CHAPTER SEVEN
THE RANCH HOUSE was big and rambling. Flint hadn’t spent much time there since he bought his house in town right after the law-enforcement academy and getting hired on as a deputy.
But as he parked and got out, he looked up at the three-story house with its huge deck off one side and felt the memory of his idyllic childhood warm him. He’d loved growing up here on the ranch. Also, he had ranching in his blood. Maybe that was why his father could never understand why he’d left it behind to become a “cop.”
The front door of the house swung open. “Hey!” Cyrus called down to him. “We were just about to throw some steaks on the grill. Come on up.”
Flint took the steps, feeling as if weights had been tied to his legs. Exhaustion pulled at him. For hours he’d been wired, waiting to hear of any news about Maggie. Worry had worn him down. Suddenly just picking up one foot after the other seemed too much for him.
Cyrus had left the door open. He closed it behind him and followed the smell of potatoes baking in the oven to the back of the house and the large country kitchen. His brother Hawk was sitting at the island. Cyrus had on an oven mitt and was reaching in to see if the potatoes were done.
Neither brother looked like they knew what to say or do. When he’d called to ask if he could stay at the ranch, he’d had to tell Hawk that he’d been put on paid leave because Maggie had disappeared and foul play was suspected. He’d said he didn’t want to talk about it and Hawk had simply said, Come on up to the house. We’ll have a room ready for you.
He’d appreciated that. Neither brother was a big talker. They both spent most of their time on the back of a horse, chasing cattle or mending fences. So he could tell that they didn’t know what to say to him now.
“Quite the domestic scene here,” Flint said to break the pained silence. “This how it looks every night?”
Hawk laughed. “Cyrus is showing off for you. We don’t have guests much. Not that you’re a guest...” He looked to his brother to bail him out.
“I make a mean steak, no matter what Hawk says. If I left the cooking up to him we’d be having boxed macaroni and cheese.”
Flint smiled at the two of them and felt such a surge of love for them that his eyes burned with tears. “I had a bite at the saloon. If you two don’t mind, I just need to get some rest. Which room—”
“Top of the stairs,” Cyrus said, closing the oven and taking off the mitt. “We made up your old room. If you need anything...”
He shook his head and headed for the stairs, thankful that his brothers had the good sense not to quiz him right now. All he wanted was to get to his room and pass out. But even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.
Where was Maggie? It was the thought that drilled into his skull. Somewhere out in this snowstorm? Cold, hurt, dying? As sheriff, he was the one expected to save people. He felt as if he’d let Maggie down. She’d told him that she was afraid of Celeste and he’d kept saying he didn’t think she was really dangerous.
Now he wanted to kick himself. He should have protected her. It was his job. He should have asked her to marry him a long time ago. There was so much he should have done—and didn’t.
Flint tossed his coat on the bed and moved to the window. Looking out at the falling snow, he thought about the first time he’d seen Maggie. He’d been driving down Main Street when she’d caught his eye. She was walking down the sidewalk on a bright spring day, her head high, her face turned up to the sun, her long chestnut hair pulled into a ponytail that bobbed as she walked. She was smiling.
Yes, it was the smile, the joy in it, the feeling it gave him just seeing her.
But he’d been in the middle of a divorce after Celeste had torn his heart out. He’d looked away, but he’d never forgotten that moment or that woman.
It was weeks later that he’d found out her name was Maggie Thompson and that she’d opened a beauty shop in town.
That was all he’d known about her—and he hadn’t learned much more in the time they’d been dating, he realized with a start. He told himself that he’d respected her privacy about her past, but now he regretted not asking. He couldn’t help but think of Anvil. Like the farmer, had he not asked because he was afraid of what he would have learned?
Flint almost laughed at the absurdity. His past wasn’t just known all over town—it had been walking around in expensive heels, still making his life miserable. How much worse could Maggie’s past be?
Just the thought of Celeste made him ball his hands into fists. He’d been so sure that she wasn’t truly dangerous. That she wouldn’t hurt Maggie—just torment her. He’d been wrong and now it was Maggie who would have to pay the price.
That was the thought that stayed with him as he stepped to the bed and sat down. Exhaustion pulled at him. He told himself he’d never be able to sleep as he lay back, too tired to even take off his boots. Celeste had Maggie and as sheriff it was his job to get her back.
Only he wasn’t sheriff. Worse, he feared he couldn’t get her back.
* * *
MAGGIE WOKE WITH a start as she felt something close touch her temple. She tried to shove it away only to find her wrists were bound on each side of her, as were her legs when she tried to move.
Her eyes flew open. She was immediately blinded by a bright light, but she sensed someone was leaning over her. Panic seized her as she tried to pull free of the restraint. Where am I? What happened?
She must have voiced the words because she heard a soft chuckle a moment before she felt the needle prick her arm. The room smelled musty and damp. She shivered as she fought to make sense out of what was happening to her, but her brain felt too foggy and slow.
Digging into her memory, she found the last thing she remembered was being in Flint’s house and realizing she wasn’t alone. Her heart began to pound and she fought her restraints.
She pried her eyes open, trying to see beyond the bright light even as she felt the drug make her eyelids droop. Through the slits she saw shadows that seemed to waver.
Her eyelids drooped and she was pitched again into darkness.
* * *
MARK GOT THE call from the spa the next morning. He had every law-enforcement agency across the country on the lookout for Maggie, but he’d heard nothing. Nor had Celeste shown up at the spa last night before he’d finally given up and gone home to bed. He’d left word for the manager at the spa to call him first thing in the morning.
Now as he picked up, he told himself that the news wasn’t going to be good. It wasn’t.
“I’m sorry, but Mrs. Duma called and left a message. She said she wasn’t going to be able to make her appointment with us.” He’d learned earlier that she’d ordered the three-day treatment that included everything from seaweed wraps to hot rock massages.
Mark swore silently. Flint had been convinced that Celeste was behind this. Mark had been skeptical. Given the bad blood between the two women, he couldn’t see how it would have gone down. Maggie wouldn’t have gotten into a vehicle with Flint’s ex and Celeste wasn’t strong enough to put an unconscious Maggie into her car and abduct her. Unless she’d had help.
That seemed even more far-fetched. Celeste behaved as an upstanding citizen in Gilt Edge—most of the time. It wasn’t like she hung out with friends who would help her abduct her ex’s girlfriend.
“Did Mrs. Duma say why she was canceling or where she was calling from?” he asked now.
“She said because of the snowstorm. Apparently she’d tried to get down here but had to get a motel, unable to drive any farther yesterday. She didn’t say where she was calling from. I got the impression she was heading back home as soon as the roads were passable.”
“If you should hear from her again, please give me a call,” Mark told the woman. He hung up, then picked up the phone again and called Wayne Duma.
“I just heard from the spa in Paradise Valley—” He’d barely gotten the words out when Duma interrupted him.
“Celeste just walked in the door. I was going to call you.”
Mark groaned to himself. Duma wasn’t going to call until he’d quizzed his wife. “I’ll send a deputy—”
“That won’t be necessary. We’ll come down to the sheriff’s office.”
* * *
THE SOUND OF his cell phone ringing dragged Flint up out of a dark hole filled with hellish nightmares. He sat up, disoriented and heart pounding with a fear he couldn’t explain. It took him a moment to realize he was in his old bedroom. It looked so much like it had before he’d moved out that for a moment he was transported back in time. It was as if the past twenty years hadn’t happened.
Then he remembered. Maggie was still missing.
His cell phone rang again. He swung his legs out of bed and, rubbing his face to chase away sleep, reached for his phone where he’d left it on his childhood desk the night before. “Sheriff Cahill,” he said into it, his voice froggy. He cleared his throat as memory returned. He was on a paid leave of absence. “Hello?”
“Flint,” said a familiar male voice.
He almost groaned. What the hell was Deputy Harper Cole doing calling him at this hour? If there was any news, Mark would be calling.
“Harp, this better be good.”
“I thought you’d want to know,” the deputy said in a conspiratorial hushed tone. “Celeste Duma is back in town and on her way down to the sheriff’s office.”
All remnants of sleep were gone. Flint got to his feet and looked around for his coat. “Do you know where she’s been?”
“No, but Mark is setting up the interrogation room right now. I guess he didn’t call you. I would imagine you can’t sit in on this but I still thought you should know.”
It was so like Harp to suck up at a time like this. “Thanks.” He disconnected and reached for his coat. At the back of his mind, a voice was warning him not to do this. If he went down there and busted in...
But he knew Celeste. He would be able to tell if she was lying when no one else could. He had to look into the woman’s face and know the truth. A knot formed in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He would know if she’d hurt Maggie, if she’d done something with her.
And then... He didn’t want to think about what he might do if she tried to lie her way out of this. Or if she refused to tell him where Maggie was and what she’d done with her. Or if she’d killed Maggie.
He ran a hand through his hair as he headed for the door. It had been almost forty hours since anyone had seen Maggie. Celeste would tell him the truth if he had to shake it out of her.