Читать книгу Hostage At Hawk's Landing - Rita Herron - Страница 10

“I found your father.”

Dexter Hawk tensed. Detective Frank Lamar’s words echoed over the phone line as if boomeranging off the mountains.

Steven Hawk had left the family ranch and abandoned Dex and his family eighteen years ago, shortly after they’d lost their sister, Chrissy. No one had heard from him since.

Dex had taken advantage of his PI skills to search for him, and asked his friend Detective Lamar to help. Lamar was several years older than him, but had taken Dex under his wing a long time ago, becoming his mentor.

“Dex?” Detective Lamar asked. “You there?”

Dexter released the breath he was holding. He’d waited a long damn time for this phone call. But judging from the tone of Lamar’s voice, the news wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Yeah. Where is he?” Dex finally asked.

“Briar Creek,” Lamar said.

Briar Creek? Only thirty miles from Hawk’s Landing. Had he been nearby all this time? Or had he moved around, then decided to finally come home? “Did you talk to him?”

“He’s not talking, Dex.” A tense second passed, filling Dex’s head with dread.

“I’m sorry,” Lamar said gruffly.

Sweat beaded on Dex’s forehead. His father was dead. Lamar didn’t have to say the words. His apology said it all.

Dex heaved a breath, his chest straining for air. “I have to see him.”

“You can do that at the morgue,” Lamar said. “I’ve already called an ambulance.”

“No, don’t move him. I’m coming there.” He snagged his keys from the end table and rushed outside to the SUV he’d bought when he’d donated his pickup to the ranch for the hands.

“What happened?” Dex asked as he climbed in and started the engine.

“Looks like an accident. Pickup truck ran off the road.” A hesitant pause. “Dex, there’s really no reason—”

“I mean it, Lamar. Do not move him,” Dex said between clenched teeth. “I’ll be there ASAP.” He had to see him for himself. Had to know exactly what had happened to the man who he’d once ridden piggyback and who taught him to ride and fish. Had to know why he’d just up and left and never even called. Birthdays and holidays had passed. Years of worry and wondering and...grief.

His phone vibrated from the console. He gave a quick glance. Harrison, his oldest brother. For a brief second he wondered if Lamar had called him, but he’d sworn Lamar to secrecy about his desire to find their father, so he let the call go to voice mail. He wouldn’t destroy the peace and happiness his mother and brothers had recently found until he knew for certain that this dead man was his father.

His family had no idea he’d made it his mission to find him. Not that he had some wild fantasy about a happy reunion with their long-lost patriarch, but Dex’s anger had festered for years. He’d practiced what he’d say to his old man for so long that disappointment swamped him.

Now he wouldn’t even get the pleasure of telling him off.

Memories of his childhood bombarded him as he drove. His father playing horseshoes with him and his brothers in the backyard. The camping trip where they’d told ghost stories while they huddled in their tent to escape the rain. His father teaching him how to tie knots and rope cattle.

He turned onto a side road that wove past farmland and neared the small town of Briarwood. Briar Creek was known for flooding during heavy storms, but the land looked dry now, and the water low.

He spotted Lamar’s unmarked police car on the side of the road around a curve, an ambulance behind it. He parked a few feet behind the ambulance, then climbed out, the summer heat oppressive. Dusk was settling in, the sun was fading and gray clouds were adding a dismal feel.

A drop-off on the left side led from the shoulder of the road to the creek. A black, rusted pickup had nosedived into the water.

Gravel skittered beneath his boots as he descended the hill and approached it. Lamar was speaking to the medics, his craggy face beaded with perspiration. When he looked up at Dex, his expression was grim.

“We’re ready to move him,” Lamar said.

Dex held up a hand. “Just give me a minute.” He swallowed hard. ‘‘Please.”

A heartbeat passed before Lamar replied. “All right. Just don’t touch anything.”

Dex hiked over to the truck with Lamar on his heels. The front of the pickup was submerged in about six inches of water, the passenger door ajar. The driver was slumped forward, his head against the steering wheel. The scent of whiskey assaulted Dex, obviously from the empty liquor bottle on the seat.

Disgust slammed into Dex. Had his father turned into a drunk?

With gloved hands, Lamar lifted the man’s head away from the steering wheel. Blood streaked his face and arms, his nose was crushed, and a jagged scar ran along the upper right side of his forehead. Gray streaked the man’s shaggy hair and beard.

Dex inhaled a deep breath. He hadn’t seen his father in eighteen years. Anger and resentment had obliterated memories and images of him until he had a hard time picturing him in his mind.

He remembered that he was a big man, and this man was big. Was he looking at him now?

He cleared his throat, forcing back emotions. He was a PI; he had answers to find. “What made you certain this is my father?”

Lamar rubbed a hand over his sweaty face, then lifted a bag holding an ID. Dexter peered at the ID through the plastic. The name on the driver’s license was Steven Hawk.

“I found these in the dash, too.” Lamar held up another evidence bag, and Dex’s chest tightened. Photos. One of him and his brothers and sister when they were little, then another of his father and mother on their wedding day. His mother still kept the same picture on her dresser in her bedroom.

“I’m sorry, Dex,” Lamar said.

Dex blinked hard. He damn well would not cry, not in front of Lamar. And not for the man who’d walked out on him and his family and never looked back.

But denial also reared its ugly head. “I want DNA for confirmation.”

“Of course,” Lamar said.

Dex studied the dead man’s features, struggling to make this bloody face belong to the man he’d loved and idolized.

But an image of his father laughing when Dex had fallen from his horse into a mud puddle surfaced and moisture blurred his eyes. A second later, he saw his father’s strained expression as he searched the woods for Chrissy, then the anger in his eyes when the sheriff had treated him like a suspect. But it was his mother’s tearstained cheeks the morning after his father hadn’t come home that still haunted him.

That was the final blow that had nearly crushed her.

Lamar waved the medics down the hill to remove the body from the truck. Dex noticed a business card on the floor by the seat, snatched the card and jammed it in his pocket. Maybe something on the card would lead him to answer the questions that kept him awake at night. Like where his father had been all this time.

Had he forgotten about his family? Found happiness with another woman?

Had he even thought about them?

Emotions pummeling him, he turned and strode back up the hill. Lamar would let him know when the DNA results were in. Then he’d have to break the news to his family.

Not tonight, though. Tonight he’d grieve alone.

He fingered the card in his pocket as he climbed in his SUV and pulled out the wooden nickel he always carried.

His father’s voice echoed in his head. “Don’t take any wooden nickels, son.”

Dex had taken that meaning to heart. He’d never accepted anything at face value and always investigated things himself.

The name of a homeless shelter had been scrawled on the card.

Maybe someone there could tell him more about his father.