Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

"Y OU BETTER HAVE gotten Brand released from jail," Charlotte said after opening her ranch house door to find her lawyer standing there. With a sigh, she led him into the living room. It was never any good when Ian Drake showed up at her door. "It's ludicrous that the sheriff thought he would kidnap that girl."

Drake wiped his feet and stepped into the house with his usual solemn air. He'd been the family's legal counsel for years. Tall, gray and dressed immaculately, he had an unmemorable face with an expression that seldom changed. She noticed with concern that he seemed uneasy.

"Brand's been released, yes, but he's still a suspect."

"That makes no sense. If he was released—"

"A young woman named Birdie Malone provided him with an alibi," Drake said. "The sheriff couldn't hold him."

For a moment, the name meant nothing to her since she knew no one by that name. Chest tightening, she remembered the private investigator who'd come to her house demanding information about Dixon Malone, the man she'd thought of as her ex-husband, although they'd never divorced. Dixon had disappeared years ago. She'd long since put him out of her mind. But the PI had mentioned that Dixon's daughter had hired him. Had Charlotte even known he had a daughter?

When his body was found in the well near the ranch, the sheriff had questioned why she'd never bothered to try to find her second husband or have him declared dead after all these years—which made her look guilty of his murder. According to the coroner, Dixon had probably been at the bottom of that well since his disappearance that night so many years ago.

Vaguely, she now remembered her husband telling her that he had a daughter he wanted her to meet. Could this Birdie Malone be the daughter? "Who is this woman?" she demanded of Drake, hoping she was wrong.

"A child your second husband had out of wedlock a little over thirty-two years ago," he said.

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. Dixon's daughter, just as she'd feared. "Why would this woman give Brand an alibi?" When Drake didn't answer, she opened her eyes to look at him.

"I have no idea. She swore that he didn't leave the ranch all morning and therefore couldn't have kidnapped Holly Jo from the bus stop."

"How could she possibly know that unless—" She felt her eyes widen. "Do not tell me that Brand is seeing this...this woman."

"I don't know how she knew that he had been in his room after closing the bar last night until almost noon today, but while the sheriff might be suspicious, he seemed to think she was telling the truth."

Pulling out her phone, she tried Brand's number. The call went straight to voicemail. He probably didn't want to talk to her. She couldn't blame him. She didn't leave a message, not sure what she would say to him.

She began to pace. "My son would not kidnap anyone. I told Stuart that." She stopped to stare at her lawyer when he didn't comment. Ian, she noted, was avoiding her gaze. "What is it you're trying so hard not to tell me? Spit it out. It can't be that...bad." Even as she said the words, though, she thought of her eldest son, CJ. She'd never in her life dreamed that he would do the things he'd done. Was it possible she was also wrong about Brand? If she was, then how could she deny that she was responsible for the way both had turned out?

"The sheriff suspects Brand because of the kidnapper's demand that Holden tell the truth." She started to open her mouth, but he rushed on before she could. "It comes back to Brand and the DNA results. You have to understand how suspicious it looks. Also, his alibi might not stand up, given who it came from. I've been your attorney for too long, Charlotte. If there is any chance you know where that girl is—"

"Of course I don't."

"Or if Brand—"

"Stop! Brand didn't take Holly Jo. He wouldn't do that." It made her furious that Drake would believe either of them was capable of doing something like that. But as he'd said, he'd been her attorney for years.

"Brand left a copy of the results for Holden McKenna the same day the kidnapper left a note demanding he tell the truth."

"I know all that. It's ridiculous. You know I already told Stuart that," she snapped, trying not to think about Holden. He knew about Brand. That alone had her chest aching with worry as to how he took the news.

"Holden can't think that my son..." His son. She told herself that she'd never known for sure Brand was his. It was a lie. She'd watched her son grow up, seeing Holden in him every day. Had Brand known or at least suspected? Was that why he'd gotten his DNA results?

Oakley, she thought with a curse. Her headstrong daughter had started this. But Brand was bound to find out eventually. Hadn't she lived with the fear for years that it would come out? Now Brand had proof, and apparently so did Holden. Worse, Holden had reason to believe their son had kidnapped his ward.

"I need to see him." She looked around for her purse, but stopped at his next words.

"Brand was released. I'm not sure where he—"

"Not Brand," she snapped. "Holden."

She saw her purse by the door. "I have to go." The thought made her feel physically ill. But this was a conversation she should have had more than thirty-two years ago. "I'm going to see Holden."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea. Charlotte, this would be a good time to pull the family together. You need to see Brand. If you're trying to avoid him, that will only make him look more guilty."

"Let yourself out, Ian."

"Charlotte!" he exclaimed, but she was already closing the door behind her.

A S B RAND EXITED the sheriff's department through the back door, he did a double take when he saw Birdie clearly waiting for him. He looked past her, expecting to see his mother or Ian Drake. Seeing neither, his gaze returned to the young woman leaning against the side of a pale green SUV.

"Kidnapping?" She pushed off the car and walked toward him. "Really? What kind of family are you Staffords?"

He sighed. "What are you doing here?"

"Is that how you treat the person who just got you sprung from jail?" she demanded, but she was smiling as she said it.

He met her gaze. "You got me released? Why would you do that? I know how you feel about my family."

Birdie eyed him for a moment and then shook her head. "Not your entire family."

He groaned and looked around, still wondering why the only person here was Birdie Malone.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go get your pickup from in front of the café and then find someplace where we can talk."

"I can't imagine what we have to talk about."

"Really?" She cocked her head at him. "The charges have been dropped because I gave you an alibi." She tapped a spot just above her heart. "You're welcome."

Still feeling queasy from the hangover and the day he'd had, he knew he wasn't tracking well. " You're my alibi?"

"I know you didn't kidnap that girl," Birdie said.

"Of course I didn't, but how could you—"

"I heard one of your friends call you by name at the bar last night. I was curious about you and your family. I told you that I followed you home after you and your friends closed the bar last night. I know you didn't leave again until past noon, when you came after me. But if that girl isn't found...no one will ever believe you didn't have something to do with it." At his perplexed expression, she added, "Seriously? You really don't know what people say about your family?"

"I'm not my family," he snapped.

"So I hear. It's the talk of the sheriff's office," she said, grinning. "The question is, which side of you, the Stafford or the McKenna, are you really?"

He groaned. "It's all over the county by now?"

"I overheard one of the deputies talking about it. But Charlotte is still your mother, and even with Holden being your father...that doesn't exactly help your pedigree, does it?"

Brand hated her logic, but he couldn't argue with it. "Okay, I'm the worst kind of mutt. What is it you want from me?"

"For starters? We need to find Holly Jo."

He stared at her, frowning. "There is no way I can find Holly Jo. I'm a rancher. I'm better with horses and cows than people. I'm not a detective. I have no idea how to find a missing girl. I'm going back to what I know and letting the sheriff find her."

She laughed. "Well, lucky for you, I have all kinds of ideas."

He gave her a side-eye. "You really aren't good at listening to people, are you?"

"Just like you aren't good at accepting help, let alone saying thank you." She pointed to her SUV.

"Thank you. I appreciate that you gave me an alibi and got me out of jail, but you do realize that my truck is parked only a block away. I can walk, thank you very much." He hoped the walk would do him good.

She laughed as she opened the driver's-side door. "Get in and accept the ride. It will give us some personal time before you buy me dinner after you ruined my lunch. Anyway, you need my help, and I need yours. I know your older brother is already in jail for murder, but maybe I could talk to him. If he's the oldest, he might remember my dad."

He looked at her and shook his head. "CJ? You think I'm not very cooperative? Wait until you meet my brother."

"Half brother," she said as she slid behind the wheel, started the engine and reached across to open the passenger-side door. "Tell me about this missing girl, Holly Jo."

He realized that no matter how much he wanted all of this to go away, it wasn't going to happen until the girl was found. As he walked around to the open door and climbed in, he hated to think what ideas Birdie Malone might have for finding Holly Jo.

But if there was even a chance the girl could be found, Brand was willing to at least hear Birdie out. After all, she was his alibi. If he didn't realize he was in trouble earlier, he did now that he was indebted to Birdie Malone.

H OLLY J O DIDN ' T know what had pulled her from the pitch blackness of her groggy sleep—just that it had her heart pounding. She pushed herself up, surprised when she looked toward the window that it was still light outside. Was this a new day? She had no idea. She leaned against the wall, feeling even weaker than before, her brain foggy.

A sound outside the room made her freeze. Someone was coming. She started to get to her feet, opened her mouth to call for help, but then she heard it. The footfalls. It wasn't someone coming to help her. It was him. She recognized the odd sound of the way he moved because of his limp. Apparently one of her kicks when he had abducted her had done some damage. Just not enough to save her. Only enough to make him swear profusely at her before everything went black.

She fell back, curling into herself tighter as she heard the key turn in the lock. She buried her face in her knees as she drew them against her.

The door slowly opened. She heard him step in, then stop. She held her breath. Why didn't he move? It was him, wasn't it? She had to look.

Peeking out, she saw him for the first time since he grabbed her and brought her here. He was large. She remembered how strong he was when she'd tried to get away from him. She hadn't seen his face then—nor would she now. He wore a mask. Black. All she could see, when she dared look into his face, was his eyes. Light-colored.

She'd heard about girls being taken to be sold to have sex with a lot of men. She'd also heard that some were taken to use as unpaid labor. She stared at the hulking masked figure, terrified that was why she'd been brought here. She didn't want to have sex at all, especially with a lot of men. Not even one man. Not even a boy. Not even Gus, her only friend at school.

She'd heard what some of the girls at school did with boys. Yuck. She hadn't even kissed a boy and didn't really want to do that either. At least, not with any boy she knew.

If he'd taken her to make her work, she didn't know what kind of work it would be. Since most everyone found fault with the way she made her bed, cleaned her room and tried to help with the dishes, she really didn't think she would be good at very many jobs.

"I brought you food." His voice was deep, raspy behind the mask. He put down a paper bag and looked in the empty bucket. "You know what to use the bucket for, right?" She didn't answer, doubted she could find her voice as badly as her throat hurt. "I'm leaving you more juice, but if you drink it all, you'll go thirsty before I come back." He stood there just looking at her as if he didn't know what more to say.

"I want to go home." The words sounded scratchy, her voice too high. She was trying hard not to cry. "Please, just let me go home."

"That's not happening yet. Be good and you'll get to go home soon."

With that, he turned and quickly left, locking the door behind him. The smell of the food made her stomach growl. She'd always been a picky eater. She especially hated meat, beef in particular. HH had made her at least try McKenna beef, reminding her that she lived on a cattle ranch. She still didn't like it very much, but had learned to keep that to herself.

She waited, listening to make sure he'd really gone before she crawled over to the bag. No matter what it was, she knew she would eat it.