He could hear the ambulance and fire truck behind him. “She’s all right,” Trace announced. “She made the 911 call. She’s safe at the doc’s place.” Rick didn’t want to talk. They’d been working leads since dawn. Trace’s contacts had learned that two men had rented a hotel room near Bailee two weeks ago. One paid cash while the other signed in. The hotel was a dump off the interstate thirty miles away, and the manager couldn’t read the signature well enough to get more than a last name of Rogers. He did say they looked enough alike to be twins, but one did all the talking. Kind of a nervous guy. The other didn’t say a word, but he was the one who always drove the tan pickup. There were probably a dozen tan pickups at the rodeo last night and maybe thirty more in town. All had Texas tags. The cowboy who’d given the orders to move the bulls didn’t stand out, either. Medium to short in height, slim build, white hat.
