phone rang. The caller was Natalie, who was waiting back at the ranch with the rest of the family. She’d called Tori because Beau wanted to keep his phone free for police or FBI calls. “Any news?” she asked.
“Nothing yet.” Tori forced herself to use her lawyer voice. She was crumbling inside, but this was no time to break down.
“They’re sure it was Stella who took her—and shot Clay?”
“Positive. The sheriff ’s men matched up the boot prints and tire tracks. Plus, the waitress at the Blue Coyote hadn’t seen her boss all afternoon. The best guess is that she’s headed for Mexico. The highway patrol has an all-points bulletin out, but no one’s spotted her car. She may have switched vehicles.”
“Oh, Tori . . . ,” Natalie whispered.
“Don’t,” Tori said. “Sympathy can wait.”
“They must be doing more than that to find her,” Natalie said.
“There’s a statewide AMBER alert out for her. And the police will be checking every car that leaves the country through Eagle Pass. If all Stella wanted was revenge, she could’ve killed Erin when she killed Clay. If she’s keeping her alive, and taking her over the border, it’s for one . . . reason.” Tori choked on the last words.
“I’ll let you go,” Natalie said. “Tell Beau I called. We’re all praying.”
“Thanks.” Tori ended the call, struggling to get a grip on her emotions. It was all she could do to keep from dashing outside, jumping into her station wagon, and rushing off in the night to find her daughter. But that would be useless. All she could do was stay here and endure the agony of minutes crawling past with no word.
Will was sitting next to her on the couch. Tori reached for his hand and felt his big, rough palm close around hers. They held each other in silence, seeking comfort, drawing strength, and sharing the pain that only parents of a loved child could know.
A light rap on the door jerked them all to attention. Beau opened it to find Sheriff Rafe Sanchez on the porch. Just twenty-two, the son of an unmarried Mexican mother, he’d stepped into Abner’s job barely a week ago. Now he was in charge of investigating the scene of Erin’s kidnapping and the murder of Clay Drummond.
“Any news?” His dark eyes took in their stricken faces. “No, I guess not. I just wanted to give you an update on what we found at the scene. I don’t know if I’m supposed to share it, but . . .” He shook his head. “What the hell, you deserve to know.”
“Come in.” Beau stepped aside and ushered him into the living room. “Have a chair. Can we get you something to drink?”
“Thanks, but I can’t stay.” He remained standing, a tall young man, his lean body still filling out. “We’re pretty sure Stella was blackmailing Clay. We found a surveillance tape in his hand—something that would’ve ruined him if it had gone public.”
“That’s no surprise,” Beau said. “Blackmail was Stella’s stock in trade. We know better than to ask you what was on the tape.”
Sanchez nodded. “For now, we’re not telling the family. Stella’s prints were on the cassette. She could’ve offered it to Clay in exchange for delivering Erin.”
“Erin would’ve trusted Clay.” Tori felt a wave of staggering rage. “It couldn’t have been too hard for him to get her in his car.”
“So Stella gave him the tape and then killed him.” Will was on his feet. “The woman who’s got our daughter isn’t just a kidnapper. She’s a cold-blooded murderer—but I guess we already knew that.”
“Yes.” Sanchez’s English was measured, as if he’d learned most of it in school. “She’s capable of anything. But if she went to that much trouble, she must want to keep Erin alive, most likely to sell her. At least that buys us some time.”
But how much time? Will and Beau exchanged glances. In a kidnapping the odds of a safe recovery dropped exponentially with every hour that passed. Time, they knew, was swiftly running out.
* * *
Erin stirred and opened her eyes. She was still in the trunk of Stella’s car, bound hand and foot by duct tape. Her neck was sore, her face bruised and tender where Stella had hit her. Her throat felt as if she’d eaten a fistful of sawdust. Her limbs were cramped, and her shoes, she realized, were gone.
The darkness smelled of cigarette smoke, mildew, and dirty carpet. Being in the trunk was like being inside