by Rita Herron
Sage’s heart was beating so frantically that she reached for him.
Emotions clogged her throat as he tilted her chin up again.
But this time instead of examining her bruises, he closed his mouth over hers.
Sage gave in to the moment and savored the feel of his passion. She parted her lips in invitation, relishing the way he played his tongue along her mouth and growled low in his throat.
Hunger emanated from him, in the way his hands stroked her back, and the way his body hardened and melded against hers.
A warmth spread through her, sparking arousal and titillating sensations, earth-shattering in their intensity. Dugan splayed his hands over her hips, drawing her closer, and she felt his thick erection press into her belly.
She wanted him.
Wanted to forget all the sadness and grief that had consumed her the past two years. Wanted to feel pleasure for a few brief moments before reality yanked her back to the ugly truth.
That her son was still missing.
Those very words made her pull away. What was wrong with her? Was she so weak that she’d fall into any man’s arms?
She certainly had made that mistake with Ron.
She looked into Dugan’s eyes and saw the same restless hunger that she felt. She also saw his turmoil.
He hadn’t expected her to react like that to him.
It couldn’t happen again.
* * *
DUGAN CURSED HIMSELF for his weakness. But one look into Sage’s vulnerable eyes and he couldn’t not kiss her.
Pain radiated from her in waves. For the first time, he’d forgotten about his resolve to keep his hands off her. She’d needed him.
And he’d needed to hold her and know that that bastard who’d tried to choke her hadn’t succeeded.
Why had her attacker let her live? Did he really think he’d scare her so badly she’d stop looking for her son?
Chapter Twelve
Dugan adopted his professional mask, relieved she’d donned a robe over her long pajamas before he’d arrived. If he’d seen a sliver of her delicate skin, he might lose control, change his mind and take her to bed. “I’ll check your room for prints.”
“He wore gloves,” Sage said. “Leather.”
“Figures. Still, I’ll look around in case he dropped something or left a stray hair.”
She led the way, and he spent the next half hour searching her room. When he spotted the bed where she’d been sleeping when she was attacked, images of the man shoving her facedown assaulted him.
He was going to catch this jerk and made him suffer.
Sage excused herself to go to the bathroom while he searched the room. Grateful for the reprieve, he forced his mind on the task and checked the sheets. He ran his hands over the bedding but found nothing, so he stooped down to the floor and shone a small flashlight across the braided rug.
A piece of leather caught his attention. A strip, like part of a tassel to a boot or glove or jacket. Sage had said her attacker had worn gloves.
Hoping to find forensic evidence on it, he dragged on gloves and picked it up.
Sage emerged from the bathroom, her hair brushed, her robe cinched tight. “Did you find anything?”
He dangled the leather strip in front of her. “Do you recognize this?”
Sage shook her head no. “It’s not mine.”
“You struggled with the man?”
She shivered. “Yes.”
“I’ll bag this and send it to the lab.” He strode toward the door. “Go back to bed, Sage. I’ll stay downstairs and keep watch.”
“I don’t think I can sleep,” Sage said, her voice as forlorn as the expression on her face.
Hell, he knew he wouldn’t sleep. Not while worrying about Sage’s attacker returning to make good on that threat.
And not while thinking about that damn kiss.
“Then just rest. I’m going to find something to fix that broken window.”
She tugged at the top of her robe, pulling it together. “There’s some plywood in the garage.”
“That’ll work.” He forced his gaze away from her. “You need a security system.”
“That’s hard to do with guests.”
“You can arrange a key system.”
“Won’t that be expensive?”
“It’ll be worth it for you and your guests.”
“I’ll look into it,” Sage agreed.
He turned to go down to the garage.
“Thank you for coming tonight, Dugan.”
He paused, shoulders squared. “I’m going to catch this bastard and find Benji.”
The soft whisper of her breath echoed between them. “I know you will.”
Her confidence sent a warmth through him. Other than Jaxon, he’d never had anyone believe in him.
Especially a woman.
He didn’t want to disappoint her.
Shaken by the thought, he rushed outside to the garage, found a toolbox and some plywood in the corner.
It took him less than ten minutes to cover the broken glass. When he’d finished, he walked around the other rooms, checking locks and windows and looking for other evidence the intruder might have left behind.
Then he made a pot of coffee and kept watch over the house until morning. But Sage’s Christmas tree haunted him as the first strains of sunlight poured through the window.
More than anything, he wanted to bring Benji back to Sage for Christmas.
* * *
SAGE DIDN’T THINK she would sleep, but exhaustion, stress and worry had taken their toll, and she drifted off. She dreamed about Benji and the holidays and the attack. She felt the man’s fingers closing around her neck, his knee jamming into her back, his weight on her. She was suffocating, couldn’t breathe...
She jerked awake, disoriented for a moment. She scanned the room, searching the corners as reality returned. She was safe. The intruder was gone.
Knowing Dugan was downstairs watching out for her, she closed her eyes again. This time after she drifted off, she dreamed that Dugan was in bed with her, kissing her, stripping her clothes, making love to her...
When she stirred from sleep, her body felt achy and languid, content yet yearning for something more. More of Dugan’s touches.
But sleeping with him would be a mistake. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could crawl in bed with a man and walk away. She was too old-fashioned. Making love meant more to her than just a warm body.
Still, she craved his arms and hands on her.
Frustrated, she jumped in the shower. One blast of the cold water and she woke to reality. She adjusted the nozzle to warm and washed her hair, letting the soothing spray of water pulse against her skin until she felt calmer.
Finally she dried off, dressed and hurried down the stairs. Dugan had cooked eggs and bacon, and poured her a cup of coffee as soon as she entered. With remnants of the dream still playing through her head, the scene seemed cozy. Intimate.
What in the world was she thinking?
She and men didn’t work.
“Last night before you called, I looked for Lewis’s sister.”
Sage blew on her coffee to cool it. “You found her?”
“I discovered a woman named Janelle Dougasville who lived near one of the addresses for Mike Martin.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“Not yet. I’m planning to pay her a visit after breakfast.”
“Then let’s go.”
“Eat something first.”
“Dugan—”
He gestured toward the plate. “Humor me. I need food in the morning.”
She agreed only because he made himself an egg sandwich using the toast he’d buttered, and wolfed it down. Her stomach growled, and she joined him at the table and devoured the meal.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m not accustomed to anyone cooking me breakfast. Usually that’s my job.”
Dugan shrugged. “Breakfast is the only meal I make.”
“Where does this woman live?” Sage asked as they walked outside and settled in his SUV.
“Near Crystal City.” He drove onto the main street. “I’ll drop that leather strip at the lab on the way.”
She glanced at the holiday decorations as they wove through town. Wreaths and bows adorned the storefronts. A special twelve-foot tree had been decorated and lit in the town square, and a life-size sleigh for families and children to pose for pictures sat at the entrance to the park where Santa visited twice a day.
Signs for a last-minute sale on toys covered the windows of the toy store. The bakery was running a special on fruit cakes and rum cakes, with no charge for shipping.
Soon Christmas would be here. Kids would be waking up to find the presents Santa had left under the tree. Families would be gathering to exchange gifts and share turkey and the trimmings.
The children’s Christmas pageant at church was tonight.
Tears blurred her eyes. If Benji was here, they would go. But she couldn’t bear it...not without him.
“I stopped by the diner for dinner after I left your place, and ran into Sheriff Gandt.”
Thoughts of holiday celebrations and family vanished. “What did he have to say?”
“Wilbur Rankins killed himself last night after we left him.”
Sage gasped. “Because of our questions?”
“His son claims he was ashamed over being swindled,” Dugan said.
“Oh, my God.” She twisted her hands together. “But the news story didn’t name names.”
“There’s more,” Dugan said. “D. J. Rankins, Wilbur’s grandson, called me. He thinks his grandfather didn’t commit suicide.”
“What?”
“Apparently his father and grandfather argued after we left.”
The implications in Dugan’s voice disturbed her. “You think Junior Rankins killed his father?”
“I don’t know,” Dugan said. “But if he didn’t, someone else might have.”
Because they were asking questions. Because of the news story.
She’d been threatened, too.
Which meant she and Dugan were both in danger.
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER, Dugan parked at the address he found for Janelle Dougasville. The woman lived in a small older home, with neighboring houses in similar disrepair.
According to the information he’d accessed, she didn’t have a job. A sedan that had once been red but had turned a rusted orange sat in the drive.
“If Ron had made money on other scams, he certainly didn’t share it with the other women in his life.”
“True. And if one of those women discovered he was lying about who he was, that he had other women, or that he was hoarding his money for himself, it would be motive for murder.”
That meant Carol Sue Tinsley and Maude Handleman were both viable suspects. So was Beverly Vance.
Dugan knocked, his gaze perusing the property. The cookie-cutter houses had probably looked nice when new, but age and weather had dulled the siding, and the yards desperately needed landscaping.
Inside, the house was dark, making him wonder if Janelle was home. He knocked again, and seconds later, a light flickered on.
Beside him, Sage fidgeted.
The sound of the lock turning echoed and then the door opened. A short woman with dirty blond hair stared up at them, her nose wrinkled.
“Yeah?”
“Ms. Dougasville,” Dugan said. “We’d like to talk to you.”
The woman snorted. “You the law?”
“No.” Dugan started to explain, but Sage spoke up.
“We’re looking for my little boy. His name is Benji Freeport. You may have seen the news story about him. He disappeared two years ago.”
The woman hunched inside her terry-cloth robe, her eyes squinting. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Probably nothing,” Dugan said. “But if you’ll let us in, we’ll explain.”
“Please,” Sage said softly.
A second passed, then the woman waved them into the entryway. Dugan noted the scent of booze on her breath, confirmed by the near-empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table in the den.
Janelle gestured toward the sofa, and he and Sage took seats while she poured herself another drink. Her hand shook as she turned up the glass. “All right. What do you want?”
Dugan explained about Ron Lewis, his scams and phony identities.
“I don’t understand why Ron took my little boy with him that day,” Sage said, “but I’ve been looking for him ever since.”
Janelle lit a cigarette, took a drag and blew smoke through her nose. “I don’t know anything about your kid.”
Sage sagged with disappointment.
“What can you tell us about Ron Lewis? He was your brother?” Dugan asked.
Janelle sipped her whiskey. “Not by birth. We grew up in the foster system together.”
“Do you know his real name?”
She snorted. “I’m not sure he knows it.”
“What was he called as a boy?”
“Lewis was his first name.”
“So that’s why he chose it this last time,” Sage said. Had he planned to keep it? “Tell us more about his childhood.”
“He was a quiet kid. His folks beat him till he was black-and-blue. First time I got put in the same foster with him, he told me they were dirt poor. He was half-starved, had one of them bloated bellies like you see on the kids on those commercials.”
“Go on,” Dugan said when she paused to take another drag on the cigarette.
“We was about the same age, you know. My story was just about like his, except I never had a daddy, just a whore for a mama. So we connected, you know.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
She tapped ashes into a soda can on the table. “About three years ago. He showed up one day out of the blue, said he was on to something big and that he was finally going to make all those things we dreamed about come true.” A melancholy look softened the harsh lines fanning from her eyes. “When we got sent to the second foster home together, we made a pact that one day we’d get out and make something of ourselves.”
Judging from her situation, Dugan doubted Janelle had succeeded.
“We used to go down to the creek and skip rocks and dream about being rich. I used to dream about us getting married and having a real family.”
“Did Ron...I mean, Lewis, share that dream?” Sage asked.
Janelle shrugged. “He said he wanted all that, but he also lied a lot. Every time we got moved to a new foster, he took on the people’s names.”
That fit with his ability to assume different identities. He’d learned early on to switch names and lives.
Dugan would have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t destroyed lives and hurt Sage so much.
“Tell me more about his real parents,” Sage said.
“His daddy blew all he made on the races, and his mama liked meth.”
“Do you know what happened to them?”
“Last we talked, he said his mama died. Don’t know about his old man. Seems like I heard he got killed, probably by one of the bookies he owed money to.”
Sage sighed, a frustrated sound. “Was there anyone else he might go to if he was in trouble? Another girlfriend?”
Janelle stubbed out her cigarette and tossed down the rest of her whiskey. “There was one girl he had a thing for bad. A real thing, I mean, like he wasn’t just using her. He was young when it happened, but they talked about getting married.”
“What was her name?”
“Sandra Peyton,” Janelle said bitterly. “He knocked her up, but she lost the baby, and things fell apart.”
Dugan made a mental note of the woman’s name. If Sandra was the love of Lewis’s life and he thought he’d finally made the fortune he wanted, maybe he had been going to see her, to win
her back again.
Another thought nagged at Dugan—what if he was taking Benji to replace the child they’d lost?
Chapter Thirteen
Dugan stopped for lunch at a barbecue place called The Pig Pit, but Sage’s appetite had vanished. She kept replaying the story Janelle Dougasville had told her about Ron Lewis...rather Lewis, the foster kid.
His upbringing had definitely affected him, had motivated him to want more from life, especially material things. He was trying to make up for what he hadn’t had as a child.
Being shuffled from one foster family to another had turned him into a chameleon. A man who could deftly switch names, lives and stories with no qualms or hesitation.
A man who had learned to manipulate people to get what he wanted.
One who played the part but remained detached, because getting attached to a family or person was painful when you were forced to leave that family or person behind.
That, Dugan could relate to.
“I almost feel sorry for him,” Sage said, thinking out loud.
“Don’t.” Dugan finished his barbecue sandwich. “Sure, he had some hard knocks in life, but a lot of people have crappy childhoods and don’t turn out to be liars and con artists.”
“You’re right. He could just as easily have turned that trauma into motivation for really making something of himself.”
“You mean something respectful,” Dugan clarified. “Because he was something. A liar and a master manipulator.”
“Yes, he was.” Sage sighed. “If he really loved this woman, Sandra Peyton, do you think he might have tried to reconnect with her?”
“Anything is possible.”
Sage contemplated that scenario. If Sandra Peyton had Benji, at least she was probably taking care of him and he was safe.
But where was she?
* * *
DUGAN SNATCHED HIS PHONE and punched in a number as they left the restaurant and got in the car. “Jaxon, it’s Dugan. Did you learn anything about that women’s shelter where Carol Sue volunteered?”
“Women there are hush-hush,” Jaxon said. “But when I explained that Benji might have been kidnapped they were cooperative. That said, no one saw him, and the lady who runs the house denied that Carol Sue brought Benji there.”