Texas Kidnapping Target
Autore
Laura Scott
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Capitoli
17
ONE
A soft cry brought Mari Lynch instantly awake. Heart thudding, she strained to listen. Silence. Was Theo having a nightmare?
She slid out of bed, the hardwood floor icy cold beneath her bare feet. She grabbed the 12-gauge shotgun leaning next to her bed. Wearing nothing but her flannel pajamas, she hurried down the hall to her four-year-old son’s room.
“Mommy!”
Theo’s cry had her wrenching the door open. A blast of cold air hit her face. She gasped at the sight of a masked man looming over her son’s bed, reaching for Theo.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!”
Instantly, the intruder spun away from the boy, ducked back out the window and took off at a sprint. She wanted to fire the gun but couldn’t make herself pull the trigger. Darting toward the open window, she aimed the barrel of the shotgun at his disappearing shadow. Seconds later, he vanished behind the barn.
“Theo!” She turned toward her son. He jumped off his bed and launched himself at her still holding his favorite stuffed dog, Charlie to his chest. She caught him close, her heart hammering against her ribs.
What was going on? Who had tried to kidnap her son?
She belatedly noticed the window was completely gone. It took her a moment to understand the intruder had used a glass cutter to access the house.
Her house! To get her son!
Whirling away from the open window, she took Theo from the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Then hurried to the kitchen to call 911. Her Whistling Creek Ranch was twenty miles outside of Fredericksburg, so she didn’t anticipate a quick response.
But she needed to report this to the police.
Mari wished she’d reported the stranger she’d glimpsed walking the tree line of her property last night, too. Likely the same man who’d just tried to grab her son, although he hadn’t been wearing a ski mask. She’d reached for her shotgun then too, but by the time she’d returned to the window, he was gone.
He must have been casing her house. Figuring out which window was Theo’s. But why attempt to kidnap her son?
After the dispatcher promised to send Deputy Strawn to the ranch, she carried Theo into her room. She quickly changed into jeans and a warm forest green sweater. She stuffed her feet into work boots in case she needed to head outside.
“Who was that scary man?” Theo had calmed down a bit, still gripping his stuffed dog Charlie tightly.
“I don’t know, sweetheart.” She wasn’t sure what to say. How to explain to her son what was really going on here. She didn’t want to frighten him. “Maybe he was lost. Or was homeless and wanted a place to stay.”
“He told me to come wif him.” Theo gazed at her from wide, blue eyes. “I didn’t wanna go.”
Her mouth went dry with fear and she silently prayed her ex-husband hadn’t sent someone after their son. But who else would do such a thing? Her last, extremely tense meeting with Roy flashed in her mind.
She scooped Theo up and carried him into the living room. She needed to get that window boarded up, as soon as possible. Maybe Deputy Strawn would keep watch outside while she managed that task.
Christmas tree lights brightened the room. The New Year holiday was only five days away, and Theo had asked if they could keep the tree up longer. All the way to his birthday, on January 2.
Setting Theo down on the sofa, she took a moment to feed split logs into the wood-burning stove to combat the cold air seeping from Theo’s room. When she turned back to her son, the sight of a black SUV pulling up to the house caught her eye.
The intruder?
She dashed into her room, grabbed the shotgun and returned to the living room. She hovered along the wall close to the large picture window overlooking her front yard.
A man wearing a Stetson slid out from behind the wheel to stand next to the SUV. It was too soon for Deputy Strawn to show up—she’d barely made the call five minutes ago. Was this a trick? A way to force her to drop her guard? The guy blatantly stared at her house, without any attempt to be subtle.
Anger spurred her forward. “Stay on the sofa, Theo.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
She flung the front door open and stepped out onto the covered porch, the top eves decorated with Christmas lights. She lifted the shotgun to her shoulder and aimed the barrel squarely at the intruder’s chest. “Do not come any closer. Turn around, get back in your car and drive away.”
He froze, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. A glint of silver caught her eye. He wore a silver star on his chest. He was a lawman, a Texas Ranger, not someone associated with Roy. Yet she didn’t relax. He’d gotten here too quickly for her piece of mind.
“Ma’am, I’m Ranger Sam Hayward. Will you please put the gun down?”
“Why are you here?” She did not lower the weapon one iota.
He wasn’t too far away that she couldn’t see the way his eyebrow arched upward at her less than welcoming tone. “I want to ask you a few questions, that’s all.”
“At this hour? It’s eleven o’clock at night.” She paused, then asked, “Did the sheriff’s department send you?”
“What? No.” He looked startled by her question. “I just need to talk to you.”
“Come back tomorrow.”
Again he looked surprised. “Ma’am, please. I’m not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite.” He paused. “I would really appreciate if y’all would lower that shotgun.”
They stared at each other for a long second. With a sigh, she lowered the weapon. She couldn’t continue standing here, leaving Theo unprotected in case the assailant decided to return. “Fine. Come inside.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He gave her a nod, mounted the steps to the porch then entered her house. He looked around curiously, his gaze landing on Theo, who was thankfully still curled up in the corner of the couch.
She didn’t offer him a seat or anything to drink. Setting the shotgun aside, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What is this about?”
“Have you seen your ex-husband?”
Her stomach clenched as her worst fears were realized. “No. He’s in prison. There would be visitor logs that would prove I have not been to see him since our divorce two years ago.” A divorce that had become final shortly after Roy was found guilty of murder by a jury of his peers and subsequently incarcerated for life, without the possibility of parole.
Ranger Hayward held her gaze for a long moment. “Roy Carlton isn’t in jail. He escaped.”
What? Her heart lodged in her throat, making it impossible to speak. To breathe. Theo! Had Roy tried to kidnap their son?
No! Please, Lord Jesus, no!
“When?” Her voice was little more than a croak. This couldn’t be happening.
“He was declared missing over ninety minutes ago.” The ranger’s mouth thinned. “He managed to escape from the hospital while apparently faking an illness.”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
“You have every right to be angry,” he said with a slight nod. “This shouldn’t have happened. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to check in on you and your son. Also to ask if you have any idea where your ex-husband might be hiding.”
The words hammered into her brain like nails into a barn door. She managed to pull herself together. “I think he was here a few minutes ago. A man wearing a ski mask cut through the glass in Theo’s room and tried to grab him.”
“Here?” The ranger’s eyes widened. “Show me.”
She scooped Theo and Charlie into her arms and led the way down the hall to her son’s room. She pushed the door open and gestured for him to go in. “He cut the glass on the window.”
“I need to search the property.” The ranger glanced at her with concern. “Will you be okay here for a few minutes?”
“Yes, but you should know I saw a man outside the ranch house yesterday evening, too. Not close, near the tree line.”
His expression was grim. “Stay inside and keep that shotgun handy.”
She forced a nod, her thoughts spinning like a tornado.
Roy had escaped. She and Theo were in danger.
Her nightmare was far from over. The real terror had just begun.
Sam turned and headed outside. He couldn’t believe Roy had gotten to the Whistling Creek so fast! The escaped convict must have had a ride waiting for him. He wished he and his fellow rangers, Jackson Woodlow, Marshall Branson and Tucker Powell, hadn’t spent so much time searching around the hospital campus for Roy Carlton. After thirty minutes of finding nothing, he’d left them to it, taking the responsibility to head out to the ranch.
Having Carlton’s ex-wife step outside with a shotgun leveled at his chest had been unexpected. Granted most Texans owned guns, but she’d surprised him. Oddly, he respected her for it.
And better understood her hostility after learning about the attempted abduction of her son.
He left the house via the front door, then headed toward the back of the ranch house to scour the area around her son’s window. Using his flashlight, he peered at the ground. There were overlapping footprints in the snow and mud. Nothing useful.
He turned to sweep the area. To his surprise, Ms. Lynch leaned out the window. “He disappeared behind the barn.”
“Understood.” He crossed toward the outbuilding. The barn was long but apparently empty as he could see the herd of cattle gathered near a lean-to shelter.
He took his time, making sure no one was hiding inside the barn, or anywhere nearby. It was likely Carlton had fled the area, but he needed to be sure.
As he worked on clearing the immediate area around the house, he wondered if the would-be kidnapper was really Roy Carlton, or someone else. Carlton had help getting away from the hospital, that much was for sure. But ninety minutes wasn’t a lot of time for Roy to have escaped, gotten a change of clothes and a ride to reach the Whistling Creek ranch in time to snatch the kid.
Carlton could have arranged for his accomplice to do the deed. The prosecutor on the case didn’t believe Roy had acted alone in the murder of Austin City Manager Hank George.
Unfortunately, Carlton hadn’t named anyone else as being involved. Not even in exchange for a lighter sentence.
And truthfully, Roy Carlton struck him as the kind of guy who wouldn’t hesitate to do just that.
Then again, Carlton had left his DNA at the scene of the crime. His attempt to ditch the gun hadn’t worked either. The weapon had been found in a dumpster a few blocks from the location of George’s body and Carlton’s fingerprints had been found on the handle. The combination of the two critical pieces of evidence had ensured a swift and just guilty verdict from the jury.
Sam focused on the immediate threat. Once he’d cleared the area around the house, and poked his head inside the barn and chicken coop, he widened his search radius. Unfortunately, the Whistling Creek property was large and spacious. Frustrating to admit Carlton could be hiding anywhere in the woods, despite the frigid temps.
He spied a long row of hay spread out along the short side of the barn for the cattle to eat during the winter. He crossed over, kicking at several clumps to make sure nobody was hiding beneath it.
He didn’t find anything. Bypassing the rest of the open pasture area, he headed for the line of trees. He slowed his pace, inspecting the area closely for signs someone had been there.
And there it was. A broken twig. Another one a few feet away. He continued following the faint trail, the ground softer here, somewhat protected by the trees. Was this the path Carlton had taken? Or the intruder Ms. Lynch had seen the previous night?
Could they be one and the same? If so, the kidnapper wasn’t Carlton as he escaped two hours ago.
For a few yards he didn’t see anything. Just as he was about to stop and backtrack, he found what he was looking for.
Another partial heel print, the rounded area indicating the assailant had moved farther away from the ranch house.
For a moment he hesitated. Was he following the right trail? This area of the ranch was rather remote, and he couldn’t say for sure the tracks he’d found belonged to the assailant who’d tried to kidnap Ms. Lynch’s son.
He scowled and turned to look behind him. He’d gone so far that he could no longer see the ranch house. Just the side of the barn where the hay was kept.
Sam stood for a long moment, listening as the wind rustled the trees. The sound of water trickling along a rocky bed reached his ears. From Whistling Creek?
He moved closer, scanning the woods for anyone lurking nearby. Mari Lynch hadn’t mentioned the intruder carrying a gun, but almost everyone in Texas had one, which meant he could easily have the business end of a rifle pointed directly at him as he moved through the woods.
Finding the creek, he paused and listened again. Despite the freezing temperatures, there was a still a bit of water trickling along the rocky bed. If this cold snap continued, he figured the creek would freeze over before long.
Around here, the temperatures warmed during the day especially when the sun was out. He was about to turn away, when a dark shape caught his eye.
It almost looked as if a garbage bag was stuck between the ground and some bushes along the creek. Too small to be a person. Dismissing it as a non-threat, he kept going. He needed to keep searching Mari’s property, to make sure Carlton wasn’t hiding somewhere.
He took his time scouring the ground. Either he was losing his touch or the intruder hadn’t come up this way.
He preferred to believe it was the latter.
Sam lengthened his stride to cover the ground more quickly. If the intruder had been here, there was no sign of him now. Either because he was hiding deeper on the ranch property, or because he’d angled off in another direction, joining an accomplice.
Throwing one leg, then the other over the plank fencing around the pasture, he approached the barn. Several of the cows turned wide, placid faces in his direction, apparently curious. Playing his light along the ground, he noted it was muddy here in the pasture. Well, mud mixed with cow pies. The scent was pungent. Cattle hooves had churned up the ground, especially near a large water trough.
No human footprints from what he could see, although they would have been easy to hide in this mess.
It was years since he’d been on a ranch. He came from a family of lawmen, starting with his granddad, his father and now him. But his high school friend Cameron had worked a ranch, and Sam had spent more than enough time there to learn the ropes.
He didn’t miss it, not really. But he hadn’t minded those summers working outside with the livestock either.
As much as he wanted to head back up to the ranch house, he hesitated. The garbage bag at the creek nagged at him.
He should have checked it out. It didn’t seem possible Roy Carlton or anyone else had used it as a hiding spot. The bag had likely been left behind by kids using the creek as a place to hang out. Thoughtful of them to gather their garbage together. Even as that thought entered his head, he realized that wasn’t likely. Since when did teenagers clean up after themselves?
Since never.
Moving quickly, he turned and jogged down to the patch of trees. He spotted the large black garbage bag again, on the opposite side of the creek. Stepping carefully on the slippery rocks, he crossed the water.
Footprints, several of them, immediately caught his attention. He still thought it was likely kids, but as he grew closer, it was obvious that there were only two sets of footprints.
One larger, and one smaller.
Moving cautiously now, he approached the garbage bag. As before, he stared at it for a long time. It never moved. Easing closer, he poked it with the toe of his boot. Whatever was inside was firm and unyielding, rather than soft like garbage.
He sniffed the air, catching the faint scent of decay. Dead animals? Or something worse? Dread cloaked him as he bent to untie the ends of the garbage bag.
The minute the ends fell away, a horrific odor engulfed him. It was all Sam could do not to lose his fried chicken dinner.
He stumbled backward, breathing through his mouth to avoid the awful stench. This was far worse than cow patties, that was for sure.
When he was certain he wouldn’t puke, he stepped forward. Donning gloves from his pocket, he gripped the edge of the bag and peered inside.
A man’s pale, lifeless face stared up at him.
Not Roy Carlton—it was someone he didn’t recognize. The same guy Mari had seen walking the tree line? Maybe. He rummaged for his cell phone and snapped a picture of the dead man’s face in case he didn’t have an ID on him.
Without disturbing the body, he tried to ascertain how the guy had died. Using a gloved hand, he pushed the corpse to see better. There it was. A bloody mess covered the guy’s chest and abdomen, even some pock marks in his face now that he was looking more closely. This damage had not been done by a rifle or handgun.
This was the work of a shotgun.
Unwilling to destroy evidence, he dropped the edge of the bag and stepped away. Stripping off the gloves, he used his phone to call Jackson.
“We haven’t found him,” Jackson said in lieu of a greeting. “Hate to admit it, but Carlton is in the wind.”
“I found a dead guy stuffed in a large garbage bag on Mari Lynch’s property.” He paused, then continued, “A masked intruder cut the window of her son’s bedroom out and attempted to grab the child. Possibly Carlton, himself. She chased him away, so I’ve been searching her property. I don’t know for sure the dead man is related to Carlton’s vanishing act, but we need the state crime lab here, pronto.”
“You’re positive it’s not Carlton?” Jackson’s voice held a note of hope. “Sure would help us if it was.”
He couldn’t help smiling. “I’m sure. It’s not him. Like I said, Carlton may have tried to grab his son. Mari Lynch saw a man walking down along her the tree line yesterday evening. I’m no expert, but this guy could have been sitting here since then. We’ll need the medical examiner to tell us the approximate time of death.”
“Do you think she killed him?” Jackson asked.
“No.” Although the image of Mari standing on her front porch holding a shotgun, just like that of the murder weapon, flashed in his mind. Was he wrong about her? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d trusted the wrong woman.
If he hadn’t been with the Texas Rangers, and had intended her or her son harm, he had no doubt she’d have fired first and asked questions later.
“I can’t say for sure,” he amended. “She has a 12-gauge shotgun. And I believe this guy died of a close encounter with a similar weapon. Forensics will tell us more once they get him out of the garbage bag and on the slab.”
Jackson whistled. “Sounds to me like she had the means and potential motive to have done the deed.”
Difficult to imagine Mari stuffing a man’s body into a garbage bag, unless it was her ex. Besides, someone had tried to abduct her son. “I need to talk to her.”
“I’ll get the medical examiner and crime scene techs there,” Jackson said. “Stick around. Tuck, Marsh and I will be there soon. We’ll need you to pinpoint the location of the body.”
“Will do. After I speak with Ms. Lynch, I’ll come back to stand guard over him.”
Jackson was silent for a moment, as if trying to understand why he would even consider breaking protocol. Sam knew his priority was to protect the woman and her son from Roy Carlton.
“Fine,” Jackson finally said. “See y’all, soon.”
“Thanks.” He disconnected the call. He made one last sweep of the area, making sure no one was lurking nearby. If this was the man Mari had seen, then the body hadn’t been here more than twenty-four hours. Remaining untouched except, of course, by whoever had killed him and stuck him in there.
And where was Carlton? He turned and hustled up to the ranch house, hoping he wasn’t making a grave mistake.
That Mari Lynch was a victim, not a cold-blooded killer like her ex-husband.
