Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

H OLLY J O FLOATED in and out of sleep. When she'd finally forced her eyes open again, she let out a sob at the sight of the small dark room. Before she'd awakened, she'd been riding Honey, her horse, the wind in her hair, the sun on her face, laughing as she did the new riding trick Pickett had taught her.

Now she looked around, not wanting to cry anymore, but afraid she would never get out of this room. She would never see her horse, or Pickett or Cooper or Elaine or even HH, again. She would never become the greatest woman trick rider in history.

Earlier, she'd drunk all of her juice. She felt so tired that she'd fallen back to sleep not long after. But she was now thirsty again. She'd hoped on waking that she would discover all of this was just a bad dream.

She began to cry again as she pulled herself up and went to the door. Her throat ached from screaming, calling for help, crying, pleading for someone to find her, to save her. When had that been? She felt confused, not sure how long she'd been here—let alone how long she'd be held here. Her hands were bruised and scraped from pounding on the door in the semidarkness of the small room. She hurt from lying on the thin blanket on the cold concrete.

Closing her eyes, she tried to sleep again, wanting to go back to her horseback-riding dream. Sleep pulled at her. She felt so weak.

When she woke again, she knew that someone had been in the room. She bolted upright and looked around, wrinkling her nose as she smelled the man's aftershave.

Her gaze shot to the corner, to the bucket and what had been put next to it. She rose slowly, crawling across the floor because she didn't think she could stand. Next to the bucket was a roll of toilet paper, another plastic bottle of juice and a couple of granola bars.

She grabbed the bottle of juice and drank down half of it. She'd never been so thirsty. Setting the bottle aside, she took one of the granola bars and hungrily devoured it, then gobbled down the second granola bar. As she moved back to her spot against the wall nearest the boarded-up window, she took the juice with her, trying not to drink it all—just as she tried not to think about what would happen if the man never came back with more juice and food.

Her body felt weightless after a few moments, and she felt herself falling back to sleep even as she tried hard to listen for the man to come back. She feared he wouldn't. All she could hear was the beat of her heart, the sound of her slowing breaths. Her eyelids dropped closed. If only this was just a bad dream and she could wake up in her room at the ranch. She promised herself that she would eat whatever Elaine cooked, that she wouldn't act like a brat, wouldn't lie. She would do anything.

A sob rose in her throat. But the memory that she'd fought so hard to push away came back in horrifying detail as sleep tried to pull her under again. The pickup and camper pulling up as she waited for the school bus. The woman behind the wheel putting down her window and calling her by name, calling her over.

Waiting for the bus? You want a ride to school?

She'd been wondering if she'd met the woman before. People knew Holly Jo because of Holden. Everyone knew HH, as she'd taken to calling him after learning his middle name was Hank. Holden Hank McKenna.

She'd looked down the road, wondering where the school bus was, when she'd heard a sound behind her. She didn't see him, just the large shape of the man, as he'd grabbed her.

He'd pressed a wet, stinky rag to her mouth as she tried to fight him off. She heard him say, She's bigger than I thought, stronger. I'm going to have to sedate her.

The woman had revved the truck engine. Hurry! The bus will be coming.

Holly Jo had felt herself being lifted off the ground and carried toward the back of the camper. She'd kicked and kicked, some of her blows landing as she screamed until he covered her mouth. After that, she'd suddenly felt sick, and everything darkened and went black.

She shoved the memory away again, wishing with all her heart that she hadn't walked over to that pickup. That the school bus had been early. That she didn't still have the nasty taste in her mouth or feel sick, her head and her stomach roiling as sleep pulled her thankfully under again.

T HE SHERIFF HAD heard about Birdie Malone being in town, asking questions regarding her father's death. Before that, the PI she'd hired had been doing the same thing. Stuart was surprised this was the first time she'd come by to see him.

"Please have a seat," he said, waving her into a chair in his office. "What can I do for you?"

"You can release Brand Stafford," she said. "There's no way he knows anything about a missing person if that person went missing anytime between ten last night and noon today."

He raised an eyebrow. "How would you know that?"

"I was at a bar where he stayed until it closed at two a.m., and he went home and didn't get up until almost noon."

"You're sure he never left the ranch?"

"Positive. A friend took him home after the bar closed, and another friend followed to give the driver a ride back to town. I followed them all the way to the house where they put him to bed. He didn't emerge until, like I said, almost noon."

"You will swear to that?"

She sighed. "I would have known if he'd left."

"Let me get this straight. You followed him home, and then what?"

"I went inside the house, and we both went to bed."

"I'm assuming at some point you slept."

"I'm a light sleeper. He didn't leave the ranch."

"You and Brand Stafford?" The sheriff cocked his head at her. "What exactly is your relationship?"

"We just met this morning. I was having a look around the ranch when he finally woke up and saw me. He'd just come from the shower. Hadn't even taken the time to get dressed." She smiled. "I introduced myself, and we realized how much we had in common."

"When you followed him last night, you'd never met?" She shook her head. "But you stayed in the house last night."

"In the bedroom next to his. It was empty." She shrugged.

"You broke in?"

"The door was open."

"You don't have a romantic relationship with him?"

"I'm trying to find evidence to prove that Charlotte Stafford killed my father. I don't plan to stop until I see her behind bars with her son CJ. I figure one of the Staffords knows something, so I'm trying to get as close to the family as I can."

Stuart leaned back, shaking his head. "I would think you wouldn't have much good to say about the Staffords. Why would you give Brand an alibi?"

"Because I know where he was during the time the person went missing." She studied him, eyes narrowing. "Why would you think Brand had anything to do with your missing person case in the first place?"

The sheriff didn't answer. "You say you followed him home. Did he make any stops?"

"You mean the friend driving him home? Just one. They stopped at the McKenna mailbox. It looked like they put something inside and left."

"Did you see anyone else around the McKenna Ranch mailbox?"

She seemed surprised by the question. The sheriff saw her start to say no, then change her mind. "I did see something. Tell me who's missing."

Stuart knew that there was no keeping a lid on this. Also, as strange as it seemed, Birdie Malone might be the key to finding Holly Jo. He had to take the chance. "Holly Jo Robinson, a thirteen-year-old ward of Holden McKenna's, was last seen headed for the county road to the bus for a half day at school. But when the bus driver got to her pickup spot, she wasn't there. We have reason to believe that she's been kidnapped. Do you know anything about that?"

Birdie sat back, clearly surprised. "You asked about the mailbox. I saw another vehicle ahead of Brand's friends. A vehicle stopped at that mailbox before Brand Stafford's pickup reached it. I'd pulled off on the top of the hill to let the two pickups get a little ahead of me. I knew where they were headed, so I didn't need to follow so closely."

"Another vehicle? Can you describe it?"

"I wouldn't have been able to, except that I saw it again later. It was a light-colored pickup, probably white, with a small, darker-colored camper on the back, maybe a burgundy red? I didn't think much about it when the driver made a quick stop at the McKenna mailbox and took off fast. Then I saw the rig as I turned in to the Stafford Ranch. The moon was full. The pickup and camper had pulled off the road in a wide spot next to the river and cottonwoods just past the Stafford Ranch turnoff."

"License plate?"

She shook her head. "Too far away. I wouldn't even have noticed it except that it was two thirty in the morning. At the time, I thought it was someone looking for a place to camp." Her keen gaze narrowed again. "I didn't even think it was strange that they stopped to put something in the mailbox. But now that I know about the kidnapping... They left the ransom note in the mailbox, didn't they? What did Brand drop off?"

"You'd have to ask him. Can you think of anything else about the pickup and camper that might help us find it?"

"I'm sorry, but if I see it again, I think I'll recognize it."

B RAND HAD EXPECTED to see his mother, but only the family lawyer came into the cell block. "What's going on?" he demanded of Ian Drake, who shook his head and motioned him over to the bars, even though the other two cells were empty. It was just the two of them.

"Tell me about what happened at the café," Ian said.

"It was silly. I asked why I was being hauled in for questioning, and the deputy started grabbing me." He groaned. "The next thing I knew, I was in cuffs, and Deputy Dodson was telling me he was arresting me for resisting arrest and assaulting an officer of the law."

"Those charges won't hold," the lawyer said.

"So why am I still here?"

"Holly Jo Robinson, the ward of Holden McKenna, is believed to have been kidnapped. They think you might know something about it."

"What?" Brand cried. "Why would I? I don't even know her. On my mother's life, I swear I didn't do anything."

The lawyer chuckled. "That would be more convincing if I didn't know your mother." He unfolded a sheet of paper. "Your mother gave me this. Did you send this to Holden McKenna?" Drake pushed the sheet of paper between the bars.

Brand saw at once that it was a copy of the DNA results that he'd left in his father's mailbox in the wee hours of the morning. What had he hoped would happen? Certainly not this.

He rubbed a hand over his face, swearing that he was never drinking again. "What was the sheriff doing with this? And what could my DNA results have to do with this missing girl?"

"Did you send this to Holden McKenna?" the lawyer asked again.

Brand nodded even as he was grimacing inside. "I left it in his mailbox last night after the bar closed."

"Why?"

Good question , he thought. "I'm not sure. I guess I wanted Holden to admit that he was my father," Brand said and saw Ian's expression. "What?"

"You wanted him to admit the truth?"

He frowned. "Maybe. I don't know. Why? What's going on? What does it matter?"

"From what little the sheriff shared with me, Holden has received a kidnapping demand—not for money, but for him to admit the truth. The sheriff seems to think that the truth might be about Holden's relationship to you."

Brand shook his head. This wasn't happening. "No," he said, gripping the bars as he leaned back, trying to distance himself from this. "I just wanted to notify him that I knew about him and my mother. I really wish I hadn't done it. But I wouldn't kidnap some girl to make him admit it." He loosened his grip on the bars. Everything was starting to make an awful kind of sense. "The sheriff is basing his suspicion on the DNA results?" He shook his head again. "I can't tell you how much I regret all of this."

"If you took the girl—"

He saw that the lawyer didn't believe him. Shocked, he said, "I swear I didn't take her."

"She's missing, Brand, and hasn't been seen since she headed for the school bus this morning. Where were you between seven and seven thirty this morning?"

"In bed with a horrible hangover. I didn't get up until noon or so."

"Can anyone at the house verify that?" the lawyer asked.

He thought hard, remembering how empty the house had been with the housekeeper off and his brother Ryder up early and gone to work as usual. He'd never felt so helpless in his life. All he could think about was the missing girl. He'd seen Holly Jo riding her horse a couple of times and waiting for the school bus but had never even talked to her. Who would take her? What truth did they want Holden to acknowledge? It had to be something more than him fathering a bastard son.

Brand realized what he had earlier that morning. "No one was at the house. I was alone, as far as I know." As he said it, he thought of the young woman sneaking past his window. "There might be someone, but I didn't see her until I got up." Brand saw the lawyer's concern.

"So you can't prove that you never left the ranch all morning." Drake sighed. "The sheriff is going to want to talk to you." He seemed to hesitate. "But if you know where the girl is—"

"I told you I didn't take her. I don't know where she is. I'm not my brother. Or my—" He almost said mother .

The lawyer nodded. "I'll be back."

"Just a minute. You already knew that I was Holden McKenna's biological son, didn't you?"

"No. Why would you think I did?"

"Because you didn't seem surprised," Brand said.

"I've been your mother's lawyer for years. Little surprises me anymore."

With that, he started to leave, and would have except for the sheriff coming in to tell Brand that he was being released—at least temporarily. "Don't leave the river basin," the sheriff said.