Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

B IRDIE M ALONE SPRAWLED on the hotel room bed in Powder Crossing, staring up at the ceiling. There were moments when she questioned what she was doing here. It hadn't escaped her that her father's murder was a very cold case after all these years. What evidence there might have been was long gone.

And if she was right about Charlotte Stafford killing him and getting someone to help her dispose of his body, then the woman would have covered her tracks. Why was Birdie wasting her time and her grandmother's money here?

She'd been five when her father had left her and her mother. He'd come into her room late that night, crouched down next to her bed and taken her hand. She'd pretended to still be asleep, knowing he was leaving. She would cry and beg him not to go if she opened her eyes. She'd seen it coming after all the fighting with her mother, the woman he hadn't loved enough to marry. He'd stayed for his daughter until it became impossible. Birdie had seen other men go through the same thing before and after her father.

It had broken her heart when he'd left. She'd seen how hard the decision had been for him as he told her how much he loved her and begged her to forgive him, but he couldn't stay and he couldn't take her with him just yet. She'd felt his tears as he'd bent to kiss her cheek and said goodbye, promising to come for her soon.

Her mother never mentioned his name again after that, other than to say Birdie had been a mistake that she had no intention of making again. Men had always come and gone in her mother's life. One had stayed around and become her stepfather. He'd been kind and helped get her raised before he left, but it was Dixon Malone, her father, who'd always lived in her heart. When she was old enough, she took the Malone name, although her birth parents had never legally married.

Her grandmother on her father's side had been the one constant in her life, even though she lived in Texas. Nana had seen that Birdie went to college and took judo lessons so she could defend herself. Nana had taught her to dream. Her grandmother knew how much she missed her father.

The last time Nana had visited, she'd told Birdie that she was leaving her money and wanted her to use it to find Dixon, her only son, her only child. "I know he promised to come back for you, Birdie. He wouldn't have broken that promise unless something bad happened to him."

She'd sworn she would find him.

"And when the time comes, find yourself a good man. They do exist, no matter what you saw growing up with your mother, not to speak ill of the dead. You're too smart to follow in her footsteps. Remember that. And don't be too hard on your father, no matter what you find out. I know how much he loves you."

While she'd believed that her father wouldn't have broken his promise to her unless something had happened to him, she'd done as he'd always wanted her to do. She'd gone to college, graduated, gotten a job and started her career in business administration.

She'd known in her heart that he had to be dead. Otherwise, he would have come for her as promised. Yet her promise to her grandmother nagged at her. She hired a PI who had no luck finding him. When her father's body was found, she'd realized that if she wanted the truth, she was going to have to get it herself—and she couldn't wait any longer. She had to find out what had happened to him—even if what she discovered broke her heart.

However, now that she was here, she had to question her decision. What had she hoped to find following Brand from the bar in town all the way out to the Stafford Ranch—let alone helping herself to a room in the house for the night? It had seemed like a good idea at the time—and if she hadn't hung around this morning, she would have gotten away with it. No one would have been the wiser.

The problem was that it hadn't accomplished anything. Nothing she'd done so far was helping find evidence to bring her father's killer to justice.

She groaned, refusing to let her doubts derail her. Instead, she thought of her promise to her grandmother and concentrated on what to do next. She had to find a place to rent if she was going to stay in Powder Crossing or she would eventually run out of money. The idea of giving up wasn't in her.

"Sometimes you are exactly like your father," her mother used to say. "Stubborn as a mule and just as hardheaded."

She'd always liked to hear there were things about her that were like her father. He'd been her hero. She looked over at the photo on her bedside table. It was of the two of them, taken on her fifth birthday. Her grandmother had framed it for her. It and a jewelry box he'd given her were her most prized possessions.

Just the sight of them had made her mother furious. "How can you idolize that man?" she would scream. "He walked out on you as well as me. Stop thinking he's coming back. He's not. He'll break your heart—just as he did mine."

But he hadn't. He'd never really left her. For the year after he'd moved out, he would stop by her school or catch her on the way home to hug her and tell her how much he loved her. He would bring her little treats, and they would talk. She'd known he was sorry about the way things had ended with her mother. She'd also known that things weren't going well with the woman he'd married, Charlotte Stafford.

"I'm coming to get you soon," he'd told her the last time she saw him. He'd shown up at school on her sixth birthday with a cupcake, candle and all. She'd told him how much she missed him, crying in his arms. "I'm so sorry, but I can't live with your mother. I'm not sure she's the best thing for you as a mother either. I know your grandmother is keeping an eye on you, so you're safe until I can come get you."

He'd told her all about the ranchwoman, her children and the grand house on a ranch where they all lived.

But that day he'd said no, her coming to the Stafford Ranch wasn't going to work out. "Charlotte Stafford's no more mother material than your mom and an even more questionable wife. I need to work out a few things. But trust me, we'll be together soon, my little bird." He'd given her the jewelry box that day, making her promise to keep it close always until they could be together again. She'd kept the promise. It too sat on the hotel bedside table next to her.

That was the last time she saw her father. Her mother told her that he'd run out on the woman he'd married. Left in the middle of the night just like he'd done her.

Birdie had waited day after day. He wouldn't break his promise to her. He would be coming for her. After months went by, she'd known there could be only one explanation. Dixon Malone was dead.

Now everyone knew it. They even knew who'd killed him. All Birdie had to do was find a way to prove it.

She thought of Charlotte Stafford's son Brand. He might be a way for her to get closer to his mother and the truth. She almost felt sorry for him. It wouldn't be easy seeing his mother go to prison for murder, especially if he knew more than he was admitting.

Her stomach growled. She hadn't had breakfast, and now it was past lunchtime. Sitting up, she put thoughts of the Staffords aside and headed for the café.

A T THE SOUND of a vehicle, Stuart and the others seemed to flinch. "It's Duffy." They all three looked toward the front door as if hoping Duffy would come through it with Holly Jo. There was a chance that Duffy had found her walking down the road. That the girl had cooked this all up but now realized her mistake.

It felt as if the air was sucked out of the room as Duffy stormed in alone. His face was flushed, anger wafting off him like a bad smell. "I'm telling you, that kid, Gus Gardner, he knows something. His father's protecting him."

"What is that?" Stuart asked, his gaze going to what Duffy had in his hand—a leather work glove folded over what appeared to be a plain white envelope, which he thrust at the sheriff.

"Where did you get this?" Stuart demanded as he pulled on his latex gloves and took the envelope.

"I saw our mailbox door was hanging open, so I stopped," Duffy said. "I thought it might be from the kidnapper. I tried not to touch it any more than I had to."

Stuart gritted his teeth, telling himself this wasn't the time to get into it with Duffy, especially when he saw at once that the envelope looked much like the ransom one. But it also meant that his deputy hadn't gotten out here to keep a watch on the mailbox yet. If he had, he might have seen the alleged kidnapper.

He carefully sliced open the envelope and pulled out the folded sheet of paper. It resembled the first note, the words cut from a glossy magazine.

What was different was the message.

Tell the Truth.

Or the Girl Pays.

For your Lies.

All the color drained from the rancher's face as Stuart showed him the kidnapper's demand. There was no doubt now. This was about Holden. He watched the big man lower himself into a chair and drop his face into his hands.

Just as Stuart had feared, the kidnapper had something on the rancher, and Holly Jo was now being used as a pawn. He turned to Elaine. "Did Holly Jo by any chance keep a diary?"

"I don't know," she said, her gaze on Holden. She looked as shocked and upset as he did.

"I searched her room, but would you mind looking?" Stuart said, needing to get both Elaine and Duffy out of the way. "Also, I'm going to need her computer brought down. If you don't know what her password is, please try to find it in her room." He turned to Duffy. "I need you to go into the dining room and write down everything about your confrontation with Gus Gardner. And please close the door behind you."

Duffy saw through the pretense but left as if he too was shocked by either the ransom demand or his father's reaction—or both.

With them gone, Stuart turned to Holden. "‘ Tell the truth '? If you know who has taken Holly Jo, you need to tell me now."

H OLDEN DIDN ' T WANT to meet the sheriff's gaze. He had feared this was about him, and now he knew it was. He'd brought this on his family. He was risking Holly Jo's life, all because of something he'd done.

Tell the Truth.

Or the Girl Pays.

For your Lies.

His mind whirled, thoughts blowing past like trash in a strong wind.

"Holden, we need to find your ward as quickly as possible," Stu said. "If this is someone from your past with a grudge, as it seems, then Holly Jo wasn't abducted by a stranger or a possible online predator. The kidnapper is someone who isn't demanding money but for you to tell the truth. That seems to suggest that the person won't hurt Holly Jo, who is an innocent in all this. But we can't chance that. If you know who has her, you have to tell me now."

Did he? Who would take Holly Jo to force him to confess and apologize for something he did? He still felt it had to be about revenge.

He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to get his breathing under control, fighting to think clearly. There were so many truths, and even more lies. They blurred together in his mind. He'd rationalized so much of what he'd done over the years that he'd felt exonerated because no one had ever called him on it—except Charlotte.

But thinking he'd put it all behind him, that too had been a lie. He'd never truly been free of the people he had hurt. Hadn't he always known that there would be a reckoning and he would have to make amends that might threaten everything he'd built?

A clear thought fought its way to the surface. Why now? Why, after all this time, was someone demanding he pay for his past deeds?

"Holden?"

His mouth had gone dry. He swallowed and stood, hating to face the sheriff and admit the one truth he could no longer hide. "I have to make a list." He saw the flicker of surprise in the young sheriff's expression, could imagine it in the faces of his adult children if they found out. He considered all that he'd done as he moved to his desk, sat down and picked up a pen.

He didn't know where to start, so he began to write down names of not just people he'd wronged, but people who might hate him this much. When he slowed after a few names, he saw that the first name on the list was Charlotte Stafford. He started to scratch it off, telling himself Lottie would never use a child to get back at him, but Stuart stopped him. He watched the sheriff take the list from him, glancing at what he'd written, then up at him. Their gazes met.

Stuart pointed at his shirt pocket, where he'd hidden the DNA report. The sheriff gave him a look that sent a chill through him. "Brand's not at the top of the list?"

"Brand?" Holden said in surprise. "No, he wouldn't—"

"What are the chances you would get Brand's DNA report on the same day Holly Jo is kidnapped and all the kidnapper wants is the truth?"

He didn't want to believe it. Not his flesh and blood. But Brand might not understand that his father would have gladly told the truth if he had only known.

Holden felt as if the earth was dropping out from under him. "No," he said. He wanted to throttle Charlotte. How could she have kept this from him? If Brand had Holly Jo, then it was his mother's bitterness that had caused it. It was his mother's lies—and Holden's as well, he had to admit.

"I'm going to have Brand picked up for questioning," the sheriff was saying. "I need you to keep this quiet for now." He handed Holden the list of people.

Holden took the sheet of paper, leaving Charlotte's name at the top and adding their son Brand's, his hand trembling as he did.

"N O ONE WOULD blame you for being depressed, Charlotte."

She glared at her doctor. She'd known Dr. Joe Hammond all her life, long before he'd finally retired and moved to Billings. He'd delivered all her children—and delivered more than his share of advice over those years.

"You think I worry about what people think?" she demanded. "Now, that is depressing."

"Let me write you a prescription for something that might help."

She huffed as she pushed to her feet. "I'll let you know when I get that desperate."

"Charlotte," he said patiently. "It might be too late by the time you realize just how desperate you are."

"Joe, how many years have I been coming to you? Do you really think I would take my own life? If you do, then you don't know me very well."

"No, I can't see you hurting yourself that way, but maybe doing something almost as harmful to yourself?" She gave him a side-eye before he added, "I'm just trying to help you."

Charlotte felt herself soften a little. They were old friends. He'd been there when she'd needed a shoulder. He'd even once asked her to marry him, which made her think of the old expression there is no fool like an old fool . "I appreciate your concern, I really do, but I'm fine."

His hangdog expression said he didn't believe it. He might have semiretired and moved to Billings, but he still kept up on Powder Crossing gossip, she was sure. He knew how she'd felt about CJ, her eldest son, her favorite. Finding out about the kind of man he'd turned into had been devastating.

She still felt the crush of it pressing against her heart, making it hard to breathe as she awoke with it every morning, went to bed with it every night. It followed her even in her sleep, a nightmarish half sleep that often had her dragged awake to her own screams. She'd done her best to hide it from the world. Joe had now assured her that she'd failed miserably not just with CJ, but with the lies she'd been telling herself.

"You have a good lawyer, I'm sure," he said, still looking worried about her.

She realized that he wasn't referring to CJ, who was behind bars awaiting trial for so many felonies that she couldn't remember them all. She had refused to help him, leaving him to a court-appointed attorney, cutting him out of her life as if she had used a sharp blade like the one she felt he'd stabbed her with in the back.

"I didn't kill my husband." She hated that even Joe thought she was guilty. The moment Dixon Malone's remains had been found in a well near her ranch, everyone seemed to assume that she would be arrested for his murder. She figured they were all waiting for that to happen. "Joe, I didn't kill him."

He nodded but said nothing, as expected. Not even her old friend believed her. Sighing, she picked up her purse and cast him one final look. "You've been a good friend. I'm going to miss you, Doc."

"Retired or not, I'll always be available to you," he said. He sounded sad, as if he suspected they wouldn't see each other again. He was probably right. "Take care of yourself, Charlotte."

"You too, Joe." She turned and walked out, fighting the ache in her throat and the sting of tears. She'd never been a crier. Neither of her parents had been moved by tears. Never let the bastards see weakness , her mother used to say when she'd come home from school in tears over some mean girl. She'd learned to hold it in, ashamed when she showed fragility, and had taken care of her problems herself.

That was what made it so hard. Not only had she broken down after CJ had been arrested, but she'd also let Holden McKenna see that weakness when he'd found her down by the creek where they used to make love. She'd let him hold her that day while she sobbed out her heart, and she'd regretted it ever since. She hated that he'd seen her at her lowest, and she planned to never let it happen again.

She wiped furtively at her tears. In her fifty-three years, she'd done her best not to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing how wounded she was. And yet that was exactly what she'd done for years with her anger and bitterness over what Holden McKenna had done to her. She'd only been fooling herself. This man she hated and loved in equal parts knew her to her soul. She'd let him into her heart and had spent years trying to get him out before he destroyed her.

Straightening, she jutted out her chin and put on her sunglasses as she pushed through the door to exit the office. Once on the sidewalk, she stopped, suddenly aware of the blinding blue sky and warmth on the breeze. Summer. When had the seasons changed? It came as a shock, as if winter had ended, spring had come and gone in the blink of an eye, and here was summer, all while she'd been in with Doc.

She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes, wanting to stand there, taking in this day as if it were her last. She would get through this—just as she had everything else in her life. She would. She didn't need Joe Hammond's magic pills. She was Charlotte Carson Stafford.

Her cell phone rang. She let it ring two more times before she dug it out and checked to see who was calling. The sheriff? She let it ring a couple more times. Was this about CJ? Stuart knew she wasn't taking her son's calls. When he'd finally gone too far after trying to kill his sister, she'd become deaf to his pleas for help. He was now on his own.

Her phone stopped ringing, then began again almost at once. The same number indicated it was the Powder Crossing Sheriff's Department.

She told herself she had no choice but to answer. "Hello?"

"It's Sheriff Layton." Stuart? Why was he being so formal? She'd known him since he was a kid. "I've put a BOLO out on your son Brand for questioning. Do you know where he is?"

"What? Brand?" It was inconceivable. CJ, yes. Even Oakley. But Brand? This was the last thing she'd expected.

"I understand you're not at home. But if you know where he is, I need to speak with him. It's urgent."

"Urgent? About what?" she demanded.

"I'm going to need to question you as well. Where are you right now?"

"None of your business," she snapped. "Tell me what's going on, Stuart."

"Holly Jo, Holden McKenna's ward, is missing."

She couldn't imagine what one had to do with the other. "Why would you have any reason to question Brand—let alone me?"

"Charlotte, if you know anything about Holly Jo—"

"Obviously, I don't. I'm on my way home now. I'll come by your office with my lawyer."

"Good—that will save me a trip out to your ranch," the sheriff said.

The laugh rose up from deep inside her and burst forth of its own volition. "If you think I would take Holden's ward—"

"I'll see you when you get here. I appreciate you coming to my office instead of making me find you."

She stared at her phone as she realized that he'd disconnected. "What in the world?" Her heart began to pound, the summer day forgotten as she headed for her vehicle.