Fearless Gunfighter Read online

  “Believe me, I will.”

  And with or without Roland’s permission, she’d call on Lane Foster. Best tech geek in the business. If it was in cyberspace, he could find it. She already had a list of requests for him, some she could have done herself if she’d had the time.

  Sydney stood and Roland held out his arms for a sympathetic hug that was appreciated though awkward. Roland was normally the strictly business kind of boss.

  She gave a final nod, then hurried from the room, closing the door behind her. If her sister was in any kind of trouble, time was of the essence.

  No one knew that better than Sydney.

  Chapter Four

  It was a few minutes after seven when Sydney finally made it to the front door of Rachel’s condo. She’d spent most of the three hours since she’d landed renting a car, filling out a missing person’s report at the downtown police precinct and being interviewed by a blunt but hopefully efficient detective. The rest of the time had been spent fighting traffic.

  The detective had promised to give the case top priority though she had the distinct impression he wouldn’t, at least not yet. Thankfully, she had Lane behind the scenes.

  Her nerves tensed as she rummaged in her oversize travel purse for the key. Her sister had moved into the luxurious high-rise with her long-term boyfriend Carl Upton less than a year ago.

  Rachel still loved the apartment but her relationship with Carl had withered and died. He’d moved out last month, and according to Rachel, they’d both moved on. He still hadn’t returned her call from this morning.

  Key in hand, Sydney still hesitated. It wasn’t that she was afraid of what she’d find. Connie had assured her that she and the police officer had checked out every square inch of the living quarters.

  It was exhaustion, fear and the dread of facing the emptiness that held Sydney back now. She forced herself to turn the key and step inside.

  Sydney rolled her luggage out of the doorway and dropped her purse and her briefcase onto the small table in the entryway. The staggering sense of emptiness she’d expected didn’t materialize.

  Instead, the space overflowed with Rachel’s aura of warmth. The scent of the many candles she’d burned whenever she was home lingered in the still air.

  Everything was meticulously in order, as always. Sydney had missed out on their father’s neat-freak gene but Rachel had it in spades.

  Sydney walked through the living area and into the kitchen. Nothing amiss there, either. A check of the refrigerator revealed a few jars of condiments and preserves on the door shelves and very little else.

  Anything that would have spoiled while she was at the resort had obviously been tossed. The kitchen trash can was also empty. Rachel was a stickler for details. And the most reliable person Sydney knew.

  She would never fail to show up for work without contacting someone.

  So where was she now?

  Sydney’s mind searched desperately as it had all day for explanations that didn’t include a conclusion too horrible to imagine. Nonetheless, the serial-killer scenario skulked through her thoughts like a dark shadow, creating a biting chill that reached to the bone.

  But that was the worst-case scenario. She had to move past the crippling fear and focus on even the smallest scraps of evidence that could lead her to Rachel.

  Was it possible she’d had a nervous breakdown from the pressures she’d put on herself to become the youngest partner at Fitch, Fitch and Baumer?

  No. She had too much grit for that. If things had gotten that bad, she’d have told the senior partners off and walked away from the job.

  Had she been in a car crash that left her in a coma? Or perhaps had an accident that left her with temporary amnesia?

  Only Sydney—with Lane’s help—had checked every emergency room and hospital for miles around. No patients fit her description. And her car had not been located.

  Sydney’s cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID. Lane. She felt anxious and hopeful at the same time. God, did she need some good news.

  “What do you have for me?” she asked as soon as they’d exchanged a quick hello.

  “Rachel has used two credit cards since the last time she was seen by her coworkers.”

  “When, where and how much?”

  “She used an American Express card on Saturday morning to pay for a room at a bed-and-breakfast in La Grange, Texas.”

  “Would that be on her route to Austin?”

  “It would. I’ll send you the rest of the details. Time, name of the B and B, address and phone number.”

  “Good. What else do you have?”

  “She withdrew three hundred dollars cash from an ATM a few minutes after noon that same day in the neighboring town of Winding Creek.”

  Winding Creek, where the body had been found. The reference rattled her nerves so badly she had to hold on to the back of the nearest chair for support.

  “Do we have a photo to prove that it was actually her who withdrew the cash?”

  “Working on it,” Lane said.

  “Were those Rachel’s only charges?”

  “No. She made a purchase at Dani’s Delights, also in Winding Creek, for sixty-five dollars and eighty-nine cents at two eighteen.”

  “What kind of store is that?”

  “A bakery and coffee shop.”

  “Rachel barely eats. She’d have never paid that much for java and scones. I don’t have a map in front of me. Is Winding Creek near Austin?”

  “It’s south of Austin, closer to San Antonio, but not far out of her way once she left La Grange.”

  “What’s the draw to Winding Creek? Why would she go out of her way to visit that town?”

  “I don’t have the answer to that.”

  “We know Rachel was there a little after two on Saturday afternoon and then never made it to her scheduled destination. So somewhere between Winding Creek and the resort, Rachel’s plans were ambushed.”

  “That’s the gist of what I’ve found so far.”

  Sydney struggled to focus as the fear swelled to near suffocating. “Were you able to locate her phone?”

  “Not yet. It’s not putting out a signal.”

  It could be at the bottom of Winding Creek or perhaps hammered to smithereens like the Swamp Strangler destroyed the phones of his victims.

  “Thanks for your help, Lane. At least I have a starting point.”

  If she left now, she could easily make it to Winding Creek tonight. If it was like most small Texas towns, the sidewalk would have already been rolled up by the time she got there, but at least she’d be there when the sun came up tomorrow morning.

  Rachel could be most anywhere between here and Austin, but Winding Creek was the next stop for Sydney.

  * * *

  HANK’S HANGOUT WAS the only place within miles of Winding Creek that was still open at eleven thirty on Monday evening. Sydney could thank Siri for finding it.

  Not that she wanted a drink or company, but it was a place to start.

  She pulled into the almost-empty parking lot and got out of her car. A neon sign touted live music on the weekends and all-night happy-hour prices on Monday.

  Merle Haggard’s voice greeted her as she stepped inside. Faded publicity posters on the wall dated back to the era of Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson during his much-earlier years. Vintage metal plaques cautioned spurs should be removed before dancing on the bar and that horses should remain outside unless they were paying customers.

  Hopefully those were in jest, though from looking at the scratched and marred surface of the bar, it had likely seen some boot scooting.

  She considered staking out a bar stool, but that would have left her with her back to the rest of the room. She wasn’t sure what she was l
ooking for exactly, but anything would be better than staring at the ceiling of the motel she’d booked when sleep would be almost impossible tonight.

  Taking a seat as far away from the loud music as possible, she scanned the room. To her dismay, a lot more eyes were checking her out. Not surprising since she appeared to be the only woman in there sitting alone.

  Another time that kind of attention would have made her uneasy. Tonight, her mind was occupied with far more important matters.

  Sydney pulled out her cell phone and punched in her instant code for Rachel the way she’d done every hour since Connie had called her that morning. The phone rang only once before a new message started.

  “The number of the party you’re calling is no longer in service.”

  She fought back yet another wave of nauseating dread as a young waitress with half-exposed breasts and a pair of butt-hugging denim cutoffs stopped at her table. Her name tag read Betts.

  Betts smiled. “The kitchen’s closed for the night but the bar is serving until one. What can I get you?”

  “A beer, something light.” That she probably wouldn’t take more than a few sips of.

  “I have a good craft beer on tap that would fit that description. Want to give that a try?”

  “Sure.”

  “You’ve got it. Will someone be joining you?”

  Sydney shook her head and went back to scrutinizing the customers. A half dozen or so couples were two-stepping around the dance floor. A few more couples occupied tables, chatting and sipping drinks.

  For most, dress was casual, jeans or shorts. Footwear was predominantly Western boots for the men and sandals for the women. No one stood out as suspicious, except for Sydney in her black slacks and tailored white shirt.

  A cute cowboy in faded jeans with a nice smile ambled over to her table. “Mind if I join you and buy you a drink?”

  “Sorry, but no. I was supposed to meet a friend but I think she may have already left.” Sydney unzipped her purse, reached into the side pocket and pulled out a recent photo of Rachel.

  She handed it to the cowboy. “Have you seen her?”

  He glanced at the photo. “No, but she’s a looker. I’m sure I’d remember if I’d ever seen her and I’m in here often.”

  He stepped back and stared critically. “You’re not a cop or something, are you?”

  FBI no doubt qualified as his or something, but she wasn’t ready to reveal that to anyone in Winding Creek just yet.

  “I’m not a cop.”

  He placed the picture on the table. “If you get bored and change your mind about wanting some company tonight, you know where to find me. I guarantee you a good time.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Betts returned with a cold mug of beer and set it and a throwaway coaster on the table next to the picture. She didn’t give the photo a second glance.

  Sydney decided her questions for Betts could wait. A few customers had left in the short time she’d been here. Time now would be best spent checking out the remaining customers.

  Not that she held out any rational hope of just accidentally running into someone who was involved in Rachel’s disappearance. Irrationally, she couldn’t help but search for someone who triggered suspicion or a situation that piqued her interest.

  Fifteen minutes later, she got her wish. She was watching the door when a tall cowboy who looked as if he’d been living on the streets sauntered into the bar. Tall, lean but muscular and with at least two days’ growth of whiskers.

  Unlike the other customers who seemed to know everyone, he didn’t speak to or acknowledge any of the patrons as he walked past the bar and dropped into a chair several tables away from her.

  He removed his white Western hat and ran his fingers through short, rumpled brown hair. Betts sashayed over and leaned in so close her nipples were practically looking him in the eye.

  He seemed not to notice.

  Sydney couldn’t hear what he ordered, but Betts returned a minute later with what looked like a glass of whiskey. It was gone in two gulps.

  She was still staring at him when he lifted his gaze and looked in her direction. His eyes were mesmerizing even from that distance, bronze colored in the artificial light.

  She looked away and tried to make sense of what she was feeling. Her profiler instincts and training checked in. Something about him was affecting her senses. She couldn’t just ignore that.

  Sydney motioned to Betts.

  “Ready for another beer?”

  “Haven’t started this one yet. I just have a question for you.”

  “Yeah. What?”

  “See the guy sitting at the table by himself?” She nodded toward him.

  “Yeah. Quite a hunk, isn’t he, but not too friendly.”

  “So it appears. Is he a regular?”

  “Nope. If he was I’d remember him, though he does look a little familiar.”

  “Are you sure he wasn’t in here Saturday night before last?”

  “Can’t say. I was off that weekend. Went to my sister’s wedding over in New Braunfels. I don’t think he’s local, though. More likely he’s renting one of the fishing cabins up near the marina. Looks like a guy on a fishing vacation.”

  “Are there that many fish to be had from a creek?”

  “Oh, yeah, and if you don’t want to fish in the creek, there are lakes all around here. They have big fishing rodeos every year in the spring. Man, do we get the fishermen in here then. Tips are great.”

  “Just one more thing,” Sydney said. She picked up the photo of Rachel and handed it to Betts. “Have you ever seen this woman before? She’s about five foot six, slender, thirty-two years old?”

  Betts studied the photo for a few seconds and then looked back at Sydney. “Nope. Why?”

  “She’s an old friend of mine who moved to this area a few years ago. I thought I’d look her up while I’m visiting the area, but I’m not sure where she lives.”

  “Try social media. You can find most everybody on there, even people you don’t want to find.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  There were fewer couples on the dance floor now and a lot more empty seats at the bar. Evidently the party ended early on Monday evenings. Sydney sipped her beer, stood and walked over to the stranger’s table before he decided to cut out, as well.

  “Mind if I join you?” she asked, trying for a flirty voice but likely falling short.

  “You can sit. It’s a waste of time. Whatever you’re looking for, you’re not going to find it in me.”

  “What if it’s a good time?”

  “Then you really need to look elsewhere.”

  “What if it’s only conversation?”

  “You can do better talking to yourself.”

  “You are scraping the bottom of the blues,” she said. “Do you live in Winding Creek?”

  “Nope.”

  “Me, either. Where do you live?”

  “Wherever I kick off my boots.”

  Her suspicions surged. “Do you have a name, cowboy?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “If we find ourselves kicking off our boots in the same town one night, I might want to look you up.”

  “It’s Tucker. Tucker Lawrence. But don’t bother to look me up. I got nothing going on. Absolutely nothing.” He pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and stuck one end of it under his empty glass. “Enjoy your visit to Winding Creek.”

  Tucker stood, picked up his hat, tipped it and strode out of the bar the way he’d come in, looking straight ahead and not saying a word to anyone.

  Sydney walked back to her table, left money for her tab and tip, and then followed Tucker Lawrence out the door. He was already in his truck and pulling awa
y when she jumped into her car and followed him. He might not live in Winding Creek, but if not, he must be staying somewhere nearby.

  There was probably at least a 99 percent chance that he was a dead end, but there was always that 1 percent. At least she’d know how to find him again if she needed to and she knew his name unless he’d lied about it.

  Sydney followed Tucker down the highway a few miles before turning onto a dark country back road. He took the unfamiliar curves without lowering his speed, making it difficult for her to keep up.

  He turned off onto another road, more narrow, hilly and winding than the first. She was almost up with him when she spotted the deer in her peripheral vision.

  She threw on her brakes and skidded to a stop just as the animal darted onto the blacktop road. Her heart jumped from her chest at the soft thumping and the jerky movement as the car rolled to a full stop.

  She sprang out of the car not thinking that a wounded animal could be dangerous until she got closer to the large buck. The stunned animal stared into her headlights accusingly for a few seconds and then raced to the other side of the road and disappeared into the woods.

  No limp. No signs of significant injury. Relief rolled through her. She checked out her car. There were a few stray hairs in her left bumper, but not even a dent. Luckily, she’d seen the deer in time to prevent real damage to it or her or the rental car. She climbed back behind the wheel. Tucker Lawrence was long gone.

  By the time Sydney got back to Hank’s to question the owner himself, he was gone, as well. Reportedly left early on what he considered a slow night.

  There was nothing left for her to do but go check into her motel room and try to get some sleep. Only how could she close her eyes not knowing what Rachel might be facing tonight?

  Already missing ten days. The urgency burned like fire deep in Sydney’s soul.

  * * *

  THE WOMAN IN Hank’s had told it like it was. A man was in damn bad shape when he couldn’t shake the blues enough to respond to a stunning woman who’d made the first move.

  Tucker had moped around for almost a week, spending most of that time in cheap motels between here and Lubbock though he could have afforded first class.