Missing In Blue Mesa. Cindi Myers

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      “I can take it to one of those quick oil change places,” she said. “You have enough to do without worrying about me.”

      But Ethan did worry. One of the reasons he had jumped at the chance to join the Ranger Brigade was that the new position would allow him to live close to his mom—to look after her.

      “Do you have time for coffee?” she asked as she led the way to the kitchen. “I was just going to pour myself a cup.”

      “Coffee would be nice.” He sat at the kitchen table—his usual spot, to the left of the chair where his father had always sat. From this position, he had a good view of the backyard, and the patio he and his dad had put in during Ethan’s senior year of high school—a patio currently occupied by a trio of tabby cats, busy devouring a dish of crumpets.

      “Still feeding the neighborhood strays, I see,” he said.

      “They’re not strays.” His mother slid a blue mug of coffee in front of him, then took her seat in her usual place across from Ethan. “They’re feral cats. They’ve never had a home, but grew up in the wild.”

      One cat finished and retreated to a fence post to groom itself in the sun. “You planning on adopting them?” Ethan asked. A pet might be good for her, keep her company.

      “That’s not how it works with ferals,” she said. “You can’t really tame them. They’ll never give up their independence. The best I can do is feed them and provide a sheltered spot for them to get out of the weather.” She indicated a pile of blankets in a corner of the covered patio.

      “Sounds like a good way to end up with a whole zoo of wild cats,” Ethan said.

      “Oh, no. They’ve all been neutered. See how their ears are notched? That tells everyone they were fixed.”

      The cat on the post did indeed have a notch cut out of its right ear. “Maybe you should think about adopting a domestic cat, then,” he said. “Wouldn’t you enjoy the company?”

      “I enjoy feeding the ferals and having them around, without the commitment to a full-time cat,” she said.

      “Just be careful, Mom,” he said. “Don’t let one of them bite you or anything.”

      “You sound just like your father.”

      Though she was smiling, the remark pained him. The reaction must have shown on his face, because she quickly changed the subject. “How is your new job going?” she asked. “Are you working on anything interesting?”

      “We’re trying to track down some car thieves we think might be operating on public land.” He sipped the coffee. “We were out at Daniel Metwater’s camp last night, seeing if they knew anything.”

      “He’s that good-looking preacher fellow, isn’t he?” His mom shook a packet of sweetener into her coffee and stirred. “I’ve read things about him in the paper—all those young people camping out with him. Just like the hippies back when I was that age.” She laughed. “One summer your father decided to grow his hair long and your grandmother was worried to death that he was going to become one of those flower children.”

      “Dad had long hair?” Ethan couldn’t picture it. For most of his life, his dad hadn’t had much hair at all.

      “Oh, it was just one summer,” she said. “Then he got a job in the oil fields and he had to cut it. I quite liked it, though. He had prettier hair than I did.” She laughed again. “What are they like, the followers of that Prophet?”

      “Mostly young,” he said. “Some men, but a lot of women and children. Most of them are probably harmless, but he’s attracted his share of people who are running from something—including the law.”

      “I can’t think the children have much of a life, camping in the woods like that,” she said.

      “We try to monitor them, make sure there’s no abuse or neglect.” He frowned, remembering the bruises on Michelle’s face.

      “What is it, dear?” his mother asked. “You look upset.”

      “Last night when we were out there, we ran into a woman,” he said. “Or rather, she ran into us. She’d been beaten—pretty badly. But she insisted she had fallen and wouldn’t tell us who had hit her.”

      “Oh, no.” His mom made a tsking noise. “We get women like that in the emergency room sometimes. They’re too afraid to tell the truth, I think.”

      “This woman was afraid.” He pushed his half-empty cup aside. “I’m going to go out there this morning and talk to her again. Maybe I can persuade her to file charges.”

      “I hope you can help her,” his mom said. “No woman should be treated that way. Your father would have died before he raised his hand against me.”

      “Yeah, Dad was a great guy.” He pushed his chair back. “I’d better get going. I’ll be over later to take care of the lawn.”

      His mom walked with him to the door. “Thanks, sweetie.” She kissed his cheek again. “And don’t worry about me. That’s my job.”

      It was his job, too, now that his dad wasn’t around. Trying to ignore the heaviness in his chest, he returned to his cruiser. He couldn’t take away his mom’s or his own grief, but he could do whatever he could to make her life easier. She wasn’t like Michelle—alone with no one to defend her.

      * * *

      MICHELLE WOKE TO Hunter’s crying—a reassuring sound, since she had been having a dream in which he was lost and she couldn’t find him. She sat up on the side of her cot, groaning as pain radiated through her body, and the memory of last night returned, like a fresh blow. She put a hand to the tender, swollen flesh around her mouth, and carefully stood, then shuffled toward the crib.

      The baby was soaking wet, so she changed him, then sat on the side of the cot once more to nurse him. She was weaning him, but right now she needed this closeness, giving him something only she could provide. Asteria was nowhere in sight—not surprising, since she spent most of her nights lately with Daniel Metwater. Michelle held her son closely and replayed the events of last night in her head.

      She had been stupid to think Metwater wouldn’t lash out at her. Stupid to believe he would hand over the locket in exchange for her promise of silence. Not that she intended to keep that promise, but she was good at conning people. She had been doing it most of her life.

      But Metwater was a con, too. He knew how the game was played. And now that he knew she was on to him, she would have to be careful. She would have to make sure Hunter stayed safe.

      She brushed the hair from the baby’s forehead and he smiled up at her. Her heart clenched. Until she had had Hunter, she had had nothing—no one.

      She slipped a hand into her pocket and felt the business card the Ranger had given her. Ethan. A high-class-sounding name. Someone named Ethan probably wouldn’t drop out of school or end up in jail for boosting cars or dealing drugs, the way the boys from her neighborhood did. Ethan went to college. He got a job upholding the law instead of breaking it.

      Ethan didn’t look twice at Michelle Munson from the wrong side of town. СКАЧАТЬ