Bucking Bronc Lodge 04(17)
Miles hissed between his teeth. “Then what did you talk about?”
“We played with clay,” Jordan said.
He frowned. “What the hell does clay have to do with anything?”
Jordan smiled softly. “It’s called play therapy,” she explained. “It’s a way to allow Timmy to express his emotions. I talked and he pounded out his anger.”
That made sense.
“Miles, I need to ask you something and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”
He squared his shoulders. “What?”
“When I mentioned that you and Timmy probably enjoyed spending a lot of time together, he seemed to get agitated and pounded the clay harder.”
His defenses rose. “So you’re saying that I wasn’t a good father?”
Jordan frowned. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just that if something had happened between you two, it might help me understand Timmy better. Maybe you had to discipline him or you scolded him, maybe he overheard an argument between you and Marie.”
Miles whirled toward her, his pulse drumming. “He blames me for what happened,” he said gruffly.
“No, Miles, that’s not—”
“Yes, he does, Jordan, and he has every right to.” He had to pause to swallow the bile rising to his throat. “I was supposed to pick up Timmy that night to stay with me, but I stayed out late working. I thought I had a lead, but it was a dead end.” Disgust at himself made his voice hard. “Instead Dugan was watching Marie and Timmy, sending me on a wild-goose chase so he could murder them.”
His voice cracked. “And the worst part is that I let him. It’s my fault she’s dead.”
* * *
AN ACHE SETTLED IN JORDAN’S chest at the anguish in Miles’s voice, and she couldn’t resist comforting him. She reached out and squeezed his arm. “Miles, it wasn’t your fault.”
His dark tormented eyes flashed angrily at her. “Yes, it was. If I’d gone to her house that night and taken Timmy home the next morning like she’d asked, I would have been there, then Dugan couldn’t have gotten to Marie...” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “And Timmy would be safe now, and he’d have his mother with him.”
Jordan sighed softly. “Hindsight is easy, but it doesn’t help. We can’t change the past, Miles, all we can do is work through the grief and move on.”
Miles jerked his arm away from her. “Move on? There’s no way to do that until Marie’s killer is caught. And Timmy is the key to locking him up.”
The poor little guy. Did he feel that pressure from his father?
“I know you’re counting on that,” Jordan said slowly, “but it’s going to take time for Timmy to overcome the trauma. And you can’t pressure him into feeling like he’s responsible for catching his mother’s killer.”
Miles stiffened. “I’m not doing that.”
Jordan reached out to console him again. “I...didn’t mean to imply that you were. It’s just that kids are sensitive and pick up on things.”
“Message received,” Miles bit out. “Now why don’t you go back to your cabin.”
Jordan snatched her hand back, irritated that she’d extended herself when Miles didn’t want her comfort.
Miles’s phone trilled, and he snatched it up. “I have to take this.”
Jordan nodded but waited, determined they end on a positive note.
“McGregor here,” Miles said into the phone. “Yeah? Dammit...” A long labored pause. “All right. Send me whatever you find.” He ended the call with a snap of the phone, then punched another button and cursed again.
“What’s wrong?” Jordan asked.
“Lawmen found the body of the woman who gave Dugan an alibi for the night Marie was killed.” Miles flipped the screen toward her.
Jordan’s stomach clenched. The woman was naked, her throat slashed viciously, a river of blood surrounding her. She gasped.
“That’s exactly the way he left Timmy’s mother.”
Then a noise sounded in the woods, and she jerked her head to the side. This man, Dugan, was a monster.
What if Miles was right and he came after Timmy?
* * *
HE STOOD IN THE SHADOWS of the woods, watching as McGregor and the woman talked in hushed voices on the porch. The kid was inside. Tucked into bed.
Safe for now.
But not for long.
The woman, Jordan, he called her, laid a hand on McGregor’s arm, her expression worried. Her voice soft. Tender. Her eyes...almost caressing.
Hmm...interesting.
McGregor’s whore wasn’t even cold in the grave yet, and he was already working on another. Or maybe she was working on him.