by Rita Herron
“The sheriff over in Bend Creek arrested a man he believes is the Family Man killer.”
Mitch inhaled sharply. “Is it Larry Buckham?”
“No,” Micah said. “But I thought you might be interested.”
He was. “Thanks. I’ll ride over and see what kind of evidence the sheriff has.”
If Buckham hadn’t killed the families, it might mean Kaylie was wrong about Buckham, that he hadn’t killed her husband.
Or that there were two different killers. If that was true and she was right about Buckham, Kaylie and CeCe were still in danger.
Kaylie sensed Mitch’s tension as he paid the bill, and they walked out to his vehicle.
“What’s wrong?”
He gestured toward CeCe in the back seat. “We’ll talk when we get home.”
Realizing he wanted to protect her daughter, she simply nodded. But her stomach churned the entire way back to the ranch.
He’d used the word home—but as much as she wanted it to be, the ranch wasn’t her home. It belonged to Mitch. Would he sell it when they left?
When they arrived back at the ranch, CeCe insisted on wrapping the gift she’d bought, so Kaylie left her in the kitchen with tape and wrapping paper while she walked Mitch outside.
“I’m going to Bend Creek to talk to the sheriff,” Mitch said. “They arrested a man they believe killed those other families near Austin.”
Kaylie folded her arms. She didn’t know what to think. “It wasn’t Larry Buckham?”
“No. That’s why I want to question him myself.”
Doubts assailed Kaylie. Could she have been wrong about Buckham?
“I haven’t seen anyone around here.” Mitch retrieved his rifle from his truck. “But I want you to take this just in case.”
“That’s okay, Mitch. I have a pistol upstairs.”
“You know how to shoot?”
She nodded.
“Then keep it with you until I return.”
Kaylie agreed, but her nerves were on edge as Mitch drove away. She ran up the stairs, retrieved her gun and tucked it on the top shelf in the pantry so CeCe couldn’t reach it, but so she could grab it if needed.
She paced the den, contemplating her situation.
She had to find a way to prove that she hadn’t killed her husband. If she did, could she and Mitch make a life together?
Or was he still in love with his dead wife?
Mitch shook hands with Sheriff Aiden Turner at the Bend Creek sheriff’s office. “You think you have the Family Man murderer in custody?”
Sheriff Turner, a tall, lean-looking cowboy with sandy hair, nodded. “His prints match prints found on the bullet we pulled from the wall at the family’s house.”
A common mistake. The perp had probably worn gloves when he’d shot the families but hadn’t when he’d loaded his weapon.
“Did he confess?”
“Not yet. We just picked him up this morning. His name is Frank Fittinger.”
“I’d like to be included in the interrogation.”
Sheriff Turner raised a brow. “What’s your interest here?”
“I’ve been following the manhunt for Larry Buckham. He was convicted of murdering Joe Whittaker and trying to kill his wife and child.”
“Yes, I know. The DA implied that he was also the serial killer murdering families. If we nail the man in my cell, that’ll blow that case to hell.”
“Exactly.”
Mitch followed Turner to the back where he retrieved the prisoner, a stout, balding guy with pocked skin and a missing front tooth. He smelled like cigarettes, stale beer and sweat and looked like a man who’d seen trouble before.
Fittinger muttered an obscenity as Turner opened the cell door and hauled him toward the interrogation room.
“You ain’t got no right to lock me up,” Fittinger bellowed.
“I’ve got every right,” Sheriff Turner said firmly.
The sheriff shoved the man into a chair, then leaned against the table, arms folded. Mitch settled across from the beefy guy, scrutinizing his features. Ruddy skin. Dirt beneath his fingernails. Tattered shirt. A tattoo of the word mother on his upper arm.
Sheriff Fittinger slapped a file on the desk, then opened it. “You might as well confess, Fittinger. We have your prints on the bullet that killed Horace Lassiter and on the bullets that killed his wife and son.”
“You obviously remembered to wear gloves to the crime scene, but when you loaded the ammunition.”
Fittinger’s bravado crumpled. “Shit.”
“Why did you do it?” Sheriff Turner asked.
Fittinger drummed his hands on the scarred table.
Turner laid photos of each of the families in front of the perp. A couple with the last name Sorenson and a teenage boy. Another couple, the Haneys, another teenage son. The Murdocks, one son age thirteen. Then the Whittakers, Kaylie’s husband Joe, Kaylie and CeCe.
The couple from Bend Creek, the Lassiters with two teenage boys.
Mitch mentally analyzed the facts they had so far. All the couples had teenage boys, no girls, especially five-year-olds.
The Whittakers didn’t fit the pattern of the victimology.
“Those people had everything,” Fittinger bellowed. “A family, sons, but they were throwing it all away.”
“What do you mean, throwing it all away?” Sheriff Turner asked.
Fittinger yanked at his hair with his fists. “They were getting a divorce,” Fittinger shouted. “Throwing the kids to the wolves because they were cheaters and liars.”
“Is that what happened to you?” Mitch asked.
Fittinger’s face reddened. “My mama loved my daddy, but he cheated and beat me and threw us away.”
“So you think the families are better off dead than divorced?”
“They tore their families up, not me.” He beat at his chest with his fist, ranting incoherently.
Had Kaylie’s husband cheated on her? Had they discussed divorce?
“I didn’t kill that Whittaker man,” Fittinger snarled. “And that son of a bitch Larry Buckham had no right taking credit for my murders either.”
Mitch considered the victimology. As much as he wanted to believe Fittinger was lying about shooting Joe Whittaker, he believed the man.
Which meant that Kaylie was right, that Larry Buckham had killed her husband. And now he’d escaped prison, he was coming after her.
He told the sheriff he’d talk to him later, then hurried to the front office to call Kaylie.
The phone rang and rang, but she didn’t answer.
He hung up, then called again, but the voicemail kicked in.
Heart pounding with fear, he jogged outside to his truck and roared from the parking lot.
Kaylie had given CeCe plenty of time to wrap her present. She wished she’d had the time and money to buy Mitch a gift to thank him for all he’d done for them, for allowing them to share his home, but she hadn’t.
The cookies she and CeCe baked would have to do.
Knowing the ranch belonged to him made her hope that he would keep it when they were gone. But she had only pleasant memories here, where he had painful memories of the son and wife he’d lost.
“CeCe, are you finished?” Kaylie peeked into the kitchen, frowning when she realized CeCe wasn’t at the table.
The back door stood ajar.
Had her daughter slipped out to the barn to see Horseshoe? She wasn’t supposed to without an adult, but CeCe loved the horse.
Still, worry seized her. What if she was wrong? What if Buckham had found them?
Suddenly panicked, she raced through the kitchen shouting CeCe’s name. But her chest constricted when the man she’d feared stepped from the shadows of the doorway leading to the back stoop.
Sheer
terror filled Kaylie as the man clamped his hand over CeCe’s mouth and pressed a gun to her head.
CeCe didn’t want to die.
She knew she’d go to Heaven and get to see her daddy again. And she had a friend there now, Todd. Well, at least he was on his way there, but he said he couldn’t go yet, not till his daddy knew he loved him and wasn’t so sad.
If she did have to go now, Todd would show her the ropes, where to play and how to make other kid friends.
But then her mommy would be alone. Unless the bad man killed her, too.
Then they wouldn’t get to have Christmas this year.
And she’d never see Horseshoe again or get her kitty cat.
She wondered if God let kids have kitties in heaven.
“Please don’t hurt my daughter,” Kaylie said. “I’ll do whatever you ask, just let her go.”
Larry Buckham’s jowl twitched with rage. “You made everyone think I killed all those families, but I didn’t.”
Kaylie strained for a breath. “Then prove it. Hurting me and CeCe is only going to make you look guilty.”
CeCe suddenly bit his hand, and the man bellowed and shoved her away from him. Kaylie caught her daughter and pushed her behind her to protect her.
“You little twit!” Buckham shouted as he shook his hand in pain.
“She’s just a scared little girl,” Kaylie said sharply. “And you’re being a bully to her.”
He stepped forward with a menacing glare, and Kaylie backed up, one hand on her daughter. If she got the chance, she’d tell CeCe to run.
“You sent me to jail, but your husband got what he deserved.”
Kaylie’s heart pounded. “No one deserves to be gunned down in front of his child.”
“He was stupid and greedy,” Buckham snarled. “He tried to blackmail his client for money.”
Oh, God . . . Joe. Was that where the money in that separate account had come from?
“That client was you?” Kaylie asked in a shaky voice.
“No, my boss. Your husband learned his secrets and threatened to turn him over to the police. Then he started in with the blackmail.”
“So your boss paid you to get rid of his problem,” Kaylie said, the truth dawning.
“Exactly.” He waved his gun at her.
“Then he hung you out to dry, didn’t he?” Kaylie asked. “He let you go to jail and take the fall.”
“If it wasn’t for you, I never would have been caught,” Buckham said. “But I’m not sitting on death row for those other murders.”
Behind her, CeCe whimpered, her fingernails digging into Kaylie’s arm. “What do you want?”
“The key to his safety deposit box,” Buckham said.
“What’s in it?” Kaylie asked.
Buckham laughed. “Money, you idiot. With that cash, I can escape the country.”
Betrayal shot through Kaylie. On top of the bank account, she hadn’t known about, Joe had a safety deposit box that he’d kept from her.
“Give me the key.”
“I . . . don’t know where it is,” Kaylie said. “Joe didn’t tell me anything about it.”
Buckham jammed the gun toward her face, the barrel staring her in the eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
Terror stole through Kaylie. “I told you I didn’t know about it,” Kaylie whispered. “If I did, I’d give you the key.”
CeCe tugged at her hand. “Mommy?”
“Shh, baby,” Kaylie said softly. “It’ll be all right.”
“I don’t think so,” Buckham said. “If you want the kid to live, I need the money.”Panic immobilized Kaylie. How much money was in that account? Could she gain access to that foreign account of Joe’s?
“Mommy,” CeCe said in a small voice. “I gots the key.”
Kaylie gasped and looked down at her daughter. “What?”
CeCe’s face paled with fear. “I gots the key.”
Buckham’s evil grin revealed crooked yellow teeth. “Then give it to me, kid, and I’ll let you and your mommy go.”
Kaylie didn’t believe him, but they didn’t have a choice. “Where is it, CeCe?”
CeCe pointed to her rag doll lying on the kitchen table. “Daddy put it on a string and made a necklace for my doll. He tolded me to keep it for him.”
Kaylie’s legs nearly buckled at the very idea of her husband entrusting her daughter with something so dangerous. Why in the world hadn’t he told her what was going on?
Buckham nudged them both toward the table. “Get it for me, kid.”
CeCe released her mother’s hand, grabbed the rag doll and held it out to Buckham. Buckham fiddled with the doll, then yanked the string from around its neck. CeCe had tucked the key inside the doll’s dress, but it glinted in the light as he held it up to examine it.
“Thanks, kid.”
Kaylie squared her shoulders. “You got what you came for, now leave us alone.”
Buckham’s jowls jiggled as he shook his head.” Sorry, lady, but I can’t do that.”
He gestured toward the door. “Now, walk.”
Kaylie clutched her daughter to her and did as he said, mentally searching for a way to escape. He forced them to walk to his black sedan, then opened the trunk and shoved them inside.
Kaylie pulled her daughter into her arms as he slammed the trunk closed.
God help them. How could she save them now?
Mitch raced onto the ranch, his heart hammering with fear.
He’d called Kaylie a dozen times on the way back, and she hadn’t answered. Something was wrong.
The Pathfinder still sat where she’d left it earlier. He threw the truck into park and ran inside the farmhouse, yelling for them. “Kaylie? CeCe?”
An eerie quiet fell over the house, the furnace rumbling and creaking as it worked to warm the chill from the rooms. He rushed through the den, then the kitchen, praying he’d find them. CeCe’s present sat on the table, wrapped and covered with scotch tape, but there was no one in the room.
He ran into the hall and up the steps, checking each of the rooms, but they were empty as well.
Maybe they were in the barn petting Horseshoe. They might have even saddled up and taken a ride.
He hurried out the door and ran to the barn, calling their names again. When he stepped inside, the horses whinnied, and Horseshoe rapped at the door to her stall.
“Where are they, buddy?” Images of Kaylie and CeCe hurt or bleeding taunted him.
Then images of his wife and son, dead, flashed behind his eyes.
No . . . he couldn’t have found Kaylie and CeCe only to lose them now.
He raced back to the kitchen, hoping Kaylie had left a note, that she and CeCe had simply gone for a walk.
But when he looked in the kitchen again, he spotted scuff marks on the floor as if someone had dragged their shoes. He followed the marks to the back porch and noticed a boot print.
A large print, the size of a man’s shoe.
Cold dread filled him.
Buckham must have found them and taken them somewhere.
He punched Micah’s number and relayed what had happened, filling him in on his conversation with Fittinger.
“Alert authorities to look for Buckham,” he said. “Kaylie and CeCe are in terrible danger.”
Mitch ended the call, his adrenaline pumping. He drove his truck out to the helipad he’d built on the south end of the property for his personal helicopter, climbed in and geared up. Seconds later, he lifted off, his gaze sweeping his property and the road for anything suspicious.
Dammit, he wished to hell he knew what kind of car Buckham was driving.
The chopper rose above the treetops, yet he stayed low enough to scan the area, aware daylight had waned. Night was falling and would soon make visibility more difficult.
Even though it was winter, his land looked rich, his pastures waiting for livestock. His grandfather had loved this land, had claimed the rich earth and soil were part of him.
How could he sell it to a stranger?
He’d thought he couldn’t live here without his son, but Kaylie and CeCe had filled the farmhouse with laughter and the warmth of a real family.
Suddenly he spotted a black sedan weaving onto a side road that led to the river. The old campground that used to be there was overgrown, the buildings rotting.
Another car, a shiny Mercedes, was parked near the river.
Mitch guided the chopper to the right, following it, his anxiety rising as the sedan pulled to a stop. A big man he recognized from photos as Larry Buckham climbed from the front, then strode over to the Mercedes.
The windows in the Mercedes were tinted so dark, Mitch couldn’t see who he was talking to, but Buckham leaned close to the window in conversation, then returned to the sedan.
A minute later, he opened the car door, gripped the door edge and steering wheel, and he pushed the car toward the river.
Mitch lost his breath. Obviously, Buckham was going to ditch the car so no one could find it.
But where were Kaylie and CeCe?
The truth hit him with the force of a bullet. They were locked in the trunk.
Buckham was going to leave them there to drown while he escaped with the man waiting in the Mercedes.
Kaylie hugged CeCe to her, fear nearly paralyzing her. She had to save her daughter.
But how?
She had no idea where they were. They’d driven away from the ranch and turned onto a road that was rough with potholes.
Maybe a dirt road?
They’d passed the river—she’d heard water running. And now . . .
Now the car had stopped. Buckham had gotten out for a minute, but the car was moving again, only slowly this time.
The sound of water gushing around them made her breath catch. Dear God . . . the car felt as if it was sinking. Water gurgled, but the engine wasn’t running.
“Mommy!” CeCe cried.