Bucking Bronc Lodge 04(63)
“CeeCee,” the young woman said. “No one name her here.”
Jordan gave her arm a squeeze. “Thank you anyway. If you hear anything about this man—” she removed the printout of Dugan’s face and showed it to her “—please let us know.” She jotted Miles’s cell phone number and name on the handout and gave it to the woman, then ducked into the bathroom.
By the time she finished washing her hands, the woman suddenly appeared in the bathroom. “I show to others,” she said quietly. “One of the girls say she go by Candy. She was here but gone year ago.”
Jordan’s pulse pounded. “Do you know where she went?”
The girl shoved a small piece of paper in her hand, and Jordan realized it was an address. “Left with man who came through. Live with him.”
Jordan thanked her and rushed to tell Miles. He looked grim, but asked the bartender the man’s name.
“Cortez, he mean,” the bartender said. “But he like Candy and say he keep her for himself.”
“I have his address.” Jordan pushed it into Miles’s hand and he motioned toward the door.
“Let’s go.”
Jordan’s stomach churned as she slid into the Jeep, and they drove away from the small town. Soon the buildings gave way to desolate land and patches of poverty-ridden areas that made Jordan sad for the people who lived in the tiny rotting dwellings. They passed a section of concrete houses that had fallen into disrepair and were abandoned, then Miles turned onto a road that seemed to lead nowhere.
A chill enveloped her as the endless emptiness, darkness and barren land swallowed them. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”
“According to the GPS, yes.” Miles rubbed at his neck where she was sure the tension was knotting his muscles. Her own was cramped and aching from fatigue.
They lapsed into silence, the narrow road winding deeper into the wilderness, but finally Jordan spotted a set of buildings that looked like a compound ahead.
“There,” she said. “That has to be it.”
Miles sped up, both of them surveying the buildings, which at first sight appeared dark and empty.
Despair threatened as she twisted in her seat.
“I don’t see any cars or lights.”
“Dugan could have hidden the car inside the compound.”
“You think he knows we’ve followed him here?”
Miles shrugged. “I think he’s delusional and paranoid and knows he’s a wanted man. He’ll do whatever he can to hide himself.”
Jordan clung to hope as he slowed the Jeep and pulled up to the compound. The metal gate was open, and as he slowed, she saw no cars inside the premises. No sign of movement or life.
Night shadows hugged the tattered walls, but the headlights from Miles’s Jeep fell on peeling paint, overgrown weeds and a sign saying Casa Laredo that hung askew, blowing in the wind, all confirming that no one lived here year-round.
Apprehension knotted her insides as Miles cut the lights and pulled to a stop. He grabbed a flashlight and his gun, then opened the car door and stepped outside.
* * *
MILES INCHED FORWARD, his senses alert. “Jordan, wait in the car.”
She glanced around at the desolate area with a grimace. “No way. I’ll feel safer with you.”
He sighed. “All right, but stay behind me.”
“Yes, sir.”
He cut her a sharp look at her sarcastic tone, then realized she was simply tired and worried the same as him. Worse, she had been physically assaulted, a bullet had skimmed her arm, and yet, she’d rallied, fought for his son and been a rock for him.
She was the most courageous woman he’d ever met.
He didn’t know how to thank her.
But he didn’t have time to think about it now. He scanned the flashlight along the ground and spotted fresh footprints in the dirt.
His heart hammered. “Someone was here.”
“You’re right.” Rocks skittered below Jordan’s boots as she followed him. “There’s more over there.”
She pointed to the side entrance, and he followed the trail. A man’s prints. No child’s.
A hollow emptiness tore at him. Dugan could have been carrying Timmy.
No. He refused to let the images and possibilities in his mind.
Instead, he turned the knob on the ramshackle wooden door and it squeaked open. Sweat beaded on his neck and trickled downward as he shined the flashlight inside and followed the dirt tracks. The concrete floor was worn and showed signs that an animal had been inside through a mudroom, then a small hallway leading to a den and kitchen combination. The furniture left behind had been chewed and picked by birds and God knew what else.
He held his gun at the ready in case Dugan was still here, waiting to ambush him. The sound of the wind whipping through the stone walls echoed around him.