Bucking Bronc Lodge 04(33)
Miles dropped his head forward, his shoulders slumped. His whole body looked weary. “But I’m his father. I should be able to do something for him.”
“You are.” She reached up and raked a strand of hair from his forehead. “You love him and you brought him here. Sometimes helping someone means asking others for help.”
His dark eyes bored into hers. “He must hate me. I wasn’t there... I let him down.”
“You aren’t letting him down now.” Jordan drew him into her arms and held him. At first he resisted, but then he collapsed against her. For a long time she simply hugged him and stroked his back, but the heat between them began to simmer, the air hot, steeped in hunger.
Well aware his son was in the room and that it was wrong, she finally moved away. Sunlight was fighting its way through the curtains, the hues of gray mingling with golden rays that shouted that it was morning.
And time for her to return to her place.
“I’m going to my cabin to shower.” Jordan headed toward the door.
“Wait. I’ll get one of the security guards to accompany you and stand guard.”
“It’s daylight now,” Jordan said. “I’ll be fine. If I need you, I’ll call.”
Miles walked her to the door. “Jordan...thanks for tonight.”
Jordan licked her dry lips. “I didn’t do anything, Miles.”
“Yes, you did. You made Timmy feel better...and me. You made me feel better.”
Jordan squeezed his hand. “We will get through this, and Timmy will be okay. I promise.”
“I hope you’re right.” His jaw flexed. “My friend Mason Blackpaw. I’m meeting him around noon at the prison to question Dugan’s old cell mate. It appears he had a visitor that we didn’t know about.”
“You think it was someone who helped him?”
“It’s possible. We’re going to see if we can track him down.”
“Okay. I’ll take care of Timmy.”
Miles reached out and rubbed her arms. “Thanks. I’m also going to ask one of Brody’s security guards to stay with you and the group on your hike.”
Jordan wanted to protest. But she’d be foolish to when someone had broken in her place tonight.
She cared too much about Timmy to allow her pride to get in the way. Richie’s death had taught her about evil.
It could find you and touch you even when you thought it couldn’t.
* * *
FOUR HOURS LATER, Miles stared at the man who had shared a cell with Dugan. His hands knotted into fists to keep from choking him.
Billy Roeder was a fighter with mean scars, grisly tattoos and a gut that he probably used to help him fend off attackers like a sumo wrestler.
He was also dumb as a rock.
“I told you, me and that pantywaist didn’t talk. Night one, I let him know who was boss of the cell.”
So Dugan had been afraid of the man? Or had it been the other way around? Sometimes looks were deceiving.
“He didn’t mention any old friends that might help him out?” Blackpaw asked calmly.
Roeder shook his balding head. “All he did was brag about his money, his fancy lawyers and the women chasing him.”
“What about a girlfriend or lover that he seemed to care about?”
One of the man’s eyes twitched. “Had one that came. Heard she was dead.”
Renee Balwinger.
Miles leaned forward, arms braced on the table, his anger barely in check. “What about family? Did he mention any siblings, a half brother or cousin maybe?”
Roeder tipped his chair back, his expression condescending. “What about me and the creep not being friends do you not understand?”
“You shared a cell with him, Roeder. You must know something.”
“I already talked to the cops a dozen times. Ask them.”
“But you didn’t tell them anything.”
The guard at the door cleared his throat, and Roeder cut his eyes over his shoulder, his eye twitching again. Miles frowned, suddenly suspicious.
Roeder was trying to tell him something. Only he didn’t want the guard to hear it.
Then it hit him.
The person who had erased the name from the visitor’s log—the one who had covered for Dugan—it had to be someone on the inside. Someone Roeder and the other prisoners would be too intimidated to rat out.
Like the guard with the beady eyes standing watch now.
* * *
JORDAN AND TWO OF THE teenage counselors led the small group along the path toward the river. Justin, a seventeen-year-old nature freak who had been bullied because of his thin frame and interest in science, eagerly pointed out the types of plants and trees as they hiked. The boys collected sticks, stones and leaves for art projects and then gathered more sticks for the campfire.