Colton First Responder (The Coltons 0f Mustang Valley Book 4) Read online

  She really appeared steamed now, looking down toward the table and shaking her head so her short hair rubbed at her shirt collar.

  He couldn’t help it. He needed to know more about this allegation that her ex wasn’t even dead, let alone murdered—and Zane might have plotted the entire thing. He put his elbows on the table and leaned toward her.

  “So Zane is really alive? Do you have any proof?”

  “No, but there’s no real proof he’s dead, either. He’s missing, yes. He and I argued, privately and in public. And when he went missing, the cops found a knife in the guesthouse on his property, where I was living temporarily till I decided where to move. They found it in my closet, of all places. There was blood on it—Zane’s, according to the official analysis. There were no fingerprints on the knife, though, and his body wasn’t found.”

  “But—”

  “Sure, that doesn’t look good for me. The district attorney apparently took it seriously, though my lawyer assured me all the evidence was circumstantial, clearly not proof that I did anything.” She was clutching her water bottle as if it was the DA’s throat and she wanted to strangle her. Or maybe Grayson was just imagining that from the anger and frustration on her face. “I admit it looks pretty bad that the bloody knife was in my closet. But someone clearly sneaked in and hid it there—Zane himself, probably.”

  “I understand,” Grayson said. “Not sure if I know all the claims or evidence supposedly against you, but I did hear a lot a week or so ago, when they said you’d just been arrested.”

  He’d been surprised to learn that this woman he knew remotely and met occasionally, a mere acquaintance who’d seemed nice enough, was a murder suspect. But what had been blared out on TV, newspapers, online and radio news was that Zane Oliver had disappeared and was believed dead, partly thanks to that bloody knife.

  Suspicions had immediately landed on his ex-wife. They’d divorced not long ago, and the media more than hinted that the reason for it was that Zane’s wife, Savannah, had been having a torrid affair with a local real estate developer.

  “I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to be the main, maybe only, suspect when Zane disappeared that way,” Savannah went on, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, and you want to hear more of that circumstantial evidence that’s all false?” She didn’t wait for his reply before continuing. “There were—are—some horrible false rumors about me. It seems I was having a hot and heavy romance during the end of my marriage to Zane with Schuyler Wells, of all people.” She glared at Grayson as if daring him to say something.

  Which he did, though nothing accusatory. “Right. I read about that.”

  “Didn’t you hear his interviews in the media? Zane must have paid him well, since he claimed we had something and planned to run away together as soon as my divorce from Zane was final. Not!” She practically screamed the last word and stood, grabbing the scissors as if she was going to use them on him—or someone. Fortunately, she quickly realized what she was doing and, tears running down her lovely cheeks, collapsed back into the chair, gently pushing the scissors, handle first, toward him. “Here.”

  He pulled them closer on the table but didn’t hide them, as if showing he believed her.

  “And,” she continued, her voice rasping, “what a surprise. Schuyler has a solid, impeccable alibi, on a business trip during the crucial time of the supposed murder, with people who don’t even work for him vouching for him. But, gee, he does admit to having had a really steamy affair with me.” Her head shook back and forth in utter denial. “No way. I’ve met the guy, even got some real estate advice from him, but I never liked him. And as I said, one of the reasons Zane and I got divorced was because he was having affairs. I wasn’t.”

  “I get it.” Grayson reached across the table and grasped Savannah’s hand, where it now rested beside her water bottle. And he did get it. He didn’t believe she’d made her side of it up.

  Besides, what he’d recalled before gave him a clue as to Savannah’s underlying personality, someone who helped to save lives rather than taking them. That situation had occurred at a fund-raiser his siblings had thrown for First Hand First Responders when he was just starting up the business. As he recalled, Savannah was not only there, but she was arguing with another socialite type who seemed very malicious. As a few other attendees started hollering at them to be quiet, they’d gone out onto the balcony of the two-story, swanky restaurant in downtown Mustang Valley.

  Grayson, somewhat amused at the time, had watched through a window near one of his family’s tables as they continued to argue. He’d been shocked when the other woman took a swing at Savannah and missed her—but the woman had been close enough to the railing that the movement made her nearly fall over it.

  And Savannah, acting fast, had leaned over the balcony to grab that woman’s wrists, hanging partly over the side herself for a while till a couple of guys ran out and pulled them both safely and completely onto the balcony.

  Though he barely knew her then, Grayson had been impressed that Savannah had immediately endangered her own life to help someone who’d just been mean to her. That was distinctly not the behavior of a cold-blooded killer.

  And no matter how difficult her relationship with her ex had turned out, he just couldn’t see her as a murderer.

  He didn’t mention that to Savannah. But he did say, “I assume you won’t be going back to town tonight, maybe not for a long time. In case you’re wondering, this place is a fishing cabin, and the owners never come here until late in the spring—and this is only April. You can hang out here for now, if you’d like.”

  “Oh yes, I’d like that.” She sounded relieved and her expression as she looked at him across the table seemed—well, grateful.

  There was nothing she needed to be grateful to him for. Not yet, at least, if ever. Did he really want to put his own freedom into jeopardy by helping her? Maybe. He would have to think about it.

  What about bringing her back to town, then attempting to help her by finding her ex?

  He doubted she would go along with that, and he wasn’t about to take any steps to get her back into custody. Not now, at least.

  Well, he figured this place was a good potential hideout for her, at least temporarily. Despite being a walkable distance from the destroyed van, it wasn’t that close to where she had escaped from it, although the cops might wind up looking around here.

  In any case, he wasn’t about to help her find someplace else. But he figured he would help her a bit by bringing her some supplies, since he doubted this place held much in the way of food and other necessities at this time of the year.

  He would have to be careful, though. He was buying into her story, but was it true? Was she innocent?

  He would assume so...for now. But he would also stay alert for anything that told him otherwise.

  “Let’s take a look at the damaged part of the cabin, though,” he said, waving toward the far side where the wooden walls were somewhat smashed.

  They both stood and walked in that direction. Grayson had an urge to take Savannah’s hand and hold it encouragingly, but he decided that would be a bad idea.

  They stopped beside each other and looked at the damaged wall from this angle. Some panels had even fallen down and left gaps, and the windows at that part of the room no longer existed.

  But fortunately, most of the broken glass and wooden boards, insulation, shelves and other building materials must have landed outside, and somehow the remaining walls had fallen into a sideways slant so there wasn’t even much in the way of an opening.

  The rest of the place certainly looked habitable.

  “It’s not so bad,” Savannah, at his side, whispered.

  “I agree,” Grayson said more loudly. “I’ve got a couple of phone calls to make now to ensure that my team doesn’t head this way looking for me or for any injured people, then I’ll
head downtown. I’ll bring you some supplies tomorrow, okay?”

  “Definitely okay,” she said, smiling at him. He couldn’t help smiling back. “And—”

  She stopped, so he prodded, “And what?”

  “Well, I no longer have my phone, as you can imagine. Is there some way you could get one for me? I’ll be glad to repay you for all this whenever...whenever it’s all over and I get my life and my money back.”

  He laughed. “Sure thing,” he said. “I know where I can get you a burner phone with internet access, so you’ll be able to stay in touch with what’s going on.”

  “Thanks.”

  He moved away then and called Norah Fellini, the EMT on his team.

  “Hi, Grayson,” she said immediately. “Where are you? Is everything okay? Do you need help with any other victims?” Of course she knew about his finding the van driver who didn’t make it, since he kept his team apprised.

  “No, I don’t need any help now, thanks. That deceased driver was picked up by an ambulance, and then I headed toward some of the fishing cabins just to make sure no one was hurt or trapped inside. So far, I’ve checked the cabin on Rural Route 2 and haven’t found anything I need to deal with, so I’m going to the next one that’s about five miles away before driving back to town. I’d appreciate it if you’d let the rest of our team know, okay?”

  “Sure,” she said. She filled him in on what she and the other two team members had been up to. They’d had to find a couple of missing kids and give medical attention to them and a few other people, but they hadn’t dealt with any major emergencies. “We did report in to our local PD and other contacts and all, so we should get paid—although that’s not the main thing, of course.”

  “Of course. Just glad no one appeared badly hurt. See you tomorrow.” He said good-night and hung up.

  He walked to the table once more since Savannah sat there, looking exhausted. Well, he was, too, but he’d do as he had told Norah, then head back to town. At least he should be able to drive there, although it would take a while since he had left his vehicle near the crushed van.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow with some supplies,” he told Savannah as he got ready to go.

  “That’s so nice of you.” She stood up again. “Oh—and, well, maybe I shouldn’t mention it, but I wanted to let you know I’d heard that someone shot your dad. I’m so sorry. How is he?”

  Grayson’s father was Payne Colton, chairman of the board of Colton Oil and owner of Rattlesnake Ridge Ranch—where Grayson lived with his siblings.

  He felt himself cringe at Savannah’s question. His dad wasn’t doing well at all. Recently shot by an unknown person, Payne had gone into a coma—and hadn’t come out of it yet.

  There were more family things going on, too. They had just recently learned, thanks to a strange email, that his oldest brother, Ace, might have been switched at birth with another baby.

  But to Savannah he simply said, “We think he’s improving. Thanks for asking.” He reached out to take Savannah’s hand, but she pulled him closer, giving him a brief hug.

  A hug that somehow made him want to get even closer, though he didn’t. “Glad to hear that. So—see you tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

  He hoped. Oh, yes, he would return. But would she still be here? Would she be okay?

  He would find out when he got here.

  Chapter 4

  Savannah held open the cabin’s door and watched Grayson walk away along the uneven ground and through the trees in the glow of his large flashlight, heading essentially the direction from which she had come. Soon, she didn’t see any more signs of him.

  She had a sudden urge to dive back inside, grab the small flashlight she’d found and leave this cabin, too.

  To dash after Grayson? Only if she could feel certain he was genuine, that he was as nice as he’d seemed—and that he really believed in her innocence.

  She had no reason to doubt him, except that this situation was so horrendous that she simply couldn’t—and didn’t—trust anyone.

  Sure, he could have dragged her along with him now, called authorities who could take her into custody and been done with the situation, but he hadn’t.

  That didn’t mean she didn’t need to worry about what came next. Would he really just turn up here tomorrow with supplies and a phone for her? Allow her to remain loose while the cops looked for her, potentially gathering more false evidence of her guilt? Assuming, of course, that an escaped fugitive remained high on their radar at the moment, despite the earthquake.

  In any case, would Grayson help her as he’d promised?

  She wasn’t stupid, though her marriage to Zane didn’t exactly show her to be a good judge of character—notwithstanding the fact that she’d had impetus from her dad, who had been impressed with Zane’s wealth, to be in that relationship. Partly thanks to him, she had convinced herself that she loved Zane, but in retrospect she wasn’t sure how much she had really cared.

  But what was her best alternative for staying here? Running from the cabin and going the opposite direction to Grayson? With that small flashlight being nearly her only illumination, and damage to the ground and any other buildings she might come across, plus the possibility of more aftershocks? There’d be a lot of potential danger in that, at least if she didn’t wait till daylight.

  “Okay,” she finally whispered to herself, backing into the cabin once more and closing the door. Locking it this time, at least—so maybe she would hear if someone showed up and attempted to get inside.

  Meanwhile, she felt exhausted. She decided to go lie down on that inviting bed, allow herself to sleep—and hope that her subconscious would awaken her if anything happened or someone else showed up.

  And tomorrow? Well, she really wanted to believe in Grayson and his honesty. He was one heck of a guy, sure, but she’d had enough of men. She genuinely believed that Zane had set up his supposed murder to ruin the rest of her life.

  But Grayson? He was a first responder, so he at least cared about people, even strangers, on some level.

  Turning, she picked up the flashlight, walked to the bed and sat down.

  Grayson. Would she decide in the morning to wait here for him, see if he was as kind as he appeared to be? Whether he responded to her needs rather than the reality of who and what she currently was—an escaped prison inmate?

  She would see how she felt. She hadn’t harmed anyone to allow herself to escape, though she was certainly happy for her freedom.

  But what would she do next? How could she possibly look for Zane or any clues that would prove she was right, that he’d framed her and that he was still alive?

  It might help if she had that burner phone Grayson and she had discussed.

  And if he did turn up here tomorrow with the supplies he’d promised, including that phone, she would feel a lot more comfortable trusting him.

  For now? She didn’t want to wear out the flashlight batteries, so after she turned the sheets over and lay down on the bed—not particularly comfortable, but at least it had a pillow with a case she turned inside out—she shut the light off, then closed her eyes.

  “Good night, Grayson,” she whispered with a small smile, recognizing the irony in her words and current attitude. “I’ll see you tomorrow, when all my worrying about your truthfulness will be over.”

  She hoped.

  * * *

  The next morning, Grayson awoke at the family ranch.

  Now he sat at his wing’s kitchen table, more decorative and undoubtedly more expensive than the plain wood one at the cabin last night. He grabbed toast and coffee for breakfast, getting ready to meet the new day and learn more about how his employees had done yesterday. From what he’d grasped when he spoke with Norah, everyone had been out there helping people successfully. But he hadn’t spoken with any of them ag
ain afterward. He wanted confirmation today, as well as more details.

  He also planned to check out what downtown Mustang Valley looked like after the quake, and do a shopping expedition there, as well.

  Then—well, then, he would have the pleasure of going to see Savannah again. Lovely Savannah, who claimed she had been set up by her ex and falsely accused of murder. Very falsely.

  He had thought about Savannah a lot last night after leaving her. Maybe he should just stay out of the whole thing, neither help her nor rat on her to the authorities. But—well, he liked her.

  And he hated the idea that she was being framed by her ex, if that was true.

  He’d gotten out of a bad relationship recently, too. But they’d both just walked away. His ex hadn’t plotted any revenge against him, and he hadn’t against her, either. That sounded so absurd in Savannah’s situation. But it could of course, be true.

  Hell, he was a first responder. He helped people who needed it. Who deserved it. And he truly believed, at least for now, that included Savannah.

  He would find out soon, he figured, if he had been duped by her, and she actually was a killer.

  He took a sip of coffee from his mug with the FHFR logo and phone number on it.

  That mind of his unsurprisingly kept going back to yesterday and the quake and its aftermath.