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“Sorry, but no. I was supposed to meet a friend but I think she may have already left.” Sydney unzipped her purse, reached into the side pocket and pulled out a recent photo of Rachel.
She handed it to the cowboy. “Have you seen her?”
He glanced at the photo. “No, but she’s a looker. I’m sure I’d remember if I’d ever seen her and I’m in here often.”
He stepped back and stared critically. “You’re not a cop or something, are you?”
FBI no doubt qualified as his or something, but she wasn’t ready to reveal that to anyone in Winding Creek just yet.
“I’m not a cop.”
He placed the picture on the table. “If you get bored and change your mind about wanting some company tonight, you know where to find me. I guarantee you a good time.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Betts returned with a cold mug of beer and set it and a throwaway coaster on the table next to the picture. She didn’t give the photo a second glance.
Sydney decided her questions for Betts could wait. A few customers had left in the short time she’d been here. Time now would be best spent checking out the remaining customers.
Not that she held out any rational hope of just accidentally running into someone who was involved in Rachel’s disappearance. Irrationally, she couldn’t help but search for someone who triggered suspicion or a situation that piqued her interest.
Fifteen minutes later, she got her wish. She was watching the door when a tall cowboy who looked as if he’d been living on the streets sauntered into the bar. Tall, lean but muscular and with at least two days’ growth of whiskers.
Unlike the other customers who seemed to know everyone, he didn’t speak to or acknowledge any of the patrons as he walked past the bar and dropped into a chair several tables away from her.
He removed his white Western hat and ran his fingers through short, rumpled brown hair. Betts sashayed over and leaned in so close her nipples were practically looking him in the eye.
He seemed not to notice.
Sydney couldn’t hear what he ordered, but Betts returned a minute later with what looked like a glass of whiskey. It was gone in two gulps.
She was still staring at him when he lifted his gaze and looked in her direction. His eyes were mesmerizing even from that distance, bronze colored in the artificial light.
She looked away and tried to make sense of what she was feeling. Her profiler instincts and training checked in. Something about him was affecting her senses. She couldn’t just ignore that.
Sydney motioned to Betts.
“Ready for another beer?”
“Haven’t started this one yet. I just have a question for you.”
“Yeah. What?”
“See the guy sitting at the table by himself?” She nodded toward him.
“Yeah. Quite a hunk, isn’t he, but not too friendly.”
“So it appears. Is he a regular?”
“Nope. If he was I’d remember him, though he does look a little familiar.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t in here Saturday night before last?”
“Can’t say. I was off that weekend. Went to my sister’s wedding over in New Braunfels. I don’t think he’s local, though. More likely he’s renting one of the fishing cabins up near the marina. Looks like a guy on a fishing vacation.”
“Are there that many fish to be had from a creek?”
“Oh, yeah, and if you don’t want to fish in the creek, there are lakes all around here. They have big fishing rodeos every year in the spring. Man, do we get the fishermen in here then. Tips are great.”
“Just one more thing,” Sydney said. She picked up the photo of Rachel and handed it to Betts. “Have you ever seen this woman before? She’s about five foot six, slender, thirty-two years old?”
Betts studied the photo for a few seconds and then looked back at Sydney. “Nope. Why?”
“She’s an old friend of mine who moved to this area a few years ago. I thought I’d look her up while I’m visiting the area, but I’m not sure where she lives.”
“Try social media. You can find most everybody on there, even people you don’t want to find.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
There were fewer couples on the dance floor now and a lot more empty seats at the bar. Evidently the party ended early on Monday evenings. Sydney sipped her beer, stood and walked over to the stranger’s table before he decided to cut out, as well.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked, trying for a flirty voice but likely falling short.
“You can sit. It’s a waste of time. Whatever you’re looking for, you’re not going to find it in me.”
“What if it’s a good time?”
“Then you really need to look elsewhere.”
“What if it’s only conversation?”
“You can do better talking to yourself.”
“You are scraping the bottom of the blues,” she said. “Do you live in Winding Creek?”
“Nope.”
“Me, either. Where do you live?”
“Wherever I kick off my boots.”
Her suspicions surged. “Do you have a name, cowboy?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“If we find ourselves kicking off our boots in the same town one night, I might want to look you up.”
“It’s Tucker. Tucker Lawrence. But don’t bother to look me up. I got nothing going on. Absolutely nothing.” He pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and stuck one end of it under his empty glass. “Enjoy your visit to Winding Creek.”
Tucker stood, picked up his hat, tipped it and strode out of the bar the way he’d come in, looking straight ahead and not saying a word to anyone.
Sydney walked back to her table, left money for her tab and tip, and then followed Tucker Lawrence out the door. He was already in his truck and pulling away when she jumped into her car and followed him. He might not live in Winding Creek, but if not, he must be staying somewhere nearby.
There was probably at least a 99 percent chance that he was a dead end, but there was always that 1 percent. At least she’d know how to find him again if she needed to and she knew his name unless he’d lied about it.
Sydney followed Tucker down the highway a few miles before turning onto a dark country back road. He took the unfamiliar curves without lowering his speed, making it difficult for her to keep up.
He turned off onto another road, more narrow, hilly and winding than the first. She was almost up with him when she spotted the deer in her peripheral vision.
She threw on her brakes and skidded to a stop just as the animal darted onto the blacktop road. Her heart jumped from her chest at the soft thumping and the jerky movement as the car rolled to a full stop.
She sprang out of the car not thinking that a wounded animal could be dangerous until she got closer to the large buck. The stunned animal stared into her headlights accusingly for a few seconds and then raced to the other side of the road and disappeared into the woods.
No limp. No signs of significant injury. Relief rolled through her. She checked out her car. There were a few stray hairs in her left bumper, but not even a dent. Luckily, she’d seen the deer in time to prevent real damage to it or her or the rental car. She climbed back behind the wheel. Tucker Lawrence was long gone.
By the time Sydney got back to Hank’s to question the owner himself, he was gone, as well. Reportedly left early on what he considered a slow night.
There was nothing left for her to do but go check into her motel room and try to get some sleep. Only how could she close her eyes not knowing what Rachel might be facing tonight?
Already missing ten days. The urgency burned like fire deep in Sydney’s soul.
* * *
THE WOMAN IN Hank’s had told it like it was. A man was in damn bad shape when he couldn’t shake the blues enough to respond to a stunning woman who’d made the first move.
Tucker had moped around for almost a week, spending most of that time in cheap motels between here and Lubbock though he could have afforded first class.
The cheap motels had seemed a better match for his lower-than-a-snake’s-belly mood. He’d stayed in Lubbock just long enough for Lauren’s parents to make the flight from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to Lubbock to be with their devastated daughter.
Lauren had taken the news of Rod’s death as badly or worse than Tucker had expected. At one point, Tucker had to literally hold her up to keep her from hitting the floor. Only thing that held her even halfway together until her parents arrived was that the kids needed her.
She was a train wreck, shock and heartbreak reducing her to a state of helplessness that mimicked that of her toddler daughter.
Tucker hadn’t been in a lot better shape himself, but watching Lauren face the tragedy rode his nerves even harder.
Living, breathing, laughing one minute. Brain-dead six seconds later, though Rod’s body had managed to hold on to life for two more hours.
All for what? That was the question that wouldn’t let go of Tucker.
He should be in Oklahoma this coming weekend, competing in one of the best-paying rodeos in the September circuit. He’d started in that direction twice, had even made it to the outskirts of Tulsa once, only to turn around and head back to Texas.
His life was bull riding. It was all he’d ever known. All he wanted to know. But that could have just as easily been his skull the bull was stamping instead of Rod’s.
Had watching Rod struggle for that last breath turned Tucker into a coward? Or was he finally developing some brains to go with the testosterone that usually fueled him?
He stopped in front of the gate to the Double K Ranch and left his engine running while he got out, pulled the latch and sent the gate swinging wide.
A few minutes later, he stopped a few yards down from the front of Esther Kavanaugh’s sprawling ranch house. He felt years older than he had a couple of months ago when he was here for his brother Riley’s wedding.
The house looked the same as it had the first time he’d wound up at Esther’s door almost as done in as he felt now. That time it had been his parents who had died unexpectedly.
He started to get out of the truck but reconsidered when he realized there wasn’t a light on in the house. Ranchers rose at sunrise. No use to wake everyone in the house this late.
They’d have questions. He was in no mood to answer them tonight. Morning would be soon enough to lay his problems on his two older brothers and Esther.
If anyone could help him come to grips with his twisted emotions, it would be Pierce and Riley. If anyone could figuratively give him a kick in the rear that would get him going again, it would be Esther Kavanaugh.
Come to think of it, the kick might be more than figurative if she felt like he needed it.
He shoved his seat back as far as it would go, stretched his legs out beneath the dashboard and made himself as comfortable as he could.
Fatigue set in. His eyes grew heavy. His mind took a crazy turn. He fell asleep wondering what the woman from Hank’s would have felt like in his arms if he’d asked her to dance.
Tuesday, September 19:
RACHEL SAT HUNCHED in the corner like a guilty child in time-out. The room was still dark but her eyes had adjusted enough to the scant strip of light pushing in from beneath the door that she could make her way around the shadowy environment. Additional light would have made the cramped space even more miserable.
She’d lost count of the days she’d been here. They ran together like drops of spilled coffee. The strong, black brew was delivered every morning, usually accompanied with dry, cold and frequently burned toast.
That was her only way of knowing that a new day had started. The coffee was the bright spot in the vacuous existence devoid of everything except dread and visions of escape.
As much as she craved the coffee, she never finished the full cup. Show that she enjoyed something too much and the monster would stop bringing it.
She never knew what to expect from his visits. Vile language. Threats. Painful slaps to her face or shoves that sent her crashing to the floor.
Bizarrely, there were also times that he showed a hint of compassion. Like the second time he’d visited her in this hellhole.
She’d been starving. He’d come with a bowl of what tasted like chicken stock. Her pain had been so intense, her joints and muscles so swollen and inflamed she couldn’t get the spoon to her mouth.
He’d fed her, slowly, encouraging her to swallow. When she’d had her fill, he wiped her face with a wet cloth and pushed several pills into her mouth. For the pain, he’d said. She didn’t trust him, but she swallowed them anyway.
She’d fallen asleep almost instantly. When she woke, the thin sheets on the pallet that were stained with her blood had been changed and her laundered clothes were thrown over the one uncomfortable straight-back chair in the room.
There was also a small heavily stained sink and commode in the back corner, separated from the rest of the space by a dirty strip of printed cotton held by nails in the ceiling.
Who’d have ever believed she’d be thrilled for filthy facilities like that? Hot tears pushed at the backs of her eyelids. Would she ever escape the monster?
The sound of a slamming door cracked through the silence. Rachel’s pulse pounded. Her body trembled.
He was coming.
She hunched farther back in the corner, hugging her arms around her knees. The doorknob turned. The door squeaked open. The pungent odor of garlic and sweat swept into the room with the monster.
She studied his face before the door closed behind him, shutting out the extra light. He smiled as he always did, a big grin that told her just how much he was enjoying this.
He set a tray of food on the floor. “Did you miss me?” His tone was cocky and teasing, as if they were friends or lovers. Her skin crawled at the thought, though blessedly he hadn’t touched her sexually—yet.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “Why are you keeping me here?”
