Cold Case at Cobra Creek (3 page)

Relief spilled through Sage. “Then my son... He may still be out there. He may be alive.”

Dugan and the medical examiner traded questioning looks, but the sheriff’s frown made her flinch. Did he know something he wasn’t telling her? Was that the reason he’d closed the case so quickly after Benji disappeared?

“Ms. Freeport,” Sheriff Gandt said in a tone he might use with a child, “Dr. Longmire believes Ron Lewis has been dead since the day of that crash. That means that your son has been, too. We just haven’t found his body yet. Probably because of the elements—”

“That’s enough, Sheriff,” Dugan said sharply.

Sheriff Gandt shot Dugan an irritated look. “I believe your part is done here, Graystone.”

Sage gripped the edge of the desk. “How did Ron die, Sheriff?”

“Ms. Freeport, why don’t you go home and calm down—”

“He died of a gunshot wound,” Dugan said, cutting off the sheriff.

Sage barely stifled a gasp. “Then the car crash...? That didn’t kill him.”

“No,” Dr. Longmire said, “he most likely bled out.”

Sage’s mind raced. Who had shot Ron? And why? “The shot caused the crash,” she said, piecing together a scenario in her head.

“That would be my guess,” Dr. Longmire said.

“Was there a bullet hole in the car?” Dugan asked Gandt.

Sheriff Gandt shrugged. “I don’t know. The fire destroyed most of it.”

Sage folded her arms and stared at the sheriff. “But that bullet proves Ron Lewis’s death was no accident. He was murdered.”

* * *

D
UGAN WORKED TO
rein in his anger toward Gandt. The weasel should be comforting Sage and reassuring her he’d do everything humanly possible to find the truth about what happened to her son.

That was what he’d do if he was sheriff.

But he lacked the power and money the Gandts had, and in this small town, that seemed to mean everything.

“It appears that way,” Sheriff Gandt told Sage. “And I will be investigating the matter. But—” he lifted a warning hand to Sage “—if your son had survived, we would have found him by now, Ms. Freeport. Odds are that the shooter fired at Lewis, he crashed and managed to get out of the car and fled. Maybe your son was with him, maybe not. But if he made it to the water with Lewis, he couldn’t have survived the frigid temperature or the current. He would have been swept downstream and drowned.”

“Sheriff,” Dugan snarled, hating the man’s cold bluntness.

The M.E. gave Sage a sympathetic look, then excused himself and hurried out the door.

Sheriff Gandt tugged at his pants. Damn man needed a belt to keep the things up. That or lose thirty pounds around his belly so he didn’t have to wear them so low.

“I know you want me to sugarcoat things, Graystone, but I’m the sheriff, not a damn counselor. I tell it like it is. Good or bad.”

Still, he could consider Sage’s feelings. She’d lost a child. “Part of your job is to protect innocent citizens and to find out the truth when something happens to one of them. Benji Freeport was three. He was certainly innocent.” Dugan squared off with the sheriff. “But you haven’t done a damn thing to give his mother closure or find the answers she needs.”

“You think bringing her a mangled bunch of bones is going to make her feel better?” Sheriff Gandt said.

“That would hurt, but at least I’d know the truth,” Sage said. “And now that we know Ron was murdered, there is a chance that whoever shot him took Benji.” Sage’s voice cracked. “That means that Benji may be out there, alone, in trouble, needing me. That he’s been waiting for us to find him all this time.”

Dugan’s chest tightened at the emotions in her voice. Emotions she had every right to feel, because she’d spoken the truth.

Sheriff Gandt swung a crooked finger toward the door. “I don’t need either of you telling me how to do my job. Now, leave so I can get to it.”

“Then let me know what you find.” Sage clutched her shoulder bag, turned and walked out the door.

Dugan stared at the sheriff. “She deserves to know what happened to her son. And if he’s alive, she deserves to bring him home.”

“She’s deluding herself if she thinks she’ll find him alive,” Sheriff Gandt said. “She needs to accept that he’s gone and move on with her life.”

Dugan had never had a child, but if he did and that child disappeared, he’d move heaven and earth to find him. “You are going to investigate Lewis’s murder, aren’t you? After all, you owe it to the people in the town to make sure that his killer isn’t still among them.”

Gandt tapped his badge. “In case you’ve forgotten, Graystone, the people elected me, so they obviously have confidence in my abilities. Now, get out of my office.”

Dugan shot him a go-to-hell look, turned and stormed out the door. The man might make a token gesture to solve Lewis’s murder.

But he doubted he would put forth any effort to hunt for Benji Freeport.

Dugan spotted Sage sitting on a park bench in the square, her face buried in her hands, her body trembling.

He headed across the square to join her. If Gandt wouldn’t find Sage’s son for her, he would.

* * *

S
AGE WAS SO ANGRY
she was shaking all over. Sheriff Gandt had stonewalled her before.

But how could he dismiss her so easily now that they knew that Ron Lewis had been murdered?

Ron’s face flashed in her mind, and her stomach revolted. She’d been such a fool to trust him. Why had he taken her son with him that day? Where was he going?

And who had killed him?

The questions ate at her. None of it made sense.

Ron had waltzed into her life and charmed her with his good looks, his business sense and his talk of giving the town a face-lift and bringing in tourism. Tourists would have greatly impacted her income, so she’d been on board from the beginning.

Maybe that was the one reason he’d warmed up to her. Had he thought she could influence the town council with his plans for putting Cobra Creek on the map?

Footsteps crunched on gravel, and she suddenly felt someone beside her. A hand on her shoulder.

She jerked her head up, wiping at the tears streaming down her face, and stared into Dugan Graystone’s dark eyes. The man was a rebel of sorts and was the only person she’d ever known to go up against the sheriff.

High cheekbones sculpted an angular face, evidence of his Native American roots. His chiseled face was bronzed from work on the ranch, his hands were broad and strong looking, his big body made for ranching and working the land.

Or for a woman.

She silently chided herself. Just because she felt vulnerable and needy, and Dugan was strong and powerful looking, didn’t mean she’d fall prey to his charms.

No man would ever get close to her again.

“What do you want?” Sage asked, a little more harshly than she’d intended.

Dugan’s eyes flared at her tone. “Gandt is a first-class jerk.”

His comment deflated her anger, and a nervous laugh escaped her. “Yes, he is.”

“He said he’d look into Lewis’s murder.”

“Sure he will.” Sage brushed her hands together. “Like he looked into the crash two years ago.”

Dugan sank his big body onto the bench beside her. “I know you were engaged to Lewis and want answers about who killed him.”

Anger shot through Sage. “We may have been engaged, but that was obviously a mistake. The minute he took my son from my house without my permission, any feelings I had for him died.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t care why he was murdered. In fact, I would have killed him myself for taking Benji if I’d found him.”

A tense second passed. “I understand,” Dugan said in a gruff voice.

“Do you? That man took everything from me.”

The anguish in her tone made his chest squeeze. “I’ll help you,” he said. “I’ll find out why Lewis was murdered.”

Sage studied his face. He seemed so sincere. Earnest. As if he actually cared.

But she wouldn’t buy in to that, not ever again.

On the other hand, Dugan had run for sheriff and Gandt had beaten him, so he probably had his own personal agenda. He wanted to show Gandt up and prove to the town that they’d elected the wrong man.

She really didn’t care about his motive. “All right. But understand this—the only reason I want to know who killed Ron is that it might lead me to my son. Whatever dirt you dig up on Ron is fine with me. I don’t care about his reputation or even my own, for that matter.”

Dugan studied her in silence for a few minutes. Sage felt the wind ruffle her hair, felt the heat from his body, felt the silence thick with the unknown.

“I’ll do everything I can to help you,” Dugan said gruffly. “But I may not find the answers you want.”

Sage understood the implications of his statement. “I know that.” She gripped her hands together. “All I want is the truth...no matter what it is.”

“Even if it’s not pretty?”

Sage nodded. “The truth can’t be any worse than what I’ve already imagined.”

* * *

D
UGAN HOPED THAT
was true. But there was the possibility that they’d find out her little boy had been burned in the fire. Or that he’d been kidnapped by a cold-blooded murderer.

The scenarios that came to mind sent a shot of fear through him. For all they knew, the shooter could have abducted Benji and sold him or handed him off to a group trafficking kids. Hell, he could have been a pedophile.

In fact, kidnapping the boy could have been the endgame all along.

Someone could have hired Lewis to get the boy.

But if so, why?

He had to ask questions, questions Sage might not like.

“You’ve done investigative work before?” Sage asked.

Dugan nodded. “I’ve been called in as a consultant on some cold cases. I have a friend, Texas Ranger Jaxon Ward, who I work with.”

“How do you know him?”

“We go way back,” Dugan said, remembering the foster home where they’d met.

Sage arched an eyebrow in question, but Dugan let the moment pass. They weren’t here to talk about him and his shady upbringing. “In light of the fact that Lewis’s body has been found, I’m going to enter your son’s picture into the system for missing children.”

Emotions darkened Sage’s soft green eyes, but she nodded. “Of course. I tried to get Sheriff Gandt to do that two years ago, but he was certain Benji died in the crash or drowned, and said it was a waste of time.”

That sounded like shoddy police work to him.

“If you want to stop by the inn, I can give you one of the latest pictures I took.”

“I’ll walk with you over there now.”

Sage stood, one hand clutching her shoulder bag. “Why don’t you meet me there in half an hour? I have an errand to run first.”

“Half an hour,” Dugan agreed.

Sage hesitated a moment, her breath shaky in the heartbeat of silence that stretched between them. “Thank you, Dugan. I can’t tell you what it means to have someone listen to me. I...know some people think I’m nuts. That I just can’t let go.”

He had heard rumors that she set the table for her son at every meal, as if he was coming home for dinner. Hell, was that crazy, or was she simply trying to keep hope alive?

“I don’t blame you for not giving up,” Dugan said gruffly. “At least not without the facts or proof that your son is really gone.”

He let the words linger between them, well aware she understood the meaning underscoring his comment. If he found proof Benji was dead, she’d have to accept that.

But if there was a chance the boy was out there somewhere, he’d find him and bring him back to her where he belonged.

* * *

S
AGE UNLOADED THE GROCERIES,
grateful the couple staying at the inn had taken a day trip and wouldn’t be back until bedtime. Breakfast came with the room rental, but lunch and dinner were optional. In addition, she provided coffee and tea and snacks midmorning and afternoon, including fruit, cookies and an assortment of freshly baked pastries and desserts. She usually conferred with the guests on check-in and planned accordingly.

The doorbell rang; then the front bell tinkled that someone had entered. She rushed to the entryway and found Dugan standing beneath the chandelier, studying the rustic farm tools and pictures of horses on the wall.

People who visited Texas wanted rustic charm, and she tried to give it to them.

“I came for that picture.” Dugan tipped his Stetson out of politeness, his rugged features stark in the evening light.

“Come this way.” She led him through the swinging double doors to the kitchen. His gaze caught on the tabletop Christmas tree, and she bit back a comment, refusing to explain herself.

Maybe Benji would never come back.

But if he did, his present would be waiting. And they would celebrate all the days and holidays they’d missed spending together the past two years.

Chapter Three

Sage opened a photo album on the breakfast bar and began to flip through it. Dugan watched pain etch itself on her face as she stared at the pictures chronicling Benji’s young life.

A baby picture of him swaddled in a blue blanket while he lay nestled in Sage’s arms. A photo of the little boy sleeping in a crib, another of him as an infant in the bathtub playing with a rubber ducky, pictures of him learning to crawl, then walk.

Photos of Benji tearing open presents at his first birthday party, riding a rocking horse at Christmas, playing in the sprinkler out back, cuddled on the couch in monster pajamas and cradling his blanket.

Sage paused to trace her finger over a small envelope. “I kept a lock of Benji’s hair from his first haircut.”

Dugan offered a smile, tolerating her trip down memory lane because he understood her emotions played into this case and he couldn’t ignore them.

He shifted uncomfortably. He had a hard time relating to family; he had never been part of one and didn’t know how families worked. At least, not normal, loving ones. If they existed.

He’d grown up between foster care and the rez, never really wanted in either place.

She brushed at a tear, then removed a picture of Benji posed by the Christmas tree. “I took that the day before he went missing.”