Hostage At Hawk's Landing. Rita Herron

       Chapter One

      “I found your father.”

      Dexter Hawk tensed. Detective Frank Lamar’s words echoed over the phone line as if boomeranging off the mountains.

      Steven Hawk had left the family ranch and abandoned Dex and his family eighteen years ago, shortly after they’d lost their sister, Chrissy. No one had heard from him since.

      Dex had taken advantage of his PI skills to search for him, and asked his friend Detective Lamar to help. Lamar was several years older than him, but had taken Dex under his wing a long time ago, becoming his mentor.

      “Dex?” Detective Lamar asked. “You there?”

      Dexter released the breath he was holding. He’d waited a long damn time for this phone call. But judging from the tone of Lamar’s voice, the news wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

      “Yeah. Where is he?” Dex finally asked.

      “Briar Creek,” Lamar said.

      Briar Creek? Only thirty miles from Hawk’s Landing. Had he been nearby all this time? Or had he moved around, then decided to finally come home? “Did you talk to him?”

      “He’s not talking, Dex.” A tense second passed, filling Dex’s head with dread.

      “I’m sorry,” Lamar said gruffly.

      Sweat beaded on Dex’s forehead. His father was dead. Lamar didn’t have to say the words. His apology said it all.

      Dex heaved a breath, his chest straining for air. “I have to see him.”

      “You can do that at the morgue,” Lamar said. “I’ve already called an ambulance.”

      “No, don’t move him. I’m coming there.” He snagged his keys from the end table and rushed outside to the SUV he’d bought when he’d donated his pickup to the ranch for the hands.

      “What happened?” Dex asked as he climbed in and started the engine.

      “Looks like an accident. Pickup truck ran off the road.” A hesitant pause. “Dex, there’s really no reason—”

      “I mean it, Lamar. Do not move him,” Dex said between clenched teeth. “I’ll be there ASAP.” He had to see him for himself. Had to know exactly what had happened to the man who he’d once ridden piggyback and who taught him to ride and fish. Had to know why he’d just up and left and never even called. Birthdays and holidays had passed. Years of worry and wondering and...grief.

      His phone vibrated from the console. He gave a quick glance. Harrison, his oldest brother. For a brief second he wondered if Lamar had called him, but he’d sworn Lamar to secrecy about his desire to find their father, so he let the call go to voice mail. He wouldn’t destroy the peace and happiness his mother and brothers had recently found until he knew for certain that this dead man was his father.

      His family had no idea he’d made it his mission to find him. Not that he had some wild fantasy about a happy reunion with their long-lost patriarch, but Dex’s anger had festered for years. He’d practiced what he’d say to his old man for so long that disappointment swamped him.

      Now he wouldn’t even get the pleasure of telling him off.

      Memories of his childhood bombarded him as he drove. His father playing horseshoes with him and his brothers in the backyard. The camping trip where they’d told ghost stories while they huddled in their tent to escape the rain. His father teaching him how to tie knots and rope cattle.

      He turned onto a side road that wove past farmland and neared the small town of Briarwood. Briar Creek was known for flooding during heavy storms, but the land looked dry now, and the water low.

      He spotted Lamar’s unmarked police car on the side of the road around a curve, an ambulance behind it. He parked a few feet behind the ambulance, then climbed out, the summer heat oppressive. Dusk was settling in, the sun was fading and gray clouds were adding a dismal feel.

      A drop-off on the left side led from the shoulder of the road to the creek. A black, rusted pickup had nosedived into the water.

      Gravel skittered beneath his boots as he descended the hill and approached it. Lamar was speaking to the medics, his craggy face beaded with perspiration. When he looked up at Dex, his expression was grim.

      “We’re ready to move him,” Lamar said.

      Dex held up a hand. “Just give me a minute.” He swallowed hard. ‘‘Please.”

      A heartbeat passed before Lamar replied. “All right. Just don’t touch anything.”

      Dex hiked over to the truck with Lamar on his heels. The front of the pickup was submerged in about six inches of water, the passenger door ajar. The driver was slumped forward, his head against the steering wheel. The scent of whiskey assaulted Dex, obviously from the empty liquor bottle on the seat.

      Disgust slammed into Dex. Had his father turned into a drunk?

      With gloved hands, Lamar lifted the man’s head away from the steering wheel. Blood streaked his face and arms, his nose was crushed, and a jagged scar ran along the upper right side of his forehead. Gray streaked the man’s shaggy hair and beard.

      Dex inhaled a deep breath. He hadn’t seen his father in eighteen years. Anger and resentment had obliterated memories and images of him until he had a hard time picturing him in his mind.

      He remembered that he was a big man, and this man was big. Was he looking at him now?

      He