“The first thing you need to do is make some calls,” Stuart said as Elaine came rushing in, looking as upset as Holden. “Call anyone and everyone who might have seen Holly Jo since she left the house this morning. Neighbors, friends, family. Then I’m going to need a recent photo of her as well as her birth date, height, weight and a description of her and what she was wearing this morning when she left for school.”
“I can write down that information as well as provide a photo,” Elaine said, no doubt seeing that Holden apparently couldn’t recall how his ward was dressed this morning, let alone other particulars.
“It appears from the note that she was kidnapped,” Stuart said. “Once we get the alleged kidnapper’s demands, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re up against. In the meantime, I need to search her room.”
Elaine pointed him in the right direction, up the stairs and down the hallway. There was a Keep Out! sign taped to the door, the letters in black marker. Holly Jo had added a corral, mountains and a horse in the background.
The sheriff stared at the sign for a moment before he opened the door, thinking about the girl who’d lost her mother and had been uprooted and brought here to live with strangers, here being in the middle of nowhere.
The room had been styled in pinks, which stood in direct contrast to the posters of horses, trick riders and rodeo cowgirls on the walls. A typical girl’s room in rural Montana. The muddy cowboy boots accompanied by a pair of dirty jeans and a shirt near the door told the same story. This pink bedroom was at odds with the cowgirl who lived in it. Which explained the trip to Billings that Elaine said Holly Jo had been looking forward to.
He spotted the laptop computer on the desk but went to the closet instead. In one corner was an assortment of stuffed animals crowded into the dark, clearly exiled. Other than clothing, some hanging, some tossed on the floor, he saw nothing of interest.
But as he turned, he spotted a single tiny stuffed duck lying next to the pillow on the seemingly hurriedly made bed. He moved to it, picking it up as if it was made of glass. He studied the only plush toy that hadn’t been relegated to the closet. The duck had a worn look, as if it had been handled a lot. A favorite? He pulled out an evidence bag and popped the palm-sized duck inside before pocketing it.
The computer required a password. He searched the desk but found nothing useful. As he looked around the room, doubt began to cloud everything. What he did over the next few hours could mean life or death for Holly Jo. So much was riding on him finding her quickly and returning her safely to her family—and bringing her kidnapper to justice. He had to do everything by the book and not make any mistakes while keeping Holden reined in.
It seemed an impossible task. He found himself going over the procedures he’d learned at the law enforcement academy for kidnapping cases, hoping there was nothing he was forgetting as he returned downstairs. Elaine looked even more distraught.
“Her friends haven’t seen her?” he guessed.
She shook her head, clearly close to tears. “I just texted you her photo and the information you asked for. She doesn’t have a lot of friends. But I talked to Pickett Hanson. He’s been teaching Holly Jo riding tricks. No one down at the stables has seen her, and her horse isn’t missing. I haven’t found anyone who’s been in touch with her. I don’t know who else to call.”
He nodded, impressed that she’d thought to check the stables. He turned expectantly to Holden, who’d gotten a call and had just now disconnected. “You talked to Cooper, Treyton and Bailey?”
“I spoke with Cooper. Couldn’t reach either Bailey or Treyton, but I left a message for them to call. Cooper hasn’t seen Holly Jo. He’s out working on his new house. He wanted to come in, but I asked him not to. Instead, he’s going to join our ranch hands to search our property for her.”
“Is this birth date correct?” Stuart asked after perusing the information Elaine had given him. “Holly Jo’s now thirteen?”
“Her birthday was a couple of weeks ago,” Elaine said. “Does her age matter?”
“The FBI gets involved even if it isn’t an interstate kidnapping for children twelve and under,” the sheriff said. “They call it the Tender Years.”
“Still, you can call them in to help, right?” Holden asked.
Stuart nodded. He didn’t want to jump the gun. But there was no reason not to give the FBI a heads-up—just in case this was real. He made the call to notify the FBI and provide what information he had. If this turned out to be a real kidnapping, he would need the use of the FBI lab for what evidence he collected.
When he got off the call, he told Holden and Elaine, “The FBI will monitor the situation, and we’ll be able to use their lab facilities. I’ll get the note to their lab for possible prints.” He sighed. “This will mean opening up everything in all of your lives.”
“I don’t give a damn,” Holden said. “Just get Holly Jo back.”
“I’m going to have any mail coming for you intercepted,” Stuart told him. “I’ll have a deputy watching your mailbox on the county road since that’s how the note was delivered. We need to talk about how to handle any phone calls from the kidnapper. The FBI will monitor the landline. They’ll try to trace the calls. I’ll tell you what to say.” He met Holden’s gaze. “It’s important not to lose your temper. We have to remain calm and do whatever the kidnapper asks. Once we get Holly Jo back—”
“The gloves come off,” Holden said.
The sheriff didn’t respond to that, knowing how hard it was going to be to keep the rancher from going rogue. Spotting the pile of mail sitting unopened on Holden’s desk, he asked, “Do you mind if I look through that?”
Holden shook his head, appearing dazed as he dropped into a chair. Elaine stood by the door, thumbing through her phone. “I don’t have hardly any photos of Holly Jo where she is smiling except ones on a horse. I sent you my favorite.” Her eyes filled, and she quickly put away her phone. “Can I get either of you coffee? I could make a fresh pot?” she asked, as if she needed something to do.
Stuart was almost through the pile of mail when he found a sheet of paper that had been folded into thirds. At first it looked like a flyer someone had stuck in the mailbox since there was no address on the outside, no stamp, no postmark. All that was written on the outside was Holden’s name.
As he unfolded it, he saw with relief that it was also not like the other note. There were no letters cut from magazines and formed into words. Nor had the sender written anything. It took him a moment to understand what he was holding in his hand.
It appeared to be a photocopy of DNA results.
“I’d love a cup of coffee,” the sheriff said as he turned to Elaine, the DNA results in his hand. The moment she hurried off to the kitchen, he turned to Holden. “I think you’d better take a look at this before she comes back.”
AFTER HIS ENCOUNTER with Birdie Malone, Brand went back into the house, feeling worse than when he’d awakened. The entire incident had left him shaken. Birdie was coming after his mother—and her alleged accomplice?
While that was nothing unexpected, given that she was Dixon’s daughter, what she’d said about his mother having an accomplice was. Assuming his mother really had gotten rid of her husband, Birdie was right. She couldn’t have done it alone.
Dixon’s body was believed to have been dumped in the largest abandoned well in the county because of his size. Brand doubted even a single man could have accomplished the feat. He hated the trail his thoughts were taking. Who would his mother have gotten to help her with the body—if she really was guilty of his murder? Who could she trust to keep her secret? He hated to think.
Looking down, he noticed his dirty feet. He pulled off his jeans and hopped back into the shower. He wasn’t sure what had surprised him the most—who the young woman snooping around the ranch had turned out to be, or how easily she’d taken him down. He was a good eight inches taller and seventy pounds heavier.
He blamed the hangover and the element of surprise—both giving her the advantage. He swore that the next time they crossed paths, it would be different. He was just glad that no one had seen what had happened. He’d never live it down if his brother Ryder had seen that slender woman put him on his back in the dirt—let alone if his older brother, CJ, had been around.
Stepping out of the shower, he realized that, his ego aside, Birdie Malone was going to be a problem. She’d said that she had come here to prove that his mother had killed her father—and expose her accomplice. He doubted their encounter earlier had dissuaded her from completing her quest.
As he dressed, he debated whether or not he should tell his mother about Birdie. He assumed she was in her wing of the house, though he’d hardly seen her—and only in passing. For a while, he’d forgotten about the DNA results—and the copy he’d sent to Holden McKenna. Would Holden contact Charlotte when he got the DNA results? He wouldn’t if he already knew about the pregnancy. Brand frowned. His father did know, didn’t he? How could he not?
He realized that even if Holden did tell Charlotte about the DNA results being sent to him, that didn’t mean she would say anything. Brand was sure she would happily keep on pretending his conception with Holden had never happened—just as they had obviously done for years.
He’d never been impulsive and he regretted his recent impetuous behavior, as he told himself nothing would come of it. He had bigger things to worry about. Birdie Malone had followed him home last night. She’d also had the audacity to come into their house and sleep in one of their bedrooms.
He had a feeling that Birdie Malone was a loose cannon. Who knew what she would do next?
He decided that the best thing he could do was avoid her. Just give her a wide berth if and when he ever saw her again. No more drinking in town. He would just stay on the ranch, work and put all of this behind him.
