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

by Linda O. Johnston

  She tried not to look at Ari any more than she had to as she entered the van—although she did see his bleeding arm and grasped his wrist, again hoping for some sign of life, but there was none. She then turned so she could grab the keys. She got out and laid the keys on the seat. Contorting with a lot of effort, she tried to unlock the cuffs.

  No luck, damn it. Not at first, at least. But somehow she managed to succeed after five minutes of trying over and over.

  There! She shook her hands free and dropped the cuffs on the ground. She wouldn’t need them and didn’t want to see them ever again. Next, she grabbed her bag from the floor.

  She couldn’t help glancing once more at Ari. He hadn’t moved. No surprise.

  “I’m so sorry, Ari,” she said, meaning it. He’d just been doing his job—and that probably included ignoring requests and pleas from suspects he was transporting.

  She looked around at what she could see of the road, the surrounding forest, the downed trees and more. She still had no idea where she was—but she nevertheless got moving, running for her life.

  She was free! At least for now. And somehow, she needed to use this opportunity to clear her name, though she’d no idea how yet.

  She only knew she had to find her rat of an ex. Unless he’d actually stayed around this area and had been killed in the quake.

  Under other circumstances, she would cheer at that idea—but she had to find him, to make him confess to his lies, so she would be able to show the world that she was no murderer, no matter how much she detested the creep.

  So now she ran into the vaguely illuminated night, carrying her bag, having no idea where she was going—but hoping she would find some kind of shelter...and somehow survive.

  * * *

  After the initial earthquake more than an hour ago, Grayson Colton had foreseen that the drive along this rural yet usually well-traveled road leading out of Mustang Valley, Arizona, would be a battle against nature. But after his initial assistance and communications, he had chosen this part of town and beyond to search for people who needed help after the highly disturbing tremors the area had experienced.

  And was still experiencing to some extent, since the ground continued to rock now and then with aftershocks.

  Grayson slowly drove his specially equipped company SUV along what was left of the road as well as he could, avoiding, where possible, the cracks and cavities in the formerly well-paved surface—as well as some downed trees. It was dark out, so his headlights helped him see what he was coming up against. So did the few but helpful lights on remaining poles along the roadside.

  That moderate quake, reported so far as 5.9 in magnitude, had been centered around here, so he had taken it upon himself to head this way. He knew what he was doing—although his staff members did, too, or they wouldn’t be working for him.

  Right now, he had to traverse what was left of this minor highway as best he could. It was who he was, his responsibility, his calling.

  And more. He had founded, and continued to run, First Hand First Responders. His small but significant agency employed dedicated first responders who assisted official responders in the police and fire departments, hospitals and other formal emergency organizations in Mustang Valley. And FHFR members helped out often, since the authorized organizations were understaffed in this area.

  Grayson had been at his company headquarters when the quake struck that evening. Not much damage had been done to the three-story building he owned in town, fortunately, although the walls had swayed around him and some items on top of desks and shelves had been thrown to the floor.

  Calls and police radio communications had immediately started coming in to the office from the Mustang Valley Police Department, including its primary 911 dispatcher and other agencies.

  Apparently the structures housing the police and fire departments and even the local hospital hadn’t been damaged significantly, a good thing. Same thing with local schools, from what he’d heard. But quite a few buildings in town had suffered damage, sometimes significant, particularly in older areas. As had a bunch of homes,

  And who knew what people were out and about and might be in danger?

  That took first responders to find out. And the authorities who called had requested their help—extensively and immediately.

  Grayson’s staff included an emergency medical technician, EMT—Norah Fellini—as well as Pedro Perez, a former firefighter, and Chad Eilbert, a former K-9 cop. Eilbert also had an emergency responder background, and just happened to still have his well-trained search and rescue dog Winchell as his partner.

  They’d all been in the FHFR offices, too, when the help requests had started coming in. He’d given them their assignments based on what he’d heard from the official departments’ representatives regarding suspicions of where injuries, missing persons and fires were most threatening, primarily in city areas that were not close to downtown, and therefore most in need of attention from extra first responders.

  They had all driven off in their vehicles similar to his, containing special equipment such as defibrillators to help to save people’s lives. Pedro had a portable fire hose with a pump system in his vehicle. And Chad also had special safety equipment for Winchell.

  Then Grayson had made some calls himself. Fortunately, the exclusive, upscale Colton property, Rattlesnake Ridge Ranch—where he still lived most of the time with his large family, including parents and siblings—had been spared any damage.

  He’d thrown on his bright neon green first responder vest over his long-sleeved T-shirt and heavily pocketed black pants.

  Then he had dashed out, entered his vehicle and spent some time checking on some of the hardest hit areas outside downtown, where he had helped several people out of buildings destroyed by the quake. Fortunately, other firefighters had also shown up there.

  That allowed him to head briefly toward one of his favorite spots, an abandoned bunker he had adopted as his own when he was a kid trying to find some privacy from his family. It wasn’t far from the family ranch, and like many similar places in this area, it was also an abandoned mineshaft. No one else seemed to know about it, and he’d been able to fix it up over time to be less of a mine and more of a livable hideout. He had headed there now because it was important to him and he wanted to check on its condition. And fortunately, it had completely survived the quake.

  Next, he had chosen to head to this area far out of town. He’d begun his career as a wilderness guide. He would be much more skilled in locating and helping people injured out here by the quake than the rest of his staff.

  So here he was in his vehicle, glad he’d continued throughout his life to work out intensely and often. With all the potential for disasters way out here, he might need even more strength today to follow his chosen path.

  Leaving town along the main streets of Mustang Valley had been interesting. Lots of people out on the sidewalks. Lots of damage visible to some downtown buildings, though, fortunately, none seemed to have been destroyed. The pavement there appeared more wrecked than anything else. No deaths around there, fortunately, and no fires in this area, either.

  Grayson had stopped once to help a mother holding her young child cross a damaged street to EMTs and an ambulance. He stopped another time to help a teen catch his fleeing dog.

  After that, Grayson kept going out of town, avoiding cracks in the road as best he could.

  So far, on this rural road, he hadn’t seen much of interest except many downed trees, which sometimes meant he had to ignore what was left of the pavement and drive on the leaf-strewn ground as well as he could. He had seen no recent indication of anyone, either on the road or the roadside, requiring a first responder’s assistance.

  He decided to proceed for another ten minutes, and if no situation he needed to deal with materialized, he’d check in then with his employees to determine where he should go next
to be of the most help.

  The road turned to the right a bit, so he did, too. And then he saw what he’d been after but had hoped not to see: a van crushed by a large tree that had fallen on its front. At least that was what it appeared to be as he approached it from behind. In fact, the road was effectively blocked by the black van and the felled tree.

  “Okay, what’s happened here?” Grayson said out loud, pulling his SUV to the side and parking. He got out quickly, grabbing the medical bag he kept on the floor. He had earned his EMT certification, so he knew how to conduct more than the basics of on-site medical care that could be necessary to save a life.

  He also grabbed his large flashlight and used it first to check the ground as he approached the driver’s door of the van. He saw, as he got close, that the vehicle’s markings labeled it as belonging to the Arizona State Department of Corrections, the kind of van used to transport prisoners from one place to another.

  If so—well, first things first. He needed to make sure everyone had gotten out of the vehicle’s cab safely.

  Only...that wasn’t the case. In the bright glow of his flashlight, he immediately saw a man in what was left of the driver’s seat, covered in blood.

  Grayson’s EMT training immediately kicked into gear. He opened the door carefully and checked to see if he could remove the injured person from where he lay after disconnecting his seat belt, without having to get the tree off the van.

  Fortunately, he was able to.

  Unfortunately, after he gently laid the victim on the ground and began checking for vital signs, he found none. He nevertheless ran into his van and got the defibrillator, but still no response.

  Even so, he yanked his phone from his pocket.

  “911,” said a female voice nearly immediately. “What’s your emergency?”

  Grayson identified himself and quickly explained the situation, including the fact that he believed the person he’d found to be dead.

  “But in case I’m wrong—”

  “We’ll get someone there as fast as we can under the circumstances, Grayson,” the operator, Betty, said. “I promise.”

  “Fast” turned out to be about half an hour. Grayson couldn’t complain, particularly given the fact that there were likely to be a huge number of 911 calls that evening. Meanwhile, he attempted further CPR on the van driver—to no avail.

  An ambulance eventually appeared. The EMTs in it—two guys he’d met before—took over for Grayson, but their conclusion was the same as his.

  “We’ll take him to Mustang Valley General,” Sid said, while the other guy, Kurt, hooked the victim up to an IV. Necessary? Grayson doubted it, but hoped the man really was still alive.

  “Thanks,” Grayson said. “Keep me informed about how things go.” Or not. Did he really want to hear that he was right, that the falling tree had killed the man?

  Might as well, he figured.

  He took a few photos on his phone of the fallen tree and ruined van. And as the ambulance took off, he looked around further.

  He had already checked out the back of the van earlier, as he waited. The door was open, and there was no one inside.

  Did the open door mean someone had been incarcerated inside? Maybe.

  He’d walked around before the ambulance arrived and hadn’t seen any sign of someone else injured—or worse. But he felt obligated to check a bit farther now, just in case.

  At least he knew that ambulances were currently available, if necessary. But had there been someone inside the van’s rear area? Someone this now-deceased driver had been transporting? If so, was he or she okay?

  Grayson was not a cop. If whoever it was needed to be captured again, that wasn’t his job, although he could notify the Mustang Valley PD if he found him or her—most likely his sort-of best buddy there, Detective PJ Doherty; his brother Rafe’s fiancée, Detective Kerry Wilder; or even his cousin, Sergeant Spencer Colton. Though all were undoubtedly swamped right now.

  But if anyone had been inside the van and was now hurt and out there somewhere in the forest, injured and needing help—well, that was something Grayson intended to find out. He would remain careful, though. Anyone who had been in the back of that van was most likely a criminal and could be dangerous.

  Chapter 2

  Sitting on a wooden kitchen chair in the remote and damaged cabin she had somehow found here in the middle of nowhere, Savannah breathed slowly, carefully—pensively, for that was what she was doing: thinking, while staring at her hands clasped in her lap.

  Her unshackled hands.

  Where was she? She didn’t know. For the moment, at least, it didn’t matter.

  So far, the earthquake had somehow brought her good luck. There’d been a couple of aftershocks from the quake, but they’d been mild.

  Oh, she certainly hadn’t wished Ari the kind of harm he had suffered, notwithstanding the way he’d essentially ignored her. But at least she was free, for now and hopefully forever.

  Especially if she could find her louse of an ex and prove she hadn’t murdered him.

  But first things first. Tonight, she had at least located someplace to sleep, to bide her time till she decided what to do next. To ponder how to fulfill her promise to herself: find Zane, reveal his lies and treachery to the world, and return to as normal a life as she could.

  A cabin. She’d never have imagined there could be one way out here in the woods. She had hardly been able to see anything once she’d left the place where the van had been smashed. Frightened, yet determined to survive, she’d needed to figure out what came next.

  She’d heard a lot of animal noises around her and had nearly stumbled into a nearby lake before she’d found the cabin.

  Eventually, the moon—only a half moon—had appeared overhead and provided at least a small amount of light.

  And somehow, miraculously, it had helped her find this cabin. Lots of miracles, in fact, despite the fact that a portion of the cabin had crumbled because of the earthquake. But what was left seemed at least somewhat habitable.

  In the undamaged area, the door was locked, but she had pushed open a window and climbed inside. None of the switches turned on any light, so she found herself in near total darkness, with no electricity, evidently. That was thanks to the quake, or thanks to the owner’s turning it off before leaving. But she had nevertheless located a flashlight someone had left on one of the counters.

  Who and where was the owner? Were they coming back soon? That appeared unlikely, considering the location and the earthquake, but who knew?

  Fortunately, she had at least found no indication that anyone was living here now. Looking around with the flashlight’s illumination, she had seen some dust here and there, but some of it could have been caused by the quake.

  However, it seemed a nice enough cabin. There was even some furniture—a kitchen table surrounded by other chairs like the one she now sat on. A bed at the far side of the room with sheets on it. If she removed the sheets and turned them over, they should be clean enough for her to sleep on.

  Assuming she found herself eventually calm enough to fall sleep. Exhaustion wouldn’t help her accomplish what she needed to do tomorrow.

  But she also couldn’t forget that she was a fugitive. Once the van was found without her, she had no doubt that the authorities would be searching for her. She would have to remain careful.

  For a better idea of her current environment, she unlocked the door and walked outside, using the flashlight to look around. She aimed it carefully, mostly toward the ground, although she had no reason to believe any other people were close enough to see the light. A narrow dirt road that ended at this house hadn’t been affected by the caving in of part of the cabin.

  Where did it lead? Maybe she would find out tomorrow.

  She also looked at the area at the back of the house that was crumbled. Fortunately, it still p
rovided a wall of sorts, a barrier, so no person or wild animal would be able to enter that way.

  For now, she went back inside. One thing she had to do was to find some water and food. Was there anything like that in this deserted cabin? If she found anything, would she dare to eat or drink it, or might it make her sick?

  Well, first things first. She would at least look around a bit more. She stood up again and, using the flashlight, walked along the wooden floor, making as little noise as possible—not that she anticipated anyone was close enough to hear her footsteps. She first looked at the inside of the partially caved-in wall and the part of the cabin that had suffered some damage. She wasn’t certain what had been there—a storage area, maybe. But the rest of the place seemed fairly livable.

  Next, she headed toward a kitchen with a sink and cabinets.

  The door of the first cabinet creaked a bit as she opened it. All that was inside were some light green plastic plates and bowls.

  She closed that door and tried another. A little better. There were some cans in it, of soup and corn and black beans. Yeah! Assuming she could find a can opener, she might be able to get both sustenance and a bit of liquid in her from one of those. She pulled out the vegetable soup, figuring it would potentially be the most nutritious. Since beggars couldn’t be choosers, she considered not even checking the expiration date stamped on the bottom of the can—but it probably would be better for her to know, if it was out of date, by how much.

  Making herself ill after her escape wouldn’t be a good idea.

  Still standing there by the cabinet above the sink, she moved the flashlight to examine the bottom of the can more closely.

  And smiled. It had plenty of time left before its expiration date. That suggested people had used this cabin recently, but she remained glad they weren’t there now.

  Okay. Now she needed to find that can opener, plus a spoon. She aimed the flashlight toward the areas on both sides of the sink, seeing drawers there.