Scene of the Crime Deadman's Bluff - By Carla Cassidy Page 0,76

you to Amarillo to work on the disappearance of the Forte boy. Whitehead, you’re right. Go talk to this kid’s brother, tell him what we’ve discovered.”

Emotions pummeled Julie. She’d waited years for this moment, to be able to tell Brody that she’d found his brother. To somehow make right the wrong she’d done years ago.

“Maybe you can convince him to help us find his brother and bring him in,” Hurt said.

Julie’s chest constricted.

Brody was going to be relieved, even thrilled, to know Will was alive.

But how would he feel when he learned the law wanted him? That once they found him, instead of coming home with him, he would probably go to jail?

* * *

BRODY’S CELL PHONE buzzed just as Mason kissed the bride. Laughter and cheers erupted, and the boys from the ranch shifted, anxious for the food. Miles gave his wife a big kiss, which started a chain reaction with all the happy couples in the audience—once again, a reminder that Brody was alone.

Music echoed from the guitar, everyone cheered and clapped, but his phone buzzed again, spoiling the moment. He glanced at the number, ready to let it roll to voice mail. But then he saw the number on the caller ID.

The Texas Bureau of Investigation.

His heart stopped for a moment. He’d memorized that number long ago.

It might not be about Will, he told himself.

Still, hope surfaced. Along with fear.

He knew good and damn well that the call might mean his brother was dead.

The phone buzzed again, and he headed toward the porch as the preacher introduced Mr. and Mrs. Mason Blackpaw and the couple danced down the aisle toward the reception area.

Gritting his teeth, he punched Talk. “Brody Bloodworth speaking.”

A breath whispered over the line, making him tense. “Who is this?”

“Brody, it’s Julie.”

His breath stalled.

“Special Agent Julie Whitehead from the TBI,” she continued, her voice slightly shaky.

Jesus, he’d heard she’d gone into law enforcement. Even read that she’d helped Mason and Miles find the serial killer who’d been cutting up women the last few months.

Picturing her in that role had been hard for him.

“Brody?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said. “Just shocked to hear from you.”

“I’m on my way to the BBL to see you,” she said. “It’s...about Will.”

He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose to stem the emotions assaulting him. God help him, he had thought he wanted answers.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Outside, the festivities continued as Mason and Cara cracked open the champagne. Miles McGregor made a toast in celebration of the new life the couple were starting together. They were happy, smiling, looking forward to their future.

Something he hadn’t done since that horrible day seven years ago.

Finally, he cleared his throat, willing himself to be strong. He’d waited years for this call; he had to know. “You found him?”

“Yes, we think so,” Julie said. “I’ll explain when I arrive.”

“Explain? What the hell does that mean?” All his pent-up anger, guilt and worry churned through him. “Just tell me, dammit, do you know where he is?”

“Not exactly,” Julie said. “Like I said, I’ll explain when I get there.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask the question that had tormented him every night since Will had disappeared, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

Not yet.

Julie hung up, and he sat down on the porch swing and knotted his hands into fists and waited. There was no way he could join the celebration right now.

Instead, he watched for Julie’s car, knowing she had the answers that he’d told himself he needed to move on with his life.

Only he’d been kidding himself.

The scenarios that screamed through his head did nothing but make him feel sick inside. And the truth, no matter what it was, couldn’t be pretty or Julie would have told him over the phone.

He had to brace himself for the worst. Trouble was he didn’t know what would be more horrible—finding out his brother was dead, or that he’d been held hostage and abused for years.

* * *

JULIE ADMIRED THE sprawling pastures and riding pens as she drove onto the BBL. She’d read about the ranch in the papers and seen pictures of the main house, cabins, stables, camp activities and counseling services offered by the ranch and had been stunned at what Brody had accomplished.

He’d always been a rough, hardworking cowboy and loved riding and roping, but he hadn’t grown up wealthy. In fact, his mother had died when he was younger and his father had barely kept their small ranch