High Noon

by Debra Webb

  Thirty or so seconds later the seat was lowered by three links of chain on either side. “Try that out.”

  He settled in the seat, no hopping in required this time, and shuffled his cowboy boots over the grass. He grinned at Joel as he launched into a wide swing.

  The new squeals were thanks enough.

  When Buddy had slowed to a relaxed back and forth motion, Joel broached a few questions. Better to ask the stickier ones without his mom around. “The grandmother lady was nice, huh? Did she give you a present?”

  “Yep she was nice. And funny, too. She promised to bring me a present next time.”

  “Did she tell you her name?”

  “Nope.” He kicked at the grass. “She said it was okay to call her grandma.”

  Uneasiness settled heavy in Joel’s gut. “Did she talk to your uncle Tater?”

  “Nope. Just me. She was busy washing dishes.”

  Took some nerve to waltz in through the back door of an establishment and just pretend to work there.

  “Your mom ever talk to you about not talking to strangers?”

  “She wasn’t a stranger. She was nice.”

  That was what he figured. “Maybe next time you see her you can introduce her to your mom or to me first.”

  “She’s shy. She doesn’t like to talk to people she doesn’t know. Just me and Mr. Bear.”

  Joel had seen the crime-scene photos from when the Barkers were arrested. The middle daughter Lisa—Laney—had had a teddy bear exactly like the one Buddy lugged around.

  He doubted that was coincidence. Laney had most likely been drawn to the bear when she saw it. The mind worked that way sometimes. Even if a memory didn’t surface, sensations could be triggered by one or more of the senses.

  “Is she coming to see you again?” he asked Buddy.

  “Hope so. I want to give her that picture.”

  Something else he’d have to pass along to Lucas when he arrived in Beaumont.

  “I’m ready for juice!” He hopped out of the swing and ran for the back door.

  Joel followed. He smiled as the boy shouted for his mom. Reminded him of when his mother was still well enough to be a mom. Many, many years before she died a withered and drawn ghost of the person she had once been. He and his brothers were young. Stair steps, folks called them. Church every Sunday, grace at dinner every night.

  In the kitchen, Tatum looked as if he’d lost his best friend. Laney was pouring juice for Buddy, who sat on a stool at the island, boots dangling back and forth. She placed a couple cheese sticks on a napkin, glanced at Joel then Tatum and jerked her head toward the living room.

  Joel locked the back door—just in case—before following the two. Maybe the cook had some additional details Laney wanted Joel to know.

  If it helped track down Clare Barker, he would be grateful for the info.

  Once in the living room, Laney told Tatum, “Tell him what she told you.” She nodded toward Joel.

  Tatum “Tater” Motley heaved a woeful breath. “She said Laney hired her to come in and help weekends. Wash a few dishes and then go.” Tatum glanced at Laney. “Wouldn’t be the first time somebody new showed up that I didn’t know was coming.”

  Evidently she had dressed the guy down pretty good.

  “From now on whenever I hire anyone new,” Laney promised, “I’ll make the introductions.”

  Tatum nodded. “And I’ll keep the door locked.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” Joel noted. He sympathized with the older man. The High Noon hadn’t exactly exercised any real security measures. Now probably wasn’t a good time to point that out to the boss.

  “I’m sorry as I can be that this happened, Laney. You know I love Buddy.” The older man shrugged. “But she looked like a nice lady. Harmless.”

  Might as well take the first step in adopting the deeper cover. Joel fished his cell phone from his front pocket. He pulled up the photo of Clare Barker taken just before her release. He passed it to Tatum.

  “Is this the woman who talked to you and Buddy last night?” He hadn’t wanted to confuse the kid by showing it to him. A kid that age would think any picture Joel carried around in his pocket had to be of a friend.

  Tatum nodded. “Her hair was shorter. But that’s her.”

  Shooting a glare at Joel, Laney reached for the phone. “Let me see that.”

  Her shoulders seemed to sag as she studied the photo. She might not notice the resemblance at first, but when she’d had time to absorb the details and to think about it, the questions would begin.

  Laney thrust the phone at Joel. “Thank you for coming over to discuss this, Tater. I apologize if I overreacted a bit. The whole idea terrifies me.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I understand. Like I said, I never left Buddy alone with her for a second. But you have my word it won’t happen again.”

  “I know.” Laney gave him a hug. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  When the old guy had gone, Joel braced for her interrogation.

  She closed the door and turned to him. On him, actually.

  Before she could make her first demand, Buddy sauntered into the room and collapsed in the corner with his mound of Legos.

  “Coffee?” she asked, her frustration seething under the surface of her cordial tone.

  “Sounds good.”

  He hung his hat on the coatrack near the front door, made a point to lock it, then wandered into the kitchen. The sound of coffee beans grinding once again delayed the launch of her questioning.

  “Why do you have a picture of that woman in your phone?”

  He braced his hands on the old butcher counter to prevent crossing his arms over his chest. Any defensive or withdrawn body language would make her all the more suspicious. “The woman’s name is Clare Barker. She was released from prison recently and apparently has decided that her best career opportunities can be found working with lowlifes who steal kids and young women for trade. Drugs, money, guns. It’s a nasty business.”

  “So you’re not a laid-off security guy, you’re a cop.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her shoulders back. This was going to be an uphill battle.

  “I’m not a cop. I work for a private-investigations agency and I, as well as others, have been hired to keep an eye on potential victims.”

  Her eyes widened with fear. “Potential victims?”

  God, he hated this part. “When it comes to young kids, they’re usually looking for certain ages, eye and hair color. Boy versus girl or vice versa.”

  “I’m absolutely certain that Buddy is not the only five-year-old boy in Beaumont with brown hair and eyes. What made you decide he was in danger?”

  Her expression was openly wary now. The cover he’d intended to use was not going to work. That was way too clear to ignore. And the truth was, he didn’t want to lie to her.

  “All right.” He drew in a breath. He was taking a risk here. “I’m not here because of Buddy or any human-trafficking ring.” He steeled himself for the disbelief, the anger and then the pain. “He’s your son so that makes him my responsibility, too.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  The fight-or-flight response flashed across her face. Keeping her calm was essential. He had to tread carefully here.

  “We need to sit down and talk about this.” Buddy was in his own little world in the living room but his mother’s raised voice would draw him into the room in a heartbeat.

  “So talk.” There came the anger.

  He hadn’t given her anything yet to prompt the shock but that was coming. “There are some things I need to get from my Jeep, then we can sit down and go over the facts you don’t know about your past.”

  She stormed out of the kitchen. Joel followed her into the living room where she snatched up the cordless handset.

  “I’m calling the sheriff.”

  Buddy looked up.

  Joel glanced from him to Laney. “Bring the phone with you. We’ll sit on the porch. Hear me o
ut, and then you can call the police if you feel the need.”

  Several seconds passed before she reacted, most of which she spent eyeing him with something akin to contempt.

  “Five minutes,” she warned. “Then I’m calling the sheriff and getting some real answers.”

  He couldn’t blame the lady. He’d shown up in her life just days ago and suddenly he was here, in her home, with secrets to reveal. She had every right to be suspicious and angry.

  But she had no idea that what he was about to tell her would change her life forever. However complicated her finances and the situation with Kingston were, that was nothing compared to what she was about to learn.

  And he couldn’t stop it.

  “We’ll be right outside on the porch if you need anything, Buddy,” she said to her son.

  He nodded. “I know. Grown-up talk.”

  Joel smiled. Damn, that kid was smart.

  * * *

  JOEL STRODE OUT to his Jeep. Laney wilted down onto the top step of the porch, the phone clutched in her hand. Part of her wanted to make that call right now. This man—this stranger—had been too good to be true and she had known it.

  “Damn you, Laney,” she muttered.

  She thought she’d learned her lesson when it came to trusting the wrong guys and here she was about to be scammed for God only knew what reason.

  Her fingers tightened around the handset. But he’d taken care of Terry… He’d watched her house all night. And then he’d gotten rid of that damned bank appraiser. Was all of that nothing more than an act?

  Instinct warned that if Hayden was up to no good it was motivated by the Kingstons. To her knowledge she had no other enemies. Her banker was likely getting his palm greased with Kingston money, too.

  Every single problem she had could be traced back to that crazy short-lived relationship with Terry. What an idiot she had been!

  No. No. That doomed relationship had given her Buddy. She hadn’t been a total idiot. Or maybe God had known she needed an angel to help her rise above the troubles in her life.

  Hayden joined her on the porch, settling next to her. After the way she’d watched him play with Buddy she’d started to feel more comfortable with letting her guard down a little more.

  He carried a case, like a portfolio. Black leather. Much larger than the one the appraiser had carried. His body language told her that whatever he had to say he wasn’t looking forward to doing so. What could this stranger possibly know about her past?

  Wait. He’d said he worked for a private-investigations agency.

  “Before you start,” she said, cutting him off when he would have spoken, “I’d like to see some kind of credentials.”

  He dug out his wallet and showed her his Texas driver’s license which identified him as Joel Grant Hayden of Houston, Texas. Then he pulled out another picture ID which showed he was an investigator for the Colby Agency.

  “I can give you the number if you feel inclined to call.”

  She hadn’t checked his references. Too much had happened. “What’s in the case?”

  He opened the leather case and removed a photo album. “Did your parents tell you or leave a will informing you that you had been adopted?”

  An old but familiar terror trickled into her veins. “No. Of course not. Why would they?” She banished those old feelings that hadn’t haunted her in years.

  “When you were almost four you and your two sisters were taken—”

  “Sisters?” She stood, moved down the two steps and glared at him. She couldn’t sit and listen to this. “I don’t have any sisters.”

  “You do. Two. One younger, one older. Both right here in Texas.”

  “You must have me mixed up with someone else.” She shook her head but there was a distinct storm of uncertainty brewing in her head. “My parents had baby pictures of me from birth.” She hugged herself, felt suddenly cold despite the warm midday sun.

  “The attorney who handled the private adoptions was in Austin. When the woman came to him with the three girls to be adopted, she provided baby photos for all three of you.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would anyone do that?” She shook her head. This was nonsense. Crazy. “And why split us up?”

  “There are a lot of questions I can’t answer.” He tapped the album in his lap. “This will help but there are some things you may never know.”

  “What about the woman who—” she shook her head “—had the photos and supposedly did all this?”

  “She was murdered six days ago.”

  Fear sparked anew. “What? Murdered?” She held up her hands, the phone still clutched in one. “This is like something from a bad movie.”

  “Why don’t I start from the beginning?”

  “Start wherever you like but I think there’s been a mistake.” Denial and fear and other emotions she couldn’t even label twisted wildly inside her.

  “Twenty-six years ago you were born Lisa Barker. Parents Clare and Rafe Barker of Granger, Texas.”

  She stood still as stone, his words echoing in her soul. This was impossible and yet some part of her couldn’t refute the words. Sounds and sensations continued to echo.

  “Your father was a veterinarian. Your mother his assistant. The five of you lived in an old sprawling farmhouse. The barn had been remodeled into the office and clinic for your father.”

  Images too vague and dark tumbled one over the other through her head. She blinked them back. This whole thing was like mass hysteria or something. She was only feeling this way because he sounded so convincing. He was wrong. He had to be wrong.

  “When you were almost four, your parents were about to be arrested. Your father claims he wanted to protect the three of you so he whisked you away in the middle of the night and left the three of you in the hands of a family friend with instructions to see that you were taken care of. He alleges that he wanted you to have happy lives free of the Barker name and legacy.”

  “What legacy?” Claims? Alleges? Why was he talking like that? “You talk as if this man is still alive.”

  “They both are. Rafe is in Polunsky Prison awaiting execution. His wife, Clare, was on death row in another prison but her conviction was recently overturned so she’s free.”

  Goose bumps started to crawl along her skin. “What were they convicted of?”

  “Multiple homicides. Rafe and Clare are the ‘Princess Killers.’”

  Laney felt the color drain from her face. In the middle of the night once when she couldn’t sleep she had watched some true-crime special about criminals of Texas. That couple had been the stars of the show. “They killed all those little girls?”

  Hayden nodded.

  Wait! Laney remembered something else from the show. “They killed their own daughters, too.” Ha! She had known there had to be a mistake. “How could I be one of their daughters when I’m obviously alive?”

  “As I said, Rafe claims he had the three of you taken to safety and he made it look as if you were murdered. He insists Clare was the murderer and that he was protecting the three of you.”

  He’d said that. Yes. But he had to be wrong. “If that’s true, why is Clare free and he still awaiting execution?”

  “He never said a word in his own defense during trial. His goal was to keep his daughters safe even if it meant execution. Clare insisted the entire time she was innocent. She finally won an appeal.”

  “Okay.” Laney started to pace. “Why is your agency involved in this? Why track me down now after all these years—if you can even prove what you say?”

  “Rafe claims his wife wanted the three of you dead. He broke his silence after more than twenty years to contact our agency after Clare was released. He begged us to find the three of you and protect you from her.”

  “Sounds like he just wants a ticket off death row,” she argued. No way this could be about her. She had no sisters. Maybe she was adopted. She’d had freaky dreams when she was kid. Sometimes even now. But this
was way off the charts unbelievable.

  “He says he has no interest in clearing his name. He only wants his daughters protected.”

  “Show me your proof.” She sat down next to him and reached for the photo album.

  The first page opened to a newborn photo and a birth certificate for Lisa Barker. She pointed to it. “That doesn’t prove a thing.”

  He said nothing, just let her keep looking.

  As she turned the pages, Laney felt the bottom drop from her stomach. The pictures were all of her. Duplicates of what her parents had had in their family albums. Maybe not duplicates but photos taken from the same time frame.

  The photos of her as a toddler with a man and a woman took her breath. She pointed to the couple. “That’s them…the Barkers.”

  She remembered vividly the photos of the couple on the television show. It had been one of those investigative shows. The woman—Clare—had even granted an interview. But not the man. The woman…

  Laney turned to Hayden. “That was her.” The words were scarcely a whisper. “She came into the High Noon and talked to my son.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Her hands shaking, Laney flipped through the pages that showed snapshots in time of her life up until now—the good, the bad and the ugly. How was it that someone had gotten close enough to take these pictures and her not have known it?

  When she reached the final page, packed with photos from her renovations on the house and the saloon, she quickly closed it and handed it back to him as if it were poison.

  And it was.

  She stared forward, at nothing at all. He was telling the truth. Dear God. All she had thought she knew… The entire foundation of her life was a deception.

  “What does she want?” The voice that came out of her sounded nothing like hers.

  “According to her estranged husband, Clare wants to find each of you and do what was supposed to have been done twenty-two years ago.”

  Ice closed around her heart. She turned to him, stared straight into his eyes. “She wants us dead.”

  “We can’t confirm that’s her goal, and until we do it’s imperative that you’re protected twenty-four/seven.”

  “And that’s why you’re here. To provide protection.”