Texas Kidnapping

Auteur

Barb Han

Lezers

17,6K

Hoofdstukken

Auteur

Barb Han

Lezers

17,6K

Hoofdstukken

Harlequin🏰 Historical 🏙️ Contemporary

Chapter One

The sound of floorboards creaking in the next room shocked Renee Smith out of a deep sleep. She forced her eyes to open, sat upright in bed and searched the unfamiliar dark room. It took a few seconds to get her bearings and for her to realize she was in her new house. She must’ve dozed off while working on her laptop, which was now tipped on its side. She straightened it, wishing righting her life could be so easy.

The first night in a new home and her new life hadn’t exactly gone as planned. Unpacking while taking care of her six-month-old adopted daughter had proved almost comic. The day had been consumed by stumbling through feedings, diaper changings and figuring out parenting in general given this was her first go as a mother. Renee already realized the job was going to be far more difficult than she’d imagined. This had also been the most rewarding day in all of her thirty-two years of life.

That being said, Renee must’ve been crazy to think that after getting a few months of parenting under her belt it was a good time to change cities. She’d kept her job in order to prove stability to the adoption agency and had started working from home instead. A new life in the old apartment she’d shared with Jamison in Dallas had been out of the question. It was time to move on, figuratively, literally and in every other sense of the word.

The movers had packed up her belongings in a matter of hours. It was the unpacking while caring for a baby that was going to take forever. At this rate, the house might be unpacked by the time Abby went to college. And yet, the small Texas town was exactly the place Renee wanted to bring up her daughter.

She set aside her laptop and pushed to her feet, still half-groggy, and felt around for her glasses. Sleep and being a new mother weren’t on speaking terms, let alone friends. The noise was probably just the old house settling but she wanted to check on the baby, whose room was across the hall. Since Renee wasn’t completely blind and the glasses must’ve tumbled off her lap, she could find them in a minute.

A few steps into her walk across the room, another creak-like noise sounded. This time it registered that it might be more than just the wood flooring of her rented two-story farmhouse settling. In her half-asleep state, she realized that the floors shouldn’t make a sound unless someone walked on them. A wave of panic shot through her, quickening her pace. The baby’s room had paper-thin walls with only a linen closet in the hallway between them.

A couple of scenarios ran through Renee’s mind, her imagination no doubt spiraling out of control. And then she remembered that the temperature had been so beautiful that she’d left the second-story window to her daughter’s room open while Abby slept.

But, wait, hadn’t she closed that window? Yes, she distinctly remembered closing it, afraid she might nod off. A thump sound from the next room caused another wave of panic.

Was someone inside the house?

First nights in new places were always unsettling, but there was no way this was Renee’s imagination running wild. Heart in her throat, she glanced around the small hallway, looking for something she could use to scare an intruder if there was one. An old shotgun that had been left inside the linen closet popped into her thoughts. She’d spotted it during the walk-through yesterday.

She opened the door and grabbed the weapon, checking for ammunition. The gun was ancient, and she seriously doubted it would work even with a shell. The only other weapons she could think of were her kitchen knives and those hadn’t been unpacked yet. The shotgun was going to have to do.

Abby cried and that got Renee’s feet moving. She ran into the room and then froze. A male figure stood between the crib and the window. He was bent over the crib. She lifted the barrel, aiming the business end at him.

“Stop or I’ll shoot,” she shouted at the blurry male figure who was picking up her daughter. In the dark it was impossible to see him clearly, even if she’d had her glasses on. Turning on the light could reveal the fact she didn’t exactly have a real weapon.

Abby’s cries fell silent and for a split second fear shot through Renee that the intruder had done something to her little girl. But Abby was winding up to release an ear-splitting wail.

Renee’s heart clenched in her chest. “Put her down. Now. Or my contractor will be picking parts of you off my wall when he brings his painter in tomorrow.” Talk about making threats with no way to back them up. She could only pray that he wouldn’t call her bluff. There was no painter and no contractor, but she sure as hell didn’t want him to know it.

Abby was inconsolable. The man seemed to hesitate. Renee cocked the gun.

The next thing she knew, Abby was being set down inside her crib and the intruder was turning tail. She wished she could flip the light switch now so she could get a better look at the kidnapper—kidnapper!—but one look at that shotgun and she could lose all her bargaining power.

The thought of someone sneaking into her house to steal Abby caused Renee’s stomach to clench and her hands to shake. Her heart pounded against her ribs so hard she feared he would hear it.

In a fluid motion, he took a couple of steps back and then was out the window a beat later. The second he disappeared, Renee moved toward the window. She withdrew her right foot the minute she planted it because of something sharp. Glass? Had the window been broken? It would explain how the man got in. She checked to make certain he was gone. A blurry figure darted across the lawn and into some kind of vehicle that was too far away for her to make out.

Now that she was safe, she set the shotgun down and moved to her daughter.

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. That scary man can’t hurt you now.” As Renee spoke the words, the weight of them struck. She cradled Abby to her chest and raced to her bedroom in order to check the lock there, needing to be certain that he couldn’t surprise her from another room. He’d slipped in and out so easily. Was he familiar with the layout? Someone who’d lived here prior? One of her movers?

There weren’t many people who knew she’d moved and there wasn’t much to the upstairs. The layout was simple. Two bedrooms, a linen closet and a bathroom with an authentic claw-foot tub was the extent of the space. Renee second-guessed herself for putting the crib in the other bedroom instead of in hers where she could watch over the little girl constantly. A child taken from his or her own bedroom had to be every parent’s worst nightmare.

While balancing the crying baby, Renee darted into her bedroom and felt around for her glasses. This time, she kept at it until she felt them. With one hand, she managed to put them on halfway straight. Next, she retrieved her cell phone from the nightstand and checked the lock on the window.

The need to check doors and windows on the first level overrode any other rational thought. She made her way downstairs and checked the front window. There were no other vehicles parked on her street.

Could someone have come through the back door? Renee ran there, too. She hadn’t heard anything else. Of course, it would be next to impossible to hear anything over Abby’s wails, the sound of which nearly broke Renee’s heart.

She called 911 even though she doubted the dispatcher could hear her. At least the person on the other end of the line would know Renee needed help.

The minute someone answered, she immediately rattled off her name and address. “I’m new in town and someone just broke into my house and tried to kidnap my daughter. Please send someone immediately. He’s out of the house but he could come back at any moment and bring friends.” The thought made her shudder.

Renee listened for a response. If one came, she couldn’t hear it. Abby was so worked up she was starting to choke.

The new life that was supposed to feel like a fresh start seemed to be collapsing around Renee. And she was hanging on by a thread.

US MARSHAL CASH O’CONNOR had had a night for the books. He gripped the steering wheel tighter as he navigated his rental onto the highway heading northbound, home. The felony warrant he’d forced himself out of bed at two o’clock in the morning after a whopping hour and a half of sleep to serve had gone downhill faster than an out-of-control skier on his last run.

Not only had the scumbag arms dealer Cash was trying to pick up in Houston gotten away, but the jerk had shot up Cash’s service vehicle and nearly shot Cash. Traffic was bad on the I-45, making the drive back to Katy Gulch take twice as long as it should. Traffic on Texas highways was becoming as unreliable as spring thunderstorms. He never knew when they’d occur or how bad they’d get until the exact moment one struck.

It was late. Cash’s stomach growled for the third time. He was in no mood to stop off for a bite. All he wanted was to get home to his log cabin–style house on the O’Connor family ranch, heat up some brisket to make a sandwich and have a cold beer. He’d skip the alcohol because he was on call, but that didn’t stop him from wishing he could have one.

Instead, he’d made a pit stop for coffee. He took a sip. The cup of black coffee from the gas station that he desperately needed to keep him awake and alert tasted old and burned and a bit like what he imagined a sweaty foot might taste like. Cash figured he had no choice but to work with what he had, so he took another sip, willing the caffeine to kick in and boost his mood. To say he’d had a bad day was a lot like saying rattlesnake venom was poisonous.

A few more sips of coffee made it evident the caffeine would do little to combat his exhaustion.

It was early spring. The busiest season on the cattle ranch that his family owned and had operated for decades now. Four generations of O’Connors had worked or were working the Katy Bull Ranch, otherwise known as the KBR. And even though he and four of his brothers had other jobs, most of which were in law enforcement, everyone pitched in this time of year. Sleep was as rare as a unicorn sighting.

Finn O’Connor, the family’s patriarch, had always been the epitome of strength and honor and everything good about ranching life. He was a staple in the community of Katy Gulch and used the considerable fortune the family had amassed to benefit others through charitable work mostly headed up by Cash’s mother. Folks couldn’t help but admire the man’s generosity even if they did envy his life.

From an outsider’s view, the O’Connors had it easy—easy meaning they were wealthy. But no amount of money could bring back the daughter Margaret O’Connor hadn’t seen since the baby last slept in her crib at five months old. The heartache and loss Margaret and Finn endured had shaped the O’Connor family. Tragedy had a way of doing that. It wrote a different history for those affected. One of his brothers, Riggs, worked the ranch full-time. Each brother had a home on the property in a location of his choosing. Each was expected to take his rightful place on the land at some point in the future. For now, their father and Riggs kept business under control. But Pops hadn’t been himself lately. There’d been mention of him being ill but he’d reassured the family it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Finn O’Connor was made of tough stock. He was a good man and the kind of father most wished they’d had. He’d been married to Cash’s mother, Margaret Ann O’Connor, for the last forty-two years. Both sat on top of the O’Connor dynasty because of hard work, honesty and generosity.

Cash had noticed that Pops seemed more tired than usual. Cash chalked it up to springtime on a cattle ranch. He thought about the home that had been built for him as a gift for his twenty-first birthday that he had yet to claim. Most of his five brothers were in the same boat. Six boys. Six future inheritors of one of the largest fortunes in Texas. Not one who wanted either of their parents to die in order to fill a bank account. The O’Connor boys had all done fine in their own right. None were strangers to hard work.

There may have been six O’Connor boys but there’d been seven houses built. A lone home had been built for Cash’s only sister, Caroline, a sister he’d never met. Caroline had been kidnapped at five months old and the case had long since gone cold. Even so, their mother had started planning the house on what would have been Caroline’s birthday. Just like the others that would follow, the keys had been ready to be handed over exactly one year later. His mother had overseen every last detail, fretting over whether she’d picked out the right color rug for the main room or the perfect pillow sham for the bedroom. Hell, Cash wouldn’t even know what a pillow sham was if his mother hadn’t spoken about everything during the decorating process. The detailed planning for each home had commenced on each sibling’s twentieth birthday. The keys were delivered exactly one year to the day later.

Cash’s cell buzzed. With the way his day had gone he couldn’t help but wonder what now?

As soon as he glanced at his phone and saw his brother’s name, Cash pulled off the road and into a convenience store parking lot.

“What’s up, bro?” Cash answered before the call rolled into voice mail.

“Where are you?” Colton asked after a perfunctory greeting. Colton was the county’s sheriff. A call from him most likely didn’t signal good news.

“Getting close to my exit on the highway. Why?” Cash didn’t like where this conversation was headed.

“My office just got a call from our town’s newest resident on Cherry Street. Seems there was an attempted kidnapping involving her six-month-old daughter. Sounds like you’re closer to her street whereas I’m forty minutes away. There are no deputies in the area, either. Any chance you’d be willing to stop off and take the report?” Colton had no idea the day Cash had had.

“This bad guy still in the area?” Cash asked.

“It’s a possibility. Dispatch said they could barely make out what Ms. Smith said for a baby’s cries,” Colton said.

“I got your back.” Duty called and duty had always taken a front seat to Cash’s personal life. Besides, how much worse could his day get?

There was also something in Colton’s voice that didn’t sit right. Cash put the phone on Speaker and navigated back onto the highway.

“Everything good with you?” he asked Colton.

“It’s Mother. She’s probably worrying over nothing.” Colton paused a beat. “Pops isn’t answering his cell.”

“Is he out on the property?”

“I keep reminding her about the dead spots on the property and he’d last been around Hunter’s Rock,” Colton supplied.

“That place is the worst. I never get service out there.” The O’Connor ranch was vast and there were plenty of dead zones when it came to cell service. “Have you noticed that she’s been acting weird ever since Pops’s checkup last year?”

“I have.” Static came through the line, making it sound like Colton was on the move. “She’s been keeping Pops on what he jokes is a short leash.”

“I had the same thought.” Even so, Cash figured their father had gotten winded somewhere out on the property and was taking a minute to rest. It wasn’t too surprising that their father hadn’t answered any calls, considering all the patches of land with no cell service.

“This time, she’s not letting it go. She begged me to put together a team to go out and search for him. That’s the real reason for the call. She’s worked herself into a panic and I don’t think it’s a good idea that I leave her alone right now even though she practically tried to shove me out the door.”

“Did you call Gayle?” Their neighbor and Mother had been best friends for decades.

“She’s on her way now,” Colton admitted. “But if there is a kidnapper and he’s in the vicinity, you know better than anyone that time is always the enemy when it comes to criminal cases.”

“True,” Cash agreed. “You stay put. I’ll take the call. I’m almost there already. Keep me posted on Pops.”

“I will,” Colton promised. He supplied the basic details of the complaint.

The two ended the call as Cash pulled in front of 724 Cherry Street.

Cash walked up to the two-story farmhouse, surveying the quiet street for signs of anything out of the ordinary. The suspect might still be lurking, waiting for an opportunity for round two.

No two crime scenes were alike. No two calls the same. Variety was part of the reason Cash loved his job. But attempted kidnappings always made him think of his sister, Caroline.

He white-knuckled his cell phone as he cleared the porch steps, thinking about the impact the crime had had on his parents. It was strange how a ripple could affect so many lives after it was felt.

At least in this case, the kidnapper had failed. Even so, Cash knew firsthand just how much crime changed people, how much it had changed him.