Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A T THE M C K ENNA R ANCH , the sheriff listened to the recording of the call between the kidnapper and Holden with instructions for the ransom drop. Midnight tonight, just as Elaine had said. "Suicide Pass. Come alone. I see anyone but you up there and the girl is dead."

"You will have Holly Jo with you," Holden had said, not a question. "We'll make the trade then. If you don't have her, all you'll get is a bullet."

The kidnapper laughed in a spooky computerized voice. "Fair enough. You try anything and I kill her right before your eyes. And you'd better have the money."

"Midnight," the rancher had said, and the call ended.

Stuart looked up at Holden sitting behind his big desk, his expression set in a hard line of determination.

"The kidnapper chose one of the worst places in the area for the drop," the sheriff told him, even though the rancher had to know that. "From the top of that pass, he will be able to see anyone coming or going. There won't be any way to have deputies up there waiting for him. Whoever the kidnapper is, he knows the area, might even be a neighboring rancher or someone who worked for one. Don't you think it's time you told me who the person is?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm taking the money," Holden said stubbornly. "I'm going alone."

The sheriff shook his head, ready to argue, but Holden didn't give him a chance. The rancher rose and walked out of the room, headed outside—just as he had earlier.

Trying to find both patience and diplomacy, Stuart followed Holden. "There's only one reason you're determined to do this alone. You know who you're meeting." When the rancher didn't answer, he said, "You've been lying to me from the beginning, haven't you?"

Holden had stopped a few yards from the house and was now staring out toward the river. "I know what I'm doing. I need you to just stay out of my way." His voice broke with emotion. "I'm trying to save my family."

"Or cover up the truth?"

The rancher shook his head, his gaze shifting to Stuart for a moment before returning to the river. "I've already spoken to my banker. He's gotten the money together. I'll make the drop tonight by myself."

"Even if it gets Holly Jo killed?" Stuart saw the slight slump of the man's shoulders.

"I have no choice."

He didn't ask what would happen if the kidnapper showed up without Holly Jo. He already knew the answer. Holden had already said he would kill the man.

"What's to keep the kidnapper from shooting you and taking the money? You'll have no backup. At least let me hide in the back of your SUV."

"Not happening." The rancher looked over at him. "Don't try to stop me. Once we get Holly Jo back, I'll tell you everything. But right now, there is nothing more you can do. He wants me. He'll be able to see me coming—and if he sees anyone else..."

"I just hope that by then it won't be too late," Stuart said as a vehicle came racing up the road. "At least tell me the kidnapper's name." Even as he said it, he didn't expect an answer.

"His name is Darius Reed. I honestly didn't know until he said the ransom drop would be Suicide Pass. But his name won't help you. There is only one way to stop him."

"Why would this man take Holly Jo?"

"Too long a story to tell." The rancher stepped off the porch to head toward the SUV as it came to a dust-boiling stop in front of the house.

Stuart watched as a man handed out two large briefcases to Holden from an open window before driving away. Then he pulled out his phone. Darius Reed had a rap sheet longer than the sheriff's arm. He'd been given a temporary release to attend his sister Constance's funeral a few weeks ago. After the funeral, he'd assaulted an officer and gotten away. There was a BOLO already out on him.

H OLLY J O COULDN ' T believe how long she'd been scratching the rust off the window latch. Her arms ached. Her fingers were numb from gripping the plastic juice bottle. Worse, she didn't feel as if she was getting anywhere and was ready to quit in tears, when she tried the latch again.

To her shock and joy, the latch turned just a little. She wanted to shout, she was so happy. She could already see herself prying off the boards nailed over the window and getting away. She hurriedly dropped the empty juice bottle and used both hands. The latch opened. Feeling jubilant, she lifted the window.

To her despair, it would only move a few inches—not nearly wide enough for her to escape. Her joy and excitement fell like a punctured balloon. She wanted to sit down and cry. Refusing to give up, she pushed harder on the window. The result was the same, though. It was stuck. She wasn't getting out.

Fighting tears of frustration, she thought about what Pickett would do. Cooper and Duffy always said that the ranch hand could fix anything. Pickett had figured things out in unusual ways that actually worked. He once fixed a water pump when Cooper and Duffy had been ready to buy a new one. She remembered Pickett's grin when he said, "Told you I could fix it." The memory brought tears to her eyes. She might not see him again.

She brushed the tears away as she considered what she could do to get the window to open high enough that she could get out. Wouldn't make any difference if she couldn't get the boards over the window off, she reminded herself. She reached in the opening she'd made and pushed on one of the boards. It didn't budge. She pushed again as hard as she could on the lowest board and was about to give up when the board moved just a fraction of an inch.

She laughed and suddenly had an idea. They'd studied levers in school. If she could get the board off, she could pry the window open higher. She could escape.

At a sound beyond the room, she froze. Someone was coming! Hurriedly, she tried to push the window closed as quietly as she could. But it wouldn't go all the way down. She tried again. It wouldn't move no matter how hard she pushed. She heard the key in the lock. Any moment the door would open. Would he notice?

Having no choice but to leave the window like it was, she snatched up her ruined juice bottle and rushed to her mat. She'd just sat down when the door swung open. It wasn't until that moment that she realized the footfalls she'd heard hadn't been the man's distinct limp.

The woman hesitated at the door for a moment as if listening before she came a little farther into the room. She looked nervous, scared. Had she come back to cut off more of Holly Jo's hair?

"Do you think you can walk?"

It was an odd question until Holly Jo remembered that the woman probably thought she was drugged from the juice. Since they'd come in to cut her hair and take her photo, the man had brought by two more juices. She'd dumped one down the drain and poured the other in the bucket so it looked like she'd peed.

She would have loved a drink of water, but she could see that the woman hadn't brought anything. "I think I can walk," she said, wondering what was going on.

"We're going to have to hurry before he comes back."

Holly Jo rose, pretending to be a little unsteady on her feet. Was the woman helping her get away? Or was this a trick? If it meant getting out of this room, she didn't care. She moved toward the door, realizing she didn't know what was beyond it since she had no idea where she was.

The woman led the way out of the room and down a hallway. It appeared to be a narrow barn. Holly Jo wrinkled her nose as she caught the scent of sour milk. A milking barn?

She squinted as the woman pushed open a door. Twilight poured in, half blinding her for a moment. She breathed in the fresh air as she saw a pickup camper—but no pickup attached to it. Nor did she see any other buildings other than the one they'd just exited. "Where are we going?"

"He took the truck, so we have to walk. We have to hurry. Can you do that? I don't know how quickly he's coming back."

Hearing the woman's fear as they headed down a narrow dirt road, Holly Jo nodded. She walked fast to keep up. As she did, she looked around for something familiar about the landscape. She didn't recognize anything. As they topped a rise, she could see nothing for a long way but river bottom, the tops of the cottonwoods and the rough outline of the mountains dotted with scrub brush and rocky outcroppings.

What stilled her heart and stole her breath was the sound of a vehicle engine revving up and heading their way.

W HAT IS IT about this woman? Birdie just didn't give up. She was determined that Holly Jo was out here. To Brand, it felt like looking for a needle in a haystack. Too much country, too many roads that didn't go far. What was he doing here with her?

He caught his reflection in the side mirror and didn't even recognize himself. The old Brand, the one who kept his head down, never caused trouble, followed all the rules and didn't complain, that cowboy would never have climbed into a rig with this woman. The old Brand wouldn't be riding shotgun with this impulsive, reckless, impetuous, brash, stubbornly determined woman.

One impulsive action, sending away his DNA sample for the results, and look what had happened. He was now throwing caution to the wind, risking not just his heart but his life. And the scary part? As he looked over at Birdie, he had to smile. He'd never felt more alive, more like his true self, whoever that was.

Birdie slowed to turn down another dirt road. It had been hours since they'd followed Melanie Baker. "I just have a feeling," she said now. It was the same thing she'd been saying for hours.

He'd already made the argument that it was too easy to disappear back in the rocky terrain and scrub brush of what felt like endless country.

"Okay, maybe she did realize she was being followed and turned off Cache Creek Road as a decoy," Birdie conceded. "But I think she was headed to the place where she was keeping Holly Jo. Haven't you ever just gotten a feeling that was so strong you had to run it down?"

"Yeah, recently, actually, when I decided to have my DNA tested, and look how that turned out."

"Point taken," she said. "Is that the first impulsive thing you've ever done?"

"But not the last, apparently," he said, looking over at her.

She grinned. "I knew you had it in you. I guess you just needed me to come along and draw more of that spontaneity out of you."

He chuckled and looked at the twisting, narrow, rocky road ahead. "Even if it kills me," he said under his breath. They hadn't gone far when Birdie slowed. He recognized the expression on her face and shook his head. "Here we go," he said as she followed an obvious hunch and turned.

The road narrowed as it wound back toward the mountains until it was almost a Jeep trail. But it didn't deter her. They bumped along with him wondering how long it would take before she admitted she might be wrong—if ever. Ahead, he could see that the road only got worse as it led back into the rugged foothills and probably petered out shortly after that.

"Did you want me along as the voice of reason? Or just someone to fix the flat after one of these rocks punctures a tire?" he finally asked.

"All right," she said with a sigh. "I'll look for a place to turn around."

A T THE SOUND of the vehicle coming, the woman cried, "Quick!" Even in the dimming light, Holly Jo could see that she looked terrified. It ratcheted up her own growing terror. Her heart pounded so hard, it felt as if it would break free of her chest. "Down this way."

The woman barreled off the road and through the scrub brush and rocks, nearly falling. Breathing hard, Holly Jo did the same, sliding down the slope as the sound of the vehicle grew louder and closer. She could see another road below them.

"Duck!" the woman cried, turning to wave her to the ground as she lay down. Holly Jo dropped to the dirt, rolling over on her stomach to look back up the hillside. On the road above them, a white pickup roared past, sending up a cloud of dust. Before it could settle, the woman was on her feet again.

"Hurry. We have to go," she whispered hoarsely. She started down the steep slope again, sending rocks cascading after her, and Holly Jo followed, scared that the man might have seen them or that he could hear them. It wasn't until they were almost to the road that she realized it wouldn't be long before the man discovered them both gone. All he had to do was look in the room where she'd been held. They'd left the door standing open.

Just yards from the road, the woman fell and let out a cry as she reached for her ankle. She'd apparently twisted it on a rock. She was bent over it, crying softly.

Holly Jo slid down to her. She'd been worrying where they were going, how far it would be before they reached a county road or a ranch house. From what she'd seen, there were none around. The man would come looking for them. Holly Jo knew it and suspected the woman did as well.

Above them, they both started at the sound of the man's bellow. "What the hell, Melanie! What have you done!"

As the woman tried to get to her feet, she let out another cry and fell back. "I can't put any weight on my ankle." She looked at Holly Jo with tears in her eyes. "You have to go on alone." She looked terrified. They could both hear the man swearing and throwing things. "Go! Run. You can't let him catch you! Go!"

Holly Jo scrambled on down to the road, then took off running. She could hear the man yelling back up on the hill. She was afraid he would see her and come after her in the pickup. As she reached a curve in the road, she finally dared glance back. She saw the woman lying where she'd left her. Above her, the man was silhouetted against the sun high on the slope they'd slid down.

The man hollered down to the woman he'd called Melanie. "I'm going to kill you!"

B IRDIE SLOWED THE SUV as the road got worse and sighed. She hadn't even noticed it getting so dark. In the headlights, she could see more of the same rough country. There just seemed to be an endless supply of badlands, brush and scrub broken only by narrow roads that were choked with weeds as they wound back to old mines or abandoned homesteads.

The sheriff had said there were endless old mining roads back in here, and he'd been right. Birdie felt as if she'd driven down them all. Most petered out at a rock pile or just ended for no apparent reason.

She hated to admit defeat. It went against her nature. She hoped there was enough gas left to get back to Powder Crossing. To Brand's credit, he had helped her search for Holly Jo without complaint. Even now, he looked at her almost with sympathy, as if he knew how hard it was for her to quit.

"You were right to search," he said. "There was the chance we would find her."

She couldn't work up even a thank-you smile, feeling instead close to tears. She'd been so sure they would find her.

"By now, Stuart has a BOLO out on the pickup and Melanie Baker, all because of you," Brand said. "Tomorrow is another day."

She nodded, biting her lower lip as she looked out through the glow of the headlights at this desolate-looking country now filled with deep shadows as darkness descended. Clearly it took a certain breed to stay, fighting the weather, the land, even the river, to make a living ranching here. She had to admire that kind of toughness.

It made her think of Brand and his family. Of his mother, who'd put up that fight alone for years. The woman Birdie had come here hoping to send to jail. Now she thought about what would happen to the ranch, to Brand and the rest of his family, if she succeeded.

"Want me to drive?" he asked.

She nodded and stopped to let him slide behind the wheel. "I think we have enough gas to get back to town."

He chuckled as he shifted into gear. "Only if this rig runs on fumes." Birdie leaned back in the seat and looked at Brand, his strong hands on the wheel, his gaze on the road ahead as he headed off the mountainside. Don't fall for this cowboy rancher. The voice sounded a lot like her nana's.

Give him a chance , she said silently to her grandmother. I really like him.

She looked out the windshield, the headlights piercing the darkness for at least a few yards ahead, and felt bereft. She'd been so sure Holly Jo was out here. Just as she was so sure Charlotte Stafford had killed her father?

Birdie closed her eyes, told herself that once she finished her business in the Powder River Basin, she would leave, but not yet. She didn't want to leave Brand Stafford. She felt a pull that worried her. Maybe she was more like her mother than she'd wanted to admit, because this cowboy rancher was awfully tempting.

Her eyes flew open as she heard Brand curse and hit the brakes. Flat tire.

H OLLY J O COULD hear the man yelling behind her. When she dared glance back, she could see him still silhouetted against the last of daylight etched against the mountains to the west.

She'd expected him to go down the hillside to where the woman was crying, saying she was hurt, saying she was sorry.

But he hadn't moved. He was yelling down at her, "Where is the little brat? What did you do with her? So help me, Melanie, you fool..." Then she heard the gunshot and the woman's scream.

Holly Jo stumbled and almost fell as the boom of more gunshots rang in her ears. She realized that she could no longer hear the woman crying. Her legs ached from running, and yet she pushed harder, tears blinding her. She raced down the road as hard and fast as she could. Her side ached, and her legs trembled with the exertion after all the hours of drugged sleep.

All the while, her thoughts whirled in a terrifying tornado. The man had killed the woman. He could kill her too if he caught her. She was sure of it. The thought had her heart pounding. She couldn't let him catch her.

Her ragged breaths came out in gasps as she pushed harder, legs pumping as her feet pounded the ground. The road was little more than a trail. She knew there had to be another road, a more main one that went to where there had to be people.

Ahead there was nothing but more of the same scrub brush and rocky terrain appearing out of the growing darkness. The landscape looked endless. No lights blinked from houses or vehicles on the road ahead. She wasn't even sure she was running in the right direction.

At the sound of the pickup's revving engine, she knew she had to get off the road. Frantically she looked around for a place to hide, seeing none. All she could do was bail off the narrow road and down through the rocks and bushes in hopes of finding cover. The loose ground moved under her feet. She began to slide as the sound of the pickup's engine grew louder.

Her left foot hit a large rock. She felt herself go airborne, off balance, headfirst down the hillside. The ground came up fast and hard. She hit and rolled, tumbling crazily downward from one switchback to land on the road below. She felt searing pain, but it was nothing compared to her terror as she heard the roar of the pickup growing louder and louder.

As she tried to get up, in pain and bleeding, she was caught in the blinding headlights of the pickup. It came directly at her.