Page 101 of Badges
“Elena. Good to see you again. Heard you’re due a congrats as well.” He nods, the brim of his black cowboy hat momentarily blocking his face.
“Thank you. How’s April?” I wouldn’t mind seeing more of her.
“Ready to not be pregnant now that she’s on her last month. Ironically she’s due around Halloween.” Ford’s jaw tics as he glances to Wade.
Wade takes a deep breath.
It’s like they’re saying more than they’re saying.
I guess it’s like that when people know each other their whole lives.
“Speaking of shitty history—” He digs in his pocket and hands Ford the sketch. “—that guy look familiar?”
Ford stares hard and his lips thin. “I’d gander that it’s Max Simmons. I haven’t seen him since his face healed up though, so I can’t be sure. If I do, you won’t have to worry about him.” His voice is hoarse.
Wade rocks on his heels. “Is he—”
Ford nods.
I notice the tattoos on his hand when he reaches up to scratch his neck.
“Do you know how he got cut up? Or do I want to know?” Wade asks quietly.
“Let’s just say—” Ford turns and spits into the dirt. “—I should have jabbed when I sliced, and he wouldn’t have gotten away.”
Ice encircles my spine.
Hedid that to that man’s face?
What the hell happened?
Why does Ford want to kill him?
And why does Wade seem okay with it?
Hail Mary
Wade
“Excuse me, I gottatake this.” I wave my phone at Ford, then step outside. “This is Sheriff Wade Rowland.” I’ve said it so many times it rolls out quickly.
“Sheriff Rowland, I’m Beverly Shears, social worker down here in Abilene.” Her accent would pinpoint her to Texas long before she mentioned it. “I received your message and pulled up the record you were requesting. Do you have an email address I can send it to?”
“Yea. There’s one small detail I’m more interested in, if you have the time? I need to know who the judge was that signed off on the transport, and the name of the driver.” I find myself pacing along the weathered wall of the barn.
“Of course.” She flips the pages loudly enough I can hear them through the speaker. “Looks like it was a Judge Simmons. The driver isn’t named, but he wouldn’t have been able to take thechild without proper documentation. Is the girl, um, Cynthia, okay?”
I glance into the shadows where she’s bouncing excitedly next to Dad as Char leads a horse close enough for her to pet.
“Yea, she’s fine. I’m just tying up loose ends. Did you meet the driver?” I hold my breath hoping she can pinpoint something about him.
“Hmm, no, I’m sorry. The girl was in a group home here after being brought in by CPS after the death of her mother. Looks like a custody appeal was made by—” More shuffling papers. “—someone named Elena. That triggered the recall of records from Montana since that was the last known whereabouts of the deceased mother.”
Maria was too damn good at staying hidden if they didn’t even register her in Texas.
Fuck. I’m starting to see what happened.
“Thank you for your time, I’ll let you know if I have any questions after receiving the file.” I wait for her acknowledgement, then end the call.
