The Rancher and the Runaway Bride. Сьюзен Мэллери

against the early evening heat, but for 19.95 a night, neither occupant expected luxury.

      “Yes,” the bald man said into the phone. “I understand, but without any clue as to where to look for her—”

      The caller cut him off with a sharp word. The bald man frowned his impatience, but didn’t say anything aloud. He was too fond of his job…and his life…to complain.

      His companion, a dark-haired man wearing a White Sox baseball cap, tossed a full pack of cigarettes into the air and caught it. He repeated the action, not paying attention to the phone conversation. There was no point in worrying. They would get their instructions and they would follow them. End of story.

      “I understand your concern,” the bald man said. “It’s also mine. But it’s been two months and the trail is cold. If my associate and I had been tracking her from the beginning, she would already be taken care of.”

      “Take care of her now,” the caller said. “I can’t stress the importance enough.”

      The bald man nodded. He knew what that meant. Find Randi Howell or else. “Is someone watching the police station?” he asked. “She could be caught on her way in or out.”

      The caller’s voice sharpened with annoyance. “If she speaks to the police, there’s no point in worrying about her. Understand? Another murder would make everyone suspicious and we don’t want to take that chance unless we have to. Now, I just want to know where she is and what she’s doing. Then we can decide the best way to make sure she doesn’t talk.”

      “She hasn’t called the police with the information?”

      “Not yet. It’s been so long now, she may think they wouldn’t believe her. The broad’s been on the run for a while. She’s alone and scared and probably doubting what she saw. She’ll get careless about her whereabouts. You be there to take advantage of that.”

      The caller hung up without saying goodbye.

      The man in the baseball cap looked at his associate and raised his eyebrows.

      “Bad,” the bald man said. “We have to find her before she talks to the cops. It’s important.”

      They stared at each other and ignored the fear. Important. As in they would pay with their lives if they failed.

      “We found the trucker who dropped her off in Phoenix,” the bald man continued. “We’ve checked west and north. It’s time to go east. We’ll check the small towns. A newcomer looking for work should be easy to remember. She’s gotta work. She couldn’t have had much cash on her, and she hasn’t used her bank card to get any.”

      The second man tossed the cigarette pack in the air again, caught it and grinned. “I know where she is,” he said.

      “Where?”

      “It’s in her file. You said she needs a job. She only worked in one place while she was in school. According to the information, she loved it. A stable. We should start checking ranches.”

      The bald man nodded. “Good idea.” He picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number. When it was answered, he said, “Yes, it’s me. We have an idea about where she might be.” He explained about the ranches. “I think it might work, too. Also, she may try to contact someone, using a rodeo or horse show for a cover. We’d like you to let us know if anyone in Grand Springs leaves to attend either.”

      He listened for a minute, then hung up. “They like it,” he told his associate. “They’re pleased.”

      Good news for both of them. Now all that was left was to get the girl.

      * * *

      Brady straightened the papers on his desk. They didn’t need straightening, but he ignored that fact, just the way he ignored the faint tension in his gut that told him he was nervous. Hell of a state for a man to find himself in.