by Rita Herron
Jordan leaned her head back against the headrest. She looked exhausted and scared, but he knew she wouldn’t give up. “I think his mother lives in Mexico, too.”
Miles raised a brow. “So he’s going to see her?”
“It’s possible.” Jordan twisted her hands together. “Judging from our conversation, he was abused. And she might have been a prostitute.”
Miles sucked in a sharp breath.
“That abuse triggered his hatred of women. He kept referring to his victims as whores.”
“He’s killing women who look like his mother.”
Jordan glanced his way, her eyes glinting with worry. “Yes. Because she’s the one he really wanted to kill all along.”
Hell. “So he’s going to Mexico now to finally make her pay.”
Jordan nodded again, resignation in her eyes this time.
Miles accelerated. God. Poor Timmy. He’d already witnessed one murder, and now...would Dugan force him to watch another?
And when he was finished with his mother, what would he do with Timmy?
* * *
TIMMY HUGGED THE DOOR. He wanted to get out. Open the door and jump. But he was too scared. If he did, he might get runned over by the other cars. Or the mean man might shoot him.
He was going so fast the tires made noises. The car bumped over rocks and swerved. The man said dirty words and went faster.
Timmy hated him ’cause he hurted Miss Jordan.
Was he the monster that hurted his mommy, too?
He wished he could remember. Then he’d tell on him.
He needed his daddy. His daddy was a good guy. He was a cop. Maybe he’d catch him and put him in jail.
He closed his eyes. Tried to think back.
The red came in splatters. Big puddles. Splashes on the wall. On the floor.
His mommy’s face...
He tried to make it go away. To see something else. The monster’s face. But it was dark and the black came then.
He rolled his hands into fists. He had to think of a way to get out. To get back to his daddy.
He was mad at him that day his mommy went away. He remembered that. But his daddy had been nice since he brought him to the ranch. And he liked Miss Jordan.
And the horses.
He wanted to go back there now.
Tears burned his eyes, but he scrubbed them away with the backs of his hands. He wasn’t no crybaby, not anymore. He wanted to be big and strong like Carlos.
And his daddy.
They would find him. They had to.
But what if they didn’t?
He looked up at the mean man. He had weird eyes. And he was saying more dirty words.
“Don’t worry, kid,” the man said. “We’re going to Mexico and no one will ever find us.”
Timmy bit his lip to keep from crying. That was what he was afraid of.
Chapter Sixteen
Miles phoned Blackpaw as he drove back to the ranch. “Have you located Ables?”
“No, but I have an address for him and I’m en route there as we speak.”
“Good.” He explained Jordan’s theory about Dugan’s former girlfriend and his mother. “I know you’re busy, Mason. But I’m wondering if this Janet woman might have been in the courthouse during Dugan’s trial. I would call the lieutenant but—”
“You’re supposed to be off the case. I’ll fill him in on what’s happened, then have him fax you a list of the people who attended the trial along with a list of the visitors at the prison. Maybe there will be a crossover.”
“Thanks. I have a feeling he might pay her a visit before he goes to his mother’s.”
“I’ll get back to you ASAP.”
“Thanks.” Miles disconnected the call, turned down the road leading onto the ranch, then drove to the dining hall. “Wait in the Jeep,” he told Jordan. “I’m going to check in with Brody then take you home to clean up and check that wound.”
Jordan nodded, and he jumped out and rushed in to check on the kids. Brody met him at the door.
“Everyone okay?”
“Yeah. The boys are agitated, but they understand and are worried about Timmy.”
“No sightings of Able or any other trouble?”
Brody shook his head. “No. The coroner took Haddock’s body, and Lee and the deputy are at the hospital. I called a couple guys I know who work extra security and they’re coming over to watch the ranch.”
“That’s probably wise.”
“We’re going to feed the kids breakfast, then take them out for a while to work with the horses. But we’ll keep them contained within the same area for safety’s sake.”
Miles nodded. “I’m carrying Jordan back to clean her wounds. I’ll keep you posted.”
When Miles returned to the Jeep, Jordan’s eyes were closed. She looked exhausted, and he still hadn’t seen how badly the bullet had grazed her.
She stirred slightly, but kept her eyes closed as he drove to her cabin. When he parked, she jerked awake and climbed out before he could go around to help her.
Anxiety knotted Miles’s body as they walked to the door, his hand automatically checking his phone in case he missed a call. Where was Dugan now?
What was he going to do to Timmy?
His stomach heaved. He knew Timmy was terrified, but was he hurt?
Jordan unlocked the door, and he followed her inside, his instincts urging him to turn around and leave.
He should be out there searching for his son. Tracking down Dugan. Saving his little boy.
Jordan must have seen the terror in his eyes because she lifted her hand and pressed it to his jaw. The tender gesture triggered something inside him, a dam of emotions that threatened to erupt.
“I know you’re worried,” Jordan said. “So am I.”
“I was supposed to protect him and I failed,” Miles said, his throat aching.
“You did everything you could,” she said softly. “And it’s not over, Miles. We will find him.”
Fear clogged Miles’s throat. “But what if it’s too late?”
Jordan released a pent-up breath. “You can’t think like that. I was getting into Dugan’s head, forming a connection.”
“What do you mean? He’s a sociopath. He has no conscience.”
“He was traumatized as a boy. That abuse triggered his behavior.” Jordan thumbed his hair back from his forehead. “I don’t think he’ll hurt Timmy, Miles. I reminded him what it felt like to be a scared little boy. How he felt.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I can’t,” Jordan said. “But I have to believe he’ll remember that. That his beef is with his mother, not Timmy.”
Miles wanted to believe her so badly his head throbbed. He had to grasp on to the hope she offered. He couldn’t survive if he thought Timmy was gone.
Desperate for hope, for some comfort, he reached for Jordan. A heated moment stretched between them as his gaze met hers.
Then a look of hunger and need flared in her eyes. A look that mirrored the feelings raging through him.
He couldn’t help himself. He was terrified, hurting... He just wanted to hold her for a minute and absorb her strength.
So he pulled her in his arms and closed his mouth over hers.
* * *
JORDAN OPENED HER MOUTH, welcoming Miles’s kiss, her need driving her to thread her fingers in his hair and draw him closer. One kiss led to another, their frenzied hunger making her yearn for more.
He deepened the kiss, ran his fingers along her jaw, dropped tongue lashes along her earlobe and neck until she shivered and rubbed herself against him.
Miles groaned, then cupped her buttocks with his hand and walked her backward until she was pressed against the wall.
His mouth left hers to suckle at her neck, one hand trailing over her shoulder and tugging at her blouse. But the moment he flicked the top button open and saw the blood, he halted.
His gaze met hers, dark, fiercely protective, angry.
> “I’m sorry, this is wrong.”
“No.” She caught his arm before he could pull away. “It’s not wrong for two people to comfort each other.”
His mouth tightened into a grim line. “You’ve been injured,” he said. “And I need to be looking for my son.”
“Miles—”
He traced a finger along the cut on her forehead, his frown deepening. “You probably need stitches or you might scar.”
“I don’t care about a scar,” she said. “I care about you and Timmy.”
Pain creased his face. “Jordan...” He closed his eyes. When he opened them, a resolve had set in. “Come on, let’s check out your shoulder.”
He gently peeled back her blouse, studied the tissue where the bullet had burned the top of her skin, his expression tormented. “I’m sorry you got caught up in this, that you were hurt because of me.”
“I’m just glad I was there with Timmy.” Jordan kissed his cheek gently. “And I’ll be there to help him when we bring him back.”
A seed of hope flared in his eyes. His phone beeped that he had a text, and he jerked up to check it.
“What is it?” Jordan asked.
“Blackpaw. The roster for Dugan’s trial and the prison visitor list is being faxed to the main house right now. It could be the lead to this woman you mentioned.”
“Go pick it up while I shower,” Jordan said.
He shook his head. “I don’t want to leave you—”
Jordan squeezed his arm. “I’ll be fine. The police are looking for Dugan. Brody has security and that other deputy watching for Ables.”
Miles wavered slightly, then gave a clipped nod. “Lock the door. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
As soon as he left, Jordan hurried into the bathroom. She stripped and examined her injury in the mirror. It was just a graze, but the memory of Dugan holding her, threatening Timmy flashed back and she began to shake all over.
Delayed reaction. She knew the term for it. Understood that now the immediate danger was over, her adrenaline was waning.
She flipped on the shower water and stepped inside. Only the danger wasn’t over. Timmy was still with Dugan.
She prayed that she was right and that he wouldn’t hurt him.
But the truth was—Robert Dugan was a sociopath. Something had triggered his desperation, incited him to deviate from his pattern, to escalate into taking hostages and risking capture by coming on the ranch.
At this point, he had nothing to lose.
Which meant he might do absolutely anything.
Even kill Timmy.
* * *
MILES RAN INTO THE HOUSE, his nerves on edge. No telling what was happening to Timmy. What if Ables was lurking nearby waiting on him to leave Jordan alone?
He jogged to the office, snatched the fax printouts, then quickly stopped by his cabin for a change of clothes, his passport and his laptop.
Five minutes later when he entered Jordan’s cabin, the shower was running. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine her beneath the spray of water, rivulets trickling over her bare, delicate skin.
A groan of desire mingled with denial. He could not have her.
And even if he could, this was not the time.
His son had been kidnapped. Every second counted.
Banishing the erotic images along with the voice nagging at him that he might be too late for Timmy as he had been for Marie, he spread the printouts on her kitchen table and skimmed the names. First, the list of people in the courtroom during the trial.
Because the press had raised the Slasher to celebrity serial killer status, death threats had come in against Dugan, along with protestors saying the cops had railroaded him just to cover their butts for letting four women’s murders go unsolved for so long. The judge had instilled strict security measures. Everyone in the courtroom had been searched and had to provide ID.
Cameras, including cell phones, had been banned.
As soon as he skimmed the names from the trial, he compared them to the visitor’s log at the prison. He flipped through the first week’s, then the second and found nothing. But on the first day of the third week, a name registered.
Janet Bridges.
She had attended the trial the first two weeks. She had also visited him in jail at the beginning of week three when the defense began to present their side, which had only lasted four days.
But she hadn’t been present for the reading of the verdict.
Adrenaline pumped hope through him. He logged on to the police database and plugged in her name. No arrest record.
A little more digging and he discovered she was a real estate broker who had worked with Dugan to expand his businesses. She had a home in Santa Fe.
He dialed her phone number but there was no answer. Next he tried the office number listed, but received a message that she was unavailable.
“Miss Bridges,” he said as he drummed his fingers on the counter. “This is Detective Miles McGregor. It’s urgent that I speak with you. Please call me back.” He left his phone number, then hung up with a frown.
Dugan had mentioned that she didn’t believe him. Had she known something about the case that would have helped nail Dugan? Or had she disappeared to cover for him? Could she have killed June Kelly to free Dugan? Would she talk to him when he found her?
Hell yes, she would. He’d make her.
His son’s life depended on it.
And if she had helped Dugan with the murders or was hiding him now, he’d make sure she went to jail with him.
* * *
JORDAN DRIED OFF, applied antibiotic ointment and a bandage to her shoulder wound, then cleaned the cut on her forehead. Barring makeup, she couldn’t do anything to camouflage the bruise on her cheek; it was already turning a nasty purple and black.
But she’d never been vain or taken much time with her appearance, and now wasn’t the time to start worrying about it.
She yanked her hair back into a ponytail, dressed in clean jeans and a white shirt and hurried back to the den. Miles was seated at the computer, scribbling on a pad.
“Did you find something?” Jordan asked.
He glanced up, winced as his gaze fell on the bruise on her face, then shrugged. “I think so.” He stood. “I think this woman Janet Bridges may have been the woman Dugan talked about. I have an address I’m going to check out.”
“Let’s go.”
“Jordan, no.” He moved to her and touched her cheek. “You’ve been through enough.”
“We’ve already discussed this,” Jordan said as she reached for her denim jacket. “I was getting to Dugan. I may be able to help.” She squeezed his hand. “Besides, I’m a counselor. If this woman is confused or torn over what to do, she might listen to me before she does the man who put Dugan in jail.”
He looked as if he was going to argue, then seemed to accept that she might be right.
“All right, come on.”
Jordan nodded, grabbed her purse and followed him to the Jeep. She was tired though and lay her head back and fell asleep on the drive to Santa Fe. When she awakened, Miles was pulling into a row of pricey-looking upscale condos on the outskirts of town.
Janet Bridges must have done well in her job. Either that or Dugan had paid her off.
Miles led Jordan down a brick walkway through an outdoor garden, then up to the front door. He buzzed the doorbell, and they waited, each of them scanning the exterior in search of the woman.
“She might be at her office,” Jordan suggested.
“I called but no answer. I left a message. Let’s canvass the neighbors. Maybe one of them knows where she is.”
They knocked on three doors. An elderly woman with hearing loss answered at the first one, and claimed not to know Janet at all. The other two were empty, the residents probably already at work.
Jordan noticed a young woman in a sports bra and workout pants exiting the condo to the left of Janet’s and rushed toward her.
“Excuse me, miss, but can you tell us where Janet Bridges is? We need to talk to her.”
A weary look shadowed her eyes. “Who wants to know?”
Miles cleared his throat and flashed his badge. “Ma’am, we have reason to believe she was friends with a man named Robert Dugan.”
The young lady visibly took a step back. “I know who he is. Why, has he hurt Janet?”
Jordan read the fear in her tone. Not fear of them but of Dugan. “We don’t know yet,” Jordan assured her. “But Mr. Dugan kidnapped Detective McGregor’s son and we need to find him. We were hoping Miss Bridges might be able to help.”
The woman shook her head, eyes flaring with a seed of panic. “Not Janet. Hell, she was terrified of the man. She told him to leave her alone. And when he was released from prison, she moved away so he wouldn’t be able to find her.”
Jordan grimaced. She hoped this wasn’t a dead end. “Do you have any idea where she moved?”
The woman fidgeted, obviously debating whether or not to reveal what she knew.
“Listen, miss,” Miles cut in. “Dugan shot and killed a deputy last night and injured another man before he abducted my little boy. He’s armed and dangerous and he may be coming after your friend.”
The young woman paled. “You don’t understand. Janet did love him at first, but when all that stuff came out at the trial...she was freaked out. She’s completely terrified of him.”
Jordan rubbed her arm. “Please tell us what you know. We promise you we’ll protect Miss Bridges.”
The girl chewed her thumbnail for a minute, then finally relented. “She made friends with this guy at the gym. His name is Matt Connor.”
“Where does he live?”
She took the pad Miles offered and scribbled down the address.
They thanked her then rushed back to the car. Maybe this Connor guy could point them to Janet and she could lead them to Dugan.
Then they could find Timmy and hopefully bring him back alive.
* * *
THE DRIVE TO CONNOR’S place took less than fifteen minutes. But for Miles, it was fifteen minutes of hell.
He swerved into the small neighborhood, silently noting that Connor must not make the kind of money Janet Bridges had. Small ranch houses were nestled on land that had once been farmland, leaving it flat and almost desolate. The summers must be unbearably hot with no trees for shade.