Bucking Bronc Lodge 04 - Cowboy Cop (21 page)

Her gnarled fingers curled around the printout as she studied it. It was Dugan’s mug shot alongside a photo of him at the trial. Hell though, for all he knew, Dugan could be wearing a disguise by now.

The trucker lumbered outside to his eighteen-wheeler and the two women followed, while Jordan combed the aisles for water and aspirin.

“Yeah, that was him.”

Panic warred with relief inside Miles. “He had a little boy with him?” He showed her Timmy’s picture next. Just the sight of it nearly brought him to his knees.

She chewed on her lower lip for a minute, then wrinkled her nose. “Can’t say I saw the boy.”

Jordan moved up beside him and slid her hand to his arm for support.

“You didn’t see the little boy at all?” Miles asked in a choked voice.

She shook her head. “No, sir. Like I told that other cop come by, man in the picture left the police car outside and stole a pickup in the parking lot.”

“A pickup?”

“Yeah, belonged to my boy. He lets me drive it to work. Gonna be real mad it got took.”

Jordan rubbed his back. “Are you sure you didn’t see the little boy? Maybe he stayed low, or maybe the man had him wrapped in a blanket?”

“I’m sorry.” The woman scratched her brow. “But that truck...Billy had a storage bin in the cab. Covered with a tarp.”

“So he could have put Timmy in it and driven off?” Jordan asked.

The woman nodded. “I reckon he could have. But I didn’t hear nothing. No kid screaming or crying, I mean.”

Miles gripped the counter. If Timmy had been wrapped up and hadn’t been fighting or making noise, he might be hurt.

Or worse...

No, he couldn’t think like that.

But even as he ordered himself to be positive, seeds of doubt sprouted in his mind. If Timmy hadn’t been with him, what had Dugan done with him?

Had he killed him and left him somewhere along the way? Somewhere out in the miles and miles of wilderness where they might not find him for days?

Chapter Eighteen

Jordan felt the sense of despair pummeling Miles, and knew she had to do something.

She had been too late for her brother, but she would not be too late for Miles’s son. Or him.

She slid her hands up, cupped his face and forced him to look at her. “Listen to me, Miles. The fact that this woman didn’t see Timmy doesn’t mean he’s not alive.” She made her voice strong. “Do you hear me? Timmy is still out there and we will find him. I do not believe that Dugan hurt him. I just don’t.”

Miles heaved a sigh and searched her face, his expression so tormented that she dragged him into a hug. “Listen to me. We can’t give up. Timmy needs us to be strong and smart about this.”

“You’re right.” A shudder coursed through him, shaking her to the core with its intensity. He took a deep breath, stiffened and turned back to the woman. “I understand you didn’t see the boy, ma’am, but did you see which direction Dugan drove?”

Her wrinkles deepened as she angled her head to the left. “He went south.”

Toward the border, exactly where Jordan and Miles knew he would go.

“Thank you,” Jordan said as she took Miles’s arm and pulled him outside. “Come on, we need to go. You can alert the authorities that Dugan is coming, and maybe they’ll arrest him at the border.”

Miles jerked himself from his fear-induced stupor and nodded, then reached for his phone as they rushed back to his Jeep. He called his lieutenant as he started the engine, then explained where they were.

Jordan fastened her seat belt, well aware of Miles’s terseness as he argued with his superior over what he should do.

“Of course this is personal,” Miles said. “But I’m not turning back. You can have my badge, but I’m going to find Dugan and bring my boy home.”

Jordan looked out the window at the darkening sky and prayed they would find Timmy.

That she hadn’t been wrong about Dugan—that they’d bring Timmy home alive.

* * *

M
ILES LATCHED ONTO THE HOPE
Jordan’s words had offered like a lifeline. She was right. He couldn’t give up.

He couldn’t lose his boy.

Night had set in, the city lights glittering, the evening crowd of tourists and locals making the traffic thick. He cut through the side streets, weaving around slower cars, and blowing past a stalled vehicle.

He would get Timmy back and take him fishing, and buy him that horse that he’d promised him. And they’d get a dog and a ranch and spend hours together working the horses and just...hanging out by the creek.

Yes, he had to have a creek on the property and stables and when Timmy was older they might spring for a four-wheeler.

Sucking in a calming breath, he focused on the road. A minute later, his cell phone rang. He yanked it open, hoping the caller had answers that would lead to his son.

“Miles, it’s Blackpaw. Our computer guys called. You were right. Dugan had some tests run when he got out of prison.”

Miles ground his jaw. He didn’t give a damn. Except for how it might help him find the bastard. “And?”

“He has a brain tumor. Inoperable.”

“So he’s tying up unfinished business before he croaks.” He saw Jordan frown. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. Ables wasn’t at his house. Looks like he packed a suitcase, and judging from his computer, he booked a flight to Mexico himself. Airport authorities are waiting to pick him up.”

Stupid son of a bitch probably thought the cops hadn’t made the connection yet. At least Miles hoped that was what he thought.

Then they could catch him and find out exactly how many women he had killed.

And why he’d helped his half brother when nothing in their investigative research had shown that the two of them were close.

Miles’s phone buzzed again. “Let me know when you arrest him,” he said. “I have another call coming in.”

He clicked over to answer the other call. “McGregor.”

“It’s Special Agent Graham Storm,” the man said. “I’m a friend of Mason Blackpaw’s.”

Miles tensed. “Yeah?”

“Robert Dugan just blew through the border. He’s in Mexico.”

Miles pounded his fist on the steering wheel, nearly losing control of the vehicle. Jordan gripped the wheel to right the vehicle and gave him a panicked, questioning look.

“Dammit,” Miles said, gathering his composure. “I think his mother lives there. Her first name is CeeCee. Can you find an address?”

“I’ll get back to you ASAP.”

Sweat beaded on his brow as he ended the call and sped up.

“What was that about?” Jordan asked.

“You were right.” Miles took the road leading out of town, speeding up to pass a truck that was about to pull out in front of him. “Dugan has a brain tumor.”

Jordan fidgeted with a lock of her hair. “That might explain the tic, and why he’s been behaving so erratically.”

“As opposed to his methodical, sadistic kills.”

Jordan nodded, her expression troubled. “It also explains why he’s going to see his mother now. Time is running out for him.”

And maybe for Timmy.

But Miles bit back the words. He couldn’t allow himself to believe that.

Jordan didn’t comment further either. She turned and studied the passing scenery while he focused on the road. The miles crawled by, but finally he neared the border. The border patrol was on full alert, official
policía
vehicles in abundance, traffic clogged as the patrolmen checked passports and inspected vehicles.

Agent Storm was supposed to alert the authorities he was on his way, so he pulled to the side, stepped from the car and approached one of the officers.

The officer immediately looked wary, his hand poised on his weapon. Miles had already removed his ID and passport and held both of them for identification purposes. “Miles McGregor. Special Agent Graham Storm of the FBI was supposed to contact you about me. I’m here to meet with your authorities about a man named Robert Dugan. He’s wanted for kidnapping a child. I’ve just been alerted that he crossed the border.”

The officer examined his ID, ordered him to stay put, went to speak with another officer, then returned. “One of our
policía
officers is waiting to meet with you across the border. Pull your car up here and we’ll check your passports, then you can be on your way.”

“Thank you.” Miles quickly returned to his Jeep, drove to the checkpoint, then handed him their passports. The officer scrutinized their paperwork and his badge, then finally let them pass.

Another
policía
officer pulled up in front of him and escorted him to the nearest police station. They passed several trucks and cars and a tourist bus as they entered the small town, then wove through the village where locals sold their wares. Other small stores, a cantina, gift shop, cigar shop and beer store occupied one row while the police station sat at the far end of the town.

The small adobe structure looked worn and was overgrown with weeds. Frustration knotted his insides.

Hell, he didn’t want to deal with the police here. If he found Dugan he wanted to kill him without worrying about the rules.

The Mexican police were known for taking bribes to supplement their poor pay, too, but since his business with them wasn’t related to drugs, he hoped for assistance.

The officer who’d led them to the station climbed out and escorted them up the dimly lit path to the doorway. Dirt and weathered patches made the building look ancient, and as Miles entered, he scanned the front room that consisted of dingy concrete walls and floors.

The place reeked of sweat, cigarettes and filth. A short robust Hispanic man in uniform with a bulbous nose and thick mustache stood, tugging at his too-tight uniform. “Officer Sanchez,” the man said in greeting.

Miles introduced the two of them. “You know why we’re here?”

“Sí.”
Sanchez gestured toward his desk where a faxed photo of Dugan and Timmy lay. “Your FBI call, he say this man wanted for kidnapping your son.”

“That’s right,” Miles said, antsy to skip the chitchat and find Dugan. “We have reason to believe that his mother lives here, and that he’s on his way to visit her. I hope you can help us track her down.”

“
Sí,
we will try.” The man rubbed at his thick mustache, then gestured toward the ancient computer on his desk. “Unfortunately we do not have the fancy equipment you do, but our federal police division has better. I contact them and let you know.”

Miles clenched his teeth in frustration. That could take days. Days he might not have.

“Where will you be staying?” Sanchez asked.

Miles glanced at Jordan with a frown. “I’m not sure. But you can reach me on my cell phone.” He scribbled down the number and handed it to the officer. “Please check your records for information on Dugan’s mother. Her name is CeeCee Dugan. I think she’s a prostitute.”

The man’s eyebrows rose, making his mustache twitch. “If she is as you say, she may not have a steady address. But there is a whorehouse where many of the locals work.”

Miles’s pulse picked up. “Where is that?”

Sanchez rolled a cigar between his fingers. “I tell you, but you don’t give girls no trouble. They see you and think arrest and run.”

“I’m here to get my son back, not arrest your street girls,” Miles said. He’d use whomever he had to in order to find Timmy.

Sanchez studied him for a moment, but finally conceded. “The cantina is the pickup spot. The Red Hot motel at the end of the street is where the girls take the johns. That is, unless they do them in the back room.”

Miles thanked him again, then took Jordan’s arm and led her outside.

Jordan pulled her jacket around her. “Even if she once worked that street, she might not be working there now.”

Of course he knew that.

“Dugan is thirty-five so she might be in her fifties or older by now,” Jordan continued. “If age hasn’t deteriorated her appeal as a hooker, she might have succumbed to some disease she picked up from one of her johns.”

“True,” Miles said. “But if she’s near this town or worked here before, one of the other girls might know where she is now.”

At least he hoped that was the case. They needed a damn break.

Night had set in and Timmy had to be terrified.

He didn’t want him to have to spend the night with a monster.

* * *

J
ORDAN COULD FEEL
Miles’s tension because her own body was riddled with anxiety, too. Night loomed long and lonely, the darkness a reminder that Timmy was out in the unknown with Dugan and not with his father where he belonged.

The wilderness between them and the next town meant they could be anywhere by now.

Every hour, day and mile that passed would make it more difficult to find Timmy.

And lessened their chances of finding him alive.

What if Dugan’s tumor affected him to the point that he lost all senses and killed Timmy?

Shivering with worry, she followed Miles to the Jeep and climbed in, hoping they weren’t chasing a dead lead. But they had nothing else to go on.

“You can wait in the car if you want while I go in,” Miles said.

Jordan shook her head. “No, I might be able to help.”

Miles looked doubtful, but he was running on emotions and didn’t argue.

He drove to the cantina and parked. They went to the door together. “Be careful, Jordan. Watch your drink and stay close to me.”

Jordan wanted to tell him she wasn’t a fool, but she refrained. He didn’t need her testiness now. He needed some clue as to how to find his son.

The place was dimly lit, authentic Mexican decor with sombreros, maracas and cacti decorating the orange-and-yellow adobe walls. The bar held dozens of patrons, mostly men, while the restaurant section catered more to couples, although the place’s reputation must be known in the area because there were few families.

Two men at the end of the bar gave her lewd looks while a scantily clad woman in red eyed her from the back area, where a string of Mexican beads dangled over a doorway to the back room.

Another female in thigh-high boots, a low-cut spandex top and miniskirt poured tequila through a funnel into a man’s throat in a corner.