Fearless Gunfighter. Joanna Wayne

skulked through her thoughts like a dark shadow, creating a biting chill that reached to the bone.

      But that was the worst-case scenario. She had to move past the crippling fear and focus on even the smallest scraps of evidence that could lead her to Rachel.

      Was it possible she’d had a nervous breakdown from the pressures she’d put on herself to become the youngest partner at Fitch, Fitch and Baumer?

      No. She had too much grit for that. If things had gotten that bad, she’d have told the senior partners off and walked away from the job.

      Had she been in a car crash that left her in a coma? Or perhaps had an accident that left her with temporary amnesia?

      Only Sydney—with Lane’s help—had checked every emergency room and hospital for miles around. No patients fit her description. And her car had not been located.

      Sydney’s cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID. Lane. She felt anxious and hopeful at the same time. God, did she need some good news.

      “What do you have for me?” she asked as soon as they’d exchanged a quick hello.

      “Rachel has used two credit cards since the last time she was seen by her coworkers.”

      “When, where and how much?”

      “She used an American Express card on Saturday morning to pay for a room at a bed-and-breakfast in La Grange, Texas.”

      “Would that be on her route to Austin?”

      “It would. I’ll send you the rest of the details. Time, name of the B and B, address and phone number.”

      “Good. What else do you have?”

      “She withdrew three hundred dollars cash from an ATM a few minutes after noon that same day in the neighboring town of Winding Creek.”

      Winding Creek, where the body had been found. The reference rattled her nerves so badly she had to hold on to the back of the nearest chair for support.

      “Do we have a photo to prove that it was actually her who withdrew the cash?”

      “Working on it,” Lane said.

      “Were those Rachel’s only charges?”

      “No. She made a purchase at Dani’s Delights, also in Winding Creek, for sixty-five dollars and eighty-nine cents at two eighteen.”

      “What kind of store is that?”

      “A bakery and coffee shop.”

      “Rachel barely eats. She’d have never paid that much for java and scones. I don’t have a map in front of me. Is Winding Creek near Austin?”

      “It’s south of Austin, closer to San Antonio, but not far out of her way once she left La Grange.”

      “What’s the draw to Winding Creek? Why would she go out of her way to visit that town?”

      “I don’t have the answer to that.”

      “We know Rachel was there a little after two on Saturday afternoon and then never made it to her scheduled destination. So somewhere between Winding Creek and the resort, Rachel’s plans were ambushed.”

      “That’s the gist of what I’ve found so far.”

      Sydney struggled to focus as the fear swelled to near suffocating. “Were you able to locate her phone?”

      “Not yet. It’s not putting out a signal.”

      It could be at the bottom of Winding Creek or perhaps hammered to smithereens like the Swamp Strangler destroyed the phones of his victims.

      “Thanks for your help, Lane. At least I have a starting point.”

      If she left now, she could easily make it to Winding Creek tonight. If it was like most small Texas towns, the sidewalk would have already been rolled up by the time she got there, but at least she’d be there when the sun came up tomorrow morning.

      Rachel could be most anywhere between here and Austin, but Winding Creek was the next stop for Sydney.

      * * *

      HANK’S HANGOUT WAS the only place within miles of Winding Creek that was still open at eleven thirty on Monday evening. Sydney could thank Siri for finding it.

      Not that she wanted a drink or company, but it was a place to start.

      She pulled into the almost-empty parking lot and got out of her car. A neon sign touted live music on the weekends and all-night happy-hour prices on Monday.

      Merle Haggard’s voice greeted her as she stepped inside. Faded publicity posters on the wall dated back to the era of Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson during his much-earlier years. Vintage metal plaques cautioned spurs should be removed before dancing on the bar and that horses should remain outside unless they were paying customers.

      Hopefully those were in jest, though from looking at the scratched and marred surface of the bar, it had likely seen some boot scooting.

      She considered staking out a bar stool, but that would have left her with her back to the rest of the room. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for exactly, but anything would be better than staring at the ceiling of the motel she’d booked when sleep would be almost impossible tonight.

      Taking a seat as far away from the loud music as possible, she scanned the room. To her dismay, a lot more eyes were checking her out. Not surprising since she appeared to be the only woman in there sitting alone.

      Another time that kind of attention would have made her uneasy. Tonight, her mind was occupied with far more important matters.

      Sydney pulled out her cell phone and punched in her instant code for Rachel the way she’d done every hour since Connie had called her that morning. The phone rang only once before a new message started.

      “The number of the party you’re calling is no longer in service.”

      She fought back yet another wave of nauseating dread as a young waitress with half-exposed breasts and a pair of butt-hugging denim cutoffs stopped at her table. Her name tag read Betts.

      Betts smiled. “The kitchen’s closed for the night but the bar is serving until one. What can I get you?”

      “A beer, something light.” That she probably wouldn’t take more than a few sips of.

      “I have a good craft beer on tap that would fit that description. Want to give that a try?”

      “Sure.”

      “You’ve got it. Will someone be joining you?”

      Sydney shook her head and went back to scrutinizing the customers. A half dozen or so couples were two-stepping around the dance floor. A few more couples occupied tables, chatting and sipping drinks.

      For most, dress was casual, jeans or shorts. Footwear was predominantly Western boots for the men and sandals for the women. No one stood out as suspicious, except for Sydney in her black slacks and tailored white shirt.

      A cute cowboy in faded jeans with a nice smile ambled over to her table. “Mind if I join you and buy you a drink?”

      “Sorry, but no. I was supposed to meet a friend but I think she may have already left.” Sydney unzipped her purse, reached into the side pocket and pulled out a recent photo of Rachel.

      She handed it to the cowboy. “Have you seen her?”

      He glanced at the photo. “No, but she’s a looker. I’m sure I’d remember if I’d ever seen her and I’m in here often.”

      He stepped back and stared critically. “You’re not a cop or something, are you?”

      FBI no doubt qualified as his or something, but she wasn’t ready to reveal that to anyone in Winding Creek just yet.

      “I’m not a cop.”

      He