The Marshal's Hostage - By Delores Fossen Page 0,73
to check the database for missing and exploited children, make sure Will’s information was still there.
Over the years, he’d focused on making sure local law enforcement agencies as well as statewide ones didn’t give up looking. Even all these years later, he still had hope he’d find his brother.
Although that hope was harder to hold on to every day.
Worse, worry over what his brother had suffered ate at him constantly.
Still, he had to know if he was dead or alive.
* * *
SPECIAL AGENT JULIE WHITEHEAD ran her finger over the embossed wedding invitation from Cara Winchester and Mason Blackpaw, then tossed it into the trash. She had worked with Mason on the Slasher case along with Detective Miles McGregor, tracking down a notorious serial killer who’d committed horrific crimes against women. During the case, they’d made friends, but she couldn’t bear to attend the couple’s wedding—not when it was taking place on the Bucking Bronc Lodge.
Not when Brody Bloodworth would probably attend.
After all, he was the founder of the ranch for troubled boys, a project she whole-heartedly admired, but he was also the man who’d broken her heart. Even after seven years, the thought of seeing him again tore her in knots.
Of course, she hadn’t blamed him for hating her after his little brother had disappeared. If it hadn’t been for her selfishness, her eagerness to seduce him away from the rodeo, he would have been with Will, and the little boy never would have disappeared.
She’d never forgiven herself for that.
And she’d made it her sole mission in life to see that one day he was found.
The very reason she’d joined the TBI.
Agent Jay Cord, one of the agents who specialized in missing children cases, cursed as he strode over to her desk. “Dammit, did you hear that another little boy went missing?”
Julie’s lungs tightened. “Hank Forte. I feel so bad for that family.” Memories of the torturous hours after Will’s disappearance flashed back. “Any leads?”
“We’re still questioning all the workers at the fair, but so far nothing.”
She squeezed the stress ball on her desk, knowing the routine all too well. The family was always suspect, a fact that appalled her on their behalf and made her sick at the same time because a large percentage of the time they were guilty.
Next on their suspect list—their friends and relatives. The police and TBI would look into financials, search for motives, the whole time putting out feelers for pedophiles, ex-cons and mental patients. Then the wait for a ransom call. And what to do then?
And if one didn’t come...the terrible realization that their child might be dead. “The parents check out?” she asked.
“So far. Both seem devastated. No financial problems. No custody issues. No enemies that they know of.”
Julie frowned, thinking of all the cases they’d seen. The first forty-eight hours were crucial. Every second after lessened the chances they would find the child alive.
“I’m headed to Amarillo now,” Jay said. “Want to grab a bite of dinner with me on the way? There’s a great Italian place I’ve been wanting to try.”
Julie offered him a smile and considered the offer. She knew Jay wanted more from her than friendship or to be coworkers. But even though she liked and admired him, she didn’t have it in her heart to get involved with him.
Because your heart belongs to someone else.
No...because her heart had been broken, and she wouldn’t take the chance on love again.
Still, maybe she should give him a shot.
Julie stood and reached for her jacket to go with him, but her section chief Lee Hurt, strode in. “Wait a minute, Whitehead. I’ve got another case for you.”
Julie frowned. What could take precedence over looking for Hank Forte?
He strode to her computer, inserted a flash drive, then a second later clicked to open the file. Jay followed, probably wondering if it had to do with the Forte case.
“You’ve been looking for that kid William Bloodworth for years, haven’t you?”
Julie narrowed her eyes. Was he going to reprimand her? “Yes.”
“Take a look at this and tell me what you think.”
Jay leaned closer and the two of them watched as feed from a security camera filled the screen. Two teenage boys wearing dark hoodies walked into a convenience store, combed the aisles until the few customers inside left, then approached the cashier. Their faces were shrouded in shadows from the hoods, but the taller one held a pistol on the clerk, then demanded all their cash.
“Why are we watching a petty robbery?”