by Rita Herron
The old Victorian house was nestled on an acre of land literally at the crossroads of the town limits and the countryside. The porch light and lights inside were on, indicating someone was there.
Ryder swung down the drive, surprised at the wildflowers growing in patches along the drive. A cheery-looking sign in blue and white boasted its name, and underneath, etchings of children and parents linking hands in a circle as if united had been carved into the wood.
He passed a barn and spotted two horses galloping on a hill to the east.
Rocking chairs and porch swings filled the wraparound porch, making the place look homey and inviting.
He climbed the porch, wiped his feet on the welcome mat, and banged the door knocker, which was shaped like the sun. Through the window, he noted a kitchen with a large round oak table and a woman at the sink washing dishes.
A second later, a twentysomething blonde with pale green eyes opened the door. She couldn’t be more than five feet tall and couldn’t weigh a hundred pounds. Her eyes widened as her gaze traveled from his face down to his size-thirteen boots and back to his face.
He flashed his identification. “Special Agent Ryder Banks, FBI. I need to ask you some questions about Tia Jeffries.”
She blinked, a wariness in her expression. “Yes, Tia told me you’d probably be coming. I’m Elle Grist, Tia’s assistant.”
“When did she tell you I was coming?”
“When she called after you arrested her,” the woman said, disapproval lacing her tone.
So she’d used her one phone call to call the charity. Why? To request they cover for her?
“Before you even ask, no, Tia would never do anything to hurt her baby or anyone else. She’s the most loving, caring person on this planet.”
“You’re loyal to her. I get that.”
“Yes, I am, but with good reason,” Elle said. “Tia lost her family—every one of them—on the day of her college graduation. They were flying to the ceremony when the plane went down.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “She still blames herself. More than anything in the world, she values family. That’s why she started this place. She’s helped so many people over the past five years that she deserves a medal.”
Elle dabbed at her eyes. “Tia also took me in when I lost my mother two years ago. She let me live with her until I could get a job. She saved me from...”
Ryder arched a brow. “From what?”
Elle rubbed a finger over a scar on her wrist. “I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for her.” Footsteps sounded, and the heavyset woman he’d seen through the window washing dishes appeared, drying her hands on a checked cloth.
“Miss Elle speaks the gospel. Everyone loves Miss Tia.” She planted her beefy hands on her hips. “You gonna find the evil one that took her baby?”
Ryder swallowed, choosing his words carefully. From Tia’s list, he guessed this woman must be Ina, the cook and housekeeper. “I’m certainly going to try. But I need your help.”
“We’ll do anything for Tia,” Ina said.
He gestured to the notepad. “Then let me come in. I want you to look over this list Tia made and tell me about the people on it.”
The women exchanged questioning looks, then a silent agreement passed between them, and they motioned for him to enter.
“Just be quiet now,” Ina said. “We have two families here with little ones. Took their mamas forever to get them to sleep tonight.”
Ryder glanced at the stairs and nodded. It certainly appeared that Tia was some kind of saint to these people. If that was the case, who had stolen her son?
And what had they done with the little boy?
Chapter Five
Ryder studied the photos on the wall of Tia’s office. She and the staff had taken pictures of several families who’d come through Crossroads and displayed them on the wall to showcase that their efforts were working.
Personalized thank-you notes and cards were interspersed, creating a collage that triggered Ryder’s admiration.
“Darren Hoyt claims Tia is unstable, that she suffered from depression,” Ryder said.
Elle’s mouth grew pinched. “She is not unstable and she certainly doesn’t suffer from depression.”
“That girl had it rough a while back,” Ina interjected. “Losing her mama and daddy and brother all at once. Anyone would have been grief stricken. On top of that, she blamed herself ’cause they were on their way to see her.”
That would have been tough.
“She was only twenty-one at the time,” Elle said. “She was suddenly alone and didn’t know what to do. But one of her friends convinced her to go to an in-house therapy program. So she did. No shame in that.”
No, he supposed not.
“I admire her,” Elle continued. “She took her own personal tragedy and used it to make her stronger and to help others by building this place.”
That was admirable. Ryder addressed Ina. “What did you think about Darren Hoyt?”
Ina folded her arms. “He was a con man. He knew Tia had money from her folks and married her to get hold of it. But that girl was smart and set up the charity so no one could touch it.”
A wise move. “She didn’t trust Darren from the beginning?” Ryder asked.
Elle shrugged. “It wasn’t that. She just wanted to protect her family’s money and for their deaths to stand for something.”
“She barely paid herself a salary,” Ina said. “But she gave openly to others.”
“When Darren realized he would never get her inheritance, he left her,” Elle said. “That man was a manipulative SOB—he never loved her.”
“She loved him?” Ryder asked, wondering why that thought bothered him.
Elle blew out a breath. “At first I think she did.”
“She was young, vulnerable, lonely and naive,” Ina said. “Darren Hoyt took advantage of that.”
Ryder gritted his teeth. “Do you think she was jealous that he moved on? She wouldn’t have done something to get Darren’s attention and win him back?”
“Heavens, no,” Ina murmured.
Elle shook her head. “Tia had never seemed happier than during that pregnancy.”
Ina smiled softly. “She wanted that baby more than anything.”
Ryder rubbed his chin. “Can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt her? Maybe someone whose family came through Crossroads?”
Both women shook their heads no.
He consulted the notepad. “Tell me about Bennett Jones.”
“He was furious when his wife left him and took their son,” Ina said.
“Do you think he kidnapped Tia’s little boy for revenge?” Elle asked.
Ryder shifted on the balls of his feet. “I don’t know—do you think he did?”
Elle chewed her bottom lip. “It’s hard to say how far he’d go. Tia suggested he attend anger-management classes.”
“He did have a mean streak,” Ina agreed, her cheeks puffing out.
Ryder checked the list again. “What about Wanda Hanson?”
Ina fanned herself. “Lord help, that woman had her issues.”
“What do you mean?” Ryder asked.
“She had back problems and became addicted to pain meds, then escalated to harder stuff,” Elle said. “Husband found her passed out while their baby was left unattended. They lived on a lake, and their toddler was outside alone.”
Ina tsked and shook her head. “It’s a wonder the little fellow didn’t drown.”
Ryder arched a brow. “What happened?”
“Father tried everything to convince her to get help. He finally divorced her and moved with the boy to Texas to be close to his folks.”
Ryder thanked Elle and Ina, then extended his business card. “Ple
ase call me if you think of anything else that could be helpful.”
Ina caught his arm. “Agent Banks, you gonna help our Tia?”
Ryder cleared his throat. These women had sung Tia’s praises. If everything they said was true, she was a victim. “I’m going to find Jordan,” he said.
Both women nodded, and he headed out the door.
If Bennett and Wanda had lost custody of their children, they might blame Tia.
It was a place to start.
* * *
TIA COUNTED THE scratches on the wall of the cell beside the cot. Foul language mingled with crude sketches and another area where someone had drawn lines counting the days.
She wondered if she should start her own calendar.
A cold chill washed over her at the thought. Knowing Sheriff Gaines, he’d keep her locked up until he finished making his case against her for hurting her baby and she went to trial. Now, he’d probably add attempted murder for threatening Darren.
The blasted man. If he’d done his job and found her son, she wouldn’t have been forced to take matters into her own hands.
She stretched her fingers, shocked at herself for firing that gun. She’d never believed she had it in her to hurt another human.
Not until she’d held her baby. The very second she’d looked into his little face, she’d known she’d do anything to protect him.
Yet she’d failed.
Tears blurred her vision. She blinked in an attempt to hold them back, but it was futile. The enormity of her loss struck her again and she walked over to the bars of the cell and curled her fingers around them.
She had no idea what time it was, but the windowless cell and the dim light made it feel like it was the middle of the night.
She wrapped her arms around her waist, and rocked herself back and forth. She felt empty inside and ached to hold her little boy again.
Where was he now? Was he safe?
He ate every few hours. Was he hungry?
Just the thought of feeding him made her breasts throb. They’d shared a tender bond when she’d nursed him.
The tears broke through as she realized she might never get to hold him again. No one would ever love him as much as she did.
She just prayed that whoever had kidnapped him takes care of him and keeps him safe until she finds him.
And she would find him, no matter how long it took or what she had to do.
* * *
RYDER’S STOMACH GROWLED. He hadn’t eaten all day. And he’d never gotten any sleep.
He would take care of the food, though, while he did a little research on Darren Hoyt.
He parked at the Sagebrush Diner, a place that reminded him of an old Western saloon. The log cabin sported rails outside to tie up horses. Considering the closest stable was twenty miles away, he doubted it was used much, but it was a nice touch.
Several cars filled the parking lot, and a group of teens had parked in the back corner and were sitting on the hoods of their cars hanging out. The flicker of a lighter lit the air, and smoke curled upward. Cigarettes or weed—he didn’t know which.
Not that he cared at the moment. He had more important things to do—like finding Jordie Jeffries.
Country music blared from an old-fashioned jukebox in one corner, chatter and laughter buzzed through the room, and burgers sizzled on a griddle in the kitchen area. He claimed a seat at a booth just as a twentysomething waitress approached.
She gave him a once-over, then a big smile. “Hey, tall, dark and handsome, what can I get you?”
He bit back a chuckle at her attempt to flirt. He wasn’t interested and didn’t take the bait. “Burger, chili and a beer.” He set his laptop on the table. “You have Wi-Fi?”
She nodded. “Finally. Password is Sagebrush.”
The name of the diner—original.
He thanked her, then booted up his machine, ending the conversation. He quickly connected to the internet, then the FBI’s database and plugged in Darren Hoyt’s name.
A preliminary background check revealed the man had been born in Houston to a preacher and his wife, who’d died when Darren was in college. Had he used that fact to bond with Tia?
His work history showed that he’d dabbled in real estate and had touted himself as an entrepreneur. He’d lived in Montana and Colorado and had been single until he’d married Tia.
A couple of speeding tickets, but no charges filed against him. No rap sheet.
The waitress returned with his beer and food and he muttered thanks. Hoyt was no saint. If Elle and Ina were correct and he was a con man, there had to be something in his history that was suspicious.
He sipped his beer, then dug into the food. By the time he’d finished, he’d found a photo of Darren online from a charity fund-raiser Tia had organized the year before and plugged it into facial recognition software.
Seconds later, he had a hit. Only the man in the photograph wasn’t Darren Hoyt. His name was Bill Koontz.
Bill Koontz was born in a small town in Texas. His mother was Renee Koontz, who had a record for solicitation and had served prison time for drug dealing when her son was fifteen. He’d been in and out of foster homes for a few months, then lived on the streets. At eighteen, he’d disappeared for a while.
Around twenty-five, he resurfaced in Montana, where he’d worked odd jobs, then had become a groomer at a country club stable.
Several women at the club had reported that he’d swindled them out of their savings. Eventually the guy had served three years in prison. When he was released, he moved to Wyoming, where he eased his way back into another country club and resorted to his old tricks.
At first, life must have been good. But then reports of him trying to con members out of their savings cropped up, and he was fired.
Two years later, Darren Hoyt had been born. The name was new, but Ryder would bet his life that the con game had continued.
Tia had simply been a mark.
The waitress appeared, the flirtatious smile joined by a gleaming in her eyes. “Another beer, sugar?”
“Just the check.” Another beer and she might take it as a sign that he was interested.
Her smile dipped into a frown and she handed him the bill. He tossed some cash the table to cover it, then dug around another minute for more information on Hoyt. Nothing again on that name.
Curious, he ran a search on country clubs in the area and found one about five miles from Crossroads.
His pulse jumped. Maybe Tia had approached members to donate to her charity.
He found the number and left a message identifying himself and asking for a return call from the director.
Exhaustion knotted his muscles, and he finally stood and left the diner. The waitress waved to him as he left, but he ignored her. He didn’t have time for women.
Not when a baby needed him.
* * *
A HALF HOUR LATER, Ryder pulled down the drive to his cabin. An image of Tia alone in that prison cell sleeping on that cot taunted him.
From what he’d learned, she didn’t deserve to be in jail. While she was locked up, her son’s kidnapper was getting farther and farther away.
He had to do something.
Tomorrow he’d confront Darren about his past. Then maybe he’d persuade the man to talk.
Woods backed up to his cabin, trees swaying in the wind. He’d chosen the place because it was virtually deserted, a retreat after working undercover or dealing with criminals.
He tucked his laptop beneath his arm, then climbed from the SUV, scanning the area for trouble as he always did. Once a detective, always a detective.
Satisfied the area was clear, he let himself into the cabin. He flipped on the light switch, then headed straight toward the shower. Before he coul
d undress, a knock sounded at the door.
Startled, he gripped his gun and eased into the living room. He’d made too many enemies on the job to trust anyone.
He inched to the side window in front, eased the curtain aside and checked the yard. A beat-up pickup truck sat in the drive.
Hmm.
Holding his gun to his side, he stepped over to the front door and opened it.
Shock stole his breath at the sight of the man standing on his porch.
A man who looked like him.
It had to be his twin brother, Cash Koker.
Chapter Six
Ryder blinked to clear his vision. It was almost eerie, seeing himself yet knowing the man in front of him wasn’t him. Same dark brown eyes, wide jaw, broad shoulders.
Except Cash looked freshly shaven where Ryder was scruffy, with three-day-old beard stubble on his jaw and hair that needed a wash and a trim.
Cash shoved his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. “Damn,” Cash muttered. “They told me I had a twin, but I couldn’t believe it.”
Words tangled on Ryder’s tongue. He swallowed to make his voice work. “You knew about me?”
Cash shook his head. “Not until recently.” His gaze traveled up and down Ryder as if he too couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You knew about me?”
Ryder shook his head. “Not until I saw that news report where Sheriff McCullen was interviewed.”
“That’s Maddox.” Cash glanced inside the cabin. “Uh, can I come in?”
Ryder squared his shoulders. Was he ready for this conversation? Hell, no.
But he had questions and couldn’t turn this man away, not when he looked so much like him it was shocking. They were brothers, twins.
And none of this was Cash’s fault. Judging from Maddox’s statement, Cash had only recently learned about the McCullens, too.
“Sure.” He stepped aside and gestured for Cash to enter, then led him to the small den. “Sorry this place is a wreck. I haven’t been here for a while.”
Cash studied him, arms folded. “You’re with the FBI, aren’t you?”