Bucking Bronc Lodge 04(59)

“I’m five minutes from his last known address,” Blackpaw said. “And I did find out that Dugan’s real mother was still alive. Her name was CeeCee.”

“Thanks.”

Miles disconnected and rubbed a hand through his hair. They rode the next hour in silence, the air thick with worry and fear. All Miles could think about was that Dugan had increased the distance between them.

That even though Jordan thought he might be planning this fictional deluded life with the Bridges woman and his son, Dugan was essentially crazy.

Crazy, volatile, desperate. Not a good combination.

Desperate people did desperate things when cornered.

Dugan was like a time bomb waiting to explode. All it would take was the wrong person, the wrong comment, someone trying to stop him, to push his trigger, and he might ignite and hurt Timmy.

Early-evening shadows hovered above the city as they approached, the open space and wilderness giving way to gas stations, motels and small housing developments.

Rio Grande City had once epitomized the Wild West. But civilization and progress had made its mark. Miles frowned. Not always a good thing.

Worse, Rio Grande City was too close to the border for comfort.

Jordan rubbed her shoulder, and a seed of guilt nagged at Miles. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Just tired,” Jordan said. “I’ll grab some water and take a painkiller when we stop.” She seemed to be studying the passing scenery as if she might spot Dugan and Timmy somewhere in the mesquites dotting the side of the road. “Where was he last seen?”

“There.” Miles pointed to the convenience store ahead, then swerved into the parking lot. Jordan and he climbed out and walked up to the store entrance.

A bell tinkled as they entered, and on instinct, Miles scanned the store for trouble. A couple of teenagers hovering by the magazine rack, probably looking for Playboy. A trucker buying cigarettes. Two women in too-tight jeans and shirts tied at their waists, who looked as if they’d been rode hard and put up wet, leaving the bathroom.

Miles strode up to the Native American woman behind the counter. Her gray hair dangled in a braid down her back, her dress hung on skin that was leathery and sagging. Half of her teeth had rotted out. She could have been sixty or ninety—he couldn’t tell. But life had definitely been rough on her.

He removed his badge from his pocket and introduced himself, then handed her a flyer Blackpaw had faxed with the other papers showing a picture of Robert Dugan. “Ma’am, you were the person who reported that you spotted this man, Robert Dugan?”

Her gnarled fingers curled around the printout as she studied it. It was Dugan’s mug shot alongside a photo of him at the trial. Hell though, for all he knew, Dugan could be wearing a disguise by now.

The trucker lumbered outside to his eighteen-wheeler and the two women followed, while Jordan combed the aisles for water and aspirin.

“Yeah, that was him.”

Panic warred with relief inside Miles. “He had a little boy with him?” He showed her Timmy’s picture next. Just the sight of it nearly brought him to his knees.

She chewed on her lower lip for a minute, then wrinkled her nose. “Can’t say I saw the boy.”

Jordan moved up beside him and slid her hand to his arm for support.

“You didn’t see the little boy at all?” Miles asked in a choked voice.

She shook her head. “No, sir. Like I told that other cop come by, man in the picture left the police car outside and stole a pickup in the parking lot.”

“A pickup?”

“Yeah, belonged to my boy. He lets me drive it to work. Gonna be real mad it got took.”

Jordan rubbed his back. “Are you sure you didn’t see the little boy? Maybe he stayed low, or maybe the man had him wrapped in a blanket?”

“I’m sorry.” The woman scratched her brow. “But that truck...Billy had a storage bin in the cab. Covered with a tarp.”

“So he could have put Timmy in it and driven off?” Jordan asked.

The woman nodded. “I reckon he could have. But I didn’t hear nothing. No kid screaming or crying, I mean.”

Miles gripped the counter. If Timmy had been wrapped up and hadn’t been fighting or making noise, he might be hurt.

Or worse...

No, he couldn’t think like that.

But even as he ordered himself to be positive, seeds of doubt sprouted in his mind. If Timmy hadn’t been with him, what had Dugan done with him?

Had he killed him and left him somewhere along the way? Somewhere out in the miles and miles of wilderness where they might not find him for days?





Chapter Eighteen




Jordan felt the sense of despair pummeling Miles, and knew she had to do something.