Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

S TUART HADN ' T BEEN surprised that the kidnapper wanted two million dollars. He'd listened to the recording. "I'll call back to let you know where to bring it. Come alone. Or the girl dies."

After that, Holden had erupted, going off script, but it hadn't mattered. The caller had hung up.

The sheriff had hoped to question the rancher further about Holly Jo's father, but Holden had been so upset that he'd stormed off toward the stables.

Stuart watched him go before Brand Stafford called. "Brand, if this is—"

"Birdie thinks she saw the pickup from the night before the kidnapping. We're following it, even though the camper wasn't on the back and the driver was a woman, but the tailgate is missing. We're headed northeast on the road to Broadus."

Stuart groaned. "Neither of you have any idea what you're doing," the sheriff argued. "Where are you now?" Brand told him. "Do not, I repeat, do not approach this person." He groaned as he headed for his patrol SUV. Arguing with these two was a waste of breath. He just hoped they didn't get themselves killed, and Holly Jo as well.

But Birdie was the only one who'd seen the pickup and camper the night before Holly Jo was taken. She just might be on to something. It was a chance he had to take. Also, what neither Brand nor Birdie knew was that the kidnapper had an accomplice—a woman.

The missing tailgate also sounded like this might be the pickup. The kidnapper and accomplice must have taken off the camper and were staying in it, possibly somewhere near where they were keeping Holly Jo.

He thought about pulling off a deputy for backup but couldn't spare one. Brand said the woman had been alone in the pickup. That meant the kidnapper was still out there somewhere, maybe stranded back wherever they were keeping Holly Jo. Or they could have a second vehicle, but then why go to the trouble of removing the camper to drive into town? Of course, there could be more people involved in this than he knew. Not to mention Birdie and Brand could be following some woman who had nothing at all to do with Holly Jo's kidnapping—and now Stuart was also following them.

Either way, he knew he couldn't pass up a possible lead. There was little traffic this time of day on the highway. He passed a farm truck full of hay, then a car, all the time looking ahead for Birdie's pale green SUV.

As he came around a corner, he saw a road off to his right that turned down by the river. He was hit with a shitstorm of blood-drenched memories. That was the road Abigail Creed had pulled down minutes before she'd started stabbing him. He realized he hadn't been up this way since the incident , as it was being called. He'd been such a fool. He hadn't known why she'd pulled off the road. He'd thought she'd done it to talk—until she pulled the knife—but he should have known.

He whizzed past the road and didn't look back, but he was sweating and had to turn up the air conditioner. He kept telling the psychiatrist he was required to see that he was fine. But right now, he was anything but.

Brand called. "The woman just turned off on Cache Creek Road."

"Keep the pickup in sight, but don't approach. Wait for me." Stuart was a good ten miles away. He pushed the patrol SUV up to over a hundred, afraid of what kind of trouble Birdie Malone was driving into and taking Brand Stafford with her.

B IRDIE HAD DRIVEN fast until she sighted the pickup. She had backed way off, afraid that the woman would realize she was tailing her. From a good distance, she'd seen the pickup turn onto Cache Creek Road. Then she'd taken her time reaching the turnoff.

"The sheriff said not to approach her," Brand repeated. "Birdie? This is not the time to do anything impulsive. If you're right, this woman is dangerous."

She seldom had doubts about the seemingly impetuous things she did—even though she was aware that she should more often consider her actions before leaping in. "The thing is, if I hadn't skulked around the Stafford Ranch the night before the kidnapping, I wouldn't have been able to provide you with an alibi. You could still be locked up in jail."

"If only," he said under his breath.

"Also, I wouldn't have seen the pickup and camper near the McKenna Ranch that night and later down the road from your ranch," she continued, as if she hadn't heard him. "So it must be fate, wouldn't you say? Fate that we met and are now following the possible kidnapper."

"Fate?" he demanded as she made the turn onto Cache Creek Road. "It wasn't fate that you followed me home from the bar that night."

"We can't lose sight of her," Birdie argued. "I'll just go up the road a little way until we find out where she's going."

She couldn't see the truck ahead and sped up, determined not to lose her. She was mentally kicking herself for dropping back so far, thinking she'd already lost her, when she came up over a rise in the road and saw that the driver of the white pickup had stopped in the middle of the road.

Birdie hit her brakes and skidded to a stop as the driver's-side door opened and the woman climbed out and headed back toward them. She heard Brand let out a curse.

At a glance, the woman looked to be in her late forties or early fifties. Her bleached-blond hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and she wore jeans, a blouse, boots and a leather jacket. She didn't look like a kidnapper. Then again, Birdie had no idea what one looked like.

"I don't like this," Brand said under his breath as the woman approached the SUV. "I think we should get out of here now ."

Birdie couldn't help noticing the rock on the woman's ring finger. If it was real, it must have cost a bunch. The woman's other hand was buried deep in her jacket pocket. She tapped on the window with her free hand, the ring catching the light, her nails appearing to have been professionally done recently, except that one of the blue-painted nails had been broken.

Birdie hesitated, caught between throwing her SUV into Reverse and needing to hear what this possible kidnapper was going to say.

"I'm lost," the woman said the moment Birdie whirred down her window. "On top of that, I'm running late. I'm supposed to be there by now. They'll be sending out a search party. Do you know the Mullenses?" She glanced from Birdie to Brand and back.

Birdie shook her head, surprised and worried that she'd been wrong about everything, including this woman she'd followed.

"I think I should have turned left instead of right back at the main road." She looked pointedly at Birdie. "I have to turn around and go back. Can't wait for all the blond jokes when I tell him what I did." She swung her ponytail and let out a laugh as fake as her nails.

Birdie looked toward the pickup. She couldn't swear it was the same one. She feared everyone would be making fun of her for going off half-cocked. Her mother used to warn her about that.

"Birdie, sometimes you need to take a breath and think things out before acting."

So maybe she'd always been this way. "Sorry I can't be of more help. I also need to turn around. I didn't realize how late it was."

"Oh, I thought maybe you were lost, too." The woman looked at her suspiciously as she shoved both hands into her leather jacket pockets and looked back up the road in the direction they had come. She seemed anxious to get moving, as if afraid of who else might show up.

Birdie realized the sheriff could show up at any moment. The woman was making her nervous, given how deep her hands were in her leather jacket pockets on this warm summer day.

"If you were following me, you were really following the wrong person," the woman said. "I never get directions right. Unless you're going to the Mullens ranch, too."

Birdie shook her head. "Just driving around on our way to Broadus. Realized we'd never been down Cache Creek. Do you know where this road comes out?"

"Not a clue," the woman said. "Clearly, I'm not from around here."

Birdie glanced at the pickup's license plate. This close, she could see that it was a Wyoming plate. She could even make out the numbers and letters under the smear of dried mud. The woman's hands were still in her jacket pockets. She was glancing back down the road again, visibly nervous now as if she heard someone coming.

"Good luck finding the Mullenses. I better get going. I'll back up so you can," Birdie said and put her window up. The woman started to reach out as if to stop her from raising the window. Her fingers pressed against the glass for an instant. Birdie saw the clear print in the dust, and so did the woman, her eyes widening.

Birdie threw the SUV into Reverse and hit the gas, forcing the woman to step back and keeping her from wiping the print off the glass. As she hurriedly backed down the road, she saw the woman rush to her pickup. For a weapon? Or had she been fingering a gun in her jacket pocket while they were talking?

Would she chase after them? No. The woman had climbed behind the wheel and was now taking off down the road, leaving only dust behind.

For just a split second, Birdie thought about going after her again. She kept telling herself that she hadn't been wrong about the pickup or the woman, even as doubt tried to shoulder its way in. Can't wait for all the blond jokes when I tell him what I did. Before that, the woman had said they , as in the Mullenses. Just a slip of the tongue?

Birdie found a place to turn around, but didn't get the chance before the sheriff came flying up on them. She knew before she saw his face that he wasn't happy. She looked over at Brand. He was shaking his head as he reached for his door handle as if he couldn't get away from her fast enough.

S TUART COULDN ' T HIDE his fury. He knew part of his mood wasn't Birdie's fault. She wouldn't know what seeing the place where he'd almost lost his life would do to him. He hadn't either. He'd thought he was working past it, but now realized it was still too fresh—just like when he looked in the mirror and saw all his visible scars. Abigail Creed had taken him by surprise and in a frenzy had stabbed him repeatedly as he'd tried to fight her off until he'd finally pulled his gun and killed her. By then, he was bleeding to death. If he hadn't made the 911 call and help hadn't been close by...

"It isn't just that you risked your life," he said to her after he'd gone down the road looking for the pickup and the woman Birdie had followed. He'd driven all over back in there, but had found no sign of the pickup or the woman. She was gone—just as he'd suspected. "It's that you may have made things worse."

Both Birdie and Brand were waiting when he returned from his search of the area for the possible kidnapper. Now he wrote down everything she remembered about the woman, including her Wyoming license plate number and that she suspected the woman had lied about where she was headed. He wasn't surprised by any of it, except for the fact that Birdie hadn't gotten herself and Brand killed.

Back in his patrol SUV, he ran the pickup's plate. The pickup was owned by Jason Thomas of Laramie, Wyoming. Stuart had been unable to reach him and had asked Laramie law enforcement for their help. Laramie law enforcement called him back after contacting Jason at work.

He'd told the officer that his sister, Melanie Baker, borrowed his pickup and camper a week ago, confirming that Birdie's instincts had been right. Given everything Stuart now knew, Birdie had followed one of the kidnappers. Like in the photo with Holly Jo, the woman wore a diamond ring that Stuart suspected would be a match, given Birdie's description. The woman's fingers had been buried in Holly Jo's hair in the proof-of-life photo, so he probably wouldn't be able to tell if she'd had a recent manicure or if one of the nails was chipped, as Birdie had said. But her nails had been painted blue.

As much as Stuart wanted to throttle her, Birdie had given them a definite lead. But if the woman was Melanie Baker and involved with the kidnapping, she had probably realized Birdie was following her and seen through Birdie's guise. Ultimately that could get Holly Jo hurt—or killed.

"If she thinks you suspected her, she might talk her partner into moving Holly Jo. We've been waiting for the kidnapper to call with details on the ransom drop. You might have scared them off. You should have waited for me."

Birdie shook her head. "I would have lost her. I wouldn't have gotten a description of her and the pickup or the license plate number. You wouldn't know who she is." She looked toward the road she'd taken before encountering the woman. He could see that she still believed the woman hadn't gone far.

"Do you know how many secondary two-tracks are off this one? She knew you were following her. I wouldn't be surprised if she turned down this road only because she was afraid of leading you to where they were really holding Holly Jo."

Birdie looked unconvinced.

"Birdie, I went all the way up the road to the mountains. There was no sign of her and no sign of any place where they could have been holding Holly Jo—let alone any sight of the camper that was on the pickup when you first saw it. She led you down a rabbit hole, and you took the bait. You're lucky she didn't pull a gun on you and shoot you and Brand."

He saw Birdie shudder as if she'd realized that—before she'd gotten away from the woman. "The problem is, now she knows what you drive, what you look like. It won't take much to find out who you are, Birdie."

"If you're trying to scare me—"

"I'm trying to make you see that you have no business taking things into your own hands," the sheriff said. "I'm waiting for the kidnapper to contact me with a drop site," he explained patiently. "He might panic now and not call."

She shook her head stubbornly. "They want Holden McKenna to confess, but what they really want is money. They have asked for money, right?" Birdie said and nodded as if she could read the answer on his face. "They aren't going to jeopardize that. Anyway, now you have the woman's fingerprint. The moment she touched my driver's-side window, I saw that she regretted it, but she couldn't wipe it off because I pulled away too quickly."

"Stop playing detective," the sheriff snapped. He blamed all the crime shows on television and the rise of amateur sleuths. "I know my job." He had taken a copy of the print she'd photographed and sent it, hoping as clear as it was on the glass, they could get a match to see if the woman had a rap sheet. None. "Her fingerprint isn't in the system, and the pickup and camper were borrowed, not stolen. What we have so far is circumstantial at best." He pocketed his phone. "I need you to go back to Powder Crossing. Stop trying to do my job for me. That goes for you too, Brand."

Brand hadn't said a word. In fact, the sheriff was pretty sure that the two had argued while he'd been gone in search of the pickup and the woman.

"I'm not planning to do anything, trust me," Brand said. He looked at Birdie and shook his head. "You could have been killed."

She rolled her eyes. "You've forgotten. I can take care of myself."

Stuart was thinking that Birdie and Brand couldn't have been a more unlikely couple. If that was what they were. Brand Stafford had always been quiet, had never been in trouble, seldom even came into town to the bar. Birdie...well, she was a loose cannon. Anyone could see that. While the two had been thrown together because of Birdie's quest to find her father's killer, the sheriff couldn't see whatever this was between them going much further.

He shook his head as his cell phone rang. He saw it was the McKenna Ranch. Expecting it would be Holden, he was surprised when the voice on the other end of the call was Elaine's.

"The kidnapper called with the location of the ransom drop tonight at midnight," she said.

That was quick. Because the kidnapper was worried after his accomplice returned to tell him that she'd been followed? "Where is Holden?"

"He's on the phone with his banker. He's planning on making the drop by himself."

Of course he was. Stuart swore under his breath. "I'm on my way." Disconnecting, he looked at Birdie. "I have to go. Get back to Powder Crossing. Stay out of trouble. Please." Neither she nor Brand said anything as he climbed into his patrol SUV and, hitting his siren and lights, headed back to the McKenna Ranch, hoping to get there before Holden did something that could get him killed.

A S THE SHERIFF drove away, Birdie said, "You know what we have to do."

Brand looked over at her from where he'd been leaning against the passenger side of her SUV. He'd seen this look in her eyes before. What was it about this woman that he couldn't seem to help himself when it came to her? He knew she was trouble and yet...

"Did you not hear anything the sheriff said?" He could see that it hadn't mattered. "Whatever it is, I want nothing to do with it. I'm doing what the sheriff said. Keeping my head down and staying out of it."

She laughed. "Brand Stafford, I suspect you've been keeping your head down all of your life. Aren't you tired of it yet?"

He started to argue, but it was true. He and his younger brother, Ryder, both escaped their older brother CJ's brutality by keeping their distance from him. They spent their days away from the house, leaving as quickly as possible in the morning and not returning until long after dark. Brand had told himself that they were busy running the ranch. Which was true. But they had also been avoiding their treacherous brother and their mother and the Stafford Ranch drama.

"You don't know anything about me," he argued, even though she seemed to know him better than he knew himself—and she'd just met him. Worse, given the grin on her face right now, she knew that he was attracted to her—against his will. Why else had he agreed to come with her today?

"What are you so afraid of, Brand?" she teased as she began to close the distance between them.

"You," he said, holding up both hands to ward her off. "You scare me. You're too impulsive. Like today. You didn't give a thought to what you were doing. You risked your life and mine!" She kept coming toward him until she was within inches of him. He dropped his voice as he looked into her gray eyes, fighting that pull he'd been battling since he'd laid eyes on her. "I can't do this."

"Do what?" she whispered. "Throw caution to the wind? Let yourself go? Take a chance? Or do this?" She leaned into him, stealing his breath and his determination to keep her at arm's length as she brushed her lips over his, teasing, taunting, daring him to act on his feelings.

Oh, he felt all right. Birdie made his body come alive, all of it aware of this woman in a way he'd never felt before with any other woman. She was everything he'd spent his life avoiding. Trouble wrapped in temptation. Kissing her was like diving out of an airplane with a parachute—but having no idea how to pull the cord. Her kiss was a promise of something he'd told himself he didn't want or need even as he knew he wanted it more than his next breath.

He drew back to look at her. She had no idea what she'd stirred up in him, and while it scared the hell out of him, she was right. He was tired of playing it safe. "Birdie." Her name came out on a ragged breath.

She chuckled and started to turn away.

He grabbed her arm, spinning her around and into him. He moved quickly, remembering how fast she'd put him on the ground yesterday. He turned her to press her against the side of her SUV in the same spot he'd been only moments before.

"My turn," he said, his voice rough with emotion and need. He didn't sound like himself, nor did he feel like himself as he kissed her. He didn't tease or taunt. He kissed her like he'd been fighting doing since he'd met her. Her lips parted to him, and her arms encircled his neck. He deepened the kiss as he molded his body to hers, pinning her against the side of the SUV.

Desire burned like hot syrup through his veins, sweet but more powerful than he'd ever felt. If a car hadn't gone by and honked on the highway some distance away, he thought he might have taken her right there.

"Wow," she said, seeming at a loss for words as they drew apart. She grinned, her gaze meeting his. "I knew you had it in you, Brand Stafford. I've just been waiting for it to come out." Her grin broadened. "Wow."

He shook his head. He'd succumbed to this impulsive, maddening woman and now felt as if there was no turning back. He wanted her in every way he could imagine, even as a less testosterone-fueled voice inside him warned that she was going to get him killed.

"You still scare me, Birdie," he said as he brushed a lock of her hair back from her face.

"I'm not what scares you," she said with a laugh. "It's how we make each other feel that scares you." Her gaze burned into his, daring him to say differently. He feared she was right, but he wasn't about to admit it to her.

"But right now we have to think about Holly Jo," she said, getting down to business. He felt both relief and disappointment. "I know the sheriff said that Melanie Baker probably only turned up this road to throw me off because she spotted me tailing her. The thing is, he doesn't have the manpower to search this entire area." She frowned. "I just have a feeling Holly Jo is somewhere near here. I'm going to have to check it out. You don't have to come with me. I'll take you back to town and come back alone."

He groaned. "Birdie, that's a bad idea."

She shrugged and walked around to the driver's side of the SUV. "Well, I have to try."

"You're determined to go looking for Melanie Baker, a probable kidnapper, to give her another chance to kill you?" he asked from the other side.

"I'm going looking for Holly Jo," she said over the top of the SUV. "I can give you a ride back to town. Or if you're that afraid of me, you could hitchhike back to Powder Crossing. Or you could come with me and save us both the trip." She grinned.

He looked back up the road toward the highway, then at Birdie. All his instincts told him to stick out his thumb and start walking away. But he couldn't.