by Rita Herron
Memories teased at Dex’s mind. He and Chrissy searching for arrowheads on Hawk’s Landing. She’d loved finding the arrowheads with him. She’d wanted to go hunting for them the night he and his brothers were supposed to watch her. But he hadn’t been in the mood. Then he’d told her to get lost.
The guilt made it hard to breathe again.
Melissa cleared her throat. “Jim, you’re always writing in those notepads. What’s in them?”
Smith released a wary sigh. “Notes of places I go, people I meet. I keep hoping something will ring a bell and trigger my memories to return.”
“What have you learned?” Dex asked.
Smith shook his head. “Not much, except that someone wants me dead.”
If that were true, there had to be a reason. Several scenarios popped into Dex’s mind. Smith had crossed someone the wrong way, he was party to a crime or a witness—and that person wanted to make sure his memories stayed buried.
Chapter Twelve
Dex studied Smith’s body language. He’d learned to read people. Typically, if they were lying, they had a tell.
So far, he hadn’t detected one with this man. “Where was this shelter where the driver dropped you?”
“About a half hour from here. Doc said I had a concussion and told me to rest for a few days.”
“How long did you stay there?” Dex asked.
Smith shrugged. “A couple of weeks. Thought my memory might come back, but nothing. Then I kept getting this antsy feeling like someone was watching me. That’s when I left. Been doing that ever since.”
“Did you see someone or notice a particular car?” Dex asked.
Smith shook his head. “Not anyone I could identify. But sometimes I’d see a dark car following me.” He rubbed the back of his head again. “Maybe I was paranoid because of my head injury, but I figured if someone left me for dead and found out I survived, they might come back and finish the job.” He hesitated, voice shaky. “I got shot at outside Dallas once. And then in Austin another time.” He wrung his hands together. “And then that guy broke into Lend-A-Hand and put a gun to Ms. Melissa’s head.”
“And you defended her?” Dex asked, tensing.
Smith rubbed at his leg as if it was hurting. “Had to. The man wanted me. I couldn’t let him hurt Ms. Melissa. She’s the kindest person I’ve ever met.”
Dex couldn’t argue with that. “How about the man who gave you a ride when you first regained consciousness? Do you know his name or where he lives?”
“No. I was pretty out of it that day. Had a killer headache and was so confused I didn’t know where I was or where I was going.”
“That sounds awful,” Melissa said softly.
Smith offered her a tentative smile. “You can’t imagine. I feel like I’ve got a big hole in my head. For a while I wondered if I had family, had hoped someone was looking for me. I searched for pictures in the paper and the news, but never saw any.” He gave a low whistle. “I figured if I was a wanted criminal, my picture would be all over the news, too. But it never showed up anywhere.”
“Which leads us back to the question—why would someone want you dead?” Dex asked.
“Beats the hell out of me,” Smith muttered.
“Did you check the news for crimes that happened around that time?” Melissa asked. “Maybe you witnessed one.”
“I checked,” Smith said. “But there weren’t any major stories. And nothing rang a bell.”
Melissa glanced at Dex for answers, but he had none. “Listen, Smith,” Dex said, “if you really want to know who you are, I have an idea.”
His look turned skeptical. “What?”
“Let me run your prints. If they pop in relation to a past crime or a missing persons’ report, it’ll give us your name.”
Smith shook his head. “That detective friend of yours will lock me up. I’m telling you—he’s dirty.”
Dex gritted his teeth. He’d known Lamar for nearly two decades. How could he believe a stranger over his friend?
Yet he’d seen Lamar cross the line before. Both times he’d planted evidence that had helped convict his collar.
But both times he’d been certain the perp was guilty and dangerous, and he hadn’t wanted the suspects to escape on a technicality.
What kind of evidence did he have against Smith? Lamar hadn’t wanted to share with Dex...
“I’ll have someone else run the prints and Lamar won’t know,” Dex offered. Lucas could handle it without involving the Austin PD.
Smith reluctantly agreed. “I guess if I have done something bad, it’s time I face it and pay up. If not, maybe I’ll finally figure out who I am, and why someone wants to kill me.”
“Let me make a call.” Dex stepped into the hallway, phoned Lucas and explained the situation.
“You’re harboring a fugitive?” Lucas asked in an incredulous voice.
Dex silently counted to ten. “Not exactly. Melissa claims he only acted in self-defense, and Smith insists that Lamar is framing him.”
Lucas grunted. “Why would Lamar do that?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Anyway, after hearing Smith’s story, I’m beginning to wonder myself.”
“What is his story?” Lucas asked.
Dex relayed everything Smith had told him, and his suspicions that someone was using homeless men, then killing them.
Lucas hissed. “You’ve certainly made connections where no one else has.”
Dex didn’t like the patronizing tone in his brother’s voice.
“I may be wrong,” Dex said. “But, if I’m not, a predator is targeting the homeless because they don’t think anyone will notice or pay attention. Even when they’re reported missing, the cops don’t prioritize the case because—”
“Because by nature of being without a home or family, the men move around,” Lucas said matter-of-factly.
“Right. Just indulge me, Lucas. If we discover Smith has committed a crime, I’ll bring him to you myself.”
Lucas released an exasperated sigh. “All right. What do you want me to do?”
“Simple,” Dex said. “Run his prints without alerting the Austin police. If we learn his identity, we’ll go from there.”
“And if he is a criminal, you’ll turn him over.”
“Yes.” That was a promise he’d keep. Although he had a feeling Melissa would fight him on it.
And if Smith wasn’t a criminal, it was possible that he was a victim just as the other missing homeless men were.
* * *
MELISSA’S HEART HURT for Jim Smith. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to go through life not knowing who you were or where you came from or if you had any family. Although if he did have family, surely they would have been looking for him. Unless they thought he was dead...
Then again, she’d worked in the system long enough to know that when a family filed a missing persons’ report, the police investigated—for a little while. Then other cases took priority, leads went cold and enthusiasm waned.
Eventually the family members accepted the loss, especially if they thought their loved one had left of his or her own accord. Missing children were a different story. Families never really gave up looking for them or hoping for their safe return.
“Why did you come here tonight?” Jim asked her.
Melissa traced a finger over her neck, a chill invading her. “After what happened at the vet’s clinic today, I couldn’t sleep. I remembered that you kept notepads and came here looking for one. I thought you might have jotted down something important.”
Smith patted his shirt pocket. “I usually write down anyone I talk to, especially if I think they might give me useful information.”
“Did you know a man named Bill Small or Harry Willis? They were staying at the Retreat Shelter.”
&n
bsp; He wrinkled his brow. “I haven’t been to that one.”
Her stomach twisted with unease. Was he holding back?
“Jim, I went to bat for you with Dex. Please be honest with me.”
He removed a pad from his pocket and flipped it open. He tapped a page where he’d written the vet’s name.
“One night at an old warehouse, I heard some of the men talking about that vet, how he took care of stud bulls. When I regained consciousness years ago, I had a card in my pocket with the name of a cattle breeder on it. I thought if the vet worked with that breeder, he might remember me.”
“That’s the reason you were at Dr. Huckleberry’s today?” Melissa asked.
Smith nodded.
“What happened when you got there?” Melissa asked.
“Those gunmen were dragging the vet’s body into the barn. One of them said something about taking care of Harry, then the other guy saw me and fired. I ran for cover. I guess that’s when I dropped the bandanna.”
“Did you recognize the men or their voices?”
He shook his head. “No, I wish I had. But that detective showed up and fired at me, too, and I had to get the hell out of there.”
Dex appeared at the doorway with a scowl. Judging from his expression, he’d overheard their conversation. “I thought you said you didn’t have any ID on you when you regained consciousness.”
“I didn’t,” Smith said. “This was a business card.” He removed it from his pants pocket and offered it to Dex. “It had the name of a cattle breeder on it. I thought it probably didn’t mean anything, but went to talk to him.”
“What happened?” Dex asked.
“It was a dead end. The man claimed he had no idea who I was. Said he passed his cards out all the time. I could have picked it up at a ranch or restaurant or rodeo.”
“But you kept the card all this time?”
Smith nodded. “I don’t know why. But it was all I had to go on.”
Melissa saw the wheels turning in Dex’s mind. “What is it, Dex?”
“That breeder’s name was on a flier in the vet’s office.” Dex drummed his fingers on his thigh. “It might not be related, but I’m going to question this guy myself.”
Jim stood. “I’ll go with you.”
“No.” Dex held up a warning hand. “I’m sticking out my neck for you with my brother. You need to lay low. Stay here and out of trouble. If the police discover Melissa is allowing you to stay here, she’ll be arrested for harboring a fugitive.”
“I don’t want to get her in trouble,” Smith said.
“Then let me do the grunt work.” Dex took the card from Smith. “One way or the other, I’ll get to the bottom of this mess.”
* * *
DEX HOPED HE wasn’t making a mistake in trusting Smith. But he did trust Melissa, and if there was any truth to Smith’s story—and to his allegations against Lamar, which Dex did not want to believe—he couldn’t stop digging.
He’d give that card to Lucas and see if he could lift a print. If Smith was in the system and dangerous, he’d get the man away from Melissa.
“I’ll leave my car here and ride with you,” Melissa offered.
Dex shook his head. “It’s been a harrowing day, Melissa. Go home and rest. I’ll let you know what I learn.”
Melissa looked hesitant but agreed, and Dex insisted on walking her to her car.
“Thank you for trusting me and listening to him,” Melissa said as he opened her minivan door.
He tightened his jaw. Trust didn’t come easy. The one man he’d completely trusted had abandoned him and his family. And now this man he barely knew was making allegations that Lamar, the man who’d mentored him, was dirty. “Just be careful around Smith. Don’t let your guard down, Melissa.”
Melissa squeezed his arm, tension simmering between them, a reminder of the kiss they’d shared earlier and where it might have taken him.
Dammit. He missed having her in his arms. Although he’d been with other women over the years, no one triggered his emotions the way Melissa did.
But most of all, he missed her sweet smile. If heaven had angels, Melissa Gentry was one of them.
He didn’t deserve an angel.
“I’ll follow you home and make sure your house is secure.” But this time he wouldn’t go inside. That would be too dangerous. Too tempting.
“You don’t have to do that, Dex. I’ve been taking care of myself my entire life.”
That made him even sadder. She not only took care of herself. She took care of everyone else.
It was time someone took care of her for a while.
“I’m following you,” he said bluntly.
Her gaze locked with his, heat flaring.
But she didn’t touch him again. She climbed in the minivan, closed the door and started the engine. He hurried to his SUV. He glanced back at the shelter just before he pulled away, and saw Smith hovering in the shadows, watching.
Something about that man disturbed him. Made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
He needed to figure out what it was. If he was lying and using Melissa and him, he’d put an end to it.
No one would hurt Melissa while he was around.
Chapter Thirteen
Dex conducted another quick search of Melissa’s house after he followed her home. Satisfied she was safe for the moment, he hurried away before he succumbed to temptation and asked if he could spend the night.
He paused in the driveway, grabbed his laptop and researched Emmet Wilson. The cattle breeder had an impressive website detailing his expertise and breeding techniques, complete with photographs of prize cattle he’d bred and testimonials from ranchers who’d used his services.
All positive, which made him wonder if the man only allowed positive reviews.
Dex skimmed for details. Wilson utilized natural services along with artificial insemination, genomic-enhanced EPDs, or Expected Progeny Differences, timed estrus synchronization, embryo transfer and sexed semen. He’d also been working with the newest tool, gene editing.
The man owned a large ranch about forty miles from Austin. Night had set in, and the country roads were deserted as he passed small farms and houses on his way. At one time when he was little, his father had talked about expanding his herd at Hawk’s Landing. Dex and his brothers had ridden with him to an auction house and watched as his father bid for the best deal.
Dex had been infatuated with the auction process and the speed with which the bids were made. His father had studied the cattle from the auction catalog in advance so he was prepared to make the best choice for the ranch.
He was on the verge of expanding the herd when Chrissy went missing. But he’d put those plans on hold while he spearheaded the search parties day and night.
When he hadn’t come home that last morning, his mother had assumed he was still out searching. Dex’s father had been obsessive about not giving up and had spent long hours combing different parts of the ranch and area by the swimming hole.
By day two, his mother was frantic that something bad had happened to him.
She’d called the sheriff who’d issued a bulletin for his father and his truck, but nothing had turned up. No phone calls. No message or word. No sign of him anywhere.
Emotions flooded Dex, the memories as painful and vivid as if it had happened yesterday.
He blinked and scrubbed a hand over his eyes, then spotted the sign for Wilson’s Breeding.
He veered onto the narrow, paved road that led to the main area of the property. A traditional ranch home sat on a hill overlooking the barns and stables spread across the land.
Dex parked in front of the house. As he left the truck and headed to the front door, the sound of cows mooing drifted in the hot air. Once his father left, his mother had slowly sold off their stock. She and h
er teenage boys couldn’t keep up the business, and none of their hearts were into the ranch.
Lately, with the addition of the foster girls, he and Brayden had added horses, and had offered riding lessons to the teens.
The door opened, jarring him back to reality. A short robust man with graying hair and reading glasses perched on the end of his bulbous nose stood in the entry.
“Mr. Wilson?” Dex asked.
“Yeah. What can I do for you?”
Dex removed the business card from his pocket and handed it to the man. “By now, I’m sure you heard about the shooting at the Lend-A-Hand Shelter.”
Wilson pushed his glasses up with a crooked thumb. “Yeah. Some guy named Smith. Heard the police are looking for him.”
“That’s right.” Dex studied the man but Wilson showed no reaction to Smith’s name. “Smith had his card with you. He said he came to see you a while back. He claims he has amnesia and thought you might know his name.”
Wilson cut his eyes to the side and seemed to mull over the information. “I do recall some fellow stopping by saying he didn’t know who he was, but that was a long time ago.”
Dex nodded. “He also claims someone is trying to kill him.” He showed Wilson a photo on his phone. “This is Smith. Maybe you can take another look and something will ring a bell.”
Bushy eyebrows raised, Wilson leaned forward and studied the picture. “Can’t say it does. But I meet a lot of folks in my business. I could have met him at an auction and don’t recall it. Or he could have picked up my card at one. I also visit the rodeos and I work with a vet named Dr. Huckleberry. He keeps cards in his office to hand out to interested clients.”
Frustration filled Dex. He was getting nowhere.
“Did you talk to Dr. Huckleberry?” Wilson asked. “Maybe he knows this guy Smith.”
Dex shifted. “Actually, I went to see him earlier, but I’m afraid he was dead.”