Page 45 of Lone Star Hostage

There’d been no answers there. And maybe there still weren’t. This could be an emotional wringer of a wild goose chase.

“When and how did you find out you’d been left at the fire station?” Billie asked, her question breaking the silence.

He didn’t have to thumb back through his memory to answer that. “I was eight, and I heard my mom tell one of her friends. Iasked her about it, and she confirmed it. Well, confirmed it in a way by saying that someone left me there so she could become my mother.”

Of course, that was better than telling a kid he’d been dumped there by an asshole prick who had lied to his birth mother about where he was taking him.

“A few years later, I found the news article about it online,” Presley went on. “Baby boy abandoned at Saddle Creek Fire Station. The date matched my birth, so I figured that was the place.”

He threaded his way through several turns, passing subdivisions that had seen their better days. Thirty-six years ago, this had been more of a middle-class community with several thriving businesses, but when those businesses had failed, so had the community, and the fire station had finally been shut down about eight years ago.

There was a dinging sound to indicate an incoming text, and Angel’s name appeared on the screen.

Sheriff Bonetti located Damon Dumfries. He’s scheduled him for an interview.

“Good,” Presley said, dictating his reply. “Any initial indications he was involved with the kidnapping or supplying his brothers with the weapons?”

Not yet, Angel answered.But they say a picture’s worth a thousand words.

An attachment loaded. A photo of a heavily muscled man in his mid-thirties. He was wearing dark camos and had assault rifles in each hand. There was a Bowie knife on his utility belt and a crossbow hooked over his arm. He looked more than ready to carry out an assortment of felonies.

I’ll let you know if Bonetti can pin anything on him, Angel added.

Presley fired off anotherGoodtext reply and made the final turn toward their destination. He spotted the station just ahead, and he glanced around, trying to see the place through the kidnappers’ eyes.

It was an ideal spot to hold a hostage.

The nearest neighborhood was surrounded by high privacy fences, and what had once been a strip mall across the street was now a self-serve storage facility. No one would have been around to notice a vehicle coming and going.

He pulled into the wide driveway and saw that the place was pretty much the same as it was years ago. All the doors were intact. The main difference was that the windows had all been fitted with full exterior shutters, not a slapped together job either. They looked as if they’d withstand a break-in attempt from curious teenagers, maybe not from someone determined though.

Someone with a hostage in tow.

Presley got out, doing a visual sweep of the area. No one was around, and he didn’t spot any security cameras, not on the building itself nor across the street at the storage facility.

He moved closer to the station, testing the large garage door where the fire engine would have been housed. Locked. So was the front door, but before he used the key to get inside, Billie and he checked the rear of the property that backed up against several vacant lots dotted with mature trees. There’d be total privacy here to load and unload Victoria.

And he saw proof that it might have happened.

There appeared to be fresh tire tracks coming from the left side of the building.

“You want me to call it in?” Billie asked.

“Yeah. Best to get a CSI team out here to compare these tracks to the ones that’d been found on a trail near the creek.” So far though, the vehicle itself hadn’t been located.

They kept moving while Billie made the call to Detective Seth Martinez, one of the officers who’d been in Ruby’s office at the onset of this ordeal. This area might be out of SAPD’s jurisdiction, but Martinez should be able to get that sorted out.

Presley tested the back door. Locked as well. There were a trio of windows here, all shuddered so he couldn’t even get a glimpse inside. Too bad since he wanted a look around.

“Martinez will have someone out here in about an hour,” Billie relayed after she’d finished her call. “They’re short-staffed as usual.”

He groaned. That felt like an eternity.

“Martinez did ask if we’d seen anything other than the tracks?” she tacked onto that.

“Not yet,” Presley muttered, moving to the door and slipping the key into the lock.

He heard an odd sound, not the click of the key, but a slight movement as if something had shifted a little on the interior of the door.

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