Bucking Bronc Lodge 04(62)
Sanchez studied him for a moment, but finally conceded. “The cantina is the pickup spot. The Red Hot motel at the end of the street is where the girls take the johns. That is, unless they do them in the back room.”
Miles thanked him again, then took Jordan’s arm and led her outside.
Jordan pulled her jacket around her. “Even if she once worked that street, she might not be working there now.”
Of course he knew that.
“Dugan is thirty-five so she might be in her fifties or older by now,” Jordan continued. “If age hasn’t deteriorated her appeal as a hooker, she might have succumbed to some disease she picked up from one of her johns.”
“True,” Miles said. “But if she’s near this town or worked here before, one of the other girls might know where she is now.”
At least he hoped that was the case. They needed a damn break.
Night had set in and Timmy had to be terrified.
He didn’t want him to have to spend the night with a monster.
* * *
JORDAN COULD FEEL Miles’s tension because her own body was riddled with anxiety, too. Night loomed long and lonely, the darkness a reminder that Timmy was out in the unknown with Dugan and not with his father where he belonged.
The wilderness between them and the next town meant they could be anywhere by now.
Every hour, day and mile that passed would make it more difficult to find Timmy.
And lessened their chances of finding him alive.
What if Dugan’s tumor affected him to the point that he lost all senses and killed Timmy?
Shivering with worry, she followed Miles to the Jeep and climbed in, hoping they weren’t chasing a dead lead. But they had nothing else to go on.
“You can wait in the car if you want while I go in,” Miles said.
Jordan shook her head. “No, I might be able to help.”
Miles looked doubtful, but he was running on emotions and didn’t argue.
He drove to the cantina and parked. They went to the door together. “Be careful, Jordan. Watch your drink and stay close to me.”
Jordan wanted to tell him she wasn’t a fool, but she refrained. He didn’t need her testiness now. He needed some clue as to how to find his son.
The place was dimly lit, authentic Mexican decor with sombreros, maracas and cacti decorating the orange-and-yellow adobe walls. The bar held dozens of patrons, mostly men, while the restaurant section catered more to couples, although the place’s reputation must be known in the area because there were few families.
Two men at the end of the bar gave her lewd looks while a scantily clad woman in red eyed her from the back area, where a string of Mexican beads dangled over a doorway to the back room.
Another female in thigh-high boots, a low-cut spandex top and miniskirt poured tequila through a funnel into a man’s throat in a corner.
Miles slid onto a barstool and motioned to the bartender for two beers. Jordan excused herself to go to the ladies’ room while he spoke with the bartender and a local man sitting beside him.
She spied the woman in red watching Miles. Sensing trouble, she veered by the ladies’ room and decided to confront her.
“Miss?”
The woman started to duck behind the beads, but Jordan caught her arm. “Please, wait. I need to speak with you.”
At close range, she realized the woman was much younger than she originally thought, probably early twenties. Already she looked aged from the hardships of her lifestyle. “What do you want?” the woman asked, trying for bravado. “You and your policía friend come here to shut us down, take our jobs.”
“No, that’s not why we’re here.” How had she known Miles was police? “Did someone warn you we were coming?”
The girl shrugged. “I recognize a pig when I see one.”
Jordan softened her grip. “You have it all wrong. That man is a detective but not here in Mexico. And he didn’t come to arrest you or expose this place.”
The wariness in the girl’s eyes dissipated slightly, and Jordan released her hold. “Then why you come?”
“Because of a man named Robert Dugan, a man who has murdered many people and kidnapped Mr. McGregor’s son. Timmy’s only five.” Jordan paused, pleading with her eyes. “He’s in terrible danger and we’re trying to find him. We traced him across the border.”
The young girl shifted and fidgeted with her hands. “You think he come here?”
Jordan glanced around the place. “I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. His mother lived in Mexico, and we think she might have been a...working girl.”
The young woman’s eyes widened.
“Her name was CeeCee. Her son is thirty-five so she would be older than you.”