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The sound of a motor caught his attention and he knew he'd either need to get out or stay and surprise them and since his mission was to capture Bobby Ray June, he flattened his back to the darkness in the corner and hoped like hell he would have the element of surprise in his favor.
As the motor grew louder, the distinct sound of a four-wheeler explained why there wasn't a vehicle around and why tire tracks weren't visible. They likely hid their truck or car—whatever they were using for transportation in the woods—and used the four-wheeler to travel to and from.
The motor slowed, and he held his breath, hoping they hadn't noticed the truck. The low murmur of the stilled four-wheeler filled the air, followed by low voices. Then the four-wheeler engine raced and sounded as it slowly became softer the farther away it went. Staying in place for a few moments, waiting to see if one of them had stayed behind, he worked to slow his breathing. Twisting his neck, he looked around the corner to the kitchen area and saw no signs of movement, heard no sounds. Braving a step into the room, he glanced out the window, scanning as much of the area as he could see and saw nothing and no one move. Exiting the shack, he looked across the weeds to see his truck, undisturbed. Slowly making his way back to his truck, he kept his eyes vigilant. Nothing. Not a sound.
As his hand gripped the door handle, he heard the locks click, and in one swift movement, he hoisted himself into the truck, pleased when Megan locked the doors the second he closed his door.
Chapter31
"Oh my God. I've never been so scared in my life. I'm not kidding. Fucking scared." She was thrilled to see him, whole and alive, but her heart pounded hard in her chest, and she was grateful for good health right now that she could sustain this kind of excitement.
"Was it them on the four-wheeler? Did they both leave, and which way did they go?"
He looked into her eyes, and scary Ford was back. "Yes, both of them, and they went through the woods in that direction. They saw me. The truck. Fuck, I was scared."
His grin spread on his face, and it was beautiful. "You’re beginning to talk like a sailor, or at the very least, my sister.”
"I'm sorry. My grandma would be so pissed that I used it. But I don't have words to describe how scared I was." Her breaths came in bursts.
He reached for her head and pulled her close, kissing her forehead, then her lips. "I'm so sorry, Megan. Hang tough with me, okay?"
Quickly nodding, she vowed to herself that she could do this and be tough. He didn't need to be distracted by her. He kissed her forehead again and put the truck in drive. Easing the truck down the gravel road, his eyes always scanning for movement, she marveled at his strength and courage. He was admirable in so many ways.
She began scanning the horizon as well, looking for any signs of life or danger or movement.
"Do you know what kind of vehicle either of them might have?"
"No. I honestly haven't seen Waylon in years, since we divorced, so about five years now. Bobby Ray, I never paid any attention to him."
She watched his jaw work, just the mere mention of Bobby Ray did something to him. Understandable, for sure.
"Margret June died a few years ago. Their daddies were brothers and very close. Waylon is an only child, so he stuck close to Bobby Ray. Bobby Ray has a sister who lives in Texas now, I think."
"That's what my file says." His jaw clenched then relaxed. She assumed by great effort.
Of course, he'd have a file. He'd been researching Bobby Ray for years. She took in a deep breath; she didn't need to know, but … "Am I in your file?"
He turned his head and captured her gaze. The action always made her body do funny things. Her heart always hitched up a few beats, her panties always dampened, and she always flushed. She could feel the burning in her chest at this very moment. Remembering his strong work roughened hands on her hips, all over her body, made her squirm in her seat.
"Yes. It's how I found you."
"What does it say?" She took a deep breath. "About me. What does it say? Am I bad or good?"
His right hand grabbed her left hand and held it tight. "My file doesn't judge or determine bad or good, Meg. It's just the basics. Where you worked. When you divorced. Your address, those things. I'll let you read it tonight when we stop, if it'll make you feel better."
She swallowed. "We'll see." Quickly glancing at his face, her lips trembled into a smile. "Maybe."
That seemed to work for him because he squeezed her hand again, then put his hand back on the steering wheel. Once again searching for his prey.
Reaching the county road, Ford turned slowly onto it in the direction that Waylon and Bobby Ray had traveled—slowly traveling along the road, looking into the woods for any signs of movement. Once they'd passed the wooded area and came to a corner, he sped up and headed toward South Pass.
"Waylon have any kind of a man cave at the house? In the garage or basement?"
"No. My grandpa had a work room in the basement. He used to make birdhouses and little wooden decorations. Waylon would go down there sometimes, but he didn't make anything. I guess he just needed a quiet place to think."
"And you never felt like he came back to the house after you divorced?"
Shaking her head, her brows pinched together. Had she? God, she was a moron. "I don't think so. I don't know. Why would he?"
