B.J. Daniels - Wanted Woman

“You know those forms you said I have to file every week?” Jesse said chewing the bacon. “Where again do you keep them?”

Charity picked up her purse and headed for the front door. “Jesse, if you’re going to be here for a few minutes, I need to run by the paper.”

“I can be left alone, you know,” Mitch called to her. “I’m not a complete invalid.”

Charity paid him no mind.

“I’ll stay here until you come back,” Jesse proposed so she would finally leave.

“Forms?” Mitch said after she’d gone.

Jesse shrugged. “Couldn’t think of anything else off the top of my head. The real reason I wanted to talk to you is that I witnessed an accident last night. Desiree Dennison ran a biker off the road.”

Mitch swore. “Anyone hurt?”

Jesse shook his head. “It was a hit-and-run though. She didn’t even stop to see if the biker was okay.”

“You’re sure it was Desiree?”

“Saw the car with my own eyes. She had the top down. No one has a head of hair like her.” Desiree took great pride in that wild mane of hers.

He was trying to put his finger on just what color it was when he was reminded of the biker’s hair. It was long and fell in soft curls down her back and was a dark mahogany color that only nature could create. Desiree’s was darker than he remembered and he realized she must have put something on it.

“Any other witnesses?” Mitch asked.

“Not at 3:00 a.m.”

“What about the biker?”

“Wasn’t interested in pressing charges. You know bikers.”

Mitch grunted. He knew Jesse and that was enough.

“There’s going to be damage to the car. The biker hit the passenger door side. I’d say pretty extensive damage and I took a sample of the paint from the bike.”

Mitch was nodding. “You have to write Desiree up. The judge is going to take her license, has to after all her speeding tickets.”

Jesse nodded. “I just wanted to tell you before I go up there. I’m sure there will be repercussions.”

Mitch snorted. “With a Dennison?”

“I heard Wade might make bail.”

“No way. Daisy’s fighting it. So am I. He’s too much of a risk.”

“I hope the judge sees it that way,” Jesse said as he took a piece of Mitch’s toast. He’d never had much faith in the system. And Charity had been writing some pretty inflammatory news articles about Wade and the rest of the Dennisons, dragging up a lot of old dirt.

If Wade got out, who knew what he would do. He’d threatened to kill Charity at least once that Jesse knew of.

“Have you considered cutting your hair?” Mitch asked eyeing him as Jesse wiped his bacon-greasy hands on his brother’s napkin.

“Nope.” That was the good part about being deputized in this part of Oregon. A lot of the rules in the big city just didn’t apply. How else could someone like Jesse become an officer of the law?

He heard Charity’s VW pull up. “Your woman’s back. Better eat your breakfast.”

“What’s left of it,” Mitch grumbled. “Be careful up there at the Dennisons’. I swear they’re all crazy.”

Jesse wouldn’t argue that.

MAGGIE STARED at the newspaper headline. After Twenty-Seven Years In Hiding Following Daughter’s Kidnapping, Daisy Dennison Ready For New Life.

“Is that all?” the grocery clerk asked.

Maggie dragged her gaze away from the newspaper to look at the older woman behind the counter. Twenty-seven years. Kidnapping. “What?”

“Is there anything else?”

“I’ll take a few papers,” Maggie said, feeling light-headed and nauseous as she grabbed the two larger West Coast papers and one of the tiny Cascade Courier. She shoved them into the grocery bag with her other purchases, her hands shaking.

The clerk eyed her for a moment, then rang up the newspapers. Maggie gave her a twenty and accepted the change the woman insisted on counting out into her trembling palm. Stuffing the change into the bag with the groceries, Maggie left, trying not to run.

Outside she gulped the damp morning air as she scanned the streets, not sure if she was looking for the face of a killer, that of a handsome dimpled sheriff’s deputy or maybe a face that resembled her own.

The streets were empty at this early hour. She looked back to find the clerk still watching her.

Climbing onto her bike, Maggie backtracked a few blocks to make sure no one was following her, then rode south out of town to one of the dozens of state campgrounds she’d seen on the map. She picked a closed one, wound her way around the barrier until she found a campsite farthest from the highway, deep in the woods and near the river.

It wasn’t until she was pretty sure she was safe that she dragged out the newspapers, starting with the article in the Cascade Courier.

She read it in its entirety twice. There was little about the original kidnapping. Mostly it was a story about a woman named Daisy Dennison who had been a recluse for twenty-seven years after her baby daughter had been stolen from her crib.

Her husband Wade, the founder of Dennison Ducks, a local decoy carving plant, was behind bars for a variety of things including shooting the sheriff during a recent domestic dispute with Daisy.

Wade Dennison’s attempts to make bail had been thwarted by his wife. Daisy, it was alleged, had filed for divorce and had started a new life.

What a great family, Maggie thought sarcastically.

But what Maggie did get from the story was that the couple’s youngest daughter, Angela, had been kidnapped twenty-seven years ago. No ransom had ever been demanded. Angela was never seen again.

Angela Dennison. Was it possible Maggie was this person? If what Norman had told her was correct, she had to be. How many other babies had been kidnapped from this tiny town twenty-seven years ago?

She quickly set up her two-man tent and finished off the milk and a couple more doughnuts before going through the larger newspapers. Nothing about Norman. She breathed a sigh of relief.

She knew she should try to get some sleep but the river pooled just through the trees near her campsite, clear and welcoming. She left the tent and walked over to the small pool, stripped down and took a bath. The icy cold water did more than clean and refresh her. It assured her she was alive. At least for the time being.

Full and feeling better, she still felt restless, anxious for the cloak of darkness so she could return to town—and worried about the deputy she’d stayed with part of the night. He had no reason to come looking for her. Unless he’d been warned she might be headed to Timber Falls. But then, that would mean Jesse Tanner had been in contact with Detective Rupert Blackmore and Blackmore knew she was alive.

Would the deputy help Blackmore find her? Why wouldn’t he? It would be her word against a respected detective. No contest.

She hid her bike in the trees, then brought the saddlebag full of money and her meager toiletries and clothing into the tent to wait until dark.

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