Blood Trails (15 page)

Bud felt sick. “I shouldn’t have let them go. I thought it was a bad idea from the start. I don’t know what the hell Andrew was thinking when he told them all that.”

“I’m beginning to agree,” Judd said. “Anyway, I’ll keep you updated on her progress and where we go once she’s released. However, I have one piece of advice for you. If you’re as much in love with Holly as I think you are, pack your damn bags and go get her while she’s still in one piece.”

Bud was so shocked that for a moment he couldn’t think. Finally he had to ask, “How did you… I didn’t think anyone… Damn it! Does everyone know?’

“No. At least, I don’t think so. I just recognized the signs. I’ve felt the same way about Savannah for as long as I can remember. And as soon as those damn papers she’s been talking about are filed, I’m bringing her home.”

Bud’s hands were shaking. “Yeah, okay…thanks for calling.”

“Listen, I’ve got to go. I don’t want to leave Savannah alone for too long.”

The dial tone was all the punctuation Bud needed. He didn’t have a lot of time to prepare, but this was the last straw. He grabbed the Missoula phone book, found his uncle Delbert’s number and punched in the number. It rang four times before the call was answered, but the old man’s familiar voice was music to his ears.

“Who’s callin’?”

“Hey, Uncle Delbert, it’s me, Bud.”

Delbert Walker’s wife had been a sister to Robert Tate’s unmarried mother, and both women had died young, leaving young Robert to bounce from one family to another until he was grown.

“How you doin’, boy? Takin’ good care of yourself?” Delbert asked.

Bud smiled. He was thirty-nine, and his uncle still called him “boy.”

“I’m fine, Uncle Delbert, but I have a favor to ask.”

“Sure, if I can. What do you need?”

“I need a temporary foreman. All three of Andrew’s daughters are gone, and one of them, Holly, is in serious need of my help. I need to fly to St. Louis. Not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

Delbert resisted the urge to show his delight, considering the serious reason he’d been asked to help out. It had been a while since someone really needed him, and moving to a retirement home hadn’t been a choice but a necessity.

“I’m sorry to hear Holly’s got problems, but I sure don’t mind coming out to the Triple S. I reckon I can handle whatever needs to be done until you get back.”

“Basically it’s just a matter of issuing orders, Uncle Delbert. The ranch hands are a good, hardworking group, but I’d feel a lot better if there was someone with your experience calling the shots.”

“Truthfully, it’ll be good to get back on the land,” Delbert said. “Moving into Missoula after I sold the ranch was probably good for me, but I sure do miss the outdoors. When do you need me?”

“I’ll get the men started in the morning and let them know you’re coming, but if you could be here by noon, I would appreciate it. I’ll leave a house key for you on the kitchen counter, and the back door will be unlocked. There’s plenty of food. You’ll have to dig around to find out where everything is, and you can sleep in my bedroom. It’s the last room on the left, down the long hall.”

“You can count on me,” Delbert said.

“I thank you,” Bud said.

“You’re welcome, boy. You be careful and take good care of Holly.”

“I will do that for sure,” Bud said, and hung up, then headed for the office.

Within fifteen minutes he’d booked a 6:00 a.m. flight to St. Louis, getting him into the city before 2:00 p.m. He glanced at the clock. It was a hell of a time to wake someone up and with bad news, but he had to let Holly know about Savannah. He didn’t know how high profile the wreck had become, but the last thing he wanted was for Holly to hear the news on TV or see some clip online. Maria was still in intensive care. For the time being, she didn’t need to be bothered with anything more than concentrating on getting well.

He dialed Holly’s number, then took a deep breath, willing himself to a calm he didn’t feel.

Holly had fallen asleep on top of the covers, and when her cell phone began to ring, she sat up with a jerk, fumbling for the lamp. When she saw who was calling, her hands began to shake. It was all she could do to answer.

“Hello?”

“Honey…it’s me, Bud. I’m sorry to be calling so late.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said. “I was hoping you would call.”

Bud frowned. “I’m not sure you’re going to think that when you find out why I called.”

“What’s wrong? Is it Maria? Did she take a turn for the worse?”

“No, it’s not Maria. It’s Savannah. I’m telling you first that she’s okay, but someone tried to kill her today. They rigged her car, and she went over a bridge called the MacArthur Causeway into the Atlantic.”

Holly moaned in disbelief. “Noooo. Oh, my God, Bud… Oh, my God.”

“Judd said nothing is broken, but she has a concussion, some cuts and bruises. They’re keeping her in the hospital for a couple of days.”

“I’m scared.”

“So am I—for you,” Bud said. “I need you to do something for me.”

Holly couldn’t quit shaking. She wanted to pack up everything she owned and get on the first plane back to Montana.

“What?” she mumbled.

“Don’t leave your room again until I get there.”

Holly’s heart leaped; then her eyes filled with tears. “You’re coming here?”

“My plane leaves Missoula at six o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ll be in St. Louis around 2:00 p.m. if there are no delays.”

“Thank you, Bud, thank you so much.”

“I don’t need thanks.”

Holly shivered. The gruff, raspy tone in his voice rattled her. Even as she asked the question, she knew what he was going to say.

“What
do
you need?”

“Just you, baby.”

“That scares me, too,” she whispered.

Bud pinched the bridge of his nose to quell a surge of panic. Was this where she told him that she didn’t feel the same way he did? He had to make it right. He couldn’t bear it if she suddenly became afraid or uneasy around him.

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have ever said anything to—”

“No, you misunderstand me,” Holly said softly. “I’m not scared of you. I’ve loved you for years.”

Bud could have wept with relief. “Then it’s all good,” he said softly. “I just need you to stay safe until I can get to you. Can you promise to do that for me?”

“I didn’t leave the room all day,” Holly said. “I won’t budge until you get here, I promise.”

“Thank you, honey,” he said. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through this thing you’re dealing with, but we’ll do it together, so you won’t be in any danger, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Holly.”

The breath caught in Holly’s throat. “I love you, too.”

“Thank you, God,” Bud said, and hung up.

Holly dropped the phone, then covered her face. First Maria, now Savannah. What had they gotten themselves into?

Bill Riley had gone from a van and a motorcycle to a stakeout of Mackey’s residence. He’d set up shop in an empty house across the street, with a telescope on a tripod, a hookup for his laptop, a large everything-pizza from Pizza Hut and a liter of Mountain Dew. Even if Mackey was the man they were looking for, Riley had a feeling the killer in him had hung up those shoes years ago. With no new bodies showing up and a man who didn’t even have a speeding ticket to his name, whatever had triggered his killing spree had either resolved itself or Mackey was the slickest SOB he’d ever met when it came to covering his tracks.

He watched the lights going on and off in different parts of Mackey’s house until they all went off for good a little before 11:00 p.m., then went back to his laptop to finish typing up the route Mackey had taken today. Once he’d completed his notes, he emailed them to Detective Carver, then moved from email to some police-friendly search engines and began looking up everything he could find on Harold Mackey. It wasn’t part of his assignment, but Riley was an overachiever. And it helped pass the time.

Mackey knew the house across the street was empty. It had been for sale for months. So what the hell was that faint glow coming through the curtains? The possibility that someone had broken in and was vandalizing the place was the most logical answer, but Harold wasn’t the kind of man to get himself involved. He stayed in his recliner, watched his usual shows and, when it was bedtime, went through the house turning off lights. Then he stood in the dark, staring out the window at that strangely stationary glimmer of light.

It bugged him. Harold liked routine, and this was out of place. Again he thought about calling the police, then changed his mind, took off his slippers and put on his sneakers, and went out the back door, took the alley behind his house all the way down to the end of the block, crossed the street under cover of a broken streetlight, then made his way up the back alley leading behind the empty house.

He stopped, listening as he would if he’d been in the woods, aware of the sounds of his neighborhood. There were no dogs, which was helpful. He heard a door slam a few houses down and guessed it was the new father carrying out another garbage bag full of dirty diapers. He heard sirens, but that meant nothing. Cities were full of sirens. He heard the sounds of televisions and could tell from the two nearest houses what shows they were watching. But there was no sound coming from the empty house.

Once he’d committed himself, there was no stopping. He walked into the backyard, the sounds of his footsteps muffled by the growth of new grass that had yet to be mowed. The night air was chilly, with a brisk breeze that blew his ponytail across his left shoulder, but he paid it no mind. His focus was on getting around to the side of the house without being detected. Between the shades on the windows and his years in the woods, he had no problem accomplishing the feat.

He reached the side of the house and the living room windows. The venetian blinds hadn’t been pulled all the way down. When Harold peered in, he could see nearly everything.

He had expected to see someone, but he hadn’t expected the telescope on a tripod, or the man kicked back in a folding chair with a laptop on his knees. The glow of the screen was even brighter from where he was standing, but he was too far away to see anything but a blur.

What surprised him was that the man didn’t appear to be some homeless guy looking for a place to crash or a thief looking for something to steal. And there was that telescope. The son of a bitch had it aimed straight at his house.

The hair rose on the back of his neck as he backed away from the window and retraced his steps. By the time he got back to his house, he was shaking. What the hell did this mean? If it had been twenty years ago, he would have known, but now…?

He locked the door behind him and walked through the house in the dark, his mind racing. He got into bed without turning on the lights, but he couldn’t sleep. He needed to think.

What about his life was different now than it had been? Had he done anything different? He began thinking back over the past few days, trying to remember what, if anything, stood out. There was the phone call to his work, and then the young woman he’d tailed. What was her name? Oh, yeah, Holly Slade. He’d also followed her to the police department. He’d written that off as nothing concerning him, but it seemed now that he might have been wrong about that. The big freaking question was what the hell was going down?

Holly was sick with worry. She tried to call Savannah, but it went to voice mail over and over. Then she realized that Savannah’s phone was most likely at the bottom of the ocean with the car she’d been driving. She had to trust that her sister would call when she could. Until then, she had to wait.

When daylight finally came, she was exhausted. She hadn’t done more than doze. Her head was throbbing, and there was a knot in her stomach. They’d all been so happy before Andrew died, and now everything kept going from bad to worse.

She needed to get a grip on her emotions, but her thoughts just keep moving in the same hopeless loop. No matter how many times she tried to deny it, the truth was, she and her sisters were in serious danger because of their pasts.

When the maid knocked on the door asking to clean the room, Savannah let her in, then curled up in a chair to watch her work, thinking she used to do the very same tasks back at the ranch and take pleasure in a job well done. Within twenty minutes the sheets had been changed, the bathroom cleaned and the floor vacuumed.

“Is there anything else that you need?” the maid asked.

“No, thank you,” Holly said.

Once she was alone again, there was little to do but watch TV and the clock, counting down the minutes until that knock on her door. It was almost eleven before she realized she hadn’t eaten since last night. She ordered extra sandwiches and chips, knowing that Bud would most likely be hungry when he arrived, but when the meal came, she couldn’t eat much for the knot in her stomach.

Finally she covered up the food, crawled up on the bed and, as always, reached for the journal. She was asleep before she read past the first page.

Bud had never been to St. Louis, but he recognized the Arch as the plane was circling to land. His anxiety was at an all-time high. All he could think about was seeing Holly’s face, holding her in his arms, as he prayed that this nightmare would soon be over.

After he picked up his luggage he opted for a cab instead of a shuttle, wanting to get to the hotel as soon as possible, but they kept running into traffic snarls. It seemed as if the universe was plotting to keep them apart.

When he finally reached the hotel, he was a bundle of nerves. He grabbed his bag and strode into the hotel lobby, paused for a moment to orient himself, then headed for the elevators. He knew she was in Room 663. All he needed now was to get to the sixth floor.

He got on the elevator, unaware of the attention he was drawing as a tall, good-looking cowboy wearing a leather jacket, a Stetson and his best pair of Justin boots.

When he reached the sixth floor, he hefted his suitcase and once again paused just long enough to determine his direction, then headed down the hall. The closer he got to Holly’s room, the longer his stride became.