The Missing Mccullen. Rita Herron
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twin brothers who’d been kidnapped from their parents at birth.
They would be thirty this month.
He had good news and bad news. “I found one of the twins.”
Maddox balled his hands into fists. “You don’t sound happy about it.”
“Where is he?” Brett asked.
“The babies were left at a church about an hour from Pistol Whip. Apparently, one of them was adopted, but the other was sickly and wound up being placed in foster care. A nurse took him in for a while, and named him Cash Koker.”
“Where is he now?” Maddox asked.
Ray turned to the whiteboard where they’d listed clues regarding the boys’ whereabouts. He tacked a photo on the board.
“I used age progression software and a special program I have to locate doppelgangers. This is him.”
Maddox studied the photo. “He looks like a McCullen. Same stubborn jaw. Dark hair.”
“He’s got your high forehead and dark eyes, Maddox,” Brett said.
Maddox cleared his throat. “The DNA matched?”
Ray nodded. “Yeah, his was in the system, but I still want another test done for verification.”
“I agree,” Maddox said.
“Does he know about us?” Brett asked.
“I don’t think so.”
Maddox crossed his arms. “You said his DNA was in the system. Does that mean what I think it means?”
Ray gave a quick nod. “He has a record. Got into some trouble as a juvenile, then a couple of bar brawls in his twenties.”
“Hell, so did I. Is that it?” Brett asked.
Ray grunted. “Afraid not.” He tacked another photo on the board. This picture was a mug shot. “Our long-lost brother has just been arrested for murder.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.” Cash Koker flexed his hands on the scarred wooden table of the interrogation room, barely resisting the urge to punch Sheriff Jim Jasper in the jaw.
He’d answered these damn questions a dozen times already, but for some reason, the bastard thought he could browbeat Cash into admitting to murder.
There was no way in hell he’d confess to a crime he hadn’t committed.
The bloodstains beneath his fingernails mocked him. Blood that belonged to Sondra, the woman he allegedly had killed.
“Just look at her picture,” Sheriff Jasper said. “She was young and beautiful, but you took her life away from her.”
Cash swallowed hard as he glanced at the image. Sondra was twenty-two, with pale skin and blond hair that fell to her shoulders.
That hair was tangled and bloody in the photograph. Her throat had been cut, her eyes wide in shock and horror. Blood soaked her thin white blouse, and her hands, which she’d obviously used to fight her attacker.
“I didn’t kill her,” Cash said again. “I cared about Sondra. We were friends.”
“Friends?” Sheriff Jasper crossed his beefy arms and leaned back in his chair. Although he was only a few years older than Cash, the cocky man thought he owned the town. He also got around. Apparently women thought he was attractive.
Cash didn’t like anything about him.
“Sondra’s daddy said there was a lot more to it than friendship,” Jasper said snidely.
Cash chewed the inside of his cheek. Mr. Elmore was a paranoid, pompous, demanding jerk who was rich as sin but barely paid his ranch hands minimum wage. He couldn’t keep help because he was cheap and damn difficult to work for.
“In fact, Elmore claims that you knocked up his daughter, and that you denied paternity. He says you slit Sondra’s throat to keep her from filing for child support.”
Cash thumped his boot on the floor. “He’s wrong. I’m not the little boy’s father. You know as well as I do that a DNA test can prove it.” Although, he had grown attached to the spunky three-year-old.
“Then who is the father?”
Cash sighed. “I don’t know. Sondra never told me.”
Jasper grabbed him by his shirt collar and practically yanked Cash across the table. “Listen to me, you good-for-nothing piece of trash. Lester Elmore is a respected rancher around here. He doesn’t lie.” He shoved another picture in front of Cash’s face. “Neither does the evidence. We’ve got Sondra’s blood under your nails, and a video cam clip from last night showing you entering the motel where she died.”
Cash shifted, his mind racing for answers. The last thing he remembered was meeting her at the bar, because she’d been upset. He’d had a drink and they’d walked outside.
The rest of the night was a damn blank.
Hours later, he’d woken up in a motel room beside Sondra’s dead body. He’d been in shock, panicked, and had called an ambulance. He’d also called Sondra’s father.
It hadn’t occurred to him that the man would accuse him of murder.
“You could ease your conscience by telling me what happened,” the sheriff growled. “Or let me guess—you had a lover’s quarrel, and she threatened to cut you out of the kid’s life. Am I getting close?”
Cash went stone still. Nothing he could say would convince this man that he was innocent.
Worse, the evidence was damning. Given it, and the fact that Elmore owned half the town, they could lock him away and he’d never see the light of day again.
“You are way off base,” Cash said matter-of-factly. “I told you—we weren’t lovers.” In fact, he would never have gone to a motel with Sondra. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. “Why aren’t you looking at Elmore? He probably had enemies.”
“Elmore is not the problem,” Sheriff Jasper snapped.
“But I didn’t do anything,” Cash’s mind raced. “You should be looking for someone else with a motive. Sondra said some guy named Ronnie was bothering her.”
Sheriff Jasper raised a brow. “Stop trying to put the blame on someone else, and tell me what you did with Tyler. If Elmore gets his grandson back, he might go easier on you.”
Cash’s pulse jumped. “What the hell are you talking about? You don’t know where Tyler is?”
The sheriff shoved him backward so hard the chair legs clacked on the floor. “Don’t act dumb, Koker. If you took that kid, you’re going down for kidnapping and murder.”
Panic streaked through Cash. Someone had kidnapped Tyler?
* * *
Three days later
BJ ALEXANDER HAD made a lot of mistakes in her short career as an attorney. She just hoped coming to Cash Koker’s defense wasn’t one of them.
But her father and Joe McCullen had been friends, and now that Joe was dead, her father had asked her to help his sons find out more about their long-lost brother.
Possible long-lost brother, she amended.
She slipped from the safety of her small sedan, letting the warmth of the summer day chase away the chill inside her as she studied the sheriff’s office.
The building was a one-story, ancient brick structure with mud caking the brick. She’d called ahead and Sheriff Jasper had filled her in on the arrest.
Cash Koker had been