by Rita Herron
The guard at the door cleared his throat, and Roeder cut his eyes over his shoulder, his eye twitching again. Miles frowned, suddenly suspicious.
Roeder was trying to tell him something. Only he didn’t want the guard to hear it.
Then it hit him.
The person who had erased the name from the visitor’s log—the one who had covered for Dugan—it had to be someone on the inside. Someone Roeder and the other prisoners would be too intimidated to rat out.
Like the guard with the beady eyes standing watch now.
* * *
JORDAN AND TWO OF THE teenage counselors led the small group along the path toward the river. Justin, a seventeen-year-old nature freak who had been bullied because of his thin frame and interest in science, eagerly pointed out the types of plants and trees as they hiked. The boys collected sticks, stones and leaves for art projects and then gathered more sticks for the campfire.
Timmy was quiet and helped pick up sticks although he stayed close to Jordan, remnants of his nightmare still evident in the frightened look in his eyes. He also kept glancing around the trees and woods as if he expected to see a monster rush out to grab him any minute.
No child should have to live with that kind of terror.
Jordan took his hand and knelt to point out the animal tracks along the riverbank. “See those footprints? That means that a deer has been here.”
Timmy narrowed his eyes to study them, then pointed to a spot a few feet away. Jordan frowned and noticed that the prints were larger and belonged to a boot. In fact, they were so large they had to be a man’s footprint.
She gathered Timmy close then joined the group again. Crane Haddock, Brody’s security guard, had been walking along the riverbank as the group sat and skimmed rocks across the surface, so she assumed it belonged to him. If not, there were other ranch hands who could have been out here.
An hour later, they set up camp and roasted hot dogs over the fire. Eight-year-old Rory showed Timmy how to poke the stick into the hot dog while Malcolm and Wayling grilled their own. Carlos, the sixteen-year-old counselor, told a story about the Indians who used to live on this stretch of land, then showed the boys arrowheads he had collected, and told them that they would hunt for some in the morning.
Finally they roasted marshmallows and Carlos played the guitar and taught the boys a couple of songs about cowboys. Malcolm yawned and Timmy looked sleepy, so she suggested they all get into their sleeping bags.
“We’ll probably wake up as soon as the sun rises,” she said. “That’s the way men on the ranch live. They rise with the sun and go to bed at dark because they’re so tired from working the ranch all day.”
“Come on, Timmy,” Rory said as he tugged him toward his sleeping bag. “We’re real ranch hands now.”
Timmy looked over at Jordan and she gave him a reassuring smile. “Go on, buddy. I’ll be right here to watch over everyone.”
Carlos and Justin checked on the campfire then settled down themselves. Crane Haddock, the security guard Miles had insisted come along, lit a cigarette and took a drag.
Jordan frowned, remembering the way her father had chain-smoked himself into emphysema. The man’s habits weren’t any of her business, but still, she wanted everyone at the ranch to serve as good role models, so she walked over to him. “Do you mind not smoking in front of the kids?”
Haddock’s craggy face sharpened with irritation. “The kids are going to sleep.”
“Maybe so, but I’d rather you didn’t.”
He grunted, then shook his head as if he was disgusted. He obviously hadn’t expected babysitting to be part of his job when Brody had hired him.
“Fine, I gotta take a whiz anyway.” Then he stalked off into the wooded area.
Jordan walked back to the fire, then spread out her sleeping bag and sat down to watch the flames. The boys, exhausted from the hike, had already fallen asleep.
Suddenly a noise behind her startled her. Trees rustling? A twig snapping?
Then another noise, louder. Like a man or animal crashing into the leaves.
She swirled around, searching the darkness, hoping to see the pinprick of light from Haddock’s cigarette, but it wasn’t there. Nerves on edge, she stood and scanned the woods.
“Crane?”
Only the whisper of the leaves rustling in the wind sounded. Then another crack. A gunshot. Muffled.
Fear choked her, and she inched deeper into the woods, weaving between the trees toward the area where Crane had disappeared. On instinct, she slid her derringer from her coat pocket, praying she didn’t have to use it. A faint sliver of moonlight lit her path as she took another step, her hand shaking at every tiny sound echoing around her.
Scrub brush and weeds clawed at the leg of her jeans, then she spotted the glow of the cigarette on the ground behind a clump of rocks.
Her heart jumped as she stepped around the rocks and found Crane Haddock lying facedown in the dirt. Had he fallen?
She knelt slowly to check his pulse, her eyes tracking the property and trailing back to the boys who were still nestled around the campfire.
But she didn’t feel a pulse.
“Haddock,” she whispered as she slowly rolled him over. “Come on, don’t do this to me....”
But the blood gushing from his chest told her it was too late.
Haddock was dead.
Chapter Ten
Miles relayed his suspicions to Blackpaw as soon as they left Roeder, and they went straight to the warden.
Warden Everett Case was a tall husky man who, judging from the photos on the wall of his office, had served in the military. But the years since he’d left had changed him from a fit man to one who needed to lose about fifty pounds. Muscle had turned to fat, the steely focus in his eyes in the picture filled now with cynicism.
What if the warden was in on the cover-up as well? He’d met enough dirty cops, judges and prison employees to know that money talked.
“Did you learn anything from Roeder?” Case asked.
Miles shrugged. “Not really. Except we think he wouldn’t talk because of one of your guards.”
Blackpaw produced the copy of the visitor’s log he had accessed. No doubt he’d sweet-talked one of the female officers into giving it to him. “Look at this. Dugan had a visitor on more than one occasion but the name has been whited out.”
Case took the copy and narrowed his eyes as he studied it. “So?”
“We think this visitor may be working with Dugan,” Miles explained. “And that Dugan paid off your guard to cover up his name.”
Case rolled his shoulders. “That’s a strong accusation. Do you have proof?”
“No, but look at the date of the last visit. A week before the fifth victim was killed, the murder that helped free Dugan.”
A long silence passed as Case chewed over the suggestion. “So whoever killed this woman did so intentionally to help Dugan.”
Miles shifted. “We believe they were working together. If your guard knows this person’s identity, he’s aiding a killer.”
Case released a frustrated breath, then pressed the intercom to his secretary. “Tillie, page Lonnie Banning and tell him I need to see him in my office ASAP.”
Miles paced to the window and looked out at the yard where several prisoners lingered. Roeder was hunched by the fence smoking a cigarette, his eyes scanning the space as if expecting trouble.
A minute later, Banning knocked then strode in. The guard was wiry with pocked skin and a decided limp. Miles wondered if he’d gotten it from one of the inmates.
His look turned suspicious the moment he spotted Miles and Blackpaw. “What’s going on?” Banning asked.
The warden cleared his throat. “These detectives have reason to believe that you erased a name from the visitor log. A man who visited Robert Dugan.”
“That’s crazy,” Banning said in a terse voice.
“Listen to me,” the warden said just as coldly. “I know you’ve accep
ted bribes and sneaked in drugs for the men. But this is different. The detectives suspect this visitor killed a woman to help overturn Dugan’s conviction—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Banning said.
“The hell you don’t,” Miles cut in. “Dugan paid you to cover up for him.”
Case glanced at Miles, then propped his fists on his desk and leaned toward Banning with an intimidating look. “If you did this, and this man turns out to be Dugan’s accomplice, you’re going to jail, Banning.” A nasty leer carved grooves across Case’s face, and Miles realized the weight he’d put on hadn’t diminished his capability to enforce justice.
A bead of sweat popped out on Banning’s forehead. “I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The warden made a sound of disgust, then sat down at the desk and punched some keys on the computer. A few minutes later, he’d accessed a file of visitor logs.
Miles frowned. If Banning had erased the names on the written log, he’d probably also done so on the computer version.
“You’re not going to find anything that isn’t there,” Banning said.
Case pressed a few more keys, studied another file for a moment, then pivoted the screen to show them. “You’re lying, Banning.”
Miles noticed the date and his pulse jumped.
“How... What did you do?” Banning shifted nervously. “I—”
“You thought you erased it, but I had software installed to keep track of everyone who logs into the computer system and exactly what they do.”
“You spy on your employees?” Banning asked, shocked.
Case gave a clipped nod then stood. “I’m running a prison here, Banning. Safety and security have to be top-notch.” He pointed to the name on the file. Pruitt Ables. “So there’s no need to deny that you did erase it. Now who in the hell is this Ables man?”
Banning wiped the back of his neck and glared at Miles and Blackpaw. Suddenly a loud commotion broke out outside. Miles glanced through the warden’s window and saw several men shouting and jumping into a pile. The warden scowled, clicked his radio.
“What now?” he asked into the mike.
“Fight,” one of the guards responded.
A palpable awkwardness filled the room as they watched the scene unfolding. Seconds later, three guards pulled the prisoners apart. Miles’s pulse hammered as he saw the man at the bottom of the pile.
Roeder.
One of the guards leaned over him and checked his pulse. “Roeder’s dead,” he said over the mike. “Stabbed in the chest.”
The warden cursed, then turned back to Banning. “You have five seconds to tell me the truth.”
Banning paled and swiped at his forehead, then took a step back, panic on his face as if he was about to run.
A buzzing sounded, then another guard stepped in, folded his arms and blocked the doorway. “I mean it, Banning,” Case snapped.
“Fess up or I’ll arrest you for accessory to murder,” Miles said. “I don’t imagine you made friends with every prisoner in here. How do you think you’ll like spending time in the cell with some of the ones you didn’t buddy up to?”
Blackpaw grunted. “Especially now they know ratting you out got Roeder killed.”
Banning cursed. “All right, all right. But I didn’t have nothing to do with Dugan murdering those women.”
“What about June Kelly, the woman whose death enabled Dugan’s release?”
“I don’t know anything about that either,” Banning said in a shaky voice.
“But you covered up for Dugan’s visitor, Pruitt Ables.” Miles gripped the man by the collar.
Banning shuddered. “Dugan paid me a lot of money to erase the name. He didn’t explain why and I didn’t ask.”
“But you knew something wasn’t right,” Miles barked. “So who in the hell is he to Dugan?”
Banning’s chest rose up and down as he struggled to breathe. “Ables is Dugan’s half brother.”
Miles gritted his teeth. A half brother that none of them had even known existed.
A man who shared the same genes.
A man who might have killed Kelly to set his brother free. A man who might be helping him track down Timmy.
* * *
PANIC TUGGED AT JORDAN as she felt Haddock’s pulse one last time. Maybe she’d misread it, but no...there was no pulse. He was definitely dead.
Fear knotted her stomach and she scanned the area, half expecting the shooter to fire again. But a heartbeat passed and danger echoed in the air with only the sound of the whistling wind swirling around her.
She had to get back to the boys.
Adrenaline surged through her, and she pivoted, keeping her eyes peeled for an attack. Haddock had been protecting her and Timmy.
Had the shooter murdered him to get to Timmy?
Her hands shook as she pawed through some scrub brush and hurried back to the camp. She kept her gun clenched tightly in her hand but she needed her phone. She had to call Miles.
A sound behind her made her jump, but she spun around and realized it was an opossum. Another twig snapped from a limb above and fell to the ground.
She stepped on it and picked up her pace, racing back to the camp. Her breath stalled in her chest as she drew near it, and she raked her gaze across the sleeping bags beside the fire. At first glance, all the boys seemed to be safe.
And she didn’t spot Dugan or a shooter.
Relief warred with fear, and she forced a calming breath, then strode toward them. The two counselors had sacked out. Wayling and Malcolm were side by side while Rory lay on his side facing Timmy as if they’d been talking before they’d fallen asleep.
Gravel and dirt crunched beneath her boots as she approached. She leaned over Timmy, relief spilling through her when she realized he was sound asleep.
And safe.
But Haddock was still dead, and she had to contact Miles.
She tiptoed past Timmy, then made her way to her duffel bag and dug inside. A second later, she retrieved her phone and punched Miles’s number. The need to make sure Timmy and the others were safe clawed at her as she listened to the phone ring over and over.
Timmy began to stir and she knelt beside him and rubbed his back, hoping to ward off one of the nightmares that haunted him.
Finally after the fifth ring, the voice mail clicked on. She was just about to leave a message, then phone Brody, when suddenly a limb cracked behind her. The scent of the firewood mingled with something else—a man’s cologne.
She spun around and saw a shadow hovering above her, then suddenly a hard hand reached out and grabbed the phone away from her. A firm arm slid around her neck and he jerked her head backward.
“Hello, Jordan. Give me the gun, or Timmy’s dead.”
* * *
THE EXCITEMENT OF FINALLY having a clue zinged through Miles. If he could find Ables, he might be able to prove he’d been working with Dugan. Or at least that he had killed June Kelly and that Dugan had been guilty of the other murders and belonged on death row.
“Thank you, Warden.” Miles shook the man’s hand. “This could be the missing link to this case.”
“I hope you find the SOB,” Case said. “I’ve seen a lot of men go through this place. Most guilty, although a few I thought might have been wrongly incarcerated. Dugan wasn’t one of them.”
“You believed he was guilty?” Miles asked.
Case nodded. “He was too slick. Too composed. If you ask me, he’s a sociopath.”
Which meant he had no conscience. That it hadn’t fazed him to kill the women.
And it wouldn’t bother him to take away his son’s life either.
Cold fear knotted Miles’s belly.
“Excuse me, I need to check on my son.” He turned to Blackpaw. “And let’s find out everything we can on Pruitt Ables.”
“I’ll call in a favor to an FBI agent I know. If anyone can dig up information about Ables, he can.”
&n
bsp; Miles thanked him and the two of them worked their way back through security. By the time Miles stepped outside into the fresh air, he noticed Jordan had called. She hadn’t left a message, but still, alarm rippled through him and he punched her number. Mason called his friend as Miles walked to his Jeep.
The phone trilled and trilled but Jordan didn’t answer. Miles checked the time on his phone. Eight forty-five. She had taken the group for a hike and they were camping outdoors, but they should be settled down by now.
And why hadn’t she left a message?
The sky was growing darker. The boys might be asleep but Jordan probably wasn’t.
His nerves kicked in and he tried Haddock’s number, but it rolled to voice mail, too. Anxiety knotted his insides. One of them should be answering.
He jumped into his Jeep. “Let’s go. Jordan’s not answering and neither is the security guard that’s supposed to be watching her and the kids.”
Mason slanted him a concerned look, then Miles started the engine and peeled away from the prison. He tried Jordan again, but once more her message machine clicked on.
“Jordan, I’m on my way back, but I’m worried. Call me as soon as you get this.”
He sped up, the Jeep eating the distance, his fear mounting with each mile marker they passed.
If anything happened to Timmy, he’d never forgive himself. And what about Jordan? What if Dugan had hurt her?
Images of the dead women, of Marie butchered, haunted him.
Trembling with fear, he punched Brody’s number, tapping his fingers on the door as he waited. By the time Brody answered, he thought his head was going to explode.
“Brody, have you heard from Jordan or Haddock lately?”
“No,” Brody said. “Why?”
“I’ve tried both their phones but they keep going to voice mail.”
Brody made a clicking sound with his teeth. “Maybe they turned them off to sleep.”
“Haddock is supposed to be on duty. He should be available.”
Brody mumbled agreement. “I’m on my way home from town, but if you’re worried, I’ll call Wes Lee and ask him to ride out there.”
“Thanks,” Miles said. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”