The Kavanaughs

“You came to the right place. First thing you need is to find a razor and I ’spect a shower wouldn’t hurt none, either.”

He rubbed his heavily whiskered chin. “Right on both counts.” He reached back in the truck for a duffel and slung it over his shoulder.

Just having him here lit up her world, but she wasn’t quite buying the spur-of-the-moment excuse. Something was bothering him. He was saying the right things, but the words didn’t quite ring true. It wasn’t just his haggard appearance. She could see trouble in his eyes and hear it in his voice.

She’d pry the truth out of him later. Right now she was going to do what would make them both feel good.

Feed him.

* * *

TUCKER KICKED OUT of his boots, stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the shower. Pipes creaked in the old house, but the water was hot and his cramped muscles reveled in the massaging spray.

Crazy that this place had the feel of home though he’d only lived in it for ten months. Painful months of grieving and coming to grips with an existence that would never again include his parents.

He’d been afraid, angry and, most of all, heartbroken. The Kavanaughs had helped him make it through the trauma, especially Esther. Her faith, love and compassion had been his salvation.

He didn’t expect that kind of miracle this time. The answers he needed now had to come from inside himself.

By the time he’d showered, shaved and dressed in a pair of his most worn and comfortable jeans, the odors of bacon and coffee were doing a number on his stomach.

He shoved his feet into his boots and started down the hall. Laughter and familiar voices chimed in before he reached the kitchen. Esther had clearly wasted no time in spreading the news that he was here.

“What are you two freeloaders doing here?” he joked as he joined his brothers in the kitchen.

“Checking to see why you came sneaking in like a horse thief in the middle of the night,” Pierce said.

“I just figured you stopped by to rub in how much money you’re making working eight seconds a night,” Riley said, pulling him into a playful neck hold.

“No way. I just came by for Esther’s cooking.”

“I can buy that,” Pierce said. “Let’s get to it before the biscuits get cold.”

Breakfast turned into a boisterous, laid-back reunion. He needed that more than either of them would guess.

* * *

SYDNEY STARED INTO the bathroom mirror, her reflection a haunting image of the agony that had kept her awake most of the night. Her eyelids were puffy, the circles below her eyes dark.

The little sleep she’d gotten had been restless and interrupted by frightening nightmares where Rachel was crying for help or fighting for her life.

The highway noises hadn’t helped. Eighteen-wheelers sounded as if they were roaring through her room. Exhaustion would work against her. She needed to be fully alert today, picking up on every clue no matter how small or how well hidden.

She knew from experience and training that it was the seemingly unimportant details that frequently made the difference.

Her sister had spent almost seventy dollars in a bakery. That couldn’t have all been for coffee and sweets, but it was a large enough purchase that hopefully whoever had waited on Rachel would remember her. They might recall if she’d been alone or with someone. If she’d seemed distraught or worried. If anyone had harassed her in any way.

Reaching for her brush, Sydney ran it through her layered sandy-blond hair, attempting to force the unruly locks into place. She was only mildly successful.

Her movements on automatic, Sydney applied the basics—moisturizing sunscreen, eyeliner, mascara, a smear of gloss on her lips. The first stop of the morning would be Dani’s Delights.

Her phone rang on her way to her car. She fished it from her handbag and checked the caller ID. FBI.

Was it possible Jackson Clark wanted her on the case despite her personal connection?

Her surge of optimism was quickly followed by a sharp pain to her stomach that almost doubled her over.

Please don’t let this be bad news about Rachel, she prayed silently as she took the call.

“Is this Agent Sydney Maxwell?”

“Yes.”

“Can you hold for a minute? Jackson Clark in the Dallas office of the Bureau would like to speak to you.”

“Yes.”

She held her breath the few seconds before his booming voice came through. “Thanks for holding, Sydney.”

“No problem.” No hint in his tone that this was a bad-news call. She breathed easier.

“I don’t think we’ve met but I’m familiar with your work,” Jackson said, “especially that amazing job you did on the Swamp Strangler case.”

“Thank you. We haven’t officially met,” she agreed, “but I took one of your classes at Quantico.”

“Sorry I don’t remember. Those classes are usually overflowing and I’m busy trying to cover more than the time allows.”

“I didn’t expect you to remember me.”

“I hope I didn’t call you at a bad time,” he said, “but I just got off the phone with Roland Farmer. He mentioned your sister didn’t show up at a resort near Austin a little over a week ago and hasn’t been heard from since. I hope you have good news by now.”

“No, sir. She’s still missing and I’m extremely concerned.” Panic verging on hysteria would be more accurate, but a good FBI agent never admitted panic.

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Jackson said. “I’m sure you’ve talked to local law enforcement.”

“Yes, and checked all the hospitals as well as ran a paper trail. The last place we have any record of her whereabouts was a charge she’d made to a credit card in a bakery in Winding Creek, Texas, called Dani’s Delights.”

“Yes. I also have that information. Does she have relatives or friends in that area?”

“No relatives for certain and no friends that I know of.”

“How much do you know about the other women who have gone missing from that area over the past six months?”

“Just the facts that are publicly available. Names. Dates of disappearance. Descriptions. That sort of thing.”

“But you think Rachel could be the fourth victim of the perp or perhaps fifth if he killed the girl whose body was found Saturday.”

“I think it’s possible. Her disappearance fits the pattern. In any case, I think she’s met with foul play and is in immediate danger.”

“Based on what I’ve heard, I think you could be right. Bottom line, I’m heading up a team of agents to help the locals investigate.”

“When will you start?”

“Is today soon enough for you?”

“Yes. We need to act fast before another body shows up. All of the women are likely in extreme danger.”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard but the body has been identified as Sara Goodwin, a sixteen-year-old runaway who was apparently living on the streets in San Antonio. She was never reported as missing, so we have little information on her except what we have from forensics.”

“Which is?”

“Preliminary indications are that she was dead for up to a month before they found the body. Cause of death is believed to be by trauma to the head caused by a sharp object.”

“Did they find any DNA or other evidence to help identify the perp?”

“Nothing firm at this point. The reason I called is that Roland said you were willing to be assigned to this case.”

“More than willing.” She needed all the information the FBI could uncover to help her find Rachel.

“In that case, welcome aboard. How soon can you get to Winding Creek, Texas?”

“I’m already here, on my way to Dani’s Delights.”

“Perfect.”

“Then you’re not worried about my extremely close relationship with one of the victims?”

“I don’t give a damn about protocol when lives are involved. You’re a gifted profiler. You proved that on the Swamp Strangler case.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m leaving my office in about thirty minutes and heading your way. I’ll be meeting with Sheriff Cavazos when I get there, but after that I’d like you and the other agents to be available for a full briefing. I’ll call you when I have the meeting place verified.”

Off and running. She liked Jackson Clark better by the second.

“One other thing,” he said. “Don’t identify yourself as an FBI agent or as Rachel’s sister just yet. I may want you to go undercover on this unless you’ve already blown that option.”

“I showed Rachel’s picture to a cowboy and a waitress at a local roadhouse last night and asked if they’d seen her. Neither had. I didn’t mention that she was my sister or even that she was missing.”

“Can’t undo that. If it comes out, so be it, but don’t mention Rachel again. Get out there, look over the town and the area, talk to people while we’re gathering as much information as we can on the missing girls. You’ve got a talent for noting what most people miss. Use it.”

“I’ll need an identity.”

“In the works. Lane will be forwarding you a driver’s license and establishing the background materials. You’re Syd Cotton, a freelance travel/ photographer from New York. It’s your first time to this area of Texas, so naturally you’ll be asking lots of questions and nosing around.”

“I’ll stick to that until you tell me differently.”

“I’ll be in touch around noon and, Sydney, glad to have you aboard. I think you’ll be a real asset to our team.”

As excited as she was to be on the insider team, the thought of working undercover made her uncomfortable. She’d planned to question the staff in the bakery, see what they remembered about Rachel.

Now the best she could do was look around. She didn’t see how much could come of that. It was difficult to imagine a madman choosing his victims as they enjoyed their morning scones and coffee.

But then, stranger things had happened.

* * *

THE TOWN OF Winding Creek was like a movie set re-creation of the Old West. The low wooden buildings had surely been standing since gambler brawls and gunslingers overflowed from the bars and into the narrow streets.

Only now the stores sold fragrant candles, silver Christmas ornaments, sequined Western shirts and stylish cowboy boots. Main Street, with its brightly painted benches, pots filled with flowers in full bloom and even a few hitching posts along the curb, was so quaint it almost seemed a facade.

A horse trailer pulled by an oversize black pickup truck squeaked to a stop at a traffic light.

Two elderly gentlemen in denim coveralls slouched on one of the benches, their Western hats pulled low over their foreheads to block the sun. Crumbs from the giant cinnamon rolls they were devouring fell from their mouths to the front of their shirts.

Even more intriguing were the smiles and nods and the tipping of straw Stetsons from strangers. It was easy to see why Rachel had felt it worthwhile to take a side trip to Winding Creek. It was far more difficult to imagine evil lurking among the smiles and welcoming shops.

But somewhere between the bakery and the resort, something had gone terribly wrong. Sydney picked up her pace and hastened the last half block to the bakery.

Her pulse quickened as she stepped inside Dani’s Delights. She was struck immediately by the shop’s mouthwatering odors and glass cases filled with tempting pastries. The attractive redhead behind the counter was pouring coffee into tall white mugs as she chatted and laughed with her customers.

Sydney sidestepped the line of about a half dozen people waiting for service. The morning rush hour was apparently in full swing with at least half the square metal tables occupied. The noise level was high as the occupants communicated with not only the friends at their table but those sitting several tables away.

The small-town atmosphere registered solidly in Sydney’s mind. There seemed to be few strangers in the group, but then, this was half past eight on a weekday morning. The clientele might be vastly different on a Saturday afternoon when Rachel had been here.

Sydney scanned the space. Blue painted shelves filled with inexpensive gift items lined the left wall. A display of unique pottery pieces filled eye-catching mahogany shelves near a back staircase.

Sydney was immediately drawn to the vases, pitchers and bowls in the pottery area, as she was certain her sister would have been. Sydney picked up and checked the price on the bottom of a small but striking vase glazed in the earthy colors Rachel loved.

Ninety-five dollars. More than the amount Rachel had charged. Sydney checked additional items. There were several bowls and pots in the sixty-to seventy-dollar price range.

“They’re made by a local artist.”

The voice startled Sydney. She spun around and found herself looking into the expressive eyes of the redhead who’d been serving coffee. A quick glance back at the counter revealed that there was no longer a line.

“The potter does beautiful work,” Sydney responded. “I have a sister who’d love the colors and designs.”

“You should bring her in or take her to visit the artist’s studio. She has a lot more choices than I can display. I can give you her card if you’re interested.”

“Yes, please do.”

“Do you live around here?”

Sydney took a few seconds to compose a response that Jackson would approve. “I live in New York but I’m certainly enjoying your charming town.”

“Do you have family in Winding Creek?”

“No. Actually I’m here for work.”

“Now you’ve piqued my curiosity. What kind of work brings you to our small town?”

“I’m a freelancer. I do travel articles for a variety of magazines and newspapers. I’m thinking this one will feature Winding Creek but include the surrounding area and some interesting anecdotes about the inhabitants.”

“You’ll meet no shortage of interesting people, that’s for sure. Where are you staying?”

“I’m at the motel for now but I hope to find something a little roomier and with some atmosphere.”

“There are several popular B and Bs in town that would fit that description.”

The bell over the front door dinged as a couple of middle-aged women walked in.

“Best get back to my duties, but if you’ll stop by the counter before you go, I’ll give you the addresses for the B and Bs and the pottery studio.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that. And, of course, I want to try your coffee and a pastry before I go.”

“Good. I hope you become a regular while you’re here.”

“I’m sure I will. Do you work every day?”

“Except on rare occasions. I’m Dani, the owner and creator of all the delights. Well, except for the bread. My hubby is fast taking over in that department.”

“Sounds like a keeper.”

“He definitely is.”

Sydney took another look around the shop and then walked to the counter and got in line behind a woman who was choosing an assortment of cupcakes. The bell over the door dinged again and this time it was two extremely good-looking cowboys who sauntered in.

Brothers, she’d bet from their strong resemblance. One looked a bit familiar. She stared until she realized why.

He was the suspicious stranger she’d tried to follow when he’d left the bar last night.

He looked different all cleaned up, but there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that it was the same man. He’d made a point of ignoring her attempts at conversation last night. He might not be that dismissive and rude since he wasn’t alone.

She went for her most seductive smile and looked him in the eye as he approached the counter.

“Remember me, Tucker Lawrence?”

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