Bucking Bronc Lodge 04 - Cowboy Cop (8 page)

The last file made him lose his breath.

Marie...

His hands shook as he flipped it open and looked at the photo. The crime scene photos were gruesome, almost identical to the other victims.

But the M.O. didn’t fit—he and Marie hadn’t been married. And she hadn’t been cheating. Although she had been dating someone else, which Dugan could have perceived as cheating.

No. This kill was personal, meant to get revenge against him.

Blackpaw’s theory nagged at him. He wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t at least consider the possibility that the man she’d been dating, Paul Belsa, could have killed her for some reason and made it look like Dugan.

Belsa could have somehow gained access to the police files or read the trial transcripts and learned the details.

Acting on instinct, he looked him up on Google. He clicked the link to the first website and information about Belsa’s business filled the screen, a list of international commercial real estate deals that were impressive.

That must have been how Marie met him, through the real estate office where she used to work.

His pulse drumming, Miles punched Belsa’s name into the police database and ran a check on him, but nothing showed. Not even a parking ticket.

That seemed odd, but not odd enough to paint him as a murder suspect. Besides, what motive would he have for killing Marie?

Wiping sweat from his brow, he closed her file, then focused on Dugan. The profiler insisted that understanding Dugan’s past would help them understand his motives and catch him. So far, it hadn’t worked. And he didn’t want to understand why the man would butcher women.

But if he had to get inside his head to catch him, he’d damn well do it.

Next he skimmed the interviews with Dugan. Dugan had been smooth, slick, confident, almost in-their-faces with the fact that he was smarter than the law. He also hadn’t indicated any animosity toward women, which Miles had expected to come through. No strict religious upbringing, which sometimes was the case with offenders of this type.

In fact, according to Dugan, he’d had the perfect family. A stay-at-home mother, devoted father, and he was a single child who they’d doted on. His mother had died of cancer ten years before and his father had been killed in a car accident. Neither event appeared to have triggered Dugan’s killing spree.

So what had set the man off?

A scraping sound jarred him from his thoughts, and Miles went to the window and looked outside. No cars, no animals in the yard...no one that he could see. But still, he felt as though someone was out there.

The scraping sound echoed again, and he frowned, then realized it was just a tree branch blown against the glass. Suddenly, another sound broke the quiet.

Thrashing. Something hit the floor. A cry.

Timmy.

His heart jumped to his throat, and he raced into his son’s room. The night-light he’d installed glowed softly, allowing him just enough light to see that there wasn’t an intruder.

But Timmy was thrashing in the bed, whimpering and crying, fending off the monsters in his sleep.

Miles swallowed back the pain the sight stirred, then lowered himself on the bed beside his son and shook him gently. Timmy jerked awake, his eyes full of terror.

“It’s all right, sport, I’m here.”

Timmy whimpered again, a raw sound that tore at Miles, and Miles stretched out beside him and pulled him against his chest. “I won’t let anything else hurt you, Timmy. Not ever again.”

His son’s tears dampened his shirt. Or maybe it was his own.

Miles didn’t know and he didn’t care.

He’d do anything to take away Timmy’s nightmares. Only he didn’t know if he could.

And that scared him more than anything.

* * *

J
ORDAN KEPT AN EYE OUT
for anyone suspicious as she and Timmy entered the barn to saddle horses for their evening ride. All week she’d been on edge.

The night she’d awakened to the opened window still haunted her.

Who had been inside her cabin? The man who’d killed Timmy’s mother? Was he here on the BBL?

Or what if it was one of the B-2-8s?

Surely they hadn’t found her here. Besides, she and Brody had both checked the boys’ records for affiliations to the gang and found nothing.

Timmy tugged at her arm, a sign that he was learning to trust her. He still hadn’t talked, but in the past week he’d made baby steps, going on a hike with the other campers his age, picking up sticks for the fire and helping her brush down the horses. He’d also regained his appetite.

“What is it, Timmy?” She knelt beside him. “You do want to take that ride, don’t you?”

He gave a little nod, then she saddled the two horses they’d chosen.

She squeezed Timmy’s shoulder. “I’m so proud of how well you’ve learned to handle Smoky. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve been riding all your life.”

A tiny movement of his mouth hinted that he appreciated her praise, but he didn’t quite smile.

“Come on, let’s lead the horses outside.” She handed him Smoky’s reins, and she took the palomino named Winnie. More gray skies greeted them as they headed into the riding arena where they’d practiced the day before.

“I thought we’d ride out to the creek,” Jordan said. “We’ll be back by dinner and you can catch up with your dad and your group.”

Thankfully Wayling had taken him under his wing, and Kenny, Johnny Long’s stepson, was here this week, and he seemed to have befriended Timmy, too. Johnny volunteered at the BBL, like Miles, and Kenny had stayed at the ranch numerous times so he seemed to know everything about the ranch and its operation.

She helped Timmy into the saddle, then climbed on top of Winnie and nudged the horse, leading the way. Timmy was a natural rider and guided Smoky to follow Winnie.

Jordan scanned the property, the fresh air chilly but invigorating as they rode across the field, past the stables where Johnny and Brody were teaching some of the older boys how to tie rope knots.

She waved to the group, pointing out that Timmy would learn to tie knots with his own group if he was interested. “Did you and your daddy ride before?”

Timmy shrugged, his little body steady in the saddle. They crossed the east ridge, then she paused to point out the cattle grazing in the pasture. “I think the hands plan to herd the cattle to the south pasture next week. If you want, maybe we can join in the ride.”

She nudged Winnie to a trot, and Timmy kept up, but they paused to watch a deer drinking from the creek.

Suddenly the hair on the back of Jordan’s neck prickled. She twisted her head around, searching the horizon. Horses...cattle...more deer...squirrels...woods and bare land...

A sound cracked the air, and Winnie jolted. Smoky dug his hooves into the ground and began to balk. The sound splintered the air again, and Jordan’s breath caught as a bullet whizzed by her head.

“Timmy, get down!”

But her warning came too late. His horse bolted, Timmy lost his balance and slid off the animal just as another bullet ricocheted off the tree beside her.

She bit back a scream, panic slamming into her as Timmy hit the ground.

Chapter Six

Jordan’s breath caught.
Dear God, please don’t let him be hurt!

She yanked on Winnie’s reins and steered her to a tree, then jumped down, scanning the woods in search of the shooter.

Another shot ripped by her head, and she ducked to avoid being hit, crouching low as she rushed toward Timmy. He looked stunned, but he was trying to sit up. A good sign.

Dirt coated his jeans and smudged his face, but she didn’t see blood or any visible injuries. Had he hit his head?

She lifted his chin to look at his face. His eyes looked clear, and thankfully she didn’t see any bruises on his forehead. “Timmy, are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?”

He looked dazed, worrying her more, so she checked his arms and legs, but they didn’t appear injured. Smoky had gotten spooked and had taken off galloping back toward the stables. “Come on, we have to get out of here.”

Jordan took his hand. “Stay low. I’m going to climb on Winnie then pull you up and we’ll head back.”

He clung to her hand as they ran to Winnie. Trees rustled nearby, a limb cracked and the wind whistled. She thought she saw movement by the mesquites, a shadow. Maybe a person? But he looked as if he was moving away from them.

Was it the shooter? Was he on foot? Fleeing?

Not wanting to wait around in case she was wrong, she stuck her foot in the stirrup, swung her leg over the saddle, then reached down for Timmy. With one swift pull, she swung Timmy up behind her. Timmy grunted and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Hang on, sweetie,” she said. “And lean your head down against my back.”

He did as she instructed and she bent forward, hugging Winnie as she nudged her into a gallop. The wind picked up, adding a chill to the cold seeping through her as they crossed the pasture. The gray skies seemed dismal, what little sun had managed to weave its way through the clouds already fading as night set in.

She checked over her shoulder every few feet to make sure no one was on their tail, her heart drumming frantically.

She bypassed the bunkhouse for Timmy’s group, raced past the dining hall, sighing with relief when the stables slipped into view. Timmy shivered against her, and she steered Winnie into the pen, then helped him down and climbed down herself.

Justin, one of the older teens, greeted them. “Have a nice ride?”

“There was some trouble.” She shook her head and handed him the reins. “Did Smoky come back?”

Justin nodded. “I put him in the stall. I wondered—”

“Thanks,” Jordan said, cutting him off. “Do you mind taking care of Winnie? I need to talk to Miles right away.”

“Sure.” Justin’s eyes crinkled with concern. Miles and Brody had both explained the situation to the counselors, prompting them to be on the lookout for anyone suspicious.

She examined Timmy’s head and arms and legs but didn’t see any visible injuries.

She took Timmy’s hand. “Why don’t you help Justin while I call your daddy?”

Justin grabbed one of the grooming brushes and handed it to Timmy. “Let me unsaddle him, then you can start brushing him down and we’ll give him some food and water.”

Jordan stepped aside, removed her phone from her pocket and punched in Miles’s number. She tried to steady her breathing but the realization that someone had tried to kill her—or Timmy—was settling in, her fear mounting.

* * *

M
ILES GRIPPED THE PHONE
as Blackpaw relayed the information he’d gleaned from Renee Balwinger’s file. Renee had met Dugan while he was on trial, then visited him several times in prison. She’d also given him an alibi the night Marie had been murdered.

Now she was dead.

“Was she married? Divorced?” he asked.

“Married. And get this, her first husband was in jail for abusing her.”

Good God. “So she’s a glutton for punishment.”

Blackpaw sighed. “Or Dugan seemed like a prize compared to her old man.”

“Right, I forget, he’s a real charmer.”

“He’s a ladies’ man all right. A sociopath who looks and acts normal. He dresses well, has impeccable manners, is a successful businessman. He’s had investments in several different companies. Women throw themselves at him.”

“Yet the bastard likes to carve them up behind closed doors.” Miles tilted his hat back and studied the grayish-black sky. “Please tell me he left some evidence behind.”

“Sorry. You know better than that.”

Miles dragged his hand down his chin. “I keep hoping he’ll make a mistake. Any word on his whereabouts?”

“No.”

“How about Paul Belsa?”

“Nothing. I checked with the airlines and couldn’t find a ticket for him anywhere.”

Dammit. This just kept getting better and better.

Miles’s phone beeped in that he had another call, and he checked the number. Jordan.

Fear clawed at his insides. What if something was wrong?

Had Timmy opened up or had a setback?

Perspiration rolled down the back of his neck. “Mason, Jordan’s calling. Keep looking for Dugan and Belsa. I’d better take this.”

“I’m on it. I’ll keep you posted.”

Miles connected to the other call. “Jordan?”

“Miles,” Jordan said, her breathing rattling over the line, “Timmy and I rode out to the creek, but someone shot at us.”

“What?”
For a moment, Miles couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. “Is he—”

“He’s fine,” Jordan rushed on. “The gunshot spooked his horse and Smoky threw him, but he wasn’t hurt.”

Miles loosened the collar of his shirt. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she said. “I checked him over and didn’t see any injuries. We rode back to the stables together.”

Miles was already heading to his Jeep. “Where is he now?”

“In the barn helping Justin groom Winnie.”

Miles fired up the engine, tires squealing and spewing dirt as he sped toward the stable. “Did you see the shooter?”

“No, I think he was hiding in the woods. I saw movement, a shadow, but that was it.” She hesitated. “Maybe it was one of the kids target practicing?”

Miles cursed and spun the vehicle down the drive. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

“It’s possible.”

He gritted his teeth. “It was Dugan. He’s here.”

“How do you know that? Has someone spotted him?”

“No, but why else would someone shoot at you?”

A strained moment of silence stretched between them as he approached the stables. Then he spotted Jordan by the railing, screeched to a stop, threw the Jeep into Park, jumped out and jogged over to her, stuffing the phone in his pocket. The sight of her pale face made his stomach knot.

Jordan was trying to put on a brave face, but she was shaken as well.

And she had protected his son. Probably saved his life.

He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her, thank her.

Kiss her.

But he had to see his son first. Had to know his little boy was safe and alive.