“I tried to get her to go to a women’s shelter. I mapped them out for her and explained that Derek wouldn’t be able to get to her in any of them, but she just wouldn’t.”
“How did the two of you leave things?”
“She was supposed to get a burner phone after she’d left him and call me. But it wasn’t her that called. It was Derek. And he was...furious. I think he thought she was staying with me, but he didn’t know where I lived.” Her eyes were painfully bloodshot when she looked at Ryder.
“Anything else?” the man asked in a gentle tone that drew her attention back to him.
“She never said what kind of trouble Derek was in. The last couple of years, all we talked about was our past, and sometimes how we wished we’d never left Montana. And Noah. My son. That’s all. She was embarrassed about what had happened to her and changed the subject whenever I brought it up. I honestly don’t know anything more about her life or Derek’s dealing. I’m sorry. I would like to help. If anything I’ve said or know about Derek will help get him arrested, I’m willing to testify in court.”
Detective Richardson studied her a moment, then smiled. “You’re a brave woman. Cartels are big on payback.”
“I’m not brave. Amy deserves justice.”
“He’s right,” Ryder said, urging her to look at him. “Testifying would be dangerous and you have Noah to think about.”
“I would never put my son at risk.” She held Ryder’s gaze and for the first time since Grace had shown up at their door, Becca’s eyes looked perfectly clear. “Noah has people who love him. If anything happened to me, he’d be able to grow up safe and happy, far away from all of this ugliness.”
Ryder reached for her hand but reconsidered. “All I’m saying is that you really need to think hard about something like this.”
“I have,” she said with a wry laugh. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it a lot.”
Just as Becca looked away, Detective Richardson said, “Well, fortunately, you won’t have to make that decision. When we went to the address on Ms. Mitchell’s license, we found Gomes dead in his apartment. It was two days after it was estimated that Ms. Mitchell was killed. The autopsies will confirm those dates.” He folded his hands on the file. “He was shot execution-style, with all the earmarks of a cartel hit. You’ve filled in a lot of missing pieces, Ms. Hartman, and I think we’ll find that Ms. Mitchell did get her justice.”
Becca’s mouth quivered and tears rushed down her face. “But I failed her,” she whispered. “She should still be alive.”
“For what it’s worth, I’ve been doing this job for too long, and it’s made me more jaded than I care for. But you and your friend sound like remarkable women. I think she saved you from a lot of grief by not telling you what she knew. Despite the drug use, I’m thinking she was a good friend,” Alfonso said, standing up. “And you never gave up on her. Four years is a long time to be a drug addict’s friend, but you were there for her. Can’t do more than that.” He held out his hand. She shook it, and Ryder could see she was trembling badly.
“Thank you,” she whispered, turned and stumbled to the door.
Ryder stayed close until they made it outside. Talk about an emotional roller coaster. He’d gotten angry all over again as he’d listened to her. Then she’d said something to make him swing the other way. The thing was, anger was a lot easier to hang onto.
While trying to remember where they’d parked the damn rental in a lot that would have held more cars than Blackfoot Falls had ever seen, he kept thinking about the time before Amy had met Gomes. Before she got in so deep. Becca had admitted they’d been disillusioned with LA. Even if Amy had been too stubborn to call, why hadn’t Becca?
After they were on their way, Becca giving him directions in the hopelessly crowded city, he couldn’t help remembering the detective’s words. That Amy had saved Becca, and probably Noah, from harm. So at least he could tell his mother that Amy had been loyal to the end. That she might not have been able to save herself, but she’d tried her best to save Becca and Noah at the very least.
Jesus, the image of Amy’s poor face. It kept creeping in when he didn’t expect it. He figured he’d be haunted by that for the rest of his life. Both of them would, and he had to admit, he was a little ashamed that the detective had been more compassionate toward Becca than he had.
But her grief was no substitute for calling them before Amy had crossed the line. Becca knew them, they’d treated her like family. How hard would it have been for her to call?
Although, he’d heard the drugs in Amy’s voice, the alcohol, the slurring. And he hadn’t rushed to save her either. What kind of brother did that make him? What kind of man? Becca had been there when he hadn’t. He’d failed Amy. And he didn’t know how he was going to live with that.
He wasn’t looking forward to the night ahead. Becca had warned him that her house was small. That it wasn’t what he was used to. She’d been so nervous about him seeing it that he couldn’t let it go. He had to know. See for himself. Just like he’d had to see his sister.
Tomorrow, they’d go back to the coroner’s office, and he’d make the final arrangements for Amy’s remains. He wasn’t sure yet what he would do. God forbid his mother see her in that shape.
He’d have to think of something to tell her before they arrived at Becca’s and he called home. But at the moment, what he really wanted was something to hit. Somewhere to shout until he lost his voice. Anything not to feel this helpless. And like a complete failure.
Chapter Fifteen
The street itself was in disrepair with more potholes than road, but when Ryder saw Becca’s house, he finally understood what she meant by small.
It was mostly a box, a square box with a tarred roof. The grass in front was brown scrub peppered with weeds, the walkway to the tiny porch buckled and the steps were in lousy shape as well. There was no garage, and from the look of the people loitering on the street, he was glad he’d gotten the extra insurance from the rental agency.
He made no comment as he parked. She got her own bag out, and he retrieved his, but as she approached the front door, she seemed hyper-vigilant, checking behind her before she slid the key in.
As he watched one group of kids standing on the nearby corner, they jeered and gestured at a patrol cruiser that didn’t bother to slow down.
Becca had been right. It wasn’t what he was used to. What bothered him was that Noah was growing up here. Ryder found it hard to believe this was the best Becca could do. She’d been a restaurant manager, and now she was even higher up the ladder. Surely she could have found safe housing somewhere.
Inside wasn’t nearly as chilly as the weather outside, which felt more like spring than autumn. The place was neat and orderly. The furniture didn’t match, but there was a decent-looking couch, a Noah-sized chair and a box of toys.
There was no separate dining room. Just a plain kitchen with an old stove, a sink, a refrigerator that rumbled and one long counter where she’d have to do everything. The cupboards looked to be pasteboard and needed paint.
“Which one’s Noah’s room?”
Becca stopped with her hand on the fridge door. “I told you it wasn’t much more than a closet. You’ll never fit.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She shrugged and nodded at the door to the left of the small bathroom. He noticed there was no tub, just a shower and a sink with a small cupboard underneath.
When he opened the door to Noah’s room, he realized she hadn’t exaggerated. It was a closet, repurposed with a child’s bed, something that wouldn’t take Noah very long to outgrow. There were three shelves at the foot of the bed where his clothes were folded.
He closed the door and looked back. “I’ll take the couch.”
“Suit yourself,” she said, sipping a glass of what looked like juice. “I can make coffee if you want
. I don’t have milk, but I do have sugar.”
“Don’t bother. It’s late. I’m going to call my mom, then try to get some sleep. If Noah is still awake, I’ll let you know.”
She glanced at the wall clock. “He should be asleep. I’ll call in the morning.” Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, and the skin around her nostrils looked inflamed. The attractive woman he’d grown used to had been replaced by someone years older, and so sad it was as if she’d been crying for weeks.
He’d shed his own tears, but he was far more worried about the state of his mother. Sitting down on the couch, the first thing he saw on the weird patchwork coffee table were pamphlets for two different women’s shelters and a rehab center. He picked them up, and there were notes to Amy, handwritten, with words of encouragement and love. No censure, no blackmail. Just support.
He tossed them back on the table.
Becca walked up to the couch, her travel bag in her hand. “There’s juice and water in the fridge. If you want something to eat, help yourself. There’s linen under the sink in the bathroom. Good night.”
With that, she walked into the only bedroom and closed the door sharply behind her.
He just sat there, dreading making the call he needed to, listening to sirens near and distant, hip-hop blaring from the streets as cars drove by, helicopters, airplanes. It was as if he’d landed on some other planet.
When he finally pulled out his phone, he heard Becca talking to someone. But by the time he dialed, all he heard was sobbing.
He didn’t finish the call. Went to the bathroom, got a sheet and the world’s flattest pillow and brought them back to the couch after using the facilities.
He’d stay in his jeans and shirt. Debated keeping his boots on, but the couch didn’t look as if it could take the wear.
Then he took a deep breath and dialed home.
* * *
ISABELLA’S QUICK KNOCK at the door came early, but Becca was up. She’d barely slept, and now she could hardly see through her swollen eyes. Everything in her world was dark and miserable and she was so frightened she couldn’t think straight.
Somehow, she’d managed to shower and dress. It was hard not to notice that Ryder had been sleeping on the couch with the pillow over his head. Probably all the noise. It was easy to forget about how loud it was in the city.
Now she needed coffee, and a cold compress on her eyes. Too bad if it woke up Ryder. He’d made little to no effort to consider her anything but the villain, and while she couldn’t blame him, between his anger and her worries over Noah’s future, she was an utter wreck.
Isabella had already finished making the coffee when Becca made it to the kitchen. She quickly pulled Becca into a hug.
She couldn’t start crying again. She’d called Isabella last night and filled her in on what had happened. Now she was so choked up she could barely breathe.
Finally, Isabella pulled back but still held on to Becca’s arms. “How are you?” she whispered.
“Worse than I look.”
“I know this has to be so hard for you. Please, just remember, Amy chose her own path. You did everything you could possibly do. I just hope that bastardo rots in hell forever. Now, other than coffee, what do you need?”
“Me? Nothing. I’ll be going back this afternoon, flying all night, really. We have to change planes twice, but I don’t care. I need to get back to Noah. And then, I’m not sure when we’ll come home.” She sniffed, lowered her gaze so she wasn’t looking into Isabella’s eyes. “He loves it on the ranch so much. He’ll hate coming home.”
“So, you’ve made up your mind. Good. Don’t worry about Noah, he’ll be happy wherever you are. You know that’s true. He loves you more than anyone in the world. Thank God we don’t have to worry about Derek looking for you anymore.”
The thing was, Becca really hadn’t made up her mind. She’d thought she had, and she would’ve left Noah in Blackfoot Falls if she’d been asked to testify. But all night long, she’d thought about Noah living on the ranch. No Aunt Amy. No Señora Rios. No Mommy. He’d be so scared. So lost. He’d hate her for leaving him. “I just wish...”
Isabella pulled her close again. The woman only came up to Becca’s shoulders, but she was strong. In so many ways. What she couldn’t do was help Becca stop crying. Amy was gone. Really gone.
Footsteps fell behind her, but Isabella didn’t release her hold. Just moved the two of them closer to the table. She heard Ryder open the cabinet, put a cup down, pour his coffee.
Becca hoped he hadn’t heard that last comment. It wasn’t too revealing but it could raise some questions. Stepping back, giving Isabella the best smile she could manage, she introduced her to Ryder.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, then went around the table, back to the couch and sat.
He looked terrible, which was only fair.
“So, you talked to your boss?” Isabella asked.
Becca got her own coffee, then poured another for her friend. “Yes. He was a little impatient with me, but I told him I needed another week. He wants me back as quickly as possible. I honestly thought he would fire me.”
“He understands what it means to have emergencies.”
“I suppose,” she said, then took a sip of coffee. It was bitter. She’d forgotten to add her usual teaspoon of sugar. “I can’t afford to be any longer than that.” She sipped again, the hell with sugar. “It feels unreal that I spoke to him yesterday from my grandparents’ house. It’s all unreal.”
Isabella frowned. “This isn’t a paid leave? You’ve worked there for years.”
“No. I used up my vacation when Noah was sick, and since then I’ve accrued only a couple days.” Her throat got tight again, especially when she noticed that Ryder had quietly come back into the kitchen, behind her and was about to get another cup of coffee.
“You know, I should call Noah right now,” Becca said, feeling as helpless and vulnerable as a baby. “He’s probably wondering what happened to me.”
She had to get out of there, at least for a few minutes, although she didn’t like leaving Isabella alone with Ryder. Not that Isabella would say anything indiscreet.
“Go call,” Isabella said. “I’ll make more coffee.”
She hurried away, closed the door behind her, but there was no way she was calling Noah. Not when she was falling apart.
* * *
“I’M SORRY FOR your loss,” Isabella said. “I knew Amy, too, and I’ll miss her. She was a sweet girl and didn’t deserve what happened to her.”
Ryder jerked a little as he spun around but didn’t lose any of his coffee. Isabella was an older woman, her dark hair threaded with gray. She clearly cared a lot for Becca and Noah. “Thank you.” He started to head for the safety of the couch again but hesitated. “How long have you known them?”
“Becca and Amy?”
“Becca and Noah.”
She smiled. “From the day he was born. It’s been my true joy to help with Noah. He’s such a bright boy. So full of questions and mischief.”
A loud pop from the street made him jerk again. It could’ve been a backfire and not a gunshot, but he wouldn’t count on it. He shook his head. “Becca shouldn’t be living here. Especially with Noah. I don’t understand why she would risk him in this environment.”
Isabella’s smile disappeared. “You do know that Los Angeles is expensive. One of the most expensive cities to live.”
“No, I get that. But maybe if they lived farther away, it would be safer. If she’s worried about her car, I know there’s public transportation. She already goes to work on a bus. I mean, Noah’s safety is the most important thing. He’s just four. He must go out sometimes, and the gangs—”
“Mr. Mitchell, Becca always puts Noah’s safety first. Always.”
She stepped closer to him, and it was tempting to back up. She loo
ked as fierce as any mother protecting her child.
“You have no idea what she’s gone through to take care of that boy. What she’s sacrificed. He has everything he needs. And me to take care of him when she’s at work. It might be a poor neighborhood, but not everyone who lives here is a gang member. Becca hasn’t had a life of her own since the day he was born. She doesn’t spend a penny on herself.”
He shrugged, not terribly moved. “Isn’t that what a mother’s supposed to do? Bullets don’t discriminate. They go through walls. Couches. Doors.”
With her lips tightly pressed together, Isabella’s eyes were blazing but she took a moment. “I know you’re grieving, Mr. Mitchell. I understand what loss can do to a person. But you’d better think twice before you take out your anger on Becca because you also don’t know what she did to help your sister. Amy couldn’t have had a better friend. You think Becca wanted to live here, work in a restaurant all day? Think again.”
Ryder looked out the small kitchen window, into the crumbling wall that separated the neighbor’s house from this one. “I’m sorry I offended you. It’s just... LA of all places. I can’t imagine what it was like for those two at eighteen. They were kids from rural Montana. Why did they stay here when they could have been back home? Blackfoot Falls isn’t some armpit. It was a great place to grow up. To live.”
“This was always Amy’s dream. Surely you know that. She wanted the city lights, to be invited to all the big parties, maybe act. She tried. It’s hard to let go of childhood dreams.”
Ryder closed his eyes, remembering what his mother had told him about Amy. And the truth was, he already knew it had all been her idea, not Becca’s. What didn’t make sense was why Becca wouldn’t have said something.
He sighed. Why the hell was he so anxious to blame everything on Becca?
His gut clenched. It wasn’t a complete mystery. Every time he tried not to think about Amy, his thoughts bounced to his marriage, to his mom and how he’d failed in so many ways. Expanding the ranch seemed to be the only thing he’d been able to do right. But at what cost? Becca, and her hyper-sense of responsibility, her loyalty to Amy and of course Noah, made him question too many things about himself.
To Trust a Rancher Page 14