Gambling on a Dream

by Sara Walter Ellwood

  Doug had been one of her best deputies despite his goofy personality. She’d known him since grade school, but he was a few years younger than her. His father was a history professor at Colton College, and his mother taught Sunday school.

  His wife would be heartbroken, and his two-month-old daughter would never know her father. Fighting the tears that stung her sinuses and clogged her throat, she glanced at Tilly. “Has anyone contacted his wife?”

  “No, not yet.” He shook his head and shuffled his feet.

  She patted him on the shoulder and glanced at Elizabeth Raines huddled against a man on the front stoop of their Spanish inspired two-story. A potted gardenia lay on its side, and dark soil spilled out from the broken glazed pot. Had Doug’s killer knocked it over? Or had Tyler tried to escape? “I better talk to the Raines.” She glanced at Doug’s body. “I’m leaving you in charge of this part of the investigation.”

  He nodded and she turned to look at Wyatt standing behind her on the brick walkway. The Glock holstered at her hip weighed heavily as she approached Tyler’s mother. She didn’t want to think about what they would find when they found Tyler Demello, considering how brutally Chis Larson and Justin Vaughn had been murdered.

  Wyatt’s black Resistol shaded his face, but she could tell by the hard tilt of his mouth his thoughts were running with hers. When they reached the couple on the small porch, he removed his hat and held out his ID to the tall dark-haired man. “I’m Lieutenant Wyatt McPherson of the Texas Rangers.”

  The man glanced at the ID and worry furrowed his brow. “Cory Raines. I’m Tyler’s stepfather.”

  “Mrs. Raines.” Wyatt shoved his badge back into his pocket.

  Dawn introduced herself to Mr. Raines, then looked at his wife. “We need to ask you some questions about Tyler.”

  Tyler’s mother pushed away from her husband and stiffened.

  Cory Raines nodded and looked from Wyatt to her. “Please come in.”

  He moved to the side, opening the door to allow them entry. As they filed into the spacious entry, she caught sight of expensive art and posh furnishings. Elizabeth led them into the room on the left, and stopped between a creamy leather couch and a black overstuffed chair.

  Other than the worry tugging on the fine lines around her eyes, the woman looked as impeccable and as mad at the world as she had the other evening when Tyler came to the station. As she folded her arms before her, Dawn noticed the tremor in her perfectly manicured hands. “You assured us we would be safe.”

  Her husband moved in and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “We want Tyler found.”

  “We want the same thing.” Dawn swallowed the sudden cotton in her mouth. How could this have happened?

  Wyatt glanced at her and pulled a notepad from his back pocket. “What do you know about Tyler’s disappearance?”

  “He didn’t disappear. He was abducted.” Elizabeth rubbed her arms with her hands and moved away from her husband. “When we woke up this morning, we found the glass in Tyler’s window cut and he was gone. His room is a mess. Then we found Deputy Grant dead in our driveway.” She shuddered and shook her head.

  Why didn’t the murderers kill Tyler like they had the other two boys? Dawn glanced at Wyatt and knew he was thinking the same thing. “Can we have a look in Tyler’s room?”

  Elizabeth nodded and sniffed. “Please find my son.”

  * * * *

  As Wyatt entered the first floor bedroom, he pulled a couple pairs of rubber gloves out of his jacket pocket and looked around. The window facing the backyard was open, and a large hole was cut into the glass below the lock. He could easily imagine the abductor cutting the hole, opening the lock, then lifting the pane.

  On the wall above a desk holding a laptop, a poster of some rapper hung next to the window. A backpack sat beside the desk. Scattered on the floor were a few articles of clothing. Punk jewelry and soda cans littered the dresser. Spread out over the floor was the bedding with a large lump under it as if the pillows hid from prying eyes. The room held a chill from the breeze blowing in the wide-open window and held the scent of cut grass from the neighbor’s yard.

  Dawn took the pair of gloves he held out to her. He didn’t miss that she avoided touching him. “Looks like he was yanked out of bed.”

  He turned to the Raines, standing in the doorway. “Have either of you touched anything in here since finding the room like this?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No. We called the police right away.”

  As Dawn pulled on her gloves, she knelt beside the broken glass on the floor. “Wyatt, take a look at this.”

  Pressed into the carpeting were several pairs of muddy boot prints. From the haphazard placement of them, there may have been a struggle. A line of blood drops went from the open window to the edge of the comforter, concealing the pillows on the floor.

  She lifted the comforter from the floor, and Elizabeth let out a scream. Her husband gasped and pulled her close to him. A puddle of blood stained the tan carpeting, and lying in the middle of it was Tyler Demello. He was stabbed in the belly and had several slashes over his arms.

  How the hell had his parents slept through the racket this must have made?

  When Dawn met his gaze, the taut lines around her eyes showed the fear and pain she held inside, which pulled at his heart. The deaths of these kids were taking a toll on her. “We have to call the FBI forensic team in here ASAP. If there’s mud and blood here, there’s more outside.”

  He nodded and knelt beside her. Although he figured it was a futile move, he laid his fingers on the boy’s neck to check for a pulse. When the first beat fluttered under his fingers, he blinked and pressed harder into the artery. He focused on the kid’s chest to look for breathing.

  “Wyatt?” Dawn’s soft voice shook. “I think he’s breathing.”

  He met her wide-eyed gaze as the flutters under his gloved fingers became recognizable as a weak pulse. “Call an ambulance. He’s alive.”

  Elizabeth, who had gotten herself under her Junior League polished control, took a step into the room. “He’s alive?”

  Wyatt yanked on the sheet, balled it up, and held it to the oozing wound on Tyler’s belly. He glanced at the boy’s mother. “He’s alive but barely. Please stay back.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, but her husband pulled her back and said, “C’mon, Liz. Let them do their job. You don’t want to disturb any evidence that could catch the guy who did this.”

  Dawn clipped her cell onto her belt. “The ambulance is on its way. I’m calling dispatch to get a hold of the FBI.” She pointed to the drops of blood leading to the window. “We need to get these boot prints casted and that blood analyzed. I have a feeling it’s not Tyler’s.”

  “That not all we need the FBI for.” At the pucker of her forehead, he swallowed and remembered what her father had said the other day in the hospital. “We need them to protect Tyler and his family.” He flicked a glance at the Raines and lowered his voice to a whisper. “It may be time to reconsider who the killer might be. I have a feeling he may be closer then we think. In fact, he might be working with us.”

  The furrow in her forehead deepened until his meaning blossomed in her mind and unfurled the creases of puzzlement like a flower opening to the sun. “You’re thinking we have a possum in the henhouse?”

  He nodded and smiled despite the gravity of the implication. “Exactly.”

  * * * *

  Chet punched the office door, putting a dent in the cheap wood. His worthless sack-of-shit bother-in-law sat behind his desk, he looked up and frowned as he wrapped the cut on his arm in gauze from a first aid kit. “What the fuck?”

  He kicked the offending door wishing it was Gene’s ugly mug. “The kid isn’t dead.”

  That got the asshole’s attention. He sat up and narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  Chet leaned over the desk into Gene’s face. “Demello. The bitch
and McPherson found him, and he is still alive. He’s been taken to Dallas and is in the hospital there.”

  Gene leaned back into his cushy leather chair. “You’ll have to off him.”

  Chet shook his head and spun around. He hated feeling caged in. Running his hands through his hair, he sucked in a breath. Damn, he needed another hit. “How the hell am I supposed to do that? He’s surrounded by FBI agents and Rangers.”

  The idiot his sister married leaned over his arms on the desk. “You’re running for fucking sheriff! You should be able to get close enough to make sure he can’t talk.”

  Chet had about enough of the know-it-all. He grabbed Gene by his shirt collar and pulled him over the desk. “I think Madison and McPherson are on to me. If you would’ve killed the bitch like you were supposed to…”

  Gene scowled and gripped Chet’s wrist hard enough to cause him to wince and let go. “She would be dead if you would’ve let me put a bullet in her head.”

  Chet hated to admit even to himself the peacock was right. He stepped away from Gene’s desk and took a deep breath; it did nothing to relieve the gnawing need burning him from the inside out. “We have to figure out what our options are.”

  Gene shook his head and sat back in his chair. “You need to win that election in a few weeks so you can find a scapegoat to take the rap for those murders.”

  Nodding, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. As the memories of what he’d seen at Madison’s trailer flipped through the fuzz of his mind, he turned toward Gene. “I think I know how I can get rid of Dawn Madison and possibly Wyatt McPherson too.”

  Gene furrowed his brows. “You going to let me in on the plan?”

  He grinned. “Destroying a person’s place gives you a very personal look at what they’re hiding.”

  Chapter 15

  Wyatt finished the text message informing his captain of Tyler Demello's status. The boy had been rushed to surgery soon after they'd arrived at the hospital. A few moments ago, he’d been moved to intensive care. By the way the hospital staff tossed glares at the FBI agents when they reminded them where they could and couldn’t go, Wyatt suspected they hated their presence.

  Sighing, he clipped his phone on his belt and leaned back in his chair. The last time he’d sat in this hallway had been three years ago when Dawn got shot. He’d been expecting the memories to come and clobber him, but they hadn’t. Instead of the pain of betrayal flooding his heart, the ache of what he may have missed with Dawn filled him.

  What would have happened if he’d stuck around and they’d actually talked things out? Why had he run?

  Dawn talked with Tyler’s father near the door of the boy’s room. The well-known fertility doctor was dressed in an expensive suit and bore the air of someone rich, but by the way he fisted and opened his hand, and by the deep creases in his face, Wyatt could tell that he was genuinely worried about his son.

  Wyatt focused on Dawn and frowned. She leaned against the wall as if she needed it to hold her up. Pain and fatigue showed in her drawn and pale face. The knee of the leg she favored appeared twice its normal size beneath the black fabric of her borrowed slacks.

  When Dr. Demello turned away, Wyatt stood and headed straight for her. “I think it’s time to get you home.”

  She turned toward him, and her eyes narrowed for a beat before they widened. “I can’t leave.”

  Shrugging, he looked around. “We both know no one but immediate family, hospital staff, and the FBI can get within a hundred yards of the kid. He’s safe, Dawn.” Not for the first time, Wyatt admired her for her commitment, but if she didn’t get out of here soon, she would drop. “Let me get you back to the ranch where you can get some rest. You weren’t even supposed to be working yet.” He smiled before she had a chance to voice the protest he imagined coming. “Besides, your momma will already have my hide for not keeping you at home. Do you want me to be on the receiving end of her wrath?”

  She let out a small laugh, then tilted her head to the side. Humor he’d not seen for a long time shined in her deep brown eyes. “Like the time you and Talon stole all her tomatoes from the garden to throw at Jock Blackwell’s house?”

  He rubbed his jaw and chuckled. “Yeah, like that.” He set his hat on his head and nodded toward the exit. “So, let’s go.”

  With a wince she couldn’t stop, she pushed away from the wall and lost her balance. She would have fallen if Wyatt hadn’t caught her. “Damn. My knee hurts.”

  He guided her to a chair. “Sit down. I’m going to find a nurse with a wheelchair.”

  With narrowed eyes, she shook her head. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be fine.”

  “No. For once in your life let someone take care of you.” Before she could make a fuss, he turned toward a passing nurse. “Miss, do you have a wheelchair handy? Sheriff Madison was in an auto accident yesterday and has been on her feet all day.”

  “Wyatt. I’m fine.” He heard the words through gritted teeth.

  Dawn stood, but she fell back into the chair. The nurse stepped forward and frowned. “I think he’s right. In fact, I’d recommend you having it looked at.”

  “No.” Dawn glared at him. “Just get me a chair. I’ll call the doctor when we get back to Colton.”

  The nurse pursed her lips as if she wasn’t sure she believed her, but soon turned to fetch the wheelchair.

  Dawn leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She gave up too easily, which had to mean she knew he was right, or she was glad for the intervention but too proud to admit it.

  When the chair arrived, the nurse helped her onto the seat and glanced at Wyatt as she took the handles. “Which exit are you parked closest to?”

  “The E.R. I’ll pull my truck up to the door.”

  “Good. I’ll meet you there.” She started pushing the chair through the staring FBI agents and medical staff, while he took off for the elevator.

  When would she stop pushing herself to the brink?

  * * * *

  Dawn stared out the window as the dark highway between Dallas and Colton flew by. Soft country music played on the radio. She and Wyatt didn’t speak. What was there to talk about? She’d said more than her piece that morning--God, had it been that morning?--at the diner.

  The sex that happened before then seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “I have nowhere to go,” she said more to herself than to Wyatt as they entered the city limits of Colton.

  “I’m taking you back to my place.” The deepness of his voice had her turning her head toward him. He glanced her way, and their eyes met for a brief time before he had to look back at the road, but she recognized the shadowy seriousness shining in the depths. “I think it’s time you and I have a talk.”

  “Thought we already did this morning at the diner.”

  Again, his piercing blue gaze touched hers as he stopped at the red light in the center of town. “You asked me a question before Tilly came in. I think I owe you an answer.” He looked back at the road when the signal changed to green, but she got the feeling he did so more to avoid her than to make the turn. “I don’t know what I thought, Dawn. About the baby. About whether you’d want it or not. I spent a lot of years trying to figure that out. I…” He shook his head and rubbed his jaw. “I was hurt you didn’t tell me.”

  Sighing, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat. She was too tired to do this again. “I told you why I didn’t.”

  “Yes. And that’s what hurts. I thought you knew me better than that. I’m nothing like Jock Blackwell.”

  She turned her head and looked at his handsome profile. The set of his jaw showed her the pain in his heart, but the sight did nothing to alleviate the hurt she still held deep in her own. “Then why did you run? If I’d honestly hurt you so bad by not telling you about the baby. If you wanted our baby so much, why didn’t you face me then?”

  “Let me get you home, and we’ll finish this.”
>
  She shook her head. He was still running. “Okay.”

  A few moments later, they pulled into his driveway. He helped her out of the truck and into the house. Once he helped her settle on the couch, with her bum leg propped on a pillow, he gently placed a bag of frozen peas over her swollen knee. When he handed her a couple of pain pills and a glass of milk to wash them down, she’d had enough.

  She set the empty glass on the end table. “Now, are you going to tell me the real reason you bailed on me?”

  He faced the fireplace and tossed his hat onto the leather chair that matched the couch. “I should have been able to protect you, Dawn. I failed. The same way I failed my sisters, especially Rachel.”

  What? “I don’t get it? I can take care of myself, and I can’t imagine a brother loving his sisters more than you do.”

  He faced her, the shadows in his eyes causing her heart to flutter. “That’s just it. Did you know I set up Lance and Rachel?”

  She shook her head.

  He sat in the chair next to her and leaned over his long legs to study his hands. “I didn’t think he was good for her, but I went against my gut. Lance was home from college and Rachel was still in high school. I knew she had a crush on him, and when he asked me if I’d get him a date for the Fergusons’ roundup barbeque, I knew exactly who.” He shook his head and fisted his hands. “So, if I’d gone with my gut and told him to go find his own damn date, my little sister might not be suffering like she is right now.”

  She couldn’t believe the guilt radiating off him. “Wyatt, you had no way of knowing what would have happened. Besides, Lance made his own decisions when he cheated on her with Audrey, and so did Rachel. No one forced her to join the military.”

  He shrugged as he leaned back in the chair. “I know you’re right, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Just like I can’t stop wondering where I went wrong with you. I should have been the one protecting you, not the other way around.”