Page 45 of River Justice

“Keep the pickup in sight, but don’t approach. Wait for me.” Stuart was a good ten miles away. He pushed the patrol SUV up to over a hundred, afraid of what kind of trouble Birdie Malone was driving into and taking Brand Stafford with her.

BIRDIEHADDRIVENfast until she sighted the pickup. She had backed way off, afraid that the woman would realize she was tailing her. From a good distance, she’d seen the pickup turn onto Cache Creek Road. Then she’d taken her time reaching the turnoff.

“The sheriff said not to approach her,” Brand repeated. “Birdie? This is not the time to do anything impulsive. If you’re right, this woman is dangerous.”

She seldom had doubts about the seemingly impetuous things she did—even though she was aware that she should more often consider her actions before leaping in. “The thing is, if I hadn’t skulked around the Stafford Ranch the night before the kidnapping, I wouldn’t have been able to provide you with an alibi. You could still be locked up in jail.”

“If only,” he said under his breath.

“Also, I wouldn’t have seen the pickup and camper near the McKenna Ranch that night and later down the road from your ranch,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard him. “So it must be fate, wouldn’t you say? Fate that we met and are now following the possible kidnapper.”

“Fate?” he demanded as she made the turn onto Cache Creek Road. “It wasn’t fate that you followed me home from the bar that night.”

“We can’t lose sight of her,” Birdie argued. “I’ll just go up the road a little way until we find out where she’s going.”

She couldn’t see the truck ahead and sped up, determined not to lose her. She was mentally kicking herself for dropping back so far, thinking she’d already lost her, when she came up over a rise in the road and saw that the driver of the white pickup had stopped in the middle of the road.

Birdie hit her brakes and skidded to a stop as the driver’s-side door opened and the woman climbed out and headed back toward them. She heard Brand let out a curse.

At a glance, the woman looked to be in her late forties or early fifties. Her bleached-blond hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and she wore jeans, a blouse, boots and a leather jacket. She didn’t look like a kidnapper. Then again, Birdie had no idea what one looked like.

“I don’t like this,” Brand said under his breath as the woman approached the SUV. “I think we should get out of herenow.”

Birdie couldn’t help noticing the rock on the woman’s ring finger. If it was real, it must have cost a bunch. The woman’s other hand was buried deep in her jacket pocket. She tapped on the window with her free hand, the ring catching the light, her nails appearing to have been professionally done recently, except that one of the blue-painted nails had been broken.

Birdie hesitated, caught between throwing her SUV into Reverse and needing to hear what this possible kidnapper was going to say.

“I’m lost,” the woman said the moment Birdie whirred down her window. “On top of that, I’m running late. I’m supposed to be there by now. They’ll be sending out a search party. Do you know the Mullenses?” She glanced from Birdie to Brand and back.

Birdie shook her head, surprised and worried that she’d been wrong about everything, including this woman she’d followed.

“I think I should have turned left instead of right back at the main road.” She looked pointedly at Birdie. “I have to turn around and go back. Can’t wait for all the blond jokes when I tell him what I did.” She swung her ponytail and let out a laugh as fake as her nails.

Birdie looked toward the pickup. She couldn’t swear it was the same one. She feared everyone would be making fun of her for going off half-cocked. Her mother used to warn her about that.

“Birdie, sometimes you need to take a breath and think things out before acting.”

So maybe she’d always been this way. “Sorry I can’t be of more help. I also need to turn around. I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“Oh, I thought maybe you were lost, too.” The woman looked at her suspiciously as she shoved both hands into her leather jacket pockets and looked back up the road in the direction they had come. She seemed anxious to get moving, as if afraid of who else might show up.

Birdie realized the sheriff could show up at any moment. The woman was making her nervous, given how deep her hands were in her leather jacket pockets on this warm summer day.

“If you were following me, you were really following the wrong person,” the woman said. “I never get directions right. Unless you’re going to the Mullens ranch, too.”

Birdie shook her head. “Just driving around on our way to Broadus. Realized we’d never been down Cache Creek. Do you know where this road comes out?”

“Not a clue,” the woman said. “Clearly, I’m not from around here.”

Birdie glanced at the pickup’s license plate. This close, she could see that it was a Wyoming plate. She could even make out the numbers and letters under the smear of dried mud. The woman’s hands were still in her jacket pockets. She was glancing back down the road again, visibly nervous now as if she heard someone coming.

“Good luck finding the Mullenses. I better get going. I’ll back up so you can,” Birdie said and put her window up. The woman started to reach out as if to stop her from raising the window. Her fingers pressed against the glass for an instant. Birdie saw the clear print in the dust, and so did the woman, her eyes widening.

Birdie threw the SUV into Reverse and hit the gas, forcing the woman to step back and keeping her from wiping the print off the glass. As she hurriedly backed down the road, she saw the woman rush to her pickup. For a weapon? Or had she been fingering a gun in her jacket pocket while they were talking?

Would she chase after them? No. The woman had climbed behind the wheel and was now taking off down the road, leaving only dust behind.

For just a split second, Birdie thought about going after her again. She kept telling herself that she hadn’t been wrong about the pickup or the woman, even as doubt tried to shoulder its way in.Can’t wait for all the blond jokes when I tell him what I did.Before that, the woman had saidthey, as in the Mullenses. Just a slip of the tongue?

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