Chapter 11
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Two weeks later . . .
I COULDN’T WIPE THE SMILE from my face if I tried. Life with Abigail is anything but boring. I should have known it would all come crashing down.
I sit down at my desk in the station with a smile on my face. I had a great couple of dates with Abigail and I can’t wait to see her again.
My fax machine starts beeping with an incoming message, but then it freezes, not printing anything with no sign of who it’s from. I sigh before slapping the side of the geriatric machine in hopes to get it moving along with no such luck.
I move along, writing up my reports that are due to headquarters and then look to the stack of files on my desk to see what needs to be looked at next when my desk phone rings.
“Savage-Ranger Division,” I bark into my phone.
“Hey, Magic. Long time no talk,” my old unit commander says into the phone. I had heard he was the Sheriff now somewhere in East Texas.
“What’s up, Ghost? How’s it been?” I ask recognizing Holt’s voice anywhere.
“Not too bad,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “I got married and adopted twin boys.”
“You’re kidding,” I say. Glad to hear he’s settled and happy. If anyone deserves it, it’s Holt. His twin brother, Will, was killed overseas more than a decade ago when we were ambushed on a routine patrol. “Who’s the lucky lady?” I ask.
“Aliza Wilson, Stone now,” he says. I recognize the name. Wilson was in our unit too and happily married to Aliza with a couple of kids. I had heard last year that he and their girls were killed by a drunk driver. It’s a reminder that life can be cruel, and we need to live in the moment.
“I was sorry to hear about Sam,” I tell him. Holt and Sam had been best friends their entire lives, growing up in the same small town. “But I’m glad to hear that everything is going great for you both.”
“It means a lot to hear that,” Holt says then after a slight pause, “But this isn’t a social call.”
“What can I help you with?” I ask him, suddenly serious.
“I sent you a fax this morning on a BOLO, did you get it?” he asks telling me about a Be on the Look Out order he sent me. It must be important.
“No, the damned machine jammed before it could come through. What’s the BOLO?” I ask.
“We had a woman pass through here about a month or so ago,” he tells me. “She was nice enough. Kept to herself mostly. Worked with Katy at the diner and then one day just disappeared.”
“So, you have a missing person?” I ask not quite sure where this is going.
“Well, that’s where things get kind of hinky. I knew she was down on her luck. I was pretty sure she was running from a mean husband, you know? She just had that look in her eyes.”
“Yeah . . .” I say with more red flags popping up in my head than at a God damned ticker tape parade.
“When she disappeared, I didn’t think much of it, but then a few days ago we got this BOLO from West Virginia,” he goes on. “It seems the wife of a big coal guy got tired of him and tried to kill him.”
“For the money?” I ask.
“That’s the funny part, she hasn’t touched a dime of it. She went into the wind and never looked back. But the guy’s not dead and really wants to find his wife,” Holt says, and I feel a pit in my stomach open up and take root.
“And you think she’s the same woman who blew through Tall Pines?” I ask.
“The very same one,” he sighs.
“And you think she came this way? Because I have to tell you I served on a search warrant team not even a month ago, looking for someone from the east coast suspected of killing their husband but we had no details and it wasn’t her. It was someone using the same name to book a motel for their affairs.”
“After talking to the husband and some of his very powerful friends on the phone, I think she’d go to the ends of the earth to not be found, so who knows where she will pop up next.”
“It sounds like she’s already been to hell and back,” I muse.
“And between you and me, I’m hoping he doesn’t find her,” Holt says off the record, of course.
“So, what does this woman look like?” I ask.
“Petite, blonde hair, brown eyes, killer body she hides under baggy, second hand clothes. Seen anyone like that around?” he asks.
“Maybe,” I hedge. More like abso-fucking-lutely. “What’s her name?”
“Ginnie Winslow,” he says.
“Never heard of her,” I say honestly. Thank God that I can. The need to get to Abby is overwhelming.
“Well keep an eye out,” Holt says. “I have the feeling she could use a friend. Especially if the husband catches up to her.”
“Yeah,” I say absent-mindedly. “I will.” I most definitely will.
I hang up the phone and push back from my desk. I grab my white ranger hat from the coat rack by the door and rush out to my truck, eager to get to the cafe and see Abby. I just need to see that she’s okay—safe.
The drive to the cafe takes me about half the time it should have and when I hurry through the front door and the bell chimes my arrival, Abby looks up and smiles at me. My long-legged stride takes me to her with a purpose and the smile slide right off of her face.
“Wh-what’s wrong?” she asks me in her quiet voice. She’s scared, and I hate that I have put that look on her face.
“Do you know a Ginnie Winslow from West Virginia?” I ask her. Her expression completely shutters, closing me out. Her lack of reaction is all the response that I need. I just don’t know how to go from there.
“Ginnie Winslow is dead,” she says.
“That’s all I need to know for now,” I say before turning on my heels and heading back out the door. It’s not until I’m in my truck that I realize I didn’t hug her or kiss her or promise Abby that everything would be okay. I went into full battle mode and my warrior forgot that Abby is soft and sweet and need reassurance and affection. It’ll have to wait for later. I only hope that I get the chance.