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

by Linda O. Johnston

  The first drawer she opened had some gadgets in it, including a spatula, whisk—and, yes, a can opener and scissors.

  Scissors. One of the things she could do to change her appearance was to cut her hair, make it a lot shorter than its current shoulder length. People who didn’t know her might not recognize her—since she was now on the run.

  She had already gone inside the bathroom after her arrival and had noticed a mirror over the sink there. Now, scissors in hand, she hurried back across the wooden floor in that direction.

  Was this too impulsive, especially in the darkness? The flashlight helped, but it wasn’t very bright. Sure, it might be a dumb thing to do, but achieving anything to alter her appearance even a little couldn’t hurt.

  And so, after regarding herself and her current hairstyle in the mirror, she started snipping. Then snipped some more, creating short bangs, cutting her hair everywhere she could see, everywhere she could reach.

  When she was done a few minutes later, she shook her head and laughed, just a little. Who was that waif with a chin-length haircut staring at her in the mirror?

  Surely that couldn’t be Savannah Oliver, right?

  And actually, she wasn’t an Oliver anymore. Zane and she were recently divorced, but, partly thanks to his disappearance and its consequences, she hadn’t yet legally returned to using her maiden name, Murphy. First on her list of places to go would be the DMV, where she could get a new driver’s license.

  Someday.

  For now, she used her hands to gather as much of her hair from the sink and floor as she could and placed it in a small pile on the floor near the wall. Once it was light out again, she would need to find a plastic bag or wastebasket to dump it in and hide it. No need to leave evidence of her changed looks if anyone searching for her found this place.

  Okay, now she was finally ready to eat, and to drink what she could from the can she chose. She exited the bathroom and returned to the kitchen.

  Before opening the soup, though, she went looking for bottled water. The refrigerator was turned off, but she found a few bottles of water inside.

  Yes! Savannah took one out and closed the door.

  She opened the can of soup while standing near the sink, pulled a spoon out of another drawer after looking around again and sat down at the kitchen table.

  Even cold, the vegetable soup tasted good. She ate it slowly, savoring it, continuing to see in the near darkness thanks to the glow of the flashlight, and keeping the scissors with her, too, in case she felt compelled to cut even more hair off. She’d check in the mirror again once daylight arrived, to see if additional trimming was necessary to even it out.

  And as much as she hated to think about it, the scissors could also become a weapon if she was attacked by anyone looking for her, or even a looter or wild animal, out here in the middle of nowhere.

  As she ate, she felt exhaustion closing in. And no wonder. It had been one heck of a difficult yet promising day. She’d go to sleep after this. What would tomorrow bring?

  She finished soon and stood, waving the flashlight again toward where she presumed the garbage can would be. And—

  What was that? A sound from outside—a scraping, maybe, from the front yard.

  Had she imagined it? It could just be something moving after the quake....

  She moved slightly to face a window near the front door—and saw light. Not moonlight, but a glow that could have come from a flashlight, only more heavy-duty than hers, since the light was really bright.

  Had the cabin owners come back here now, in the middle of the night after an earthquake?

  Or—might the van have been found, and any authorities sent out to find her?

  Savannah looked hurriedly around, attempting to find something to use as cover but wound up staying where she was.

  Had she locked the door behind her when she had ventured outside? Damn. She didn’t believe she had, since she had intended to peek out again.

  She clasped the handle of the scissors tightly. If necessary, she could—and would—defend herself.

  * * *

  His search had actually led to someone.

  Grayson hadn’t really believed he would find anyone out here in the middle of the night and this far out from town. It was his mission to continue to seek people in trouble after the earthquake, including whoever had left the back of the van, if anyone. Whether or not a criminal, any person in that position could have been injured.

  Still, if someone had been inside that vehicle and gotten out—well, it was a van from the prison department, so Grayson did not forget his promise to himself to be careful. He didn’t want to lose his own life attempting to save someone else, especially someone who was dangerous and didn’t want to be found.

  After the EMTs had taken away the deceased driver, he’d continued to look, finding no one else on the road or in the woods on his way here. He had reached a cabin, one of his last potential locations to scout before heading home. He had figured this cabin or another one nearby would be a logical place for anyone in trouble to seek out. It was a fishing cabin owned by one of the families in Mustang Valley. There was a small lake nearby, fed by a stream.

  At first glance there seemed to be no one present, but he’d stopped to check. Especially when he thought he had seen a moving light through a window.

  Using his own bright light to look around, he noticed that one side of the cabin, maybe a quarter of the whole structure, looked nearly destroyed. Would anyone really have gone inside?

  Maybe, if they were injured or desperate. He had to find out.

  Slowly, carefully, still using his own light to be sure he saw anything, he approached.

  * * *

  First, though, he knocked on the front door before testing to see if it was unlocked. It was. He pushed it and called as he walked inside, “Hello, anyone here?”

  “Yes, I’m here.” He heard the voice at the same time he saw a woman standing there, facing the door he had just entered, holding a pair of scissors threateningly. “But you can go now.”

  He aimed the light toward her eyes, hoping to blind her enough to stop menacing him. And then he blinked at the same time she did—but for a different reason.

  He recognized her.

  At least he thought he did. She was Savannah Oliver—but if so, this Savannah didn’t look exactly like the woman he’d seen at the various parties and fund-raisers he’d been dragged to by his Colton siblings, silently kicking and screaming, though he’d gone along anyway because...well, they were his brothers and sisters.

  And now he had a good idea who had disappeared from the back of the prison van: she stood before him, still aiming scissor blades toward him.

  Her hair was a lot shorter than he’d seen it before. Even so, or maybe even because of it, she was one beautiful, sexy woman.

  A woman he’d avoided feeling attracted to. After all, she was married—no, she had been married—to one of the biggest investment bankers in Arizona, Zane Oliver.

  The husband she’d recently been accused of murdering.

  “Hello, Savannah,” he said calmly. He wasn’t armed, had no weapon with him—and wouldn’t have used it on her even if he had.

  For one thing, he had heard about her arrest, the charges against her, in the news. But he hadn’t believed them.

  “Hello, Grayson,” she said without moving the scissors—except that her slender arm, in its long-sleeved beige shirt, was trembling a bit. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing, although I can guess. You’re running away, right?”

  She didn’t answer directly but said, “And I assume you’re doing your first responder thing out here after the quake. Well, if you’re looking for people to help, you don’t need to worry about me.”

  “That’s good, but—”

  “But what? Sh
ould I make you stay here?” She waved the scissors toward him, but the expression on her face appeared more desperate than threatening.

  Under other circumstances, he might have liked the idea of staying overnight in a deserted cabin with a woman as lovely as Savannah. But she was a fugitive, accused of murdering her ex-husband. And at the moment, another earthquake could hit at any time.

  “No thanks,” he said.

  “But—I don’t think I’d better let you leave. I mean, well—you own that first responder company, right?”

  “First Hand First Responders,” he said. “That’s right.”

  “So if I let you leave here—you’ll just go tell your cop friends or associates that you found me. Or—you’re not going to try to bring me with you now, are you?” She suddenly appeared panicked.

  And why not? She didn’t know, no matter what he’d said, that he wasn’t carrying a gun or other weapon.

  He glanced around what he could see of the cabin in the light he carried. It looked like—well, a regular fishing cabin, except for the area destroyed by the earthquake.

  And Savannah? She wasn’t in any kind of jail garb, but everyday clothes of a light-colored shirt over darker slacks. Maybe he was wrong about her.

  And maybe not.

  “Look, Savannah,” he said. “If what I’ve heard about you is true, then I can understand why you feel threatened by my being here.”

  “I assume you heard the worst about me,” she said. “And—well, I didn’t kill my ex-husband.” Looking at him for a reaction, she raised her hand with the scissors even more. He just stayed calm, nodding his head. “I can’t let you arrest me.”

  Grayson shook his head. “Let me tell you right now that I’m only the kind of first responder who tries to help people in trouble, both medically and otherwise. I don’t attempt to arrest anyone, or anything like that.”

  “But you can get in touch with those who do,” she retorted.

  “But I won’t,” he said. “Look, why don’t we sit down over there.” He gestured toward the kitchen table across the room where she had apparently been sitting and eating. “I’ll tell you what I’ve heard about you—and how much of it I believe. Which isn’t much.”

  “Really?” Her eyes widened. And even in the light he carried, he could see their lovely greenness glowing, even as her blond eyebrows narrowed in apparent disbelief.

  Yeah, she was definitely good-looking—and he’d better be careful. He didn’t want to get too interested in her.

  He might not intend to turn her in, but neither did he intend to try helping an accused murderer escape justice.

  Did he?

  “Really,” he said. But she still didn’t appear convinced. And why should she? “Hey, I see you have a bottle of water over there. I assume a place like this doesn’t have anything stronger, so is there any more?”

  “Yes, in the refrigerator, though it’s not cold.” She still looked and sounded wary.

  “That’s fine. I’ll go get a bottle for me, then sit down over there.” He gestured toward the table. “Then we’ll talk, okay?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Her voice sounded hoarse and he wished he could say something more to reassure her.

  But what?

  “Not really,” he said with a grin. “Only, I’m really not such a bad guy. Honest.”

  “Honest?” she repeated. “Hah.” But when he looked at her, still standing not far from him, her posture seemed at least a little more relaxed. “Okay, let’s give this a try,” she said.

  “Great. I’ll go get my water.” And Grayson headed to the refrigerator.

  Oh, yes, he intended to talk with her. Maybe get her side of the story, since she had asserted her innocence.

  And he didn’t think it was just their unusual circumstances at the moment that made him want to believe in her.

  Chapter 3

  Savannah lowered the scissors as she watched Grayson get water from the refrigerator, then sit down. He placed the bottle in front of him beside his large flashlight.

  What should she do? What could she do? She hoped he was telling the truth, that even as a first responder he wasn’t here to arrest her again, or call those in authority at the police station who’d bring her in. But even if he lied, she wasn’t really going to stab him. The best she could do would be to run out the door when he wasn’t looking, then continue running—in the near darkness. But where?

  For now she would just remain alert and wary and hold a conversation. If he’d been telling the truth before, maybe it would be okay to talk with him.

  But even then, when he was ready to go—well, would she be able to trust him not to turn her in, no matter what he said?

  She would just have to see how things went.

  Not that she could control them anyway. At least not entirely.

  “So tell me what happened,” Grayson said as she sat down facing him, gently placing the scissors on the table before her but within reach. “Tell me how the van was struck and how you got out of it. I assume you’re aware the driver was killed.”

  Savannah nodded solemnly. “Yes. His name was Ari. I... I didn’t know him well, but I did check on him when I finally got out of the van and...and...well, I’m not an expert like a first responder, but I tried to help him and didn’t see any sign of life.” She felt herself tear up. Well, she truly was sad about the situation.

  Grayson. She had seen him at parties and social events now and then. They were from similar backgrounds, since their families were both among the Mustang Valley elite. She had enjoyed those kinds of festivities, even after she married Zane.

  But Savannah hadn’t paid much attention to Grayson—except to notice his good looks. His body tall and slim, yet muscular, beneath the high-end clothing he generally wore at parties, his well-styled dark brown hair and gorgeous blue eyes. He wore his current outfit well, too—a long-sleeved black T-shirt with a neon emergency vest over it. His stubble was trimmed short and added to his sexiness. Of course, she hadn’t been interested in how attractive a man he might have been when she believed she had most recently seen him, although she couldn’t recall exactly when it had been. But she believed now that she had still been married, and though her marriage was ending she certainly wasn’t interested in flirting with someone else. And with Grayson—well, she had gotten the impression he wasn’t thrilled about being at most of those parties, that his family had twisted his arm to come. She knew he wasn’t part of the family business, Colton Oil.

  “I assume you found Ari’s... Ari,” she continued, choosing not to use the term “body.”

  He nodded. “I wasn’t able to get a response, though, and neither did the EMTs that Mustang Valley General Hospital sent after my 911 call.”

  “I’m sorry,” Savannah said.

  “You were in the back of his van, right? Was he moving you from the state prison somewhere?”

  She felt her eyes grow huge as she reached slowly for her bottle of water and stared at it—but she shouldn’t have been surprised at Grayson’s spot-on guess. She’d been in the news, as much as she hated that. As much as she hated all of this.

  “Yes,” she said quietly. That was close enough. Ari had been moving her from court back to prison, but she didn’t choose to elaborate.

  “So you were able to escape unharmed,” Grayson stated. He took a swig from his bottle, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. “That’s a good thing, especially since you already told me you didn’t kill your husband. And I assume that’s the truth.”

  “It is.” She kept her voice low but wanted to scream it out—the truth. Instead, she glanced toward the door. Should she run now?

  Would Grayson grab her?

  But when she looked back toward him, he hadn’t moved. He was watching her, though, with an expression on that handsome face of his that suggested amusement.

  Amusem
ent? When her entire life had been turned upside down, and he now was in a position to possibly ruin her tiny, precarious opportunity for freedom that resulted from an unpredicted earthquake?

  “Got it,” he said. “Now, want to tell me about it?”

  * * *

  Grayson was used to finding people in difficult positions and not only helping them physically but mentally, too. To doing all he could to assure their survival in all ways.

  This beautiful woman he had met several times before appeared totally fragile now—and frightened. Of him.

  Which he understood. But he didn’t like it. And he wanted to help her in all ways.

  And there was something he’d recalled about her, how well she had treated someone at one of the parties they’d both attended, that told him she was the kind of person who helped people, too—and didn’t kill them. In fact, she had helped to save the life of a woman who had just been extremely nasty to her.

  “I really don’t like talking about the situation with Zane,” she said now. “And there’s really not much to tell. What’s out there is all lies.”

  Well, she could be lying, too, of course. But he wanted to hear her side of it, since the media often liked to take things out of context and exaggerate them, even stress the nastiest facts—anything for a good story, although they also did base it on truth most of the time. Or so he believed.

  So even though Grayson could in fact bring Savannah back to the appropriate authorities, no matter what he’d told her, or could just leave her here to do whatever she wanted, he still would rather hear her side of the story before deciding.

  “Convince me,” he said with a smile he hoped she would interpret as friendly.

  For now, at least, it was.

  “Okay. Let’s start with the fact I don’t believe Zane is dead.”

  That startled him a bit. With all the news and hype, he’d considered that a given. “Really?”

  “Really,” she replied. “My ex is missing. I’ll admit that’s true. But I didn’t kill him and hide his body somewhere, and don’t believe anyone else did, either. We’d stopped caring about each other quite a while ago but our divorce was only final about a month ago. He blamed it on me, made some pretty nasty allegations that were totally untrue, that I’d been unfaithful when he was the one having affairs...and he was furious with me for wanting a divorce. And—well, I can’t prove it yet, but I believe he even got one of his friends to help him and frame me, while he’s off somewhere, maybe even someplace as remote as Bali. He used to talk about going there someday. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s checking what’s going on from his computer and otherwise—and laughing his head off. He’s undoubtedly considering his revenge against me sweet. And this way, he might even be able to keep my part of the divorce settlement.”