Those Girls (29 page)

“So what’s our next move?” I said.

Dallas thought for a moment. “Let’s ask at the restaurant first. Maybe someone saw something.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

J
AMIE

We snagged a seat by the front window. The restaurant was starting to fill up, loud with clanking noises from the kitchen, the cook yelling out orders. The air smelled of burnt toast.

“Be with you in just a minute,” a waitress with black hair and blunt-cut bangs said as she walked by with some plates for another table.

I glanced at my watch, feeling restless, agitated. It was only quarter after four, but I wanted to find the girls before it got dark, didn’t want to be in this town at night. I looked around the room at the other diners and caught my breath when I saw the back of a tall man with dark curly hair and a baseball cap. My heart started to race. I tried to find my voice to warn Dallas, but I couldn’t speak.

Dallas was giving me a strange look. “What?”

“Is that…”

She turned to see what I was looking at, then sucked in her breath.

The man looked to his left and I caught his profile.

“It’s not him,” I said. But Dallas was still staring, like she couldn’t hear me. All the color had gone out of her face.

“It’s not him. Hey, look at me.” I grabbed her shoulders, forced her to face me. “It’s not
him
.”

She finally met my eyes, heard my words. Her face relaxed, but her breath was still rapid. “Jesus,” she said. “I thought … I thought he was going to turn around and see us.…”

“I know.” I looked around for the waitress. I needed water, had to get rid of the acid taste of fear in my mouth.

“Do you think he still works there?” Dallas said. She was staring out the window at the garage. The boy I’d noticed earlier glanced toward the diner as though he felt us watching him.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But we should find out.”

The waitress came back carrying a coffee carafe and menus for us. “Sorry about the wait, ladies. Coffee?”

“That’d be great,” I said. “And some water, please.” While she poured coffee into the cups on our table, I added, “You didn’t happen to see a teenage girl in here recently, did you? She’s tall, with black curly hair.”

“Oh, yeah, she was here with her friend a few nights ago.”

I felt a stab deep inside, pain mixed with hope.

“Her friend?”

“A pretty blond girl.” The waitress laughed. “She was talking the head off the other one.”

“Did you hear what they were talking about?” I said.

“No, but the dark-haired girl asked me about Owen.” She pointed across the street. “He was outside working on his Harley.”

We both looked at the pub. Owen. He was still there.

“Does his dad still own the pub?”

“Allen passed away about ten years ago. Owen’s been running it ever since.” She gave us a curious look. “You girls from around here?”

“We’ve been through a few times.”

“The girls you asking about okay?” the waitress said.

“Yes, one of them is my daughter.” I gave her a pained smile. “You know how it is with teenagers.”

The woman smiled back. “Got two girls myself.”

“If she comes in again, please let us know.” I wrote my cell number down on a napkin, passed it to her.

“Sure thing, sweetie. Maybe talk to Riley and Noah over at the garage. They know lots of the local kids.”

“Thanks. We’ll do that.” As she walked off I looked at Dallas. “Who the hell is this girl Skylar was traveling with?”

“Maybe she picked up a hitchhiker.”

“Should we ask about Crystal?” I said.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed the waitress bend down and say something to a table full of women. They glanced in our direction.

Dallas had also noticed. “I think we should just get out of here.”

“Let’s talk to Owen,” I said.

*   *   *

We dropped some money on the table for the coffees and left before the waitress could come back. I worried that Brian and Gavin would hear that two women were looking for a runaway girl. What would they do if they had her?

Don’t go there. We don’t know what happened yet.

We pushed open the door and were instantly hit in the face with the smell of beer, greasy pub food, and body odor. The music was loud and lots of the tables were full. Men watched us walk in, shoulders hunched as they leaned over their beers, hats pulled low, faces leering. I glanced around, nervous that Gavin or Brian could be in the pub. A woman with a purple streak in her hair looked up from behind the bar as we got closer.

“What can I get you ladies?”

“We need to talk to Owen.”

Her gaze flicked over us. “I’ll see if he’s available.”

She came out from around the bar, walked down the hall, and disappeared into a room on the left. She came back out a minute later.

“He’s in the storage room.” She pointed down the hall.

“Thanks.” We walked down to the room I’d seen her enter. The walls were lined with bottles of liquor, the floors stacked with a few kegs. A man with shoulder-length blond hair was crouched down, making notes on a clipboard.

He glanced up at us. “Can I help you?”

I froze, staring into his eyes. He cleared his throat, startling me out of my thoughts. “Do you remember us?” I said.

He stood up, his body filling the small space. I stepped back, bumped into Dallas, who was standing slightly behind me. His eyes locked on mine, the moment stretching out, then realization spread across his face.

“You’re those girls.”

He was a lot taller than when we’d met him years ago, his legs long in faded blue jeans, a black leather belt with a Harley buckle wrapped loosely around his waist, reminding me of his father. He’d filled out, too—his arms and shoulders in his white T-shirt looked like they were solid muscle. He had a beard, slightly darker than his hair, which he ran his hands through as he stared at us.

“We better go into my office,” he said. We followed him farther down the hall. I noticed the back door, the stairs leading up to the apartment, and pushed away the memories, the fear. We filed into his office. He sat down at an oak desk, which had seen better days, the finish worn off in spots, but it was organized. His pen holder was a piston, and he was using a model of a Harley as a paperweight. A huge shelf against the wall beside him was stacked with books.

“Close the door,” he said.

As I shut it behind me, I noticed the woman at the bar watching. She glanced away. When I turned back around, Owen was looking at me.

“I always wondered what happened to you.…” His face was curious, then turned worried, his eyebrows pulling into a frown. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re looking for my daughter, Skylar—she’s seventeen, tall, has black hair. We think she might be looking for our sister Crystal.”

“Yeah, Skylar came in here, said she was looking for her aunt.” It was strange to hear him say her name.

“Had you seen Crystal?” I said.

“She was here a couple of nights this week. The bartender said she was sitting with Gavin and some of the guys from the ranch. Shit.…” He sat up straight. “I didn’t know who she was.”

I stared at him. She’d been talking to Gavin? Was she fucking nuts? He must not have known who she was, at least not at first. What had she been thinking?

“Does Brian still work at the garage?” I had to force the name out.

“He runs the ranch with Gavin now—they live on the property.” He looked back and forth between us. “What are your names?” he said.

“I’m Jamie,” I said. “This is Dallas.”

“Do you know where Skylar went after she talked to you?” Dallas said.

“No idea.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“What about Crystal? Did you see her leave?” I said.

“No, the bartender didn’t either.” He met my eyes. “Why is she back here?”

I looked away, my face flushing. The room felt hot, the walls pressing in on me. I remembered him helping that night, his eyes staring at our wrists.

“We don’t know why she’s here,” Dallas said. “But we’d appreciate if you kept this to yourself for now.”

“The waitress at the diner said we should talk to Riley and Noah at the station,” I said. “Do you know anything about them?”

“Yeah, they’re good kids. But Riley’s Brian’s son.”

The tall boy with the dark hair. Skylar’s
brother.

“Does he … does he have any other kids?” I said.

“A daughter, around twelve years old. Riley’s seventeen.” He looked hard at me. “Skylar said you and your sister had a fight.”

“Our sister has a few problems,” I said.

“Is she looking for more? Because talking to Gavin is a good place to start. He’s bad news.”

“We know,” I said.

“There’s been talk about him getting rough with women over the years. Nothing’s stuck, but he got arrested a few times. Brian, since he got married, he’s calmed down some, but I’ve heard he’s a real asshole to his wife and kids.” He looked at me steady, his eyes narrowed. I held my breath, waiting for him to ask how old Skylar was, to put it together, but he just said, “You think Crystal and your daughter got tangled up with them?”

I didn’t know how to answer, my mind still racing over everything he’d said, panic hitting hard and deep in my guts.

“We don’t know what happened,” Dallas said. “We just know those men are dangerous.”

“Have you talked to the police?”

“Not yet,” I said. “We were hoping to find Skylar and Crystal first.”

“We know the Luxtons have that big ranch,” Dallas said. “Do they have any other properties? Maybe an old warehouse?”

I felt light-headed, could almost smell the rotten fruit, the musty mattress.

“The Luxtons own a lot of land,” Owen said. “I think they have some out toward Armstrong. What are you looking for?”

“We’re not really sure yet,” I said. “We just wanted to get a sense of what we’re dealing with.”

“We should talk to Riley and Noah,” Dallas said. “They might know something.”

“Be careful,” Owen said. “Whatever you tell them will get back to Brian.”

“We will,” I said.

“If I can help in any other way, let me know, okay?” Owen wrote his cell number down on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “I live right upstairs.”

“Thanks,” I said, standing up.

“I’ll let you out the back.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

S
KYLAR

I scrambled up the stairs, but one of my flip-flops caught on the edge of a step and I fell, landing hard on my knee. I kicked the shoes off and bounded up the last few steps, taking them three at a time, heavy footsteps thudding behind me.

I was in the hallway, my hands reaching for the spare bedroom door, when Gavin hit me so hard in the back I was slammed into the wall. He wrapped his arm around my throat, pressing against my windpipe. I fought for breath, feeling like every bone in my throat was being crushed. I tried to get my knife out of my pocket but his right hand gripped my arm, bending it behind my back. I reached over my head with my left, smacked the heel of my hand into his nose.

“Motherfucker!” His grip loosened.

I jammed my hand under his arm and pushed out fast, forcing him to release me, then spun around and kicked him in the crotch.

He dropped to his knees, cupping his groin.

I pushed past him and started running for the stairs, digging for the knife in my pocket. I could hear his steps. He was on his feet again.

“You fucking bitch!”

I was leaping down the stairs, knife in hand. I was almost at the bottom, but he was too close. I could feel him behind me, heard his breath wheezing out. My head snapped back. He’d grabbed my hair. I lost my balance and fell hard, the edge of the steps hitting my lower back. Pain shot up my spine.

His arm was around my throat again as he tried to drag me up, but this time I used the knife to stab at his forearm. He yelled and let go. I got to my feet, jumped down the last couple of steps, sprinted through the kitchen. He was following, fast. I was almost at the front door.

I was grabbed around the waist, tackled to the floor, his weight on top of me, squishing all the air out of my lungs.

He gripped my wrist, slammed my hand over and over into the floor, bent my fingers back until I had to let go of the knife. He picked it up.

I took in a strangled mouthful of air, clawed at the floor with my free hand, trying uselessly to pull my body away. I shrieked, “Help!”

His hand slapped down over my mouth. I tried to bite the hand but it was pressed too hard and I couldn’t get my teeth onto any skin. My mouth filled with the bitter taste of salt and grease. His other hand was holding my wrists behind my back. I kept kicking out, hearing grunts every time my heels connected with his legs, the blows sending shock waves of pain up my shins.

He leaned down, spoke into my ear. “I’m going to move my hand. If you make one noise or kick me again, I’m shoving this knife into your guts, hear me?”

I whimpered.

He pulled me to my feet, his left arm around my neck, holding me in a headlock. He walked me backward, half carrying me, his arm pressing hard against my windpipe. We were in the kitchen. I glanced around for a weapon, saw the pans drying in the rack, but I couldn’t reach them. I flailed out with my arm, lunging in the direction of the pans. He pulled me back with the arm around my throat, making me gasp for breath. I scratched at his arm, tried to pull it off.

“You move another muscle and I’m slitting your throat.”

I froze. Should I try to fight anyway? I heard a drawer open.

Suddenly his left leg was coming around the front of mine, sweeping my feet out from under me. I fell onto the floor, my bones jarring. I tried to scramble away but a boot stepped hard onto my back and pressed down for a few seconds, crushing. Then he was kneeling on the back of my legs, holding me in place. My arms were wrenched painfully behind me. Sounds of tape unwrapping. He bound my wrists, pinching the skin, making my watch dig in. My shoulders strained, the muscles tearing.

His weight shifted, and the pain in my legs eased as he stood up. He gripped my bound wrists.