Page 28 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

TWENTY-TWO

MATEO

My fingers drum against the wooden desk—anything to distract me from the heart pounding in my throat. I’ve been sitting here for close to an hour, and the Moztecha Police officer assigned to my case still hasn’t bothered to grace me with his presence.

I’d say I don’t blame him—I’ve been here every day for the last four days demanding answers to the same question—except I do blame him. But not as much as I blame myself.

Where the hell is Dale?

The door clicks open behind me, but I don’t bother turning around. My rage has built to a boiling point, and flying off the handle is the last thing Dale needs. Even if it’s what every lousy police officer here deserves.

“Mr. Reyes?—”

“Mateo. Phil, let’s cut the shit.” I shift in the plastic chair beneath me, only now realizing I’ve sat so still the last fifty minutes my muscles ache.

I ignore the throb in my back—and my head—and pin the scrawny, forty-something year old man with a red mustache that looks closer to a tomato soup stain than hair, with a glare.

“Mateo,” he states dryly, slumping into his chair across from me. He steeples his fingers, assessing me. I know what it’s like to sit on the other side of the desk, the power it can give you.

But unlike this piss ant, I actually have some. And he’s about to loose everything if he doesn’t produce some fucking answers.

“We’ve still found nothing. Although the surveillance tapes you provided—” His eyebrow arches, baiting me to admit my wrongful involvement in Dale’s surveillance. But we’re past that. And he knows it.

If she makes it out of this, I’ll face consequences, if necessary. But right now? I’m finding my best friend.

He sighs, shaking his head. “There are clearly three people with Ms. Mendes. But as you’re aware, they’re masked, and didn’t even seem to enter with force.

Maybe she knew them? Was Ms. Mendes in any kind of trouble?

Running from someone watching her maybe?

Was she into anything…distasteful that she wouldn’t want known? ”

Each question feels like a knife, sawing through the fraying remains of my composure.

“Like what?” I argue.

He shrugs, leaning back. “Although loved as a teacher around here, she did have a bit of a reputation for?—”.

I bolt out of the chair, bracing both hands, now balled into fists, against the desk. My mouth tips into a snarl, my eyes working to burn straight through the bastard, who has the good sense to look at least a little nervous.

“Finish that sentence, and consequences be damned, you’ll never have a job here, or anywhere for that matter.

Dale isn’t what the fucking stereotypes make her out to be.

And even if she was, she got fucking kidnapped and deserves every single person here out there looking for her.

She deserves a god damn army.” I straighten, pulling on the cuffs of my shirt, even as the skin beneath quivers.

“I came to the department to see if you could help her. But we’re done. I’ll find Dale on my own, and you’ll stay out of my way unless I request your assistance. I’ll call in every favor I have, spend every penny I own, and I’ll get her back.”

Without waiting for a reply, I turn on my heel, storming into the main part of the department. There’s people milling about like ants on a hill, but not one of them looks concerned or even busy, and the sight of it punches a new wave of rage through me.

What the fuck is wrong with these people?

Dale’s one of the most beloved people in Moztecha, and yet, the police department is acting like she’s just gone on a vacation without taking sick leave, and she’ll be back soon. And if not, oh well .

It’s sickening, and infuriating, and I’m done pretending to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Stepping into the early Texas sunshine, I pause only a second to give my erratic heart a moment to catch up. Today’s warmer than the last week has been, and not for the first time I wonder what kind of conditions Dale’s in? Is she warm? Is she hungry? Is she hurt?

“Anything?” Gus steps into line with me as I walk down the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket.

“They’re fucking useless.”

He shakes his head, the black curls around his face blowing. “Well fuck, that’s what we expected. But what’s the plan?”

I don’t stop until I’m around the street corner, and face to face with a busy main street. My eyes track each person, each car—anything out of the ordinary, just like I’ve done every time I step out of the house now.

Even though there’s been no ransom, or proof of a connection, I can’t shake the feeling that Dale was taken because of me. Because of who I am and what my family does.

But if that’s the case, why haven’t they reached out? What do they want with her?

“You were saying you have a guy who’s looking through all the surveillance at the casino? Has he found any connections?”

I cringe at the sincerity in his voice, and at the fact that he doesn’t know “the guy” is his older brother. And even though the lie is beginning to feel like a boulder on my chest, now is not the time to tell him.

I have to find Dale.

“He hasn’t seen any connection.”

“Well, fuck,” Gus grumbles, staring at the people milling about like it’s just another bright, sunny morning in Texas, and not the forth day the most precious human alive has been missing.

“We just have to find something, anything. The fucking problem is there’s no connection, no reason, no anything,” I growl, kicking at a rock with my toe.

The truth is, I’ve called in every favor that I have, and then some as a Hail Mary. I called my buddy in the Texas senate, to see if he had connections that could help—and even though I could tell he wanted to—I knew it wasn’t the right person to call.

I have all this money, these connections, and it isn’t doing me any good when it matters most. What’s the fucking point?

“Come over to the house with me. I was only able to convince Stetson to stay home because I told her you’d be coming over for lunch. And you know how she is about cooking for people, especially when she’s nervous. Do this for her, and we will figure out what to do next.”

I hesitate, tipping my head to the sky. Not because I don’t think spending time with them will make me feel better—I know I’ll feel better just being around them—but that’s why I’m struggling.

Why should I feel better when Dale’s still out there suffering?

“Hey.” His hand claps down on my shoulder, an undercurrent of annoyance lacing his tone.

Poor guy isn’t used to showing his emotions, or asking people twice, if I had to guess.

“You being miserable isn’t doing Dale any favors.

A clear head, and full belly will make it easier for you to focus.

And it’ll make my woman, and Dale’s best friend , feel better. ”

I roll my eyes as I shift to look back down at him. This is a man who gets what he wants, always, methods be damned. It’s one of the things I admire about him.

“Fine, I’ll meet you there.” I sag, already moving toward my truck. But Gus’s hand squeezes my shoulder once more, halting my steps.

He shrugs over his shoulder, toward his own truck. “Ride with me, and I’ll bring you back later. You look tired enough that you might just fall asleep behind the wheel.” His voice is gruff with an emotion I don’t recognize, so I don’t fight him. There’s no point anyways. I’m dead tired.

We’re driving out of town, the guilt of not telling Gus about McCrae and my overwhelming panic about Dale swirling through me, making me borderline nauseous. Which has to be why I open my mouth, saying the first thing that pops into my head.

“What’s the deal with your brother?” I instantly bite my tongue, and as Gus’s knuckles whiten around the wheel, I know there’s no going back now.

“Why would you ask?” he asks, all skepticism. Which is fair—I’ve never once asked about McCrae, or shown any interest in that part of his life. But I feel broken, adrift, and I’m desperate to grapple with anything at this point.

“I need a distraction. And you were being all affectionate back there. Thought maybe we had a breakthrough.” It’s only half of the truth.

But to my surprise, he sighs, his knuckles flexing once, twice, before shrugging.

“He raised me since I was eleven, when my parents died. And even though I know I should be grateful, he was the most evil kind of man.” Gus purses his lips, like he’s contemplating saying more and I hold my breath.

His eyes narrow though, and he remains silent.

“Like evil, like a killer? Did he abuse you?” I ask, even though I know I’m pushing it.

“What? No. I don’t think he’s a killer, although he’s dead enough inside that he might be.

Wouldn’t surprise me, I guess.” We slow, pulling into the driveway, the wooden sign overhead waving us in.

“He wasn’t always like that. But by the time my parents died, he was a shell of the man I once admired.

Don’t know why, and don’t care either. It was just what it was. ”

I nod, even as a million questions barrel to the tip of my tongue. I keep them at bay, as we park, and Gus opens the truck door as quickly as possible, clearly uncomfortable. But before he slams the door shut, he pauses, his eyes boring fiery holes into my own.

“He was a miserable cunt when my parents died. And then he blamed me for their death, which only made it worse.”

My brows scrunch. “Why?”

“Because it was my fault.” He slams the door, striding away, leaving me with more questions than I started with.

Questions I know I’ll most likely never get the answer to.

Hell, I think learning this much about him was a miracle.

One I hate I can’t even appreciate because I know him learning about McCrae and I won’t stay a secret forever.

And when it comes out, will he still be my friend?

My phone rings, slicing through my train of thought, and I lift it to my ear without looking to see who it is.

“Hello?” I ask, my eyes still following Gus as he walks into the house.

“You don’t have long.”

I freeze, my heart plummeting like a rock in my stomach. “Who’s this?”

There’s a heavy sigh on the other end, before I hear shuffling. “There’s no time for that. The girl, she doesn’t have long. You have to find her, and soon, or she’s going to die.”

There’s no threat in his words, only resignation, and I have to keep from physically falling into pieces. My stomach rolls, bile climbing up my throat.

“How do I find her?” I ask, my voice quivering.

“Go to the west side of the Reacher National Forest.” He pauses, and there’s another noise on the other end, something awfully similar to a cry, and my heart shatters. Dale?

“Is she okay?” I beg.

But instead of answering me, he sighs once more. “Ask your sister. She’ll know the spot.”