Lost. Helen R. Myers
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Buck might wake up as Bendix drops off the Firebird, and instead of asking questions, take a crowbar to him.”
“Bendix is three times your size—he can take care of himself. Don’t you get it? One Ramey is already missing—I’d rather not go for two.”
It was then that she felt his fear, almost tasted it. “You do think she’s dead,” she whispered.
“Don’t start putting words in my mouth.”
“Don’t treat me like some just-hatched chick. It’s even in your eyes. You’re thinking the worst.”
“No.”
“Why give up so soon? You said yourself that all you have is an abandoned car. Or is it? If there’s something you haven’t told me, I want to know. Now.”
“Will you give it a rest! Somebody is playing a nasty trick. You know it. I know it. But until I understand why and find Faith, I want you safe.”
They were logical words, but as insistent as he sounded, there was something in his expression that kept her from believing him.
“I’m not ready to explain more, Mike.”
She continued just standing there.
“It’s for your own good.”
How she hated that line. “In case you haven’t noticed, I already have one daddy more than I need.”
“If you think that’s how I think of you, you’re in deeper denial than I thought.”
She felt a muscle twitch under her right eye. Embarrassed, she bowed her head. “Not now.”
“You brought it up, not me. Either way, I’m not going to pretend your safety isn’t as important to me as finding Faith.” Before she could interrupt, he removed the arm blocking her. “All right, all right. Go do what you have to do. I’ll be outside. Just understand this—I’m not letting you out of my sight until you’re back here and locked up tight again.”
Afraid he might change his mind, she hurried upstairs.
Once she’d exchanged wreckers as quietly as possible and was driving toward the Fite farm, Michaele’s adrenaline really kicked in. It was one thing to want to save face in what was a male-dominated profession; it was quite another to act the classic masochist-martyr. But how much worse would it be to be stuck at the house with her overactive imagination? No, she needed to see everything Jared had seen before facing her father, let alone everyone else who was bound to stop by, once word got around, asking innumerable questions.
Jared’s car lights remained close behind her. She wasn’t used to such mother-henning. This had to be triggering something about Sandy long buried in him; in any case, she hoped he would snap out of it. Although she wanted and needed friendships—more than was comfortable to admit—if this search stretched out, she was going to shelve the whole concept and focus on protecting herself. That would mean not allowing anyone to know just how vulnerable she was feeling.
Less than a mile down the road, she turned into Pete’s driveway. Considering the hour, the number of vehicles and people that were subsequently illuminated by her headlights was as touching as it was disconcerting. She was comfortable around cops and enjoyed shooting the breeze as much as anyone, but this was overwhelming. There hadn’t been this kind of turnout of law enforcement personnel since young Doc Arnold’s ten-year-old suffered a fatal jet ski accident out on the town lake.
She maneuvered around and between people and vehicles to turn the wrecker on the narrow driveway, since the Firebird was parked sloping toward the woods and would first have to be pulled back onto the roadway. A simple J-hook would be the least intrusive method.
Bruce Griggs, her personal favorite aside from Jared, helped her navigate and get people out of her way. By the time she had the thing set to load, her nerves were back in control.
She jumped down from the cab, aware of the numerous eyes on her.
She’d already greeted a few of the guys, but had made it clear that she wasn’t interested in small talk tonight—or any consoling. As promised, Jared was watching, too, and she didn’t want to jeopardize her right to be there, or anywhere else down the road if the occasion arose.
If it hadn’t been for the license plates and the familiar crystal star dangling from the rearview mirror, Michaele might have tried to convince herself that this vehicle wasn’t her sister’s.
“How you holding up, Little Bit?”
The voice spawning images of mangling gears belonged to Chester “Cuddy” Cudahy, the sheriff of Wood County. As usual the six-and-a-half-foot beef-loving, bourbon-worshipping man had an unsmoked cigar clamped between his stained teeth, and his red face was half hidden by a huge straw Stetson. Stereotypical as he looked, one glimpse of those compassionate, rheumy eyes made her own suddenly burn as though she’d rubbed them after harvesting a field of jalapeños.
“Hey, Sheriff. Sorry you had to be called out tonight.”
The East Texas icon, whose motto was “Keeping the department lean and the county clean,” tugged her close with a gruff gentleness for a brief hug. “Would have come regardless, once I heard this involves your kin, honey.”
“I appreciate that.” Michaele drew a deep breath. “I’ve already asked the chief his opinion of this. Would you mind giving me yours? What do you think is going on?”
Cuddy rolled his cigar between his tobacco-browned fingers. “Be easier to teach a three-legged dog to scratch.”
Jared joined them. “She thinks I’m keeping something from her.”
Michaele shot him a frustrated look. “I said no such thing. Did you tell him about the call?”
“He knows.”
“So she’s been kidnapped, right?” she said to Sheriff Cudahy.
“Possibly.”
“Well, what else could it be?”
“We’re trying to figure that out, Mike. Unfortunately, no one left us a note.”
His gentle chiding forced her to check her impatience. But as she made a complete circle to inspect their surroundings, the sight of the woods on either side of the driveway intensified her convictions. Even on a clear night with a full moon and the floodlights on, Michaele couldn’t get Faith to toss out a bag of trash for fear something might slither across her toes. The idea that she would willingly have come here, let alone walked away, was more than unacceptable. There was no way—not if a wild boar were snorting up her skirt.
“She’s been kidnapped,” Michaele said. “And with every hour the kidnapper is carrying her farther away.”
“Everyone in my department was called in as of a half-hour ago,” Cuddy replied. “Chief, you’ve called your day-shift people in, too, haven’t you?”
“Right.”
Cuddy gave her a “You see?” look. “I’ve also notified the Texas DPS, and all the counties around us have been called, too. Have a little confidence in us, Mike.”
She would love to; the problem was, nothing this close to home had happened to her before. Embarrassed, she nodded to the car. “Are you ready for me to take it?”
The two men exchanged glances, before Cuddy said, “It’s all yours…but you know the drill.”
A vehicle brought in as evidence was to be secured until released by legal authority. That meant she had to keep it locked in the fenced yard behind the garage so that it would be out of reach of anyone and everyone, in case it needed another going over.
“Tattooed on the brain,” she replied.
Michaele went back to work, anxious to get out of there. The place felt…evil. It was probably her imagination; nevertheless, she couldn’t help thinking something bad had happened