Cowboy Tough (22 page)

Cat and Viv hunched over the computer, exploring Trevor's website.

“Dora's not into this fashion crap.” Cat winced, realizing Viv probably was. “Why would she have become Trevor's ‘friend' in the first place?”

Viv was scrolling rapidly through the blog. “He posts coupons sometimes, and advice on makeup and stuff. Every girl clicks on that stuff once in a while—even Dora. And he has buttons right there to ‘like' his Facebook page, and once she does, it's easy for him to get her to ‘friend' him. And look how many friends she has. I mean, she must just friend everybody.”

“Was he having any conversations with Dora on Facebook?” Cat asked.

Viv shook her head. “I couldn't find any comments from him or anything. Not for the past few months, anyway. He's probably just lurking.”

“Lurking?”

“Reading posts, but lying low. Not commenting. Then people forget you're there.”

Mack strode in the barn door. “How do you know about this stuff?” he demanded.

Viv rolled her eyes. “I'm smack-dab in the middle of the Facebook demographic, Dad. I have to know about this stuff. Would you rather I
didn't
know about lurkers?”

“Guess not.”

Ed toddled into the barn, moving stiffly from his days in the saddle. “You seen Charles?” he asked. “Me and the ladies haven't seen him all day.”

Cat met Mack's eyes and saw her own worries reflected there.

“Do you think…”

“I don't know what to think anymore,” Mack said. “Did anyone see him at breakfast?”

Cat opened and closed her mouth a few times before she managed to answer. “He was there. But he left as soon as I said Dora was missing. Do you think…”

She didn't have to finish. The idea that Charles could be in cahoots with Trevor struck them all speechless.

“He wouldn't,” Abby said. “He's a good guy.” She ducked her head, and her plump face flushed scarlet. Maybe Cat wasn't the only one who was enjoying something more than the scenery at the Boyd Dude Ranch.

Emma looked up into Abby's flushed face. “You're not
involved
with him, are you?”

“Not really,” Abby muttered. “Well, maybe a little. And, Mom, you liked him. You know how nice he was. You said he was a gentle giant.”

“We don't really know him, though,” Emma said. “And that tattoo…”

“Exactly.” Ed had folded his arms across his chest and thrown his shoulders back. “Why would a good guy have a tattoo like that? I think he's been in prison, or maybe a gang.”

The light dimmed as a hulking shadow filled the barn's doorway.

“Nope. Not a gang.” The light returned to normal as Charles stepped inside. Fishing a wallet out of his back pocket, he flipped it open to reveal a brass shield.

Cat and Viv were openly gaping at the man, and Mack wasn't doing much better. “You're a cop?”

“FAM.” He snapped the wallet closed and took in their blank looks. “Federal Air Marshall.”

All three of them goggled at him. He grinned, then let out a chuckle and turned to Ed. “Surprise.”

“Oh.” Ed waved a hand vaguely in the air. “I thought it might be something like that. Didn't want to give you away. You're undercover, right?”

“I prefer to call it camouflage.” Charles shoved the wallet back in his pocket with his lizard-bedecked hand. “It helps to blend in with the bad guys.”

“So what can you do?” Cat quickly caught him up with what they'd found and showed him the website. “This is Trevor's website. He came back last night, but he's gone now—and so is Dora. We think he—he…” She couldn't go on.

“We think he took her,” Viv said.

Charles studied the screen a moment.

“You might be right,” he said. “That guy's been putting my back up the whole trip.”

“I don't want to be right,” Cat murmured. Mack put an arm around her. She thought about shrugging it off, but this was one of those times when it felt good to be taken care of—even if he couldn't solve the problem.

“You got any info on him?” Charles asked.

“I can check the forms,” Cat said. “But the company doesn't do background checks.” She looked sheepish. “I didn't even know peoples' ages. He probably lied anyway.”

“He flew here, right?”

She nodded.

“Whose computer is this?”

Viv raised her hand like a school student. “Mine.”

“Mind if I use it to check a few things?”

Viv shook her head quickly. “Go for it.”

“We'll check NCIC, see if he has a record. See if there have been any similar episodes. We'll…”

“NCIC?” Mack asked.

“National Criminal Information Center.”

“See?” Abby punched the air. “Told you he was one of the good guys. We'll have that jerk roped and hog-tied in no time.” She winked at Cat. “And then you two can ride off into the sunset like in one of those old movies.”

She was talking to Mack and Cat, but she glanced over at Charles as she said it and the two of them exchanged knowing smiles. There was definitely something going on there. And they probably had a better chance at a happy ending than he and Cat did. Right now, it seemed like the two of them were riding off into a thunderstorm, not a sunset.

***

Charles was clearly more at home on a computer than he was in the saddle. He played the keyboard like a piano, filing a form on one federal database, then killing time while he waited for a response by uncovering a LinkedIn profile that outlined Trevor's career as an employee of the State of New York. In real life, Maines was nothing but a petty bureaucrat who distributed recycling containers and oversaw the sorting of paper from plastic.

“Nothing on NCIC,” Charles said. “Guy doesn't have a record.”

“Well, that's something. So what do we do now?”

Charles tapped the keyboard a few times and brought up a new profile. This one was topped by the same image of the young Trevor Maines that Viv had found in Dora's sketchbook.

“Match.com?” Abby shoved her way to the front of the crowd circling the computer. “Boy, you federal agents have access to everything.”

Charles ducked his head. “I'm not really performing in an official capacity right now.”

“What? You mean…”

Ed slapped his knee. “Looking for love on the Internet, hey? I've heard that works pretty well.”

Emma shoved an elbow in her husband's ribs and he winced.

“I travel a lot,” Charles mumbled. “Hard to meet women.”

“That's what vacations are for,” Abby said. She simpered, and Mack cringed—but Charles just smiled.

***

The crunch of tires on the driveway led them all to the door to see a dark blue cruiser with the logo of the State of Wyoming on the side. Just the sight of the officer's neat uniform made Cat feel like things were under control. Charles was good. This was better.

The fact that the trooper was a manly six foot something and built like a beefcake model didn't hurt. And she had to admit it was nice to see a man with a crease in his pants.

Mack and Viv had emerged from the barn with her, but the cop focused on Cat immediately. Resting one elbow on the roof of the car, he took off his mirrored sunglasses, revealing soulful brown eyes in a square, honest face.

“I understand you have a missing person.” He whipped a small notebook out of his shirt pocket, along with a pencil. The man exuded an air of competence, and Cat felt suddenly fluttery and weak.

“My niece.”

“There's a good chance she was abducted or lured off.” Mack stepped up with a photo of Trevor that Charles had printed off the computer in the ranch office. “By this man.”

“And who is he?” The trooper lifted one brow toward Mack, and Cat finally recovered from her girlie state to feel the hostility simmering in the air.

“A guest on the ranch.”

“And you're accusing your guest of kidnapping because…”

“Because I caught him in the girls' room last night. And I've seen how he looked at Dora. Since the two of them are missing at the same time, it's obvious.” Mack shifted impatiently. “We found a website where he posts pictures of teen girls. Trust me, he's trouble.”

“He's the driver on the Lexus you called in?”

Mack nodded. “A silver Lexus SUV. A rental.”

“And you say you…” The trooper looked down at his notes. “Caught him in the girls' room?”

Mack nodded. “I chased him off, but he turned up again last night. Drunk.”

“And he left this morning?” The trooper frowned. “Was he sober enough to drive?”

“Wasn't my day to watch him,” Mack said.

“Sounds like it should have been.”

Cat glanced from the trooper to the cowboy. She sensed something more than a cop/constituent relationship here. She sensed a pissing contest. It was masculine, petty, and probably not very productive.

“I can't believe he managed to get out of the house,” Mack said. “He was drunk as a skunk.”

“Maybe he was faking it,” Cat said. “I'll bet you anything he planned this. Came back for her.” She almost choked as the thought occurred to her. “Viv's right. He's probably getting revenge.”

“So this is my fault?”

“It's not your fault Trevor's got an ego the size of Texas.” She turned to the cop. “Do you need the picture?”

He took it from her hand, his fingers brushing hers. Was that deliberate? “Why don't we go in the house?” Those big brown eyes seemed to speak of something way beyond reviewing the evidence. Could the guy possibly be trying to pick her up?

“You can tell me more about your niece,” he continued. “I need a detailed description, plus likes and dislikes, places she might go.”

She balked, unwilling to go in the house and talk about things they already knew. “Don't you need to send out the picture? And wouldn't it be better if you were out there looking for the Lexus?”

He didn't look pleased. Ego again. Men didn't like having their expertise questioned.

“We'll get to all that,” he said. “Let's go on in, and we'll talk.”

***

Mack watched Stan Brownfield walk away with Cat. He needed the man's help—or at least, he needed his radio and the cooperation of his coworkers. Brownfield himself he had no use for at all.

“Who is he?” Charles asked.

“State cop,” Mack said.

“I figured that out. But you know him, and you don't like him. Who is he?”

“Local guy,” Mack said. “I went to school with him.”

“Let's see.” Emma placed her index finger on her chin and looked thoughtfully skyward. “Quarterback, I'll bet. Big man on campus. Got all the girls and wronged every one of 'em.”

Mack barked out a bitter laugh. “You must have gone to high school in Grady too.”

“No,” she said. “But I know the type. And we're not going to let him take your girl.”

“She's not my girl,” Mack said. “Not even close. Not after this.”

He strode out to the hitching post, where Rembrandt was waiting patiently.

Mules were better company than women anyway. He always thought better around animals, and he needed to find a way to help Dora.

“Sorry, buddy.” He lifted the headstall over the long ears, cupping his hand to take the bit as the animal released it. “Left you in the hot sun, didn't I? We'll get you back in the barn.”

It was obvious that his tracking skills weren't going to help find Dora. And Brownfield had all the resources when it came to finding the Lexus.

But Mack knew Dora. The two of them had talked all day on the trail, hitting topics ranging from the nausea-inducing smarminess of Justin Bieber to the soul-numbing boredom brought on by the James Fenimore Cooper novel she had to read over the summer. Had Dora dropped any hints as to where she might go? They'd talked about food, music, trucks…

Trucks.

He felt his heart flutter with a surge of excitement. Slamming Rembrandt's stall door with a bang that made the normally placid mule let out a startled honk, he headed for the back of the barn and checked a row of hooks that were screwed onto a two-by-four nailed to the inside wall. Bundles of keys hung on four of the five hooks. The fifth was empty.

Swearing under his breath, he exited the back door and jogged to the machine shop. Half of the rickety old building housed excess bales of hay, keeping them out of the weather. The other side housed the ranch pickup, a 1954 International held together with duct tape, barbed wire, and rust. Dora had caught sight of it when he'd sent her for extra bales and asked if it ran.

It did.

Sliding the wooden bolt aside, he swung open the wide shed door.

The truck was gone.

He never thought he'd be so happy to have a vehicle stolen. He didn't know how Dora had managed to start the balky engine and take off without anyone noticing—especially Hank, whose bathroom window looked out over the shed.

But of course, Hank had been busy last night. Mack shuddered and shoved that thought aside. His own worries would have to wait. He needed to find Dora.

Hopefully she'd just gone joyriding, or taken off to get a break from the group. The thought of calling Brownfield flashed across his mind. The old pickup would be easy to spot, with its rattletrap tailgate and dented side door.

But she couldn't have gone far. The truck ran, but just barely. Once Dora hit the hills, she'd be lucky to make thirty miles an hour. If she headed west, there was no way she'd make it over the pass. And if she went east, there was a good chance the truck would break down on the way. It needed a new water pump, and he was pretty sure the fuel filter was clogged.

He headed back to the ranch office. Cat was sitting in the battered office chair with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at the phone.