you recognize this vehicle?” the sheriff asked.
A cold sweat broke out on Sage’s body. “It’s Ron’s. My fiancé.”
Sheriff Gandt’s expression looked harsh in the morning light. Then she saw what he was holding in his hands.
Benji’s teddy bear and red hat.
No... Dear God. Had Benji been in the car with Ron when it crashed and caught on fire?
Two years later
Dugan Graystone did not trust Sheriff Billy Gandt worth a damn.
Gandt thought he owned the town and the people in it and made no bones about the fact that men like Dugan, men who weren’t white, weren’t fit for office and should stay out of his way.
Gandt had even tried to stop Dugan from taking on this search-and-rescue mission, saying he could use his own men. But the families of the two lost hikers had heard about Dugan’s reputation as an expert tracker and insisted he spearhead the efforts to find the young men.
Dugan rode his stallion across the wilderness, scrutinizing every bush and tree, along with the soil, for footprints and other signs that someone had come this way. A team of searchers had spread across the miles of forests looking for the missing men, but Dugan had a sixth sense, and it had led him over to Cobra Creek, miles from where Gandt had set up base camp for the volunteer workers involved in the search.
Dammit, he hated Gandt. He’d run against him for sheriff and lost—mainly because Gandt bought votes. But one day he’d put the bastard in his place and prove that beneath that good-old-boy act, Gandt was nothing but a lying, cheating coward.
Born on the reservation near Cobra Creek, Dugan had Native American blood running through his veins. Dugan fought for what was right.
And nothing about Gandt was right.
Money, power and women were Gandt’s for the taking. And crime—if it benefited Billy—could be overlooked for a price.
Though Dugan owned his own spread, on the side, he worked as a P.I. His friend, Texas Ranger Jaxon Ward, was looking into Gandt’s financials, determined to catch the man at his own game.
The recent flooding of the creek had uprooted bushes and trees, and washed up debris from the river that connected to the creek. Dugan noted an area that looked trampled, as if a path had been cut through the woods.
He guided his horse to a tree and dismounted, then knelt to examine the still-damp earth. A footprint in the mud?
Was it recent?
He noticed another, then some brush flattened, leading toward the creek. Dugan’s instincts kicked in, and he shone his flashlight on the ground and followed the indentations.
Several feet away, he saw another area of ground that looked disturbed. Mud and sticks and...something else.
Bones.
Maybe an animal’s?
He hurried over to examine them, his pulse pounding. No...that was a human femur. And a finger.
Human bones.
And judging from the decomp, they had been there too long to belong to one of the two teenagers who’d gone missing.
The radio at his belt buzzed and crackled, and he hit the button to connect.
“We found the boys,” Jaxon said. “A little dehydrated, but they’re fine.”
Dugan removed his Stetson and wiped sweat from his forehead. “Good. But I need the coroner over here at Cobra Creek.”
“What?”
“I found bones,” Dugan said. “Looks like they’ve been here a couple of years.”
A foreboding washed over Dugan. Two years ago, a man named Ron Lewis had supposedly died in a car crash near here. Sage Freeport’s son had been with him at the time.
The man’s body and her son’s had never been found.
Could these bones belong to Ron Lewis, the man who’d taken her son?
* * *
SAGE SET A PLACE at the breakfast bar for Benji, then slid a pancake onto the plate and doused it with powdered sugar, just the way her son liked it. His chocolate milk came next.
The tabletop Christmas tree she kept year-round still held the tiny ornaments Benji had made and hung on it. And the present she’d had for him the year he’d gone missing still sat wrapped, waiting for his small hands to tear it open.
It was a glove and ball, something Benji had asked Santa for that year.
Would the glove still fit when she finally found him and he came home?
Two of her guests, a couple named Dannon, who’d come to Cobra Creek to celebrate their twentieth anniversary, gave her pitying looks, but she ignored them.
She knew people thought she was crazy. Mrs. Krandall, the owner of the diner in town, had even warned her that perpetuating the fantasy that her son was still alive by keeping a place set for him was dangerous for her and downright creepy.
She also suggested that it would hurt Sage’s business.
A business Sage needed to pay the bills—and to keep her sanity.
But she couldn’t accept that her son was dead.
Not without answers as to why Ron had taken Benji from the house and where they’d been headed.
Not without definite proof that he wasn’t alive out there somewhere, needing her.
Of course, Benji’s hat and bear had been found at the scene, but his bones had never been recovered.
Sheriff Gandt theorized that Lewis and Benji probably had been injured and tried to escape the fire by going into the creek. But storms created a strong current that night, and their bodies must have washed downstream, then into the river where they’d never be found.
She should never have trusted Ron with her son. It was her fault he was gone....
She refused to believe that he wouldn’t be back. She had to cling to hope.
Without it, the guilt would eat her alive.
* * *
DUGAN GRITTED HIS TEETH as Sheriff Gandt studied the bones.
“Could have been a stranger wandering through,” Gandt said. “Miles of wilderness out here. I’ll check the databases for wanted men. Criminals have been known to hide out here off the grid.”
The medical examiner, Dr. Liam Longmire, narrowed his eyes as he examined the body they unearthed when they’d
