that he had seen that much of the rest of his family in too many years to count. But he still cared about them and stayed in contact. His ugly hometown memories were what had kept him away from any reunions. He hated the tiny town of Chance, Texas, and the Bar-C Ranch, and he despised everything they reminded him of and stood for.
But getting a lead on Cami might go a long way toward easing the many mysteries still lingering in his mind about his childhood.
He dashed down the street, heedless of the very real confrontation about to take place. At that moment Manuel Villegro, the federal prosecutor that the justice department secretly had been keeping under surveillance for many months now, pulled his Hummer up to the alley entrance and stopped right next to their informant. Colt’s unit had designed this sting to gather evidence proving Villegro had been taking bribes—and it was going down now.
Paying little attention, Colt turned the corner, trying to keep one eye on the crowd ahead and one eye on the action behind him. But when he looked up, the group of people he’d been chasing had evaporated. The barrio’s streets were suddenly deserted.
Hesitating where he stood and wondering what had changed, he spotted two pickups loaded with men moving ominously in his direction. He got a better look, taking note that the men appeared dangerous and carried long-barreled guns. He figured they must belong to the international arms cartel that had been allegedly bribing Villegro.
Realizing a little late that the inter-agency’s sting had probably become a double cross, Colt turned on his heels and started running back toward the other members of his team who’d been waiting in the shadows. The pickups’ engines gunned right behind him.
He wouldn’t make it back in time.
“Abort the operation,” he shouted as he ran and waved his arms above his head. “Get off the street now. Move. Move.”
He never heard the first sound of gunfire when the bullets struck him in the back. But pain became his entire focus as he tried to take a few more steps.
The next thing he knew rounds from illegal weapons started echoing off buildings everywhere and the stench of gunpowder irritated his nostrils. A smoky haze settled over the entire scene, making it tough to see who was who. Several bullets found their marks then and took him to his knees.
Damn. He’d screwed up. Lost his chance.
His last thought, before everything went black, was now he might never find out what had happened to his baby sister.
* * *
Colt woke up from the nightmare soaked in sweat and breathing hard. The same way he came awake every time he’d suffered through that damned old dream.
“You okay, little brother?” Sam, his eldest brother, leaned over him, a look of deep concern spreading across his face.
God, how he hated this. Hated being thought of as an invalid. Hated being forced to come back to his hometown—to the Bar-C Ranch.
The early-morning sun beat down against the wooden porch where he sat, giving everything a false golden hue.
“Just great.” Colt couldn’t avoid a grimace as he slowly straightened up in the rocker and then came to his unsteady feet beside his eldest brother.
“That same nightmare again?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. Only it wasn’t a nightmare. He’d lived through every second of that whole nasty scenario six long months ago.
“You sleep in that chair all night?” Sam studied him with serious intent. “Something the matter with the perfectly good king-size bed inside this old mobile home? Travis and I worked our butts off stuffing the danged thing into the place and setting it up alongside Mama’s old office furniture.”
“I haven’t been sitting in the chair for long,” he answered reluctantly. “And there’s nothing wrong with the bed. I woke up early, came out for air and fell asleep again waiting for sunrise.” Only a slight exaggeration. He’d been out here on the porch since 3:00 a.m.
Sam gingerly sat on the porch’s top step and gazed at the sunrise. “We’re worried about you. Living out here on the range in this temporary mobile Mama used to use as an office is crazy. And you’re not entirely healed yet—only one month out of the rehab hospital. It’s not right.”
“Grace sent you.” It wasn’t a question. Colt knew who worried the most in his brother’s family.
Sam huffed under his breath. “I’m every bit as worried as my wife is. Maybe more. I know how it feels to be suspended from your job.
“What the hell are you doing, Colt? Why not work harder at getting well so you can go back and fight for your job?”
“I’m not sure I want my job back.” Well, damn. That was the first time he’d admitted such a thing out loud.
He knew their conversation was far from over, so he folded up his tall frame and sat next to Sam. Figuring his admission would trigger an interrogation, he rested his elbows on his knees and waited.
It didn’t take his eldest brother long. “No? Then what do you want?”
May as well say it. “Answers. I want to know what happened to Cami. And I intend to find out who really killed Mama.” There was one more thing he’d like answers about, too. But Colt wasn’t quite ready to admit that one yet.
“Well, yeah.” Sam turned his head, staring at him with another thousand questions in his eyes. “The rest of us want those kinds of answers, too. Gage perpetually searches the internet for any word on Cami. And I’ve combed that barrio where you think you spotted her every time Grace and I take the kids out to Southern California to visit her grandmother. We all want the same things, so what’s different now?”
“Now is different because I intend to prove that our father did not kill our mother. Once and for all, I want to clear his name.”
Sam’s lips tipped up at the edges like he was about to smile, but he stayed sober and thoughtful enough to say, “Man, that’s a real cold case. Almost twenty years ago. Going to be tough tracking down any new evidence.”
Thank goodness Sam refrained from mentioning the fact that Colt was not the most skillfully trained investigator in the family. But if desire and heart counted for anything, Colt would get the job done where others may have failed.
“You don’t believe Daddy did it, do you?”
Sam rubbed at his chin for a moment. “Naw. I don’t guess any of us thinks that. But do you have any other suspects in mind?”
Colt knew what his brother was asking. Nearly twenty years ago the Chance County sheriff had rushed through their mother’s murder investigation, convicted their father and sent him off to die in prison. And every one of the Chance boys had wondered about his true motives then—and now.
“Austin McCord still sheriff in this county?” he asked by way of answering Sam’s question.
“Yeah, he is. Just older. And even pricklier, if that’s possible. Gonna be tough getting any information from him.”
“Don’t think I’ll be asking him for info anytime soon.” Colt intended to begin in a much more indirect way rather than by head-on assault. “There’re plenty of people from back in those days still living in Chance that I can interview, aren’t there?”
“Some. But you’ll still need to see the old files, if any of them still exist. It’ll be important to take a look at the forensics done at the time and to read the sheriff’s interviews. Time dims memories. Eventually you’ll have to go through the sheriff to look at whatever he kept.”
The idea actually brought a smile to Colt’s lips. “Eventually. Maybe. In the meantime, I have a few ideas on how to get information that don’t include asking.”
Sam got to his feet and drilled him with a steely stare. “None of Chance County’s files from that