Colton First Responder (The Coltons 0f Mustang Valley Book 4) Page 5

  Once he’d left Savannah the previous night, he had returned to the place where he’d earlier found the damaged van and its dead occupant. All was gone now—except his own useful SUV.

  Then he carefully drove along a couple of the mangled dirt roads to check out other fishing cabins besides the one Savannah was occupying, but they were empty, a good thing. And he’d seen no other evidence of people needing help, though quake damage was still evident.

  He had considered stopping again on his way home to check on Savannah but had decided against it, since he was sure she was asleep by then. He doubted anyone else knew she was out here, and he intended to see her tomorrow anyway, while bringing the supplies he had promised her.

  And tomorrow had arrived. Now that he was awake and preparing to start his day, he kept thinking about her. A fugitive. One he couldn’t get out of his mind. Was he nuts?

  Maybe.

  “Okay,” he muttered. Today was going to be undoubtedly interesting. He stood and put his empty plate in the metal kitchen sink but carried his remaining half mug of coffee.

  He headed down the stairs after closing the door of his bedroom behind him and locking it.

  He drove to the First Hand office.

  When he arrived in the greeting area, he rapped once on each of their doors in order from the bottom of the steps—Pedro’s first, then Norah’s and Chad’s. He heard a low woof after that last knock and just smiled. Winchell, Chad’s K-9 companion, knew better than to bark here, even when on duty, but he was always alert.

  In moments, the gang had joined him in the reception area. They were all present here at the office, so apparently no additional calls had come in after the ones he had heard about last night, and they’d already accomplished the searches they had needed to do immediately after the earthquake, depending on their individual expertise.

  His employees greeted him with handshakes and pats on his back, as he did with them. “Good to see you all,” he said. “And I’m looking forward to your reports.”

  “We want to hear yours, too, boss,” Pedro said.

  There was a reception desk for greeting people who walked in off the street seeking help, against the far wall from the entry door. Plate glass windows circled the room—all intact, fortunately, after the quake, Grayson had noticed last night. The floor was laminate, and the walls beige drywall decorated with photos of successful rescue operations and waving people they had saved. Half a dozen blue upholstered Parsons chairs were arranged with their backs toward the windows, so the room’s occupants, if they spent any time there, could see one another.

  And there were a couple of extra doors to offices that could be allocated to additional staff.

  Grayson waved his bunch to the chairs so they could start their discussion. Once they were seated, he glanced beyond them to his view of the street. All seemed fine outside.

  His mind returned to the damaged cabin where he had left Savannah. Hopefully she remained okay—and there.

  “Okay, who’s first?” Grayson asked, putting that behind him for now and looking at Norah.

  “You, chief,” she said.

  “Nope. I’m last. So tell me your experiences with the quake and after.”

  Norah didn’t argue but leaned forward in her chair. Before joining First Hand, she had worked for the City of Phoenix as an EMT but always crowed about how she’d run right to Mustang Valley when she heard of Grayson’s start-up of a private first responder company a while back. She was well trained and a certified expert in emergency medical techniques, and was doing a great job with FH. She was thin yet very strong, and she kept her light brown hair in a style that framed her face.

  Most important? With her ongoing and always increasing EMT skills, she was excellent at helping to save lives.

  “I was right here when the quake hit.” She motioned toward her office door.

  Since not too much around there was damaged, she had hurriedly driven to Mustang Valley General Hospital. The staff there had immediately assigned her to ride in one of the ambulances, to assist the drivers and hospital EMTs.

  “Six different locations, and we helped over a dozen people, although their injuries were of different severities. Some weren’t too bad off, but there were maybe four that probably wouldn’t have survived if we weren’t there.” Her grin totally lighted up her slender face, and Grayson smiled back.

  “Great job,” he said, then turned toward Pedro. “Any fires?”

  Pedro Perez had been a firefighter in Las Vegas—but he’d informed Grayson when he’d hired him that he was excited about the opportunity to come to Mustang Valley and be the premier firefighter for FHFR. Pedro was dark-haired, large and muscular.

  “About five, across town. Only one was really bad, though. I heard about it in the news before heading there and helped the local fire department get it under control. They know me, of course, so they asked me to help with the rest. And after we got those out, I hung out with the gang at the station for a couple more hours just in case. I gathered that all the fires were electrical fires because the wiring in those buildings was badly damaged by the quake and aftershocks. And I remain on call now, too, with the department in case they learn of any other blazes.”

  “Excellent,” Grayson said. They all then turned toward Chad and Winchell, his German shepherd. “So—what’s your story, both of you?”

  Chad had been a K-9 cop with Tucson PD before coming to work for First Hand. He’d brought along his assistant Winchell, who was a certified search and rescue dog as well as a police K-9. He was moderate height and wore glasses, and always asked if Winch and he could do more.

  “There were a few reports of break-ins across town in the area where the quake hit worst—you know, the shopping area where stores are plentiful but not especially elite. I got a call from one of the dispatchers at the police department, and Winch and I headed there. We actually nabbed a couple of guys who dared to try to loot some damaged stores—those SOBs. Fortunately, they were scared of Winch, so we were able to turn them over to the PD.”

  Grayson intended to visit just such a shopping center soon, where he wouldn’t be recognized as a Colton by store owners and other shoppers. There he could hopefully find all the supplies and the cell phone he had promised Savannah.

  For now, he stood and approached each of his employees, reaching out his hand to shake theirs. “You know, when I went into this, opening a private first responders’ outfit, I wondered not only if I could succeed, but if I would be able to find assistants who were okay working in the private sector but do as well, or better than, first responders working for the official departments. Well, damn it, I did great in choosing every one of you.”

  “And we did great choosing you as our boss,” Norah responded.

  Both of the guys vocally agreed.

  “But we’re not done here,” Norah continued. “What did you find, Grayson?”

  Grayson trusted these people with his life. And with other lives, those they worked so hard to save.

  But did he dare mention he’d found Savannah?

  Maybe eventually, especially if he wound up needing their help. Plus, if he was found out and there were any legal ramifications against him, his staff could be affected, too.

  For now, he decided to be cautious. He sat back down and described finding the van and its deceased driver.

  “Was there anyone in the back?” Chad asked—not surprising from a former cop.

  “Apparently there had been at least one person there,” Grayson said, looking Chad in the other man’s dark brown eyes, which kind of resembled his dog’s. “But no one was in it when I got there, and though I looked around for a while to make sure no one was injured or otherwise needed my help, I didn’t discover anything or anyone that had to be taken care of or reported.” He’d phrased that in a way that remained sort of true, at least.

  “S
ad,” Pedro said, “but I gather there weren’t a whole lot of injuries or deaths due to the quake. A lot of property damage in some locations, though.”

  “Like the older parts of town,” Grayson said, nodding. “I’m going to go take a walk around there soon and size up the damage—assuming no new information comes in requiring us to do any first responding right now. Meantime, I’d like each of you to contact the officials in your areas of expertise again just to confirm that all’s well for now, and to offer your services if needed, of course.”

  FHFR received most of its funding from the public departments they assisted, being paid a general retainer and getting more each time they helped out.

  And when needed, Grayson supplemented his company’s finances with his own money received as a Colton.

  He always made sure to pay his excellent employees well.

  “Yes, sir,” Chad said, rising and saluting as if Grayson was his superior officer—which he was, in a way. Grayson, grinning, saluted back, and his smile grew even wider as Winchell held out his paw for a shake.

  Grayson wanted to make a couple of calls, too, to his major local contacts—in case he or his people were needed now, so he walked up the stairs to the second floor to where his own office was.

  But he looked forward to heading soon to the other side of town.

  First, though, he decided to check the news on his computer. He wanted to see what the local media said about the quake and the havoc it had caused.

  And anything about the destroyed van and its driver...and the passenger who had disappeared.

  Sure enough, although most of the news was about the quake itself, the crushed van and the death of Ari, its driver, was out there, too.

  Grayson turned on the sound on his computer and listened to a couple of those reports.

  They all ended with the fact that the female prisoner being transported from court back to the local prison had apparently escaped.

  The authorities suspected that the passenger, Savannah Oliver, had killed the driver so she could flee. Her handcuffs had been found beside the destroyed van, after all.

  Oh boy, Grayson thought. The idea hadn’t crossed his mind, since he had seen Ari and the van and the tree that had caused the driver’s death. But not everyone had. And the photos on his phone wouldn’t necessarily do away with the suspicion.

  What would Savannah think of these additional accusations against her?

  He felt certain he would soon find out.

  Chapter 5

  Savannah had previously looked around the cabin for a TV or radio or anything else that would allow her to learn what was happening in the outside world, but she’d found nothing.

  The tall, unsteady-looking set of wooden bookshelves along one of the walls held quite a few volumes about the area and fish and traveling, but nothing that would provide her with the kind of knowledge she now sought.

  And until Grayson returned with the phone he’d promised, she was on her own here.

  Was that a good reason simply to leave in order to learn what she could about how the earthquake and aftershocks had affected Mustang Valley?

  No, she intended to stay here, at least for today, and see if Grayson really did return. But she would of course remain alert and conscious—in case he wasn’t the one to arrive first, or at all.

  The cops, if they weren’t overwhelmed with quake stuff, were probably looking for her.

  And if she could figure out an inconspicuous way to do it, she wanted to be out there soon, somewhere, somehow, looking for Zane, or talking to any people she thought of as his coconspirators, like Schuyler Wells. As if she’d had any interest in him, social or professional.

  Although, at the moment, she was definitely interested in finding—and talking to—Schuyler, too, since unlike Zane, he was still out and about. However, he was also the kind of person likely to call the cops to pick her up right away if he had any knowledge of where she was.

  She had pondered why Zane would fake his own death, and figured that, if nothing else, it would be to spite her. To hurt her for dumping him. And maybe his finances weren’t as good as he let on to the world, so he’d wanted to find a way to hide. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that he was a horrible person who lied and cheated and she should never have married him.

  And, it seemed, Schuyler had become his coconspirator. For money? If so, Zane must still have some.

  “I’ll figure it out,” she muttered to herself, again sitting at the table that had become a sort of refuge in this remote cabin, drinking another bottle of water—and hoping that Grayson brought some more when he got there.

  If he got there.

  But she couldn’t stay here for long—certainly not after she came up with a viable plan to track down the people who had done this to her, and somehow extract the truth.

  Now all she needed to do was determine how.

  * * *

  Unsurprisingly, downtown Mustang Valley was a mess.

  Oh, in the nicer area where Grayson’s office building and other newer, well-constructed ones were located, the earthquake damage was visible but not extensive. The cracks didn’t appear too deep in some of the walls, although there were fractures in the streets and debris had fallen on the streets from the structures. Maintenance crews were already out there working on repairs, though Grayson assumed there would be more in upcoming days.

  The sidewalks were at least mostly passable, so he walked toward the other area of town that had been around longer without upgrades. He’d assumed the damage would be more obvious there, and it was: deeper gouges in the streets often turning them from two-lane to one—or less. There were also larger portions of the buildings that were ruined, reminding him a bit of the cabin where Savannah was.

  Savannah. She remained on his mind a lot, largely because of his promise to buy her supplies...but not entirely. He kept wondering how she was doing, if she trusted him to keep his word and was waiting for him to return. Whether anyone official had been looking in that area for her—or had found her there.

  He figured he would hear about that if it happened. Her disappearance might be a result of the earthquake, but it had newsworthiness of its own, particularly under the circumstances of the driver’s death. Grayson understood that. He’d be a lot more dubious about her innocence, too, if he hadn’t talked to her. Believe her? Maybe. He hadn’t liked, hadn’t trusted her ex Zane, so maybe she wasn’t making anything up.

  As he continued walking, he thought about his siblings. He had only ducked into his wing at the ranch late last night and out of it fast this morning so he hadn’t seen any of them, but he had called most of them as he left that day. He might not be close with them, but he wanted reassurance that none was hurt. Fortunately, he heard only good news.

  He’d even spoken with Ace. He still considered him his brother, even though Ace had taken a DNA test after the email that the Colton Oil board received. It confirmed that he was not a biological Colton. Grayson might not be good buddies with all his family members, but he didn’t dislike Ace.

  Now he noticed he was far from alone here. There were more pedestrians than automobile traffic, but the few cars there proceeded slowly, causing traffic jams. No one looked at him, and he paid no attention to anyone else.

  He did, however, notice a kid playing in some rubble near a damaged building. The kid wore an Arizona State Sun Devils T-shirt, which reminded Grayson of the Arizona State Sun Devils pin that had been found in his father’s office after his dad was shot. Payne remained in a coma—and no one knew yet who’d done it. The pin might be a clue to the shooter’s identity.

  Grayson suddenly found himself uncharacteristically overwhelmed by concern for his father. He wasn’t particularly close to him, but still, Payne Colton was his dad, and he had been shot.

  Maybe his emotions were brought on by the earthquake and knowing people had been inju
red, sometimes killed, and parts of the town had been wrecked...

  Well, despite never really feeling close to his family, or particularly fond of Colton Oil, right now Grayson felt even more isolated from his siblings than usual.

  And why didn’t he feel close? Because of nearly everyone’s obsession with Colton Oil. Sure, it made a lot of money for the family, but he hadn’t like the pressure he had felt while growing up to get involved with the business. In fact, he had wound up ignoring it, starting out in the military, then becoming a wilderness guide and ultimately a first responder instead. Which hadn’t sat well with his dad or some of his siblings. Well, too bad.

  Drawing his gaze away from the kid and attempting to shrug off those thoughts, he continued walking. He frequently looked down streets leading off the main road. Some homes appeared okay, at least from this angle. Others seemed damaged—and a few were destroyed.

  What a shame, he thought.

  He passed one chain discount store that looked closed, damaged, possibly ruined. Then there was an open pharmacy but he wasn’t sure he could find all he wanted there.

  Interestingly, he saw several tables arranged along what remained of the sidewalk, staffed by people he didn’t recognize. The signs indicated they were members of a small self-help group he had heard of: the Affirmation Alliance Group. They seemed to greet everyone who walked by, although Grayson didn’t stop. Some even called out to passersby that they were there to help them. They claimed to have a place for people to stay who couldn’t go back home now, right at their own very special guest ranch. How had they gotten things set up so fast after the quake? Of course, from what Grayson had heard about them, they were supposed to be all about teaching others how to help themselves, so maybe they had procedures developed for all kinds of situations or disasters, including earthquakes.

  He’d heard a lot about the good work the group and its founder, Micheline Anderson, did, including holding self-help seminars at that ranch, but something about them made him a bit uneasy.