Bucking Bronc Lodge 04 - Cowboy Cop (4 page)

A muscle ticked in his jaw, but his dark eyes flickered with regret, then he released her so abruptly her heart fluttered at the missed contact.

“I just want justice,” he said in a gruff voice.

Jordan’s gaze met his, one brow raised. “And for your son to be well.”

Emotions made his taut face look even harsher. “That goes without saying.”

In spite of his tough act, guilt underscored his words, and her heart softened. Guilt was one thing she understood. Rational or not, it held a power over you that could cripple you.

But a low sound that bordered on a sob echoed through the speakers from the attached room, and she glanced back at Timmy. He needed her help.

Her job didn’t include counseling his father.

But still, she had to make Miles realize that they had to work together.

Miles removed his Stetson and raked his hand through his hair. “Do you think you can help him?”

Jordan nodded and dragged her gaze from his rumpled head. She had no business thinking that he looked sexy right now. “Yes, but like I said, it’s going to take time. You have to trust me.”

Miles tensed, his body going ramrod-straight. “I don’t trust anyone.”

Jordan gave him a challenging look. “Then you need to start.”

He started to speak, but she held up a warning hand and cut him off. “The mind is a fragile thing, Miles. If you push too hard, you could damage Timmy even more.”

Anguish deepened the lines of his face, but Jordan also saw fear.

She hated to put it there, but she had to in order to make him listen. Because there was one thing she was certain of—if Miles didn’t give Timmy time to heal, and allow him to deal with what had happened in his own time, he would never have his son back.

And that would only add to the man’s already burgeoning guilt and destroy him.

Just as her own guilt had almost done to her two years ago.

* * *

M
ILES TRIED TO MASK
the fear Jordan’s words drove deeply inside him. If he pushed Timmy, he might hurt him more.

As if he didn’t have enough guilt dogging him. As if he wasn’t already terrified his little boy would never be normal—or happy—again.

His cell phone beeped the familiar ringtone for Mason Blackpaw, and his fingers slid inside his jacket pocket over the device. Normally he ditched it for a few days when he came to the BBL to help, but there was no way he could turn it off while Dugan was loose.

“I need to return this.” Even as he said the words, he felt the censure in Jordan’s gaze.

“It might be about the case,” he explained, irritated for worrying about her approval. But dammit, he didn’t want her to think he didn’t care about his son.

“All right. I’ll spend some time with Timmy. Are you settled into your cabin?”

Miles shook his head. “No, and I need to talk to Brody.” He glanced through the window at Timmy, who suddenly picked up the drawing he’d made and crumpled the paper into a ball between his little hands.

Suddenly he felt Jordan’s fingers close over his arm. “You should tell him that you’re going to be gone for a few minutes. He needs reassurance that you’ll be back.”

His gaze was drawn to her slender hand. Her fingers were delicate, long, thin...soft. And they felt gentle, comforting. Something that stirred a yearning he didn’t have time to contemplate.

He had let Marie down in the worst possible way. Not just by putting his job first, but...by not loving her the way he should have.

And then he’d gotten her killed.

So he gave a clipped nod, then headed to the other room. Except for a stiffening of Timmy’s shoulders, he barely responded when Miles entered.

He approached slowly, concerned about startling Timmy, then knelt in front of him. “Son, I have to talk to Brody, the rancher who runs this place. You remember him?”

Timmy’s eyes looked blank, but he angled his face toward Miles. The sheer paleness of his skin sent another pang through Miles’s chest.

“Anyway,” Miles said gruffly. “I won’t be gone long, then we’ll settle into our cabin. And maybe we can take a walk to the stables later and look at the horses.”

Timmy’s little chin quivered, and the crumpled drawing slipped to the floor at his feet. He didn’t bother to pick it up or speak.

Dammit, he looked so lost and forlorn that Miles had to blink to control the emotions clogging his throat.

Jordan gave him an encouraging smile, then lowered herself into the seat beside Timmy and gestured for him to go. “Timmy and I will be fine,” Jordan said quietly. “We’ll talk for a few minutes, then meet you at your cabin.”

Miles nodded, although leaving his little boy made him feel as though he was abandoning him somehow.

Then Jordan looked up at him with those beguiling green eyes, and her plea to trust her rolled through his head.

Dammit, he’d been lost before he’d come here.

Whether he wanted to admit it or not, and even if he didn’t like shrinks or counselors or talking about problems like these head doctors insisted, he had no idea how to reach his son.

He needed her help.

Trying for some sense of normalcy, he ruffled Timmy’s hair. “See you in about an hour, sport.”

His gaze caught Jordan’s, a silent plea in his eyes.

She nodded, then walked him back toward the door. “If I need you before we meet up, I’ll call.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to talk, then stepped through the door. Worry crawled through him as he left his son, but he reminded himself that time was of the essence.

That Mason Blackpaw might have news.

So he strode out into the sunshine and breathed in the clean ranch air. Across the way, he spotted a group by the barn, another set of campers grooming the horses in the pen. Normally the smells and scenery in front of him brought instant peace, but today peace eluded him.

He leaned against the porch rail and punched Mason’s number. A second later, the detective picked up. “Any news?” Miles asked, not bothering to detail the subject line. Blackpaw knew there was only one thing on his mind.

“Nothing good,” Blackpaw muttered. “We put a tail on Dugan, but the rookie lost him last night. Haven’t caught up with him since.”

Miles cursed. “Can’t we track his cell phone?”

“Working on getting a warrant, but so far zilch.”

“How about a GPS on his car?”

“Dugan is smart,” Blackpaw said. “He had it dismantled.”

Son of a bitch.

“Can’t we crack his alibi?”

“Working that angle, too. Woman who stuck up for him is nowhere to be found.”

“You mean you lost her, too.”

Blackpaw mumbled an obscenity this time. “I mean she’s disappeared.”

A cold sweat broke out on Miles’s brow. Maybe she’d run off with him?

Or more likely...Dugan had killed her to cover his tracks.

Chapter Three

Miles paced the length of the porch, one eye catching sight of Brody’s pickup truck lumbering down the drive. “Dammit, I need to be out there looking for Dugan myself. He’s probably already killed his alibi and looking for some other innocent woman to carve up.”

“You’re preaching to the choir here,” Blackpaw said. “But you know what the lieutenant said. You’re too close to this one, McGregor.”

“Of course I’m close to it, but that’s what makes me motivated. Last time I talked to Hammond, he didn’t seem convinced that Dugan was guilty.”

A long pause followed, steeped in tension. “That’s another problem,” Blackpaw admitted. “With the Kelly woman’s murder, we both know there’s more to the case than we originally thought.”

“Don’t tell me you think Dugan was set up,” Miles growled.

“No,” Blackpaw said. “I think he’s as guilty as homemade sin. But—”

The sun slid behind a winter cloud, making the sky turn a hazy gray. “There is no but. He killed those women and he killed Marie.”

“But what about June Kelly?”

“We’re still looking into it.” Miles had no answer for that. Yet.

“You know, I did find evidence that Marie was seeing someone. Two men over the last five years.”

Miles chewed the inside of his cheek. He’d be a piss-poor cop if he ignored evidence and didn’t consider every possibility. “Go on.”

“The first was a pediatrician named Lamar Cohen but he’s clean. The other man was more recent. Neighbors saw them together.”

Miles swallowed hard. So this man had been with Timmy? Had Marie planned to marry him? Let him be a father to Timmy?

“What else do you know about him?”

“His name was Paul Belsa. Apparently he was some kind of wealthy businessman. I don’t know what kind of business yet, but he was slick. Drove an expensive car.”

Gave her all the things Miles couldn’t.

“So let’s find him and see what he says.”

“I’ve tried to locate him, but the only number I have for him is a cell with a message that he’s out of the country on business.”

Dammit.

“It’s worse,” Blackpaw said.

How could it get worse? “What are you talking about?”

“Hammond...some of the guys at the sheriff’s department, they’ve even mentioned the possibility that you could be implicated, Miles.”

He slammed his fist against his thigh. “Because I was jealous of Marie and this man?” He exploded into a tirade. “Hell, I didn’t even know they were dating.”

“I believe you, Miles. But you have to see where they’re coming from. You have had it in for Dugan for months. He gets free. You’re a head case. You find out your wife has a lover, so you kill her in a rage, and maybe kill this other man, then make it look like it was Dugan so we’ll put him back in jail.”

He closed his eyes on a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose where a headache threatened. Jesus, God. Hammond couldn’t believe that nonsense.

Dragging in a calming breath, Miles forced himself to lower his voice. “I still believe it was Dugan or an accomplice. He could have paid someone to kill the Kelly woman, then either one of them could have murdered Marie.”

“True, but so far we’ve found no paper trail.”

“For God’s sake, he was in prison. All he had to do was cut a deal with one of his prison mates.” Miles heard Brody’s truck door slam and watched him climb from the pickup. “Find this other man, Paul Belsa. If he had anything to do with Marie’s death, I want him to pay. If not, maybe he can clear my damn name.” He wheezed a breath. “Better yet, I’ll track down the bastard.”

“The hell you will,” Blackpaw muttered. “I don’t want Hammond on my butt because we talked and you went off half-cocked—”

“I’m not going off half-cocked,” Miles growled. “But I need to do something besides sit here and let Dugan get away.”

“You are doing something,” Blackpaw said. “You’re taking care of your child. That boy needs you. So trust me to work the investigation.”

Miles’s chest ached. “Timmy needs his mother’s killer in jail.”

A heartbeat passed, the tension rippling between them.

“Yes, but he needs you, too. I’ll clear you of suspicion if you let me handle it.” Blackpaw lowered his tone. “Besides, you’re forgetting that Timmy may be the key to locking Dugan away.”

The memory of Timmy’s drawing taunted Miles. He felt so damn helpless.

“I’d like to nail him without using my own little boy,” Miles said. And spare him the pain of confronting Dugan.

Brody strode up the steps to the porch, and Miles gestured for him to wait.

“Keep me posted.”

“I will. And don’t worry, I’ve pulled all the files on the previous investigation into Dugan to see if we missed anything. Maybe he had a family member or an old acquaintance that owed him, and they killed the Kelly woman to get Dugan off.”

He’d made a copy of the file himself. “I’ll look over them, too, along with all the evidence from the other murders. It’s possible Dugan had a partner all along.”

“All right,” Blackpaw agreed. “But remember, your first priority is your little boy.”

Miles bit back a curse. Didn’t Blackpaw think he knew that?

Blackpaw hung up, and Miles let his anger go. Blackpaw was right. Timmy was the only witness that could identify Marie’s killer. If Dugan knew that and found him, he’d kill him.

And if by chance he was wrong and this Belsa guy had dated Marie and killed her, then Timmy might even be more traumatized because it had been someone he’d trusted.

Staying close to his son was the only way to keep him safe. And Miles would die before he lost him.

* * *

J
ORDAN’S HEART ACHED
as she joined Timmy at the small table. Miles hadn’t given her all the details she’d wanted, but he’d said enough.

She had also read the police and doctor’s reports, and seen the story in the news—Timmy’s mother had been an attractive brunette, a working mother who had been raising her son alone.

It was so sad for all of them. Especially for Timmy, to grow up without a mother.

“Timmy,” she said gently. “I know you’ve had a hard time lately.” She unfolded the crumpled drawing. “Can you tell me about your picture?”

His big dark eyes looked up at her with a tortured expression, eyes just like his father’s, then he shoved the drawing away and shook his head.

“All right,” she said. “I understand that you feel sad and that you miss your mother. And maybe you’re a little mad, too. It wasn’t fair what happened to you and her.”

He started a slow tapping of his fingers on his leg, an unconscious movement that indicated she’d struck a nerve. “But it wasn’t your fault, you know that, don’t you?”

He went so still that Jordan had to grip her hands together not to reach out and pull him in her arms.

“Well, it wasn’t. Sometimes bad things just happen to good people.” She pulled the modeling clay from the bin next to the table and removed the different colors. “Someday maybe you can tell me about her.”

His lower lip quivered.

“But only when you’re ready.” She began to roll out the red dough. “For now though, we’re just going to get to know each other.” She eased the blob of blue clay toward him, then gestured around the room at the bin of toys she’d ordered. Blocks, easels for painting and drawing, a toy ranch set with plastic horses, barns, stables and riding pens, puzzles and games and peg boards, and in the corner she’d hung a punching bag. “In fact, when you come here, you can play with whatever you’d like. But today I thought we might work on this clay. Then we’ll go meet your playgroup and catch up with your daddy.”