I know my job.” He had taken a copy of the print she’d photographed and sent it, hoping as clear as it was on the glass, they could get a match to see if the woman had a rap sheet. None. “Her fingerprint isn’t in the system, and the pickup and camper were borrowed, not stolen. What we have so far is circumstantial at best.” He pocketed his phone. “I need you to go back to Powder Crossing. Stop trying to do my job for me. That goes for you too, Brand.”
Brand hadn’t said a word. In fact, the sheriff was pretty sure that the two had argued while he’d been gone in search of the pickup and the woman.
“I’m not planning to do anything, trust me,” Brand said. He looked at Birdie and shook his head. “You could have been killed.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve forgotten. I can take care of myself.”
Stuart was thinking that Birdie and Brand couldn’t have been a more unlikely couple. If that was what they were. Brand Stafford had always been quiet, had never been in trouble, seldom even came into town to the bar. Birdie...well, she was a loose cannon. Anyone could see that. While the two had been thrown together because of Birdie’s quest to find her father’s killer, the sheriff couldn’t see whatever this was between them going much further.
He shook his head as his cell phone rang. He saw it was the McKenna Ranch. Expecting it would be Holden, he was surprised when the voice on the other end of the call was Elaine’s.
“The kidnapper called with the location of the ransom drop tonight at midnight,” she said.
That was quick. Because the kidnapper was worried after his accomplice returned to tell him that she’d been followed? “Where is Holden?”
