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

by Linda O. Johnston

  “That sounds great.” And it did, to Grayson. This woman had made good use of her time and family’s money—and her ex’s—to help other people.

  Not a first responder, but definitely someone who gave a damn and attempted to do something about it.

  To prevent her from asking more about him and why he was who he was, he decided to press her some more and get her to describe some of the kids she’d helped with their reading. Then he urged her to talk more about her favorite charities that she helped now, like the hospital children’s ward.

  She apparently liked kids. Maybe she’d intended to have some with Zane. Well, that clearly wasn’t going to happen now, nor would it even if Zane wasn’t ostensibly dead, since they’d already divorced. That could have been a motive for her to kill him, Grayson supposed, or the district attorney might approach it that way: anger that he hadn’t given her kids.

  Nah, too ridiculous.

  Grayson didn’t know what the terms of the divorce settlement were. Had it been fair, or had Zane’s lawyers cut her out of everything?

  He had a thought then. “Any idea what your lawyer might be thinking now that you’ve disappeared?”

  Like was he—or she—now upset because Savannah wasn’t currently racking up any fees? Or was he looking bad because his client had flown? Grayson assumed that, married or not, the socialite in front of him had money of her own to pay her counsel before and after her arrest.

  “Who? Ian? I don’t know. He’d warned me that the evidence against me looked grim, but he’d seemed to be completely on my side, eager to at least try to get me off.”

  “But he didn’t think you were innocent?” Grayson shook his head, eyeing the bottle of wine again but deciding he’d had enough for now.

  “I thought he did, although he kept enumerating all the evidence that could keep me from even having any bail set for me, let alone getting off at trial. He reassured me a lot, though, that he would do everything in his power to get me cleared.”

  Yeah, like spend a lot of time—and her money—to try to prove her innocent. Well, Grayson didn’t know any attorneys named Ian, but he did know others, and even the good ones appeared to be money-grubbing. “What’s his name?” he asked. “Ian what?”

  “Ian Wright,” Savannah said, “but please don’t contact him.” She sounded alarmed. “He’s an officer of the court, like all lawyers, he told me, which means he might have to turn me in if he found out where I was. He asked me if I’d killed Zane, said it was okay for me to admit it to him. Because of attorney-client privilege, he wouldn’t reveal it to anyone else. But of course I didn’t admit anything, since I’m innocent. I trust him. I like him as a lawyer. But I don’t want anyone, even him, to know where I am. Not now, at least. Or that you’ve seen me.”

  Grayson didn’t like the sound of that. Not that he’d tell that Ian Wright anything. But even though Savannah trusted him, Grayson trusted no one on her behalf. Not now. Not until he’d learned a lot more about her situation.

  “Got it,” he said. “With your phone now, you can contact him if you decide to and not give your location away”

  Savannah nodded and smiled at him, her expression more relaxed—and trusting. Damn. She shouldn’t trust anyone right now, even him.

  Still... Evening was approaching now. He needed to leave, get back to the office for a while before going home.

  “Sorry,” he told Savannah, drinking his last few drops of wine. “I’d better get on my way.”

  He was about to tell her he’d be back again soon, though he didn’t think it would be tomorrow. He’d brought her enough sustenance for a few days, anyway. And wine.

  “I understand,” she said, nodding slightly. If he read her expression correctly, she probably understood but felt bad about his leaving. “That’s fine. I appreciate our discussions today and think I might have an idea of what to do next, but I want to think about it more, so being here on my own will be fine. Only—”

  “Only what?” he asked when she hesitated.

  “I don’t suppose you have a pen and paper in your car that you could give me so I can make some notes, do you?”

  He laughed. He’d expected something a lot more significant than that, given the change in her expression to uncertainty, maybe fear—or worse.

  She needed to jot something down, apparently. And he always kept a notebook or two in his SUV in case he got a call and needed to jot down quickly where to go and why.

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ll bring them in right now—before I leave.”

  * * *

  Grayson had left an hour or more ago, but Savannah had tried not to think about him as she sat at the same old table once more, making notes.

  And realizing she needed to get out of there soon. In some ways, the cabin was as much a prison as her cell.

  Not just because she felt lonely with her only current contact, Grayson, gone. She recognized that she missed him not only because he was attempting to help her but because...well, she liked the guy. Felt attracted to him, despite herself.

  But she also recognized that was a mistake. He was a good man, dedicating his life to helping people, and at the moment that included her.

  It didn’t mean he liked her as anything more than someone who needed him.

  Despite the hugs and the kiss they’d shared, which to Savannah had suggested more. A lot more.

  But that wouldn’t happen.

  Savannah rose again to turn on the lanterns to avoid being left in the dark. She checked to make sure the door was locked and the windows fully closed. She had no intention of going outside again that night.

  And tomorrow? Maybe. Hanging out inside here alone could drive her nuts—even nuttier than she already felt. But what else could she do?

  She would ponder that tonight where she could go, what she could do, to locate Zane and show the world what a horrible person he was. A living person. But how?

  And what would she do if she didn’t ever see Grayson again? After handing her the notebook and pen, he had said he might not be back tomorrow but promised she would see him again soon.

  But soon could mean anything from another day to a week or more. And his saying he’d return didn’t mean it would come about. Even when the food he so kindly supplied her with was gone.

  So...now what?

  She was a murder suspect who’d fled and was most likely being chased, or would be once the authorities finished with disaster relief.

  If she left here, she would have to walk through these woods and beyond, in an area she didn’t know at all—unless she found her way back to town, a horrible idea if she couldn’t remain hidden somehow. She’d be recognized and arrested again, probably immediately.

  But what was the alternative?

  She had an idea, but it depended on Grayson’s returning. More than once.

  Which meant, yes, she relied on him. A lot.

  She trusted him, sure. Because she had to. She needed him to help her hang on to the last shred of sanity she still had.

  And if he didn’t come back here even once?

  Well, she could stay here until her remaining food ran out and then see what happened.

  And in the meantime?

  She decided to try to keep her sanity a bit by working out details for that idea she had.

  She placed the notebook Grayson had given her on the table in front of her. Then she hurried into the bathroom and examined herself again in the mirror. At least she liked her new hairstyle—sort of.

  Returning to the main room, she set a water bottle on the table and poured herself a small amount of wine before opening the notebook.

  She began sketching on the first page.

  Chapter 9

  Grayson’s mind remained on Savannah and what to do next to help her, as he headed his SUV back toward his office. He knew where he’d start once h
e sat down at his computer.

  He was worried about her, unsure what she’d do without him hanging around and encouraging her to stay put while they worked out a plan. But even if no one paid attention to where he was going and he therefore didn’t endanger Savannah further, he couldn’t keep visiting there as much as he had without his company suffering.

  But he didn’t want her to suffer, either.

  Would she run before he showed up again? It wasn’t really his business, yet he felt like it was. He’d promised to help her get through this. And as long as he believed she was innocent, he intended to assist her.

  But did he fully trust her? Maybe not, but until he found some reason not to, he’d act as if he did.

  And help her. After all, that was his calling in life: helping people.

  Plus, something about Savannah Oliver made him want to pull out all stops to clear her name. Her resigned yet hopeful attitude and this miserable situation were what did it, he told himself.

  He could handle the unwanted attraction he felt for her. He had to.

  Still, better that he do things quickly to try to clear her—like what he intended to do that evening and tomorrow.

  He answered a few phone calls as he drove, mostly business-related but also concerning his family—darn it. Of course he was worried about his father, but at least Ainsley let him know that Payne was holding his own at the moment. And then there was the Ace situation. No matter what, the guy was their brother, even though not by blood.

  He drove even more slowly once he reached downtown Mustang Valley. The earthquake damage wasn’t what kept his speed low, or not entirely. The cracked streets he traversed had already been at least temporarily fixed, or detours designated. The sidewalks around them had been improved a bit, too. The buildings not so much, at least not yet.

  But what particularly kept Grayson from driving at a normal speed was amazement at how many tables along those sidewalks he now saw that had Affirmation Alliance Group signs on them—even more than before. He still liked the idea that they were out there trying to help people who’d suffered damages from the quake. But though he couldn’t quite put a finger on why, he still didn’t trust them.

  His curiosity about them inflated even more after he reached his office building—and saw one of those tables on the sidewalk on the next block. The sign there was even larger than the rest—and it invited people to come and meet the group’s founder, Micheline Anderson.

  Grayson had heard of Micheline—all pretty good stuff. Maybe his opinion of the group going overboard would change if he actually met her.

  And so, after parking his SUV behind his office building, he walked around to the front and crossed the street.

  The table here was larger than the others he’d seen. There were lots of flyers on it, and several people sat or stood behind it.

  One had an identification card folded in front of her: Micheline Anderson.

  The woman behind it appeared to be a really attractive senior. She had long blond hair, dangling earrings with pearls at the ends and a face that resembled a movie star’s. She wore a blue shirtwaist dress and stood behind the table.

  Beside her ID card was a larger sign. It said Be Your Best You! Grayson had heard that before. It was her organization’s slogan.

  He approached her. Several other people dressed nicely, yet less formally than Micheline, stood around her, and a couple were talking to others lined up across the table, apparently handing out flyers and discussing the group with them.

  “Hello,” Grayson said to Micheline. She’d watched him as he approached, a large smile on her face. Did she recognize him? If so, how and why?

  “Hello,” she said, drawing out the word as if she was happy to see him. “Welcome to the Affirmation Alliance Group. I’m Micheline Anderson.” As if he couldn’t tell, despite the others hanging around the long table with her. “And you are...?”

  “I’m Grayson Colton.” He watched both her eyes and smile widen even more as he said his last name. Evidently, whether or not she thought she knew him, she was aware of the prominence of the Colton family—as who wasn’t around here? But not many people actually knew him...and his not-so-thrilled attitude toward most of his relations.

  Although, on his way here, one of the calls he’d received was from his half brother, Callum. And after a bunch of arm-twisting, not easy over the phone, Grayson had agreed to join his relatives for dinner at the ranch house that night. The others intended to discuss some family matters and really wanted him there.

  Which had also added to his concern about when he’d next be able to visit Savannah and help keep her motivated to stay where she was.

  “How do you do, Grayson Colton?” Micheline held her hand out for a shake. “Thanks for coming to say hi. I assume you don’t need a place to stay after the quake, since, from what I’ve heard, the Rattlesnake Ridge Ranch survived just fine. That’s one of the reasons we’re out here, you know—to let everyone know we have a place people can stay, if they need it. But can I convince you to come visit us anyway and participate in one of our seminars? We give them often, on a variety of subjects to help people achieve our goal to ‘be your best you.’ There’s a charge, of course, since we use the money to help others.”

  She smiled as if expecting him to compliment her for that, but he just smiled slightly in return.

  “And you—” she continued, “I know you’re a first responder and like to help people too, right?”

  Grayson realized it had been a mistake to come to this table, despite how curious he was. The woman might have good intentions—or not. But what she definitely had was an open hand in which she wanted money deposited, no matter what she intended to use it for.

  His passing thought earlier, that meeting her might help him accept her and her group more, had been only that—a passing thought that definitely wasn’t coming true.

  He needed to leave here right now, but without causing any kind of scene. He assumed Micheline would stop at nothing to achieve one of her goals, so he figured he’d need to do this as politely as he could.

  “That’s great that you know who I am,” he lied, looking into her blue eyes, which he’d have found attractive on a younger and more trustworthy woman. “And I appreciate your invitation. I’ll definitely consider it.” Like hell he would. “But for right now I’m still working hard on helping people affected by the quake, as you are, so I can’t commit to doing anything else.”

  “I understand.” Micheline’s smile seemed to drop a bit and her eyes showed irritation. “But here.” She picked up a bunch of flyers from the table and handed them to him. “Call anytime you’re able to set something up. And I hope it’s soon.”

  “Thanks.” He accepted the paperwork, figuring he’d dump it into a recycle bin in his office as soon as possible. “And good luck to you in helping as many folks in need as you can.”

  He strode away, across the street and into his building. Only then did he feel as if he could breathe naturally again.

  He stood in the large, empty lobby, not yet approaching any of his staff. Okay, Affirmation Alliance Group could be everything Micheline claimed. Maybe more. But it sounded too good to be true. Plus, he didn’t trust people easily, partly because of ways his own family had tried to guilt him into giving up his own company and join Colton Oil.

  Anyway, he didn’t need to stay in touch with their leader or any of them. And he hadn’t lied to her. He and his gang were still working hard on helping people affected by the quake. For him, that included the fugitive Savannah, and after he caught up on what he needed to do that day, he’d take another approach to helping her—and proving her innocence.

  He hadn’t thought in advance about which of his staff he’d drop in on first now that he was on the floor where their offices were, but as often happened, Winchell decided that for him. Winch was well enough trained that Chad didn’t g
enerally keep him leashed in the office, although his door was often closed. As it had been—till now. It opened, and Winch ran out toward Grayson.

  As Grayson bent to pat Winch, Chad joined them. “Hey,” he said. “Good timing. Winch and I just ended our assignment for the day from the MVPD. And guess what?”

  Grayson had a pretty good idea, considering the big grin on the retired cop’s face that moved his glasses up a notch on his cheeks. But he let Chad inform him. “What?”

  “This excellent K-9 of mine found a survivor who’d been buried in rubble from an apartment building just outside town.”

  “Good boy!” Now Grayson knelt on the floor and gave the dog a big hug. “Tell me more.” He stood again and faced Chad, as Pedro came out of his office, too. “I assume you’ve already heard the story,” Grayson said to Pedro.

  “Not all of it,” the former firefighter said. “I want to hear more. Fortunately, though I helped to get rid of several fires, there weren’t any casualties—survivors or otherwise.”

  “Let’s sit down here, then.” Grayson gestured toward the seats in the reception area. “Is Norah here, too?”

  “No, I gather she’s back at the hospital, since the EMTs needed more help today,” Chad said.

  His hand still on Winch’s head, Grayson listened to the story of the old and not particularly well-maintained apartment building in the part of town worst hit by the quake. And yes, it had been a couple of days, but the authorities were aware, thanks to info from others in that building, that at least one resident had remained missing. A couple of others, too, though they likely were out of town.

  “The victim was elderly,” Chad said, “but word was that she exercised a lot and was in fairly good shape for her age. And nearly as soon as the neighbors pointed us in the general direction of what was left of her unit, Winch began reacting—though a small distance away, which was probably why the woman hadn’t been located before. Some firefighters and city staff were there digging, and in a short while they located her. She’d fortunately had an air pocket and had been able to breathe.”