“Sure,” Grayson said, then left his number and said goodbye. And smiled. It appeared that Wright was in his office, after all.
Well, Grayson wouldn’t know for sure until he got there. Wright might call him back soon, if he thought the first responder who found Savannah missing could be of any help getting her back, assuming the lawyer was attempting to help Zane and Schuyler. In any case, Grayson prepared to go to Wright’s office as soon as he finished some other calls. First, he sent a few follow-up messages to professional contacts in nearby towns, reminding them that First Hand could help them if they needed any assistance now, particularly after the earthquake.
That was the kind of email message he sent often, though he’d never needed to mention something like a quake prior to the last couple of days. But he always remained in contact as closely as possible with the various local groups who might—and did—use their highly qualified and well-certified services.
In a little while, he closed down his computer and headed downstairs to the reception area.
“I’m about to leave for a meeting,” he told Norah, quickly averting any questions she might have about that meeting. “And—well, I’d love to check in with Chad and Winch later. Do you know where they are?”
“Kind of.” Norah described the desert area northwest of town where the young man was thought to have disappeared. She also showed Grayson a report she had found on her phone about the missing guy.
“Please text that link to me,” Grayson told her. “If I get a chance, I may even head there after my meeting.”
The area was on its way toward Mountain Valley, a nearby town whose police and fire departments sometimes requested their help.
It was also someplace Grayson wouldn’t be recognized, so he could at least start acquiring the disguise materials Savannah had requested.
But Wright’s office? It was right in downtown Mustang Valley, not far from Grayson’s own building. And as Grayson had already figured, Ian Wright was apparently in his office right now, unless he’d instructed his receptionist to lie.
Which was entirely possible.
Grayson decided to drive there anyway, despite its proximity.
He pulled his SUV out of the parking lot behind his building and drove the few blocks to the ornate yet professional-looking structure that housed the law firm of Wright & Jessup. It had a parking lot behind it, too, and Grayson easily found a spot there.
He went around to enter the front of the building, where he checked out the list of businesses it contained that was hung by the elevator. No receptionists here, just a few glass doors with signage beside them describing the offices they opened into.
He saw that the building housed a couple of other law firms, as well as a local office for a tech company based in Phoenix, and a few other groups Grayson didn’t recognize.
Ian Wright’s firm was listed as being on the top couple of floors.
Grayson pushed the button and the elevator door opened. He touched the number for the lowest floor of Wright’s offices. The elevator was slow but not especially noisy.
When it arrived and the door opened, Grayson got out and looked around. Sure enough, the door to the law firm’s offices was straight ahead, and that was where Grayson headed. He opened it and walked in.
A large black laminate desk took up most of the front room. Behind it sat a fiftyish lady with clearly bleached golden hair. She looked up, regarding Grayson from behind her blue-rimmed glasses. A sign on the top of the desk read Connie Glasser. She was probably the person he had talked to when he had called Ian Wright earlier.
“Hello,” she said, greeting Grayson. “May I help you?”
“I’m Grayson Colton. I assume you’re the person I spoke with before.”
“That’s right,” she said. “And—”
“Well, after we talked, I called Mr. Wright directly, and he told me to come right in. I assume his meeting is over, right?”
Even if it wasn’t, Grayson intended to slip through the door behind the reception desk. And he didn’t have Wright’s direct line, but Connie didn’t need to know that.
“Well, yes, but he didn’t mention—”
“Oh, that’s okay. Thanks.” He figured he might as well be polite as he walked around the desk and behind Connie Glasser, even though there wasn’t anything to thank her for.
Fortunately, the large, paneled wooden door with Ian Wright’s name on it wasn’t locked, and Grayson slipped right in.
There sat Wright behind a large and angled mahogany desk. He had a phone pressed to his ear and held a file that matched the many piled on the desk.
Of course Grayson recognized the man from his website—sort of. Sure, he looked like the same handsome, professional older man depicted online. But this version looked even older, his face lined and pale, the divots in his cheeks deeper, his blue eyes narrowed and dipping down at the corners.
“Hi,” Grayson called to get his attention.
That happened immediately. Wright looked up, straight toward Grayson, and appeared to blanch even more as he hung up his phone. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”
“Just walked in,” Grayson said, answering the second question first. “I’m Grayson Colton. Did your secretary let you know I called earlier? I need to talk to you about your client, Savannah Oliver.”
“If you know anything about the legal system, you know I can’t talk to you. Attorney-client privilege applies, and—”
“I haven’t said what I want to discuss with you. It won’t involve anything covered by attorney-client privilege.” With no invitation, Grayson walked farther into the room and planted himself on one of the upholstered leather chairs facing Wright’s desk.
“But—”
“Here’s the thing. You might know that I’m the person who discovered the ruined transport that was supposed to be moving Ms. Oliver from the courthouse back to prison. It was way out on a road that was affected by the earthquake. I also found the driver dead, and no one in the back, where presumably Ms. Oliver had been secured. She’s apparently escaped, and—Well, you may not know but I’m the owner of First Hand First Responders, a private first response company, and the local authorities know it. They’ve hired me to try to find Ms. Oliver, since I also know that wilderness area pretty well.”
“I see. But I can’t help you.” Ian Wright stood and clearly glanced toward the door behind Grayson.
Interesting. Grayson figured that Wright would want Savannah found, or at least would give that impression in public. But, then, he already figured the lawyer was hiding things for Zane.
“Oh, I’m sure you can. You see, what I need you to tell me is the location of the rendezvous places where Savannah Oliver met up with her lover, Schuyler Wells—all the places you know about. She might have returned there because those spots were familiar. I at least need to check them out.”
Would Wright’s knowledge of any such place be privileged? Grayson didn’t know but he’d take the position they weren’t. And he hated suggesting Wells was Savannah’s lover, but taking any other angle now might affect this conversation.
Wright looked even more uneasy now, a nervous wreck, maybe. He was sweating. “I wouldn’t know the answer to that. Ms. Oliver and I talked a lot, of course, but not about where she might have seen Mr. Wells. And that assumes she did see him.”
“Ah, then you question that, too? I understand from what I saw in the media that Ms. Oliver denied the affair, denied anything unseemly with Mr. Wells.”
“Sorry, but we’re getting too close to attorney-client privilege with that.”
Which could give the impression that Savannah had admitted the supposed affair to her attorney. Clever guy for suggesting it. Grayson continued, “Oh, but I assumed you also spoke to Schuyler Wells for information that could help in her defense, right?”
Wright grew even paler, G
rayson thought, if that was possible. “Well, I did talk to him a little, but he wasn’t much help. He admitted to knowing Savannah and—well, that they’d had an affair and had even considered marrying after Savannah’s divorce became final. He also said he was acting as her real estate agent to help her find a new home. But he never mentioned when and where they might have met up, even at sites he was showing her, and neither did Savannah.”
Wright seemed to be bouncing back and forth regarding what could be privileged information. What was he trying to do—convince Grayson that Savannah was guilty without getting into anything she might have discussed directly with him?
“Then please tell me all you know about Schuyler Wells. Since you’ve spoken with him, maybe he told you, or hinted about, some of the places he and Savannah allegedly got together.”
“I don’t know anything!” Wright was standing now, and seemed to be shaking. He appeared more than nervous.
Was he hiding what he knew, not only about the nonexistence of Savannah’s affair with Wells—but also about whether Zane remained alive?
Was he representing his client adequately? Even if he was on Zane’s side, could Zane or Wells be blackmailing him into making things worse? Could Wright even be withholding evidence he knew that would get his client off? Failing to file motions that could help her? Anything else?
Hell, Grayson knew his imagination was running wild—maybe because he was searching for ways to get Savannah vindicated fast and completely.
But he doubted he would learn any more right now.
“Okay,” Grayson said. “I’ll leave now. Here’s my card.” He reached into his pocket and drew one out, handing it to Wright, who acted as if it was covered with fatal bacteria. “Please contact me anytime you think of somewhere I should look to locate Ms. Oliver. Surely that’s to your benefit, too, and hers. If you do your job well, you might even get her found innocent, but it’ll be harder if she’s spent a lot of time on the run. Even if she is innocent, she could look guiltier that way.”
“Exactly.” Wright let his breath out in a sigh. “And I understand you’re just doing your job, too. For her benefit, I’ll let you know if I think of anyplace she might have gone, though as I said, I don’t know of any possible rendezvous points.”
“Then maybe I should talk to Mr. Wells directly to see if he will give me that information. I’ll let him know that I have spoken with you and that you suggested I contact him.”
“Oh no. Don’t do that.” Wright’s tone seemed almost frantic, but then he seemed to force himself to calm down. “I think it would be better if you just let him know why you’re trying to find Ms. Oliver, since they were apparently at least close friends. And now, I hate to chase you out, but I am expecting an important phone call on another case and need to prepare for it.”
Sure, he hates to chase me out, Grayson thought. But he said his goodbyes, said he would be in touch again—and watched Wright’s face grow stony—then left.
Chapter 13
Grayson fought the urge to call Savannah as he got into his car. After meeting that awful attorney, he felt even more worried about her.
Sure, he could rush right out to the cabin and visit her, but what good would that do now? No, he had to act normally—or as normally as possible.
Since the quake, and the dinner with his siblings, he had been meaning to go to the hospital to visit his father. He’d received plenty of text messages from his siblings reminding him but no updates on Payne’s condition.
Why not go now? He wouldn’t stay long. And so Grayson drove to the Mustang Valley General Hospital, which wasn’t far from the law office. He parked in the lot at the back and walked around the large, well-respected hospital to the front entrance.
And was surprised, and unhappy, to see Selina Barnes Colton there, walking toward the outside door in the wide hospital lobby.
Selina had been his father’s second wife, disliked by all of Payne’s kids and his current wife, Genevieve. She was on the board of directors of Colton Oil, nonetheless, and also its VP and PR director. From what Grayson understood, that was because his former stepmother was holding something over his father, but he didn’t know what.
Grayson had an urge to leave. Or at least enter the hospital another way.
Selina saw him, approached the door where he stood, and came outside. He drew in his breath as he stood there.
Selina was a pretty woman, with long brown hair and blue eyes that always seemed to be amused. She had perfect cheekbones and a lovely chin, all touched up by attractive makeup, and her left ear and its earring were often exposed by her hairstyle.
Too bad her personality didn’t match her looks.
“Well, Grayson, what a surprise. When was the last time you’ve been to the hospital to see your dad? He was shot in January, and now it’s April.”
He thought about making excuses, but why do that with her? “Not everything is done with the purpose of being recorded for posterity or on cameras, security or otherwise. I may not be viewed as a perfect son who visits often, but I think of my dad often and privately send him all my best thoughts.” Or at least some. He might not adore his dad, but he certainly didn’t want him to die.
Selina laughed. “How adorable. That sounds like hokum from that Affirmation Alliance Group. Those do-gooders are all over town spouting their positivity—and that makes me want to barf.” She gestured across the street from the hospital. Sure enough, Grayson saw one of those Affirmation Alliance tables there, where two members sat. In front of them was a banner that said Displaced From The Earthquake and Need Assistance? Let Affirmation Alliance Group Help! There was even a line of three people waiting to talk to the men behind the table.
But Selina had started talking to him again. “Enough of that. And your being here? You know, Grayson, your dad figured before that you think he’s a corrupt jerk, so why be fake and sit at his bedside and pretend to feel something you don’t?”
He’d come here to see his dad, damn it, no matter what this woman said. He wanted to push past Selina and do what he’d set out to.
But he also recognized that Selina was right. He was being fake by coming here, and he’d be fake if he visited Payne and spouted platitudes his father probably couldn’t hear.
It wasn’t that he really hated his father. But he did hate how Payne had tried to make Grayson obey him even as an adult, rather than live his own life. Maybe things would be different if his mother had lived...but why even contemplate that now?
Without saying another word to her, he stalked away to return to his car—hating that Selina had won.
Once inside his car, he pondered what to do. Something to improve his state of mind, certainly.
As a result, he headed his SUV out of town toward the desert outside Mustang Valley, where Norah had said Chad brought Winch to look for the missing young man. Had they found him yet? Could Grayson help? Even just trying would make him feel better.
And help him forget this fiasco of an attempt to see his father.
As he drove along the main road that wound through the area, Grayson figured that without more information, he was unlikely to locate any of the searchers, let alone his employees. Of course, this was also the direction toward the town of Mountain Valley, and if he couldn’t find the search group, he could at least spend a little time there looking for the items on Savannah’s list.
Which would give him a better excuse to go visit her later than just to tell her what a jerk her lawyer seemed to be.
It didn’t take long to get outside Mustang Valley and onto the road through the desert. Grayson became more determined to meet up with his first responder employee who was out there and see how things were going. He called Chad on his car phone system.
“Hey, Grayson.” Chad answered immediately. “Can’t talk. Looking for a young guy missing since the quake, and Winch just alerted on a scent.”
“The kid’s?”
“Yeah. His family thought he went in this direction, and some locals saw some footprints in this area earlier today, though they didn’t lead to the kid.”
“How do I find you?” Grayson quickly told Chad where he was and got directions—about ten miles ahead of him. “Thanks,” he said but realized Chad had already hung up.
Grayson saw no additional cars out here—not until he reached the general area Chad had described. Several cop cars and an ambulance were parked there. Grayson parked, too, and got out.
He introduced himself to an officer standing beside his vehicle, staring into the distance. The area was mostly covered with sand and light patches of dirt, with quite a few cactus plants rising toward the blue sky that way, in the direction Grayson assumed Chad and Winch had gone.
Which turned out correct, according to that cop. And so, after putting on his sunglasses, Grayson rushed ahead.
In a few minutes he saw a small crowd ahead, some in uniform. He sped up to join them, then hurried to the front of that line.
Which was where Winch, at the end of the leash attached to the back of his K-9 vest, pulled Chad along behind him. Chad was holding a T-shirt, presumably one worn by the missing kid and provided by his family. One of K-9 Winch’s skills was following a scent.
Chad saw Grayson then and motioned for him to catch up. “Looks good,” he shouted.
In seconds, Winch found the missing kid he’d alerted on. Grayson couldn’t believe his good luck—he’d happened to be there just at the right moment. The teen was sitting on the ground in the shadow of a cactus.
Seeing the dog, the young guy screamed and rose and stumbled toward Winch, throwing his arms around the dog’s neck as he began crying. “Thank you, thank you,” he managed between sobs. Thin and pale, he wore jeans and athletic shoes and a gray T-shirt, all of which appeared filthy and in bad condition—and no wonder. He’d apparently been wearing them for around three days out here with no food or water or shelter.
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