Sunflower Lane (16 page)

“Your ex has full-time custody?” Wes asked.

“During the school year, yeah. Summers he comes to me. He should be here all the time, though, ’cause she’s made a wuss out of him. I’ve just been trying to wean him from the apron strings and he doesn’t like it much. But what difference does it make, Wes? I want to get my boy back and I want him safe!”

“So you called his mother and told her he ran away? Or did Sheriff Hodge?”

“Hell, I didn’t call her. Neither did Hodge. The kid called her—borrowed some older kid’s cell phone in Benson’s Drugstore, and when Paige didn’t pick up, he left her a voice mail saying he was on his way home—or something like that, according to her. Paige called me as soon as she heard it and nearly took my damned head off with all her yelling.”

“What did you really do to him, Clay?” Annabelle handed him back his phone. She kept her voice calm, but
she was boiling with anger and fear. She was angry with Clay Johnson, and afraid for his child.

If he was as big of a bully with Connor as he was with anyone else he thought was weaker than him—and based on what she’d seen, she suspected he was—that little boy must have been desperate to get away.

“Not a damned thing. You stay out of this, you nosy bitch—”

Wes’s fist shot out with a punishing thwack that sent Clay spinning off the porch, landing facedown in the dirt. The dog growled again, ears up and alert as the man on the ground swore.

“Get out of here now, Clay.” Wes spoke tautly. “One more word and I’ll beat the crap out of you. I mean it.”

“What’d she do to you? You’re back a few weeks and you treat me like this? We were friends, Wes. All through school. I thought I could count on you, that you’d care more about a missing kid than this piece of ass—”

“Don’t!” Annabelle grabbed Wes’s arm as he was about to launch himself at Clay. “He’s not worth it.”

Wes froze. Going still for a moment, he forced himself to draw a deep breath.

He wanted to kick Johnson’s ass from here to next Sunday, but Annabelle was talking to him, her tone low and urgent.

“Wes, we need to think about that little boy. His name isn’t really Bear. It’s Connor. Clay just calls him Bear because . . . Well, you know Clay. But Connor’s a sweet boy—he plays basketball with Ethan at the community center. We need to help find him.”

“We will. You’re right.”

She squeezed his hand, then stepped off the porch. As Clay managed to push himself unsteadily to his feet, she plopped her hands on her hips.

“You’re on my land, and I want you off it. Now. We’ll try to help find your son, but you need to leave. Go.”

His eyes narrowed and for a moment she thought he was going to scream at her, or even rush at her, but instead he took one look at Wes’s hard eyes and imposing presence, and spun around. Scowling, he strode back to his fancy black SUV.

“Fuck you. I’ll find him myself.”

The moment he roared away, back up Sunflower Lane and past her house, Annabelle rushed inside the cabin. Grabbing her cell phone, she speed-dialed Benson’s Drugstore.

Lem, who worked the cash register, answered on the third ring.

She wasted no time asking him whether he’d seen Clay Johnson’s son borrow a teenager’s cell phone.

“Matter of fact, I did. The little boy was all upset. I asked him what the trouble was when he came back up front, but he just rushed out.”

“Did you hear what he said on the phone?”

“No, but I bet Shannon Gordon did. She’s the girl that gave him her phone. She was standing by him in aisle two, near the candy and school supplies—and it seemed like she was trying to talk to him after, but like I said, he didn’t seem to say much. Kid was in a big hurry to leave.”

“Got it. Thanks, Lem.”

She turned to Wes. “Shannon Gordon is the one who loaned Connor her phone. Isn’t she best friends with Ivy?”

“She is. And you’re brilliant.” He caught her to him and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. “She and Shannon are almost inseparable. Come on, I’m calling Sophie and Rafe, see if they can help us track Shannon down.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were inside the Gordons’ small gray frame house, talking to both Shannon and Ivy, while Shannon’s mom, Kate, listened with a concerned frown.

Seated at the kitchen table, her daughter repeated the phone message Connor had left for his mother, telling her he was leaving, he couldn’t stay anymore with his father, and she had to come get him.

“Did he say
where
she had to come get him?” Wes interrupted.

“No, I don’t think so, not exactly. He said he couldn’t stay in town because his father might find him. He said he was leaving and—I think he told her to pick him up somewhere . . . but he said it really quietly and I didn’t quite catch it. I heard . . . something . . . but I’m not sure. . . .”

“Think, Shannon.” Wes’s tone was level. “Take your time. It’s important.”

The girl squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “I think he said something about a soldier. . . . No, no, he said a colonel. That’s it. He said he was going to the colonel. That she should come there.”

Annabelle and Wes stared at each other.

“Colonel who?” Annabelle muttered. “Who could that be? I don’t know of any colonels living in Lonesome Way. Maybe it’s someone in a nearby town. Do you—any of you—know?” She turned worried eyes to Kate and the girls.

“I don’t know any colonel in these parts.” Kate Gordon shook her head.

Ivy suddenly looked up. “Uncle Wes . . . this might sound dumb but . . .”

Her voice trailed off.

“Nothing’s dumb, Ives. Tell me.”

“There used to be a KFC a half mile out of Big Timber. By a big parking lot where they used to sell fireworks and touristy stuff at the edge of town. It closed a year or two ago, but . . . I don’t know. If Connor said he was going to the colonel . . . maybe . . .” Her voice trailed off as her uncle studied her thoughtfully.

“You could be right, Ivy.” Annabelle nodded. “It’s
probably six or seven miles from the outskirts of Lonesome Way. Maybe Connor thought he could walk there.”

“It’s far enough from here that he might have figured his father wouldn’t find him,” Shannon suggested. Then she glanced over at her mother.

“The three of us walked it once. Me, Ivy, and Val, I mean.”

Kate Gordon’s mouth dropped open. Ivy winced, apparently wishing her friend hadn’t mentioned that little fact.

“It was daytime—and summer—and we stayed a little ways off the road,” Shannon continued in a rush. “There were three of us, Mom, and we were perfectly safe!”

Wes stood and strode to the door. “Thanks, girls. It’s a start. We’ll check it out.”

“Good detective work, Ivy!” Annabelle shot a warm smile to the girl as she slung her purse over her shoulder.

“I used to read Nancy Drew when I was little. Now I watch
NCIS
.” Ivy grinned. “I just hope you find him. Will you let me know, Uncle Wes?”

“I’ll let you all know. Thanks, ladies.” Wes held the screen door for Annabelle and then followed her into the late-afternoon wind, blowing down from the north.

“You’re a pretty good detective yourself,” he told her when they walked outside. “That was a good idea, finding out who lent him the phone.”

“I read Nancy Drew, too. Let’s just hope we’re right about this colonel business. It’ll start getting dark in a couple of hours. And cold. I hate to think of that little boy out there all alone on some country road. My God, if it was Ethan or Megan or Michelle—”

She broke off, trying to shake the fear knotting in her stomach at the thought of a child alone, in trouble.

“We’ll find him, Annabelle.” Wes glanced at her as he placed his hand over hers. The strength and warmth of his touch calmed her.

“Let’s just hope we find him before Clay does,” she said in a low tone.

“Yeah. Clay’s on the verge of losing it.”

“You know, I get that he’s worried about the boy, but he’s so angry with him, too. We have to hope we or his mother get to him first.”

“Been hearing some rumors about Clay lately.” Wes opened the passenger side door for her. “None too flattering.”

“Why am I not surprised?” But she glanced at him, curiosity pricking through her as he sprang into the truck and backed out of the drive. “What sort of rumors?”

“A few people on the planning board have their noses out of joint,” he said. “Clay’s been rubbing folks the wrong way, pushing some zoning issues that would be good for the locations of his dealerships, but not as favorable to the downtown businesses.”

“And how do you know all this after being in town only a few weeks?” She was stupefied. She hadn’t heard a thing.

“Heard it on the down low. Sheriff Hodge and I had dinner together a couple of days ago. Professional courtesy, lawman to lawman. Seems the sheriff’s wife, Joanie, is on the planning board, too, and mentioned the tension there. Speaking of the sheriff, why don’t you call him and tell him our theory, see if he has any leads on the boy or if he wants to meet us at the old KFC site? The kid’s mother could be there any minute, too. Let’s hope she beats us there and is with him right now.”

Annabelle vaguely remembered Clay’s ex-wife. He and Paige had met in college, but the last time Annabelle had come home to spend Thanksgiving with Trish, Ron, and the kids, she’d heard that they were in the process of getting divorced. Charlotte had introduced her to Paige one time when they’d run into Clay’s soon-to-be ex outside of Carly’s Quilts on Spring Street.

She remembered Paige having pretty strawberry blond hair, and working as a school counselor. She’d seemed harried and stressed that day.

Of course, who wouldn’t be harried and stressed having to deal with Clay through something as complicated and nasty as a divorce?

Annabelle kept an eye out for a small boy as they wove their way through the back roads. When they neared the outskirts of Big Timber, thick woods reared up on both sides of the road. Her heart jumped when she spotted the empty lot ahead on a deserted corner, just a couple miles from the main streets of the town.

But here on the fringes, there was only a barren lot where a boarded-up drugstore and a burned-out diner now stood alongside the remnants of a building that had once been an old KFC.

Annabelle didn’t see any sign of Connor. She didn’t see anyone.

Maybe they’d beaten him here . . . but they hadn’t spotted him on any of the roads, either. . . .

She bit her lip, hoping hard that the child was here, perhaps hiding in the trees behind the lot, or in the brush alongside the road. Maybe he was waiting, alone and afraid and determined, watching for his mother.

She and Wes both jumped out of the truck and slammed their respective doors. Her hopes that the boy would hear and see them and perhaps emerge faded.

There was only silence. No little boy peeking out from behind a pile of broken lumber or the old skeleton of the chicken restaurant. No sign of movement from behind the tree stump at the far end of the lot, or in the thick mess of brush beyond both sides of the road.

“Call out to him.” Wes spoke quietly. “He’d probably be more reassured by a woman’s voice.”

She unclenched her hands. “Connor?” She tried to sound calm, reassuring. “Connor, it’s Annabelle Harper. I’m Ethan’s aunt, remember? You and Ethan are in basketball camp together. I’m here to tell you that your mom is on her way to get you. And we’d like to wait with you until she gets here.”

No sound. No movement. Not even the rustle of a breeze.

“Connor, please, are you here? Please come out. I’m with my friend Wes. He’s sort of a police officer and he wants to help you get to your mother, too. You can call your mom on my cell phone and tell her where you are, and we’ll wait with you until she comes.”

Still there was nothing. Her heart fell.

Maybe he wasn’t here, after all. Maybe he’d gotten hurt, or lost or . . . maybe there really was another “colonel” somewhere back in the vicinity of Lonesome Way? She didn’t want to even think about the possibility that the boy might have climbed into a stranger’s car. . . .

Her heart clenched as suddenly a small voice broke the silence.

“When’s my mom coming?”

Then a small figure pushed his way through the thick brush behind the parking lot.

“Whew. Good work,” Wes said under his breath.

Connor’s face was pale and scared. Annabelle spoke softly, curbing the urge to race toward him in relief.

“Connor, she’s on her way. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

But still the boy stayed where he was, his expression wary. “You’re not taking me back to my dad. Are you? Promise!”

“No way, buddy.” Wes leaned against the truck, relaxed and easy. The last thing he wanted was to spook the kid even more. His voice was smooth as caramel. “We’ll help you get to your mom; that’s it.”

Connor trotted forward then, straight toward Annabelle. Close up, she saw that his face was streaked with tears.

“Can I call my mom now? Please? Before my dad finds me?”

She knelt instantly and handed him her phone, her throat thick with emotion.

“Sure you can, sweetie,” she managed to gulp, even as she blinked back tears of relief. “You go ahead and call her right now.”

With her hair still damp and curling wildly after her shower, Annabelle darted into her bedroom, fighting panic.

Dinner.
She was going out to dinner. With Wes McPhee.

In fifteen minutes.

And she had nothing to wear.
Nothing.

Oh, she had clothes, but as she stood in her pale peach thong and matching bra before her open closet and studied its contents, there didn’t seem to be anything right for this occasion.

Not that it was an occasion, exactly—it was only dinner. Now that Connor was safely on his way back to Helena with his mother—after getting Sheriff Hodge’s blessing—Wes had suggested they celebrate.

It’s not really a date; it’s just a celebration,
she told herself.
A small boy helped to safety.

What do you wear for something like that?

Her cell rang. Was that Wes? Canceling . . . ?

Scooping up the phone, she saw Charlotte’s number.

“Char, I’m a little busy right now. Is it something important?”

“I’d say so. My bridal shower. I decided I want one!” Her friend laughed and rushed on before Annabelle could get in a word.

“I Googled everything about bridal showers and they’re not bad luck, not at all, so we’re on. Full steam ahead, for sure. I’m getting really excited now. You have to come to Livingston with me next week to help me find a dress—”

A dress. Reaching into her closet, Annabelle snatched a casual, flowy white lace dress she liked wearing over a sea green tank. Casual. Pretty. Perfect.

“Sure, you pick the day, but Charlotte, I have to go now. I’m running really late.”

“Late for what?”

“For . . . um, dinner.”

“With the kids? What, are they driving you crazy or something? Make some mac and cheese. Easy peesy,” Charlotte said cheerfully. “It’ll take five seconds—”

“No, not dinner with the kids. I’m . . . going out.”

“Going
out
?” Charlotte sounded blank. As if Annabelle had spoken in an alien tongue. “You mean . . . you have a date? With who? Wait, don’t tell me. Wes!”

“It’s not what you think. It’s just dinner. We’re celebrating something good that happened today. Char, I swear, if you don’t let me get off this phone, I’m still going to be naked when he gets here!”

“I bet he’d love that. Men are into naked. But yeah . . . go. And have fun! Don’t forget to tuck that lucky dragonfly charm I got you last year into your purse.”

Annabelle had lost that dragonfly charm somehow, and didn’t believe in lucky amulets anyway, but she let that go as Charlotte rushed happily on.

“Tim and I are having a little date of our own as soon as he gets home.” She giggled. “Naked, right here in bed.”

“Can’t get any luckier than that.” Annabelle tossed the dress and the tank on her bed and scanned her closet for the right pair of shoes. “But, Charlotte, this isn’t a date. It’s just . . . Charlotte? Charlotte?”

But Charlotte was gone.

And Wes’s truck would be rattling up that rough track any minute now.

Five minutes later she twirled in front of the mirror even as she heard a horn honk outside the house.

Not bad,
she thought, grabbing up her cell and her purse. The tank made the dress look casual, but still cute. She wore low, nude-colored heels, and her hair was thankfully dry, and fell in loose sunny waves across her shoulders.

Small gold hoops in her ears—and she’d even dabbed on some pinky peach lip gloss.

An odd feeling came over her as she rushed down the stairs.

She sure felt like she was going on a date.

Wes was waiting on the porch when she opened the door. Her knees quivered and she almost dropped her purse. Why did he always have to look so damned sexy? Irresistibly, ruggedly, dangerously sexy.

He held a black cowboy hat in his hands, and in that steel gray button-down shirt, jeans, and boots, he looked relaxed, handsome, and good enough to lick all over.

At the thought, she felt herself spark with heat. “Hi,” was all she could think to say. Only he had that effect on her.

“Hi yourself.” He smiled, a slow, easy, heart-melting smile that a woman could get used to, then caught her hand in his. “Hope you’re hungry, because I’m starved. We did good work today,” he added as they walked to the truck and he opened the passenger side door, helped her in.

“I bet you say that to all your partners.”

“Only the beautiful ones.”

She thought about that as he put the truck in gear and they took off down Sunflower Lane.

“Have you had a lot of them? Women partners in the DEA, I mean.”

“Sure,” he answered without hesitation. “At least a dozen on various teams. There’s not nearly as many women in the DEA yet as men, but the numbers are climbing. I’ve worked with some great female agents. The best.” His voice sounded tight as he said those last two words, and she quickly glanced at him.

“But . . . something, someone . . . didn’t work out so well?”

“Not in the way you think.”

He was silent for so long, she wondered whether he was going to continue or if she should change the subject, but then he spoke abruptly, his eyes on the starlit road ahead.

“My teams included some of the bravest and toughest women on the planet. A few were ten times tougher than any of the male partners I’ve ever had, and they were all pretty damned tough. But the toughest of all—”

He paused, his mouth tightening.

Annabelle waited, hearing the pang in his voice, sensing sadness, even grief.

“Cara Matthews. She and I were teamed up on a bunch of missions. She was one of a kind. The most badass of the badasses. And the best of the best.”

“What happened? Is she . . . Do you . . . still keep in touch?”

Wes stared at the road ahead and didn’t answer for a moment. “I wish,” he said at last, his voice tight. “Cara was killed in the line of duty.”

“I’m sorry.”

He let out a sigh. “I was halfway around the world when it happened. She was embedded with a good team, a solid
bunch of agents, but things got fucked-up. She didn’t make it back.”

Annabelle closed her eyes a moment, her heart filling with horror for a woman she’d never met—and with sympathy for Wes, for the very idea of him losing someone so important to him. She was trying to imagine this woman—brave enough to plunge into an underground world of illegal drugs and drug lords, a woman that tough and smart and strong.

“It must have been terrible for you. How . . . how long ago did she die?”

“Been a little over two years now. She was only thirty-two. For a long time, I kept thinking that if I’d been there on the ground when things went to hell, maybe it would have turned out differently. But I’ll never know. She was probably the best agent I’ve ever worked with—man or woman—and she—” He stopped abruptly, gritting his teeth.

“Sorry, Annabelle—I didn’t mean to keep talking about Cara. I wanted this to be a celebration. Not a wake.”

“I’m glad you told me about her. She was important to you, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah. She was. Cara was something else.” A brief smile flitted across his face. “She didn’t have one warm, cuddly, sentimental bone in her body, but she was one hundred and thirty pounds of guts, strength, and determination.”

Annabelle looked down, then stared straight ahead at the road before her. The summer darkness seemed to close in upon the trees like an ever-spreading, ever-thickening cloak.

Ask him. Just ask him
.

She had to know.

“Were you in love with her?” Her voice was very quiet.

Wes looked startled. “No.” He shook his head. “I’m not the
in love
type.”

He glanced at her quickly then. Warningly, she thought.

“
In love
doesn’t seem to be in my DNA. It was never like
that with Cara and me. We were friends, colleagues. Which isn’t to say we weren’t involved,” he added.

Then Wes hit the brakes hard as a wolf suddenly skulked across the road.

“It just happened,” he continued with a shrug when she remained silent. “We worked closely together, and we
got
each other, if you know what I mean. Hell, we made a great team. We knew what it was between us, though—and it wasn’t love. Not for either one of us. It was attraction and friendship and respect—especially with all that adrenaline rushing like Niagara Falls while we were teamed up. Add that to the fact that we knew all the same people, faced all the same risks, and there you go. Cara was good at her job, damned good. I admired the hell out of her. Her drive, her smarts. But I never loved her.” He glanced at Annabelle, his tone even.

“Cara’s kid brother died of a drug overdose when he was fifteen, and after that, she was driven to get drugs off the street. One dealer, one crime lord, one gang at a time. Nothing held her back. Not fear, not danger—there was no hesitation no matter the situation. I admired that.”

“She sounds incredibly brave.”
Unlike me,
Annabelle thought
. I didn’t even call the police on Zack the first half dozen times when he punched the wall right next to my head. Or that time he put his hands around my throat. I was too shocked, too stupid.

But you got over that big-time,
she reminded herself.
You left him and you learned to fight back. To steer clear and protect yourself, to be smart, careful.

“Do you mind if I ask . . . how she died?”

His mouth twisted. “Firefight. With some low-life thugs, small fish in a bigger pond. I was a continent away, up to my neck in a different case.”

“That’s horrible. I’m sorry, Wes. Did they catch the men who killed her?”

“They sure as hell did.”

They were driving past Carly’s Quilts on Spring Street and Annabelle could see the lights of the Double Cross Bar and Grill up ahead.

“Cara’s team went in—got them a week later,” Wes told her with satisfaction. “Those boys weren’t about to let the bastards get out alive. I only wish I was there with them when they took ’em down.”

She closed her eyes a moment, stunned by the world of violence he spoke of so casually.

“Knowing that she got justice—did that . . . give you a sense of peace in the end?”

They were rolling down Main Street and the center of town now, passing Pepperoni’s Pizza, which was packed inside and out, with people and their kids sitting at small tables outside, enjoying their pizzas and Cokes, the moon swimming bright overhead on this warm June night.

It seemed odd, she reflected, her throat dry, to talk about firefights and drugs and death while cruising along the peaceful streets of Lonesome Way. Here the biggest problems faced by Sheriff Hodge and Deputy Mueller seemed to be an occasional drunken fistfight, a shoplifting escapade, or some small-scale cattle rustling.

“Getting justice for Cara gave me satisfaction. Closure.” Wes shrugged. “But peace? Not really.”

He cut the wheel into the parking lot of the Lucky Punch Saloon, parked with swift efficiency in a spot near the entrance, and switched off the engine. “I’m not even real sure what that peace thing is.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ve gotten some measure of it working on the cabin. I did construction to put myself through college. I’ve always liked working with my hands. Guess there’s just something deep-down satisfying in that.”

Without thinking, she reached out to touch his hand. He was still gripping the steering wheel.

“I know what you mean, Wes. I think peace sometimes comes at unexpected times.” She hesitated. “When Trish and Ron died, I hurt like hell. I thought I’d never stop grieving. But I felt a sense of peace the instant I reached home.”

Suddenly she smiled into his eyes. “When I walked into our childhood house, moved through the familiar rooms, I was hit by all the memories. I was hurting like hell, but something quieted inside me.” Her voice was very soft. “Especially when those kids ran into my arms. I knew what I had to do—I knew the only thing that mattered. And I knew I was exactly where I belonged.”

She stopped then, shook her head. “Oh God, sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Too much talk about the past,” she murmured, annoyed with herself for bringing up a subject that could only be described as a downer. Opening the door of the truck, she hopped down, certain that Wes would never want to take her out to dinner again.

But the next thing she knew he was already around to the passenger side, standing beside her. He slammed her door, then drew her close to him.

“One thing I’ve learned about the past, Annabelle. It’s always with us. The good
and
the bad. There’s no escaping it. But . . . to be truthful, when I talked about that bit of peace I found working on the cabin . . . Well, I don’t just feel it then.” He stroked a hand through her hair, loving the silky feel of it sliding through his fingers. He smiled.

“I happen to feel it when I’m with you.”

She stared at him. “You do?
When?
”

He grinned. “For one thing, every time I take a bite of those amazing muffins you leave for me in the morning. And when I see you, anytime, anywhere—like today when I found you working in the garden—I just had to stop at the sight of you. I don’t know why—I can’t explain it exactly. And I didn’t even have a clue about the chocolates then.” He chuckled.