Chapter Fifteen
The call was from the sheriff in Wichita Falls. Sam stepped into a nearby meeting room to take it. “Sorry for not getting back to you sooner, Agent Rafferty,” the sheriff said. “Things have been crazier than fire ants on a mule around here.”
“What about Hayden? Has he come home?”
“His horse did. One of his buddies brought it back. He said Hayden wanted to stay in Vegas for the Run for a Million—maybe do some business for the ranch. We could do the funeral when he got home. Mighty strange behavior for a son, I’d say. Has he showed up on your end?”
“Not that I know of,” Sam said. “I’m at the arena now. I’ll be watching for him. Do you want me to call you if I see him?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind. We need to talk to him.”
“Is there anything else I need to know?”
There was a pause. “I guess its okay to tell you, your being FBI and all. The part-time girl who cleans the ranch house claims that a couple of days before Hayden left for Vegas, she heard an awful hullabaloo of a fight between him and Chet.”
“Did she say what it was about?”
“Yup. According to the girl—Addie—Chet told Hayden that his girlfriend was pregnant with a boy. Chet meant to marry her and make their baby—his blood son, he said—an equal heir to his estate. Hayden blew up, said he hadn’t worked like a field hand all his life to share his legacy with a snot-nosed brat.
From there, things got worse. Hayden called the girlfriend a whore and Chet a stupid old man who couldn’t keep it in his pants. Chet ended up throwing him out.”
“What about the girl—Addie?”
“She says they didn’t notice her. She finished cleaning and cleared out. According to the work crew, Hayden and Chet patched things up the next day. But Hayden still didn’t look too happy.”
“What about the plane crash?” Sam’s mind jumped ahead.
“The FAA folks are still going over the wreckage. I’ll be waiting to hear what they find. But either way, we need to get Hayden home and question him. If you see him, give me a call. Don’t tell him what you know. We’ll take it from there.”
“Do you happen to have his cell phone number?”
“Yes. We’ve tried to call, but he doesn’t pick up.”
“Could you give me the number?”
“Sure. I’ll text it.”
“Thanks. I don’t suppose you’ve established an alibi for the night Frank was killed, have you?”
“Sorry, we’ve tried, but nobody remembers that far back.”
Ending the call, Sam left the room and stepped out into the noisy, crowded lobby.
It made sense that Chet’s news would drive Hayden to seek out his natural family.
That would be when he’d presumably called Darrin.
But Frank was long dead by then. It didn’t make sense that Hayden would have killed him.
Hayden was a weak suspect at best. So why, as Sam made his way toward the concourse, did a sudden thought stop him in his tracks?
If Hayden was indeed Darrin’s mysterious caller, why would he propose that they meet in the middle of the night, in the horse barn? And why would Darrin have agreed to it?
But that wasn’t Sam’s problem right now.
He checked his phone again. Nothing from Nick.
Maybe there was a problem with the DNA from the syringe.
Maybe it was contaminated, or there wasn’t enough for a decent test. Or maybe it didn’t match up with any of the murder suspects.
The suspense was giving him an ulcer. And his migraine, which he’d banished earlier with extra-strength painkillers, was coming back.
He owed answers to Nick, to the Culhane family, and to the cause of justice. But at times like this, all he wanted was to be done with this accursed case, reconnect with Jasmine, and spend every night for the rest of his life making love to her.
Hayden had turned on a live TV broadcast of the events in the Run for a Million. He sprawled on the sofa, eating chips and drinking the second can of a six-pack of Bud Light that room service had left outside the door.
From where she lay on the bed, still bound with zip ties, Jasmine couldn’t see the TV. But she could hear it, blasting in the room, turned high to muffle any noise she might make.
The curtains had been drawn over the sliding-glass doors to block the glare of the late-afternoon sun.
It was barely 5:30, with plenty of summer daylight left.
But what if her idea about his waiting until dark was wrong?
He could kill her anytime. There were plenty of ways to make a murder look like a suicide.
He could slice her wrists and leave her in the bathtub or pump her full of barbiturates and alcohol.
Or maybe tie a plastic bag over her head.
In her less-than-brilliant career as an actress, she’d had minor parts in a number of big-name TV crime dramas: CSI, Law and Order SVU, Criminal Minds, and NCIS.
Never the star, she’d played secretaries, mistresses, strippers, teachers, and prostitutes.
But mostly she’d played the victim. Usually her character had died.
But once in a while, she’d managed to escape.
Now, as she lay on her side with her ankles bound, her wrists lashed behind her back, and her captor a stone’s toss away, Jasmine thought about those times and tried to remember how she’d gotten free.
In one show, she’d pretended to have a seizure.
In another, she’d used a shard of broken glass to cut through the ties.
In yet another, locked in a car trunk, she’d kicked out a taillight and flagged a passing car.
But these situations were staged. This was real, and unless Hayden—her ever-loving brother or, more correctly, her half brother—cut her loose so she could fight or run, she was toast.
How could he do this to his own flesh and blood?
The thought kindled a hot blaze of fury in her.
Damn it, she wasn’t ready to end her life like the women she’d played for the TV cameras.
She wanted to live—to save animals and contribute to the good of the world.
She wanted to marry Sam and fill their home with the blue-eyed babies her mother had always hoped for.
She tried to picture her mother now—Madeleine Carlisle Culhane, a force of nature, powerful as a lioness and just as fearless. Frank had been a weakling beside her. Maybe that was why their marriage had been troubled from the start.
Where are you now, Mother? Where is your strength, your courage? Is it inside me? Can I find it?
The light through the curtains was not as bright as before. The day was fading. Hayden got up from the couch, massaged the small of his back, and started toward the bathroom. Pausing, he glanced back at Jasmine.
“Stay put now,” he said, giving her a grin before stepping inside and closing the door.
This could be her only chance. Jasmine strained at the zip ties that bound her wrists and legs. But the plastic strips held fast. She couldn’t walk. She couldn’t use her hands. She was helpless. But there had to be something she could do to change the dynamics of the situation.
She could hear him using the toilet in the bathroom.
She had seconds to act. Twisting toward the far side of the bed, she rolled onto her belly.
From there, hunching and crawling like an inchworm, she managed to reach the edge of the mattress and drop into the narrow space between the bed and the wall. She had no plan—only what was possible.
The bed was low, with less than a foot of space between the metal frame that supported the box spring and the carpeted floor.
Jasmine could hear the toilet flushing as she squirmed her way under the bed.
She was slender, but the fit was so tight that she was literally wedged.
There wasn’t even room to raise her head.
The carpet that pressed into her face was musty and smelled of stale beer. Fear soured her stomach, making her nauseous. She couldn’t hide forever. But she had no place to go. All she could do was lie still and wait.
The arena stands were full. Fans cheered wildly as horses and riders competed in spectacular slides from a full gallop to an explosive skid that sprayed the sawdust mix into waves.
Sam’s aisle seat gave him a view of the crowd below.
He could see Lila’s blond head where she sat with her daughter in the front row.
The dark-haired McKennas were farther back, Rachel sitting between her son and daughter.
Stetson was cheering and hooting with the crowd.
Cheyenne slumped in dejected silence. Love gone wrong, maybe?
He had yet to see Hayden, and he was still waiting for the call from Nick.
The sense of time running out was like blood dripping from a fatal wound.
His thoughts wandered briefly to Jasmine.
Was she still at the Excalibur waiting for her flight, or had she found another way out of town?
Would she even let him know? Maybe he should give her a quick call, just to make sure she was all right. He scrolled to her number.
Jasmine’s phone was still in her purse. She could hear the muffled ringtone and then the faint voice she recognized as Sam’s, leaving a short message before the call ended.
For a few seconds, there was nothing except the sound of the TV.
Then the bathroom door opened. With her ear pressed to the floor, Hayden’s steps reverberated like the footfalls of a giant.
He stepped into the room and stopped, probably noticing the empty bed. “Where are you, Big Sister?” He was moving around the room, looking behind the furniture. She heard him open the door, check up and down the hallway, then slam it shut.
Now he stood next to the bed, scarcely an arm’s length away.
She could see the toes of his boots below the hem of the bedspread.
Barely able to move, she held her breath as he lifted the spread, dropped to his knees in the small space, and bent low enough to see her.
Jasmine’s pulse went wild as he chuckled, then spoke.