by Jodi Thomas
Pearly did admit she’d called about Thatcher’s lunch from the sheriff’s desk, so someone might have come in or had already been in the building, and used her absence to climb the stairs. “And,” she’d whispered to Lauren, “I did run to the ladies’ room.”
Deputy Weathers nodded at Lauren as if to say, the window of escape.
It didn’t add up to Lauren. What was the chance that One-ear and Thatcher were upstairs waiting to run, and they caught that few minutes’ window when Pearly went to the bathroom? If Thatcher was kidnapped, he wouldn’t go quietly. Pearly would have heard him even from the bathroom. Plus, the Franklin sisters were waiting in the lobby, so when Thatcher and two other people left, they didn’t pass the sisters or the two ladies would still be screaming.
The office filled with people asking questions and demanding to know if Thatcher was all right.
Lucas Reyes showed up in a suit and took over answering questions from the concerned public, as he called them, and the press—one woman from the weekly paper.
The art teacher at the high school called in to offer to do a sketch of what the other ear might look like.
A few old guys from the retirement homes across the street took over traffic control out front, but the snow had gotten so bad people were talking more about the weather than Thatcher by then.
When her father and Deputy Weathers finally shoved everyone out of the office so they could concentrate on police work, Lauren was starting to feel like she was in one of Tim’s terrible novels. Alien zombies in need of human ears were kidnapping young men. They’d accidentally left part of their bounty behind. Of course, the reason Pearly hadn’t seen them come or go was because they controlled her mind.
Which wouldn’t be too hard. Pearly couldn’t even control her mouth most times. Lauren figured in the plot of things she was probably the next character to be abducted.
Tim brought her a cup of coffee, but he didn’t lean close or talk to her. He was still angry about their breakup. When he finally had some time to think and climbed over his pride, he’d realize it was for the best. Now maybe at least one of them could move on.
She had a feeling it would be him. In her experiences in life, she’d decided that she wasn’t that good at moving, period. Up, on, or out. Most twenty-five-year-olds didn’t dream of moving back home. Something must be wrong with her. She wanted to stay in the nest and never fly.
Only right now wasn’t the time to worry about it. She had Thatcher to find.
Pop organized the facts like a man working a thousand-piece puzzle. He might not keep his filing cabinet in order, but he squirreled away details forever in his mind. She’d seen him talk to a stranger for a few minutes and remember everything about him six months later.
When no one was looking, she climbed half of the flight of stairs to the landing and sat in the corner. No one below would notice her. The air was warm on the landing, and the evening shadows played across the old wood in long lines like tiny railroad tracks crisscrossing.
One flight higher was a crime scene still bloody. One flight below was chaos, but here in the middle was silence.
Lauren leaned her head back, wishing she could come up with one idea as to where Thatcher might be. He couldn’t have simply vanished. No one saw him go out the front door or into the street. The back door was kept locked, and an alarm sounded if anyone opened it.
Why would he run, anyway? It wasn’t like he was doing time in a prison. The sheriff even had her and Tim sit up with him last night so Thatcher wouldn’t be lonely. He was eating like a king. There was a good chance the charges would be dropped. Everyone in town was on his side.
When that direction of problem solving didn’t work, she tried piecing it together from the other end. Someone had come in, without anyone noticing, and made it all the way to Thatcher’s cell. The footprints in blood showed it was more than one person. They’d kidnapped the kid. Thatcher fought and managed to cut off one of the attacker’s ears.
The hammering of the men building the gazebo in the lot across the street echoed up to her like an old clock that didn’t tick in rhythm. The workers all wore furry caps that covered their ears. Her pop had mentioned that they worked from dawn to dusk every day until the job was done. They were way behind schedule.
She ran down the stairs and into her father’s office. “I know how...”
Weathers, Pop and Tim all looked up from where they’d been sitting around her dad’s desk. In the middle rested a furry cap with blood soaked into one side. The right side.
“I guess you figured it out too.” She let her shoulders drop.
Her father stood. “We did, about half an hour ago. Weathers found the hat in the trash out back. One of the construction workers said it was stolen out of his truck. We also found drops of blood in different spots outside, but the snow’s falling too fast to follow a trail.”
“Do you think whoever took Thatcher was one of the workers?”
Weathers shook his head. “Foreman said all his men are accounted for. They’ve been working in tight quarters under the framed roof today, trying to stay out of the worst of the weather.”
Pop nodded, then added, “They’re a rough crew, and I’m not sure I trust the foreman’s word. After we find Thatcher, I think I’ll go back and have another talk with the man. Not one of the crew looked me in the eye the whole time I was talking to the boss.”
She looked around. “Where’s Charley?” Collins was as worried as any father would be. He wouldn’t have just left.
“We also saw a trail of blood moving down the alley and back behind the retirement houses. There’s a place back there where Ransom Canyon’s shallow end dips close, then continues on down to where the lake fans out. From the looks of it, someone who was injured or maybe an animal who was hurt either slipped down into the canyon, or was tossed. It’s not very deep there, but the wind blows through and builds up the snow.”
“Where’s Charley?” she asked again, dread already settling in the pit of her stomach.
Pop frowned as if he didn’t approve. “Charley’s gone to get horses. Lucas is changing into riding gear. They plan to head down to search the canyon before it gets dark.” Her father suddenly looked very tired. “I want this search kept quiet. We don’t know if it’s the guys who came after Thatcher, or if it’s the kid, or even if it was a dog hit by a car. The last thing I want is a bunch of people who have no business being out in the cold looking for someone bleeding in the middle of a snowstorm.”
“It’ll be dangerous on horseback,” Fifth said. “Impossible on foot or in an ATV.” He glanced at the sheriff. “But a man can search fast on a horse, and at the very least we’ll learn which way they didn’t go.”
The sheriff nodded.
Just then Lauren heard the slight jingle of spurs. She turned. She almost didn’t recognize the cowboy standing in the doorway. Tall, dark, lean. Outfitted in leather boots, chaps, vest and coat. His dark eyes stared right at her as if he was hungry for one last look.
She couldn’t move. The man she’d always thought Lucas would grow up to be was standing before her. Folks called it being born to the land, and today he looked to be just that.
Lucas finally turned his gaze to the sheriff. “I know what I’m getting into, Sheriff. I’ve grown up riding the canyon in every season. In an hour we’ll have covered as much ground as anyone on foot could have made. In two hours, three at the most, we’ll be back.”
The sheriff nodded. “No matter what, Lucas, I want your word that you and Charley will climb out of the canyon by twilight. The last thing I want is someone else missing.”
“If he’s in the canyon, we’ll find him by then.”
The office phone rang.
Lauren couldn’t stop staring. Lucas had been handsome in a suit, but he was perfect in western clothes.
“Charley’s unloading the horses over behind the bungalows.” The sheriff held out the phone.
“Tell him I’m on my way.” Lucas moved so fast he seemed to vanish. All she heard was the slight ring of spurs remaining.
Pop turned back to the phone, but Lauren ran for her coat.
Once outside, the wind seemed to blow the snow sideways. It blew and swirled like sand, too light and dry to stick.
If she hadn’t known the way to the retirement center, she might have walked into the street. The late-afternoon sun provided little more light than a low-watt bulb burning in a dusty cave. She could see the spot of light, but it didn’t do much to illuminate her way.
The hammering across the street had finally stopped. The workers must have given up for the day on Crossroads’ great building project. No one believed it would ever be finished anyway. In January, the contractor had said he’d have it up by July. No one thought to ask what year.
Lauren walked as fast as she dared, using the cute little retirement houses as her guide. Today they reminded her of covered wagons that had circled to weather winter. Just behind them was a long row of carports and just beyond the shallow canyon.
She heard the horses before she saw them. Two more steps and the whole scene came into view. One man was unloading a third mount while Lucas and Charley readied their horses and saddles. Both had grown up cowboying. Charley had even rodeoed some. They knew horses and they knew the canyon. If any two men could find Thatcher, it would be them.
“Go back inside, Lauren,” Charley yelled as he looped the lead rope from the third horse onto his saddle.
“I have to give Lucas something,” she said above the wind.
Lucas turned. His wide-brimmed hat was too low for her to see his eyes. He didn’t say a word, but she knew he was watching her.
Lauren pulled the ear muffs from her pocket. “I thought this might help.”
He lifted his hat and she clamped the covering around his ears, leaving the band running behind his neck.
When he put his hat back on, it fit tight above the wool ear muffs.
Suddenly, she was in the shelter of the wide brim of his hat. All around them a winter storm raged, but under the hat all seemed calm.
She felt like she’d been sleeping for years, and the hunger in his dark eyes shocked her full awake.
He didn’t move and she couldn’t.
Then Charley’s order broke the silence. “Kiss the girl, Reyes, and mount up. We don’t have all day.”
Lucas smiled, kissed her hard and fast on her frozen lips, and was atop his horse before she thought to react.
“I didn’t feel a thing,” she said, more to herself than to him.
He touched his fingers to his hat in salute and said, “You will when I get back.”
Charley was already ahead, walking his horse down the narrow path behind the parking sheds and into the canyon.
“We were over a long time ago,” she said as Lucas moved away, disappearing into the blizzard. The wind caught her words and carried them.
His voice also drifted to her on the wind. “We haven’t even started, mi cielo.”
Lauren walked slowly back to the county offices. She was a total idiot. Why’d she let him kiss her? How many times did she have to be hit in the head with a sledgehammer to learn that Lucas wasn’t hers? He sometimes pretended to be. He seemed like he was. But every time she got close, he disappeared.
She’d loved him at fifteen, and he’d wanted to wait until they were both in college to see each other. Then, when she got to college, he never had time for her. She thought they’d be together after graduation, but he moved to Houston and she went to Dallas. If he’d just suggested he wanted more from her, she would have been packed and moved in a week. But Lucas never seemed to have the time. He never wanted a commitment.
Tim had, though. He’d suggested it many times. Not anything like marriage, but more like moving in together. She’d been the one to always want to keep things between them as they were. Friends with benefits, nothing more. Maybe she wanted it that way because she knew Tim just wanted to be in a relationship.
Lucas wanted the opposite.
By the time she hit the office doors, she was fighting mad. Maybe she should forget them both and go for door number three.
The only trouble was finding door number three.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THATCHER HAD TALKED Pearly into calling about his noon meal and was deep into his newest western when he heard the light tap of footsteps on the stairs heading up. It didn’t sound like children, more like a couple people trying not to make a sound.
He glanced over and noticed Pearly had left both doors that led to the room with the cells open. She probably knew she’d be returning soon with lunch and was just thinking of saving herself the hassle of unlocking, but it didn’t make Thatcher feel safe.
Prisoners, even him, should be kept locked up safe and sound.
He liked knowing there were three locks and two flights of stairs between him and outsiders. The footsteps came close like reindeer tapping up in stocking feet. Too late for Halloween, too early for Christmas.
Every cell in Thatcher’s body came alive. He’d lived life in the Breaks long enough to smell trouble like snakes sensed the heat of predators. Danger was tiptoeing up the stairs, and he was locked in, unable to run.
A tall, thin guy in overalls and stocking feet slithered around the first open door as silently as a cat. He wore a funny fur hat that looked more like it belonged in Alaska than Texas. The flaps over his ears were sticking straight out, almost making his head look like a fat tiny airplane atop his stick of a body.
Another man followed, shorter, out of breath from the climb and holding a knife in his fat, porky fingers. The blade was long and looked razor sharp.
Standing on full alert, Thatcher played his options over in his mind. He knew the sheriff had left the office an hour ago, heading to the scene of a fire a county over. He’d also heard people tromping up and down the stairs a while back. Pearly mentioned they’d decided to close all county offices except the sheriff’s office because of the snow.
Thatcher moved to the back of his cell as the two men slithered closer, both smiling a hungry carnivore’s grin.
Thatcher decided to handle this problem. If he yelled, Pearly might be his only backup, and he didn’t want to get her hurt. After all, the men were on the outside of his cell. They couldn’t touch him.
“Look, guys, if you’re here about what you thought I saw at the trailer, I can tell you right now, I didn’t see anything and I swear I’m not going to mention to anyone what I didn’t see.” He wasn’t sure they were two of the men he’d seen at the little girl’s trailer, but they could have been.
The short one laughed, a hiccupy kind of squeal. “We told you we’d find you and shut you up.” He drooled as he giggled. “How about we go for a little walk? If you’re real quiet, we won’t take the old lady downstairs with us.”
“You’re going to need more than that knife.” Thatcher felt brave with the bars and five feet between him and them. “My guess is you didn’t bring a gun. One shot would have half the town here before you two could get down the stairs.”
The thin one smiled with what few teeth he had left. “We don’t need a gun. We found this in the sheriff’s office.”
He pulled a key from his pocket. The key to Thatcher’s cell.
Thatcher stopped talking and started acting. As they opened the door, he threw everything he could find at them. Books, blankets, Dr Pepper cans.
Nothing stopped the short guy from coming at him, knife pointed in his direction, while the skinny bum made a funny cheering sound like he had a front row seat to a fight. Now and then, Slim would jump and swing at Thatcher, then dart back into place, but the short one slowly march
ed straight toward his prey.
Thatcher suddenly felt more irritated than afraid. It was downright insulting to be attacked by these two losers.
“We went ahead and beat the girl for letting you follow her home. Her stepdad let us all give her a few swings with the belt, but you’re not getting off that easy.”
Thatcher’s blood began to boil. “Is she all right?” She’d been so tiny in her faded red coat that was two or three sizes too big. One swing from a belt would knock her down.
Shorty shook his head. “What do I care? She ain’t my kid. She ain’t anybody’s kid. She’s just a whiny bother. By the time it was my turn to hit her, she wasn’t even screaming. She was just lying there taking it without a sound.”
Thatcher turned his back, hoping to find something to hold off Shorty, or better yet, kill the bastard.
He grabbed the blankets from his bed, and, with a wild charge, threw them over the short guy’s head. He got in three or four good punches before he felt the short man’s knife slide along his side, just deep enough to draw blood.
Then Thatcher realized he’d forgotten about Slim. The tall guy’s blow hit him across the back of the head, not hard enough to hurt, more of an irritation.
Thatcher jumped to avoid the second blow, but another slice cut across his shoulder from Shorty’s blade as the tall guy moved in to sucker punch him when Thatcher wasn’t looking.
For a few minutes, they both came at him, the slim one punching and the short one slicing. Each cut went a little deeper.
When Thatcher curled on the floor in pain, Shorty stuck a knife in Thatcher’s back just enough to draw blood again and said, “You make a sound, I’ll skin you right here in the cell.”
Thatcher froze. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew he wasn’t going with these two so they could murder him somewhere else. If they killed him, they’d make sure no one found the body. He couldn’t do that to Charley or the sheriff. They’d both never stop looking for him.