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

by Linda O. Johnston

  “I don’t want accolades for myself or my company, but I want to inform the public so they’ll know who to call and when, and what to expect. And maybe contribute money to the public emergency departments to help them increase their first responder involvement. But I haven’t had time to even start researching what would need to go into this kind of project,” he finished. “You have some time, at least for now. I would really appreciate it if you’d start it for me.”

  Savannah liked the idea. A lot.

  Spending her time compiling achievements by first responders, how they jumped in and saved endangered lives, put out fires, and more?

  Oh yes.

  Including him, but he’d said he didn’t want to applaud First Hand.

  She hadn’t thought much about first responders until the earthquake—and meeting Grayson. Now, she was highly impressed by them, by him, and would love to learn more. And help him.

  And have something to do besides sit here and stew over what her life had become—and what would happen to it in the future.

  “Yes!” she exclaimed. “I’d love to start your research.” She didn’t bother reminding him that it might be a pipe dream she would never be able to accomplish, thanks to what was going on with her.

  She had to remain optimistic. She would remain optimistic. And a lot of that was because of Grayson, and all he was doing for her. At least she could pay him back just a little this way. Plus, maybe she could come up with additional ideas for helping first responders achieve even more.

  “Excellent.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at it. “Time for me to go. But I’ll see you later.”

  He rose and approached Savannah rather than heading straight to the door. She stood, too, and quickly found herself in his arms.

  Their kiss was quick but hot and seemed to promise more. Or at least she hoped so.

  But she knew better than to count on anything right now.

  Even Grayson.

  She would wait here for him, though. At least for today.

  * * *

  First things first. Grayson took a long detour, all the way to Tucson, fifty miles away from Mustang Valley. But it was early and traffic wasn’t bad—and no one there knew him.

  He checked his surroundings a lot, though, in case he was being followed, unlikely as that was. Still, his paranoia wasn’t a bad thing since he was aiding an escaped prisoner. And he had a lot of experience and knowledge about how to spot anyone who oughtn’t be there.

  He used his car phone system to check in at the office. He told Norah, who answered his call, that he was engaged in some promotional work in nearby towns. She sounded happy because she had an assignment that day working with some high school kids who wanted to learn more about being first responders. The school system had hired First Hand to present a program to a club for teens who were interested in future medical careers at Mustang Valley General Hospital. Chad and Winch would come along for a short while, too, and Pedro would most likely stay in the office attending to calls and whatever else needed to be done—unless a call came in. Or more aftershocks occurred.

  “Thanks,” Grayson said to Norah before hanging up, meaning it. He loved owning the company, being in charge—and having such skilled and dedicated employees at his back. And what Norah was doing would be a great addition to the website he planned to work on with Savannah.

  Finally reaching Tucson, he visited several shops, high-end makeup, low-end clothing and more, just to be sure he was getting the right stuff and not forgetting anything. This time, he would bring everything else Savannah had asked for, plus several versions of some things like items of clothing and slightly different colors and quality of makeup.

  He also found a tablet computer for Savannah, assuming she remained interested and hung out at the cabin enough to work on his project. He needed help, she needed something to do. It all seemed perfect for the moment, assuming Savannah remained free.

  When he was finished, he secured it all in the back of his SUV in a crate installed there for carrying any equipment needed on the job. No one would be able to see its contents.

  He’d been pondering how to look into the investigation into Ian Wright’s murder and decided to visit the Mustang Valley police station when he returned to town. He’d been seen in Wright’s office, after all, so it shouldn’t be too over the top for him to express interest in what happened.

  He hoped that his usual primary contact, Senior Detective PJ Doherty, was there. Grayson felt more comfortable asking PJ questions than any of the other cops, even his distant cousin Spencer, although Grayson knew most of the pros respected him there. He decided to call PJ to check on his availability and was glad when his friend answered.

  “Yeah, I’m here, and unless something comes up I should be around when you get here,” PJ said. “No first responder stuff going on at the moment that I know of, but I suspect I know what you want to talk about.”

  “I suspect you do, too,” Grayson said. Of course PJ knew he’d found the destroyed vehicle and dead driver, and therefore might have a continuing interest in the escaped prisoner who was being transported. That same escapee who was in the news once more.

  It took Grayson longer to get back to Mustang Valley than it had been to drive to Tucson, thanks to midday traffic, but he soon parked in a lot near the police station. No problem walking to the one-story brick building on Mustang Boulevard. Cops in dark blue uniforms filled the lobby area, a few talking to visiting citizens. Grayson stepped up to the front desk and asked the officer there to let PJ know he was there. “He’s expecting me.”

  The cop got on the desk phone and in moments PJ came out, dressed in uniform. “Let’s go out for some coffee,” he told Grayson. A chain coffee shop was within easy walking distance, and they headed that way along the sidewalk.

  PJ was tall, a few years younger than Grayson. He had blond hair and blue eyes and kept glancing toward Grayson almost impishly, as if he was trying to read his mind. They’d talked a few times since the earthquake but this was the first time they’d gotten together.

  “Okay, what do you want?” PJ finally asked after they entered the shop. They sat down at a small round table near the door after getting their drinks.

  “All that stuff in the news about the murder of Ian Wright. Has anyone mentioned I went to see the guy yesterday?”

  “Yeah, we heard about that. What did you talk about?” PJ’s eyes narrowed a bit as if he was working even harder at mind reading.

  Grayson knew he would need to be careful. “Well, I understood the guy represented Savannah Oliver, that prisoner who escaped from the van I found after the earthquake. I don’t have any professional reason to be interested.”

  Despite what he had told Wright, PJ would definitely know that Grayson hadn’t been hired by the police department to help find the woman.

  Grayson continued. “But I feel a connection anyway. I talked to him about his representing her, what he could tell me that wasn’t attorney-client privileged, which wasn’t much. I still got the impression he thought his client could be guilty. And now I’ve heard on the news that Savannah Oliver is a suspect in his murder, too. Logical, I guess—but is that true?”

  “You know we don’t talk publicly about ongoing investigations for a while, till we believe we have sufficient evidence for a conviction and all, and we don’t talk about that evidence much, either. And we certainly don’t have need for a first responder in this situation. But hell, I can understand your interest, even though it’s remote. You could have found that woman in the van. Even been attacked by her if she’d been there. And now you do have a sort-of connection with her next victim.”

  Grayson forced himself not to object to PJ’s assumption, but the detective must have seen some kind of reaction on his face and held up his hand.

  “Okay, she’s only an alleged killer in both cases. But...look, my
friend, can I trust you to keep a secret about the evidence we found?”

  “Of course.” Grayson forced himself to stay calm and not push PJ to talk more and faster. What secret?

  “We haven’t revealed much to the media, but in case you’re interested, Mr. Wright was found with two gunshot wounds to the head, definitely not self-inflicted. Not sure why others in his building didn’t hear it, but the walls at his upstairs office were soundproofed. The weapon wasn’t left there, either. But something else was.”

  Grayson wanted to shake it out of PJ, whose tone and teasing expression suggested that was what he wanted Grayson to do.

  “You going to tell me, or do I have to wait till I see it on TV eventually?” Grayson kept his tone cool and calm as he grinned as wryly as he could toward his friend. “So why do you think she put those gunshot wounds into her lawyer’s head?”

  “Because,” PJ chortled triumphantly, “he didn’t get her off the charges against her right away, didn’t succeed in even getting her bail. I’ve seen photos of her.” Not anymore, Grayson thought, but didn’t say so. “And we know she kept her long hair pulled back into those decorative clips some women wear. Because—” he said again.

  “Because?” Grayson prompted.

  “Because it must have fallen out of her hair at the latest crime scene. Maybe Wright and she fought for a while before she shot him, or maybe she was just careless. But one of those clips was found under Wright’s desk, a pretty thing made of what I was told is called tortoiseshell plastic—and it had initials on it.”

  “Let me guess,” Grayson said, his hopes falling. It was a setup, sure. But it seemed to be working. “Were those initials SO?”

  “SMO,” PJ contradicted. “Including her maiden name.”

  Grayson’s head was spinning. Savannah was being framed—again. Her ex? Probably. But since he couldn’t show up in town there had to be someone else. Wells? That was more likely.

  What could Grayson do to protect her? To put the cops on the right trail?

  He didn’t know.

  “Very interesting,” he said to PJ, trying to sound somewhat excited. “So you really do have a viable suspect.” Should he suggest that the clip could have been planted?

  No. That might give away whose side he was on.

  “Yep, we do,” PJ said. “Still don’t know where she is, though. But we’re putting together a bigger task force to search for her. Maybe she’s still hiding out in the woods near where the van went down. Meanwhile, we’re out there. Expanding our search. And we’ll find her.”

  That was what Grayson was afraid of.

  “And good thing we’re together now,” PJ said. “We’d intended to contact you to interview you about your meeting with Wright. Can you come to the station when we’re done here? From what we have found so far, you were one of the last people to see him alive.”

  “Sure,” Grayson said, his heart sinking. Well, he wouldn’t have anything helpful to say. “And after we’re done, I’d appreciate it if you would keep me informed about your investigation as much as you can. I’m interested, especially since Wright was killed so soon after I saw him. And if you need a first responder or two or three in your investigation, be sure to let me know.”

  Chapter 16

  “What do you mean, we’re leaving?” Savannah demanded.

  It was late afternoon. Grayson had just returned to the cabin and said he’d brought everything else she’d requested, and more.

  But he was acting strange. His expression was worried. Very worried.

  And that worried Savannah.

  Of course she was more than emotionally ready to leave this place. But practically?

  Where could she go?

  She hadn’t changed her appearance yet, so she would most likely be too identifiable to go nearly anywhere.

  Even so, since he was pushing this, Grayson had to have someplace in mind.

  “Look, everything’s probably fine,” he said, “but I do know they’re looking for you in earnest right now.”

  Savannah felt herself both stiffen and shudder, looking at Grayson’s face. Its features were the same, utterly handsome and appealing—except for the unnatural frown.

  “Who is looking?” But of course she knew.

  “The police. I’ll explain shortly. But right now, go ahead and change into one of the new outfits, including the shoes I brought.”

  He’d shown her some athletic shoes that looked pretty inexpensive, unlike anything she would have chosen for herself before.

  He had also brought her some cheap-looking T-shirts and other tops and jeans, nothing anyone who knew her would expect her to wear, which was perfect.

  He had just brought her some hair dye, too, but she hadn’t had time to use it.

  But how did he know the police were after her right now? Not that it should be a big surprise.

  And if they were, did she dare leave here? Or were they more likely to find her here than someplace else?

  Grayson seemed to have taken charge—again. Was he truly on her side? He still appeared to be, but how could she be certain?

  Well, she didn’t have much choice if he believed the cops might come looking for her here.

  And at least she might get an opportunity to run.

  She closed herself in the bathroom and did as he directed. She changed clothes and modified her makeup, adding eye shadow, eyeliner and mascara, although she didn’t try aging herself. She also practiced slumping, especially her shoulders, since most women she’d associated with from successful families walked and talked like models, with gentle waves of their hands.

  Not that she felt certain how people of a lesser public status held themselves, but she would give it a try. In addition, she forced herself to practice walking in a way that stuck her stomach out more than usual. She felt highly uncomfortable, not so much physically as mentally. This wasn’t her—yet it was, for now.

  In a short while, she exited the bathroom with her new clothes and less prideful demeanor. She tilted her head slightly and looked up sadly and uncomfortably toward Grayson.

  “Hello, Mr. Colton,” she said, making her voice rasp. “Do you know who I am?”

  He smiled at her. “If I didn’t know, I definitely wouldn’t recognize you now. Great job, Savannah! Now let’s go.”

  * * *

  Though Grayson doubted anyone would recognize Savannah the way she looked now, he couldn’t be sure. As a result, after they quickly cleaned the cabin to make it look as close as possible to how it had when Savannah moved in, leaving no extra food but replenishing the water bottles, he had her lie down on the back seat of his car.

  He hadn’t bought her a hat, though maybe he should have for when—if—they were out somewhere with other people around. Later. But he did have a baseball cap in the back of his car—fortunately not one branded with the First Hand logo, but a gray one that just said Mustang Valley. He handed it to her to put on eventually and at least partially shield her face.

  He explained their destination to Savannah as he drove as far as he could beyond the lake area where the cabin was, twisting his way through the forest in the direction of his family ranch. He’d decided that, first and foremost, he needed to get her out of there. If the cops did a better job of fanning out from the location where the van had been destroyed, they could easily wind up near the lake—and its nearby cabins.

  He drove toward the bunker he had found ages ago as a kid and used as his refuge, to hide from the family when he could. Even when he was younger, he’d needed time and a place away from his sometimes overbearing and controlling family.

  And now, he had visited the bunker briefly after the earthquake to ensure that it remained undamaged and no one had been caught there.

  “Here’s what’s going on,” he said to Savannah. He told her first about his conversation with his buddy Detect
ive Doherty. “The cops have what they believe is good evidence—a concrete reason to put you at the top of their suspect list, Savannah.”

  “What?” she demanded, her voice muffled from the back seat.

  Grayson wished he could watch her as he spoke, hold her in his arms to comfort her as much as possible. He could imagine the frightened expression on her beautiful face anyway. But he’d been a bit spooked and his mind had gone in many ugly directions while he drove back to the cabin.

  The bunker should be a safer hideout. Even though a lot of people knew about the many abandoned mineshafts in the area, no one else to his knowledge was ever aware he’d used that one.

  “I’ll tell you soon,” he said. He wanted to soothe her as he told her the situation as he knew it—and his further fears about it. He wanted to hold her tight, and not just to protect her, although that was most important at the moment. But later? He could imagine their making use of the bunker to engage in more of the wonderful sex they had already experienced. He didn’t know how things would be in the future, but he definitely craved keeping Savannah in his life.

  A few cars passed on the remote street until he turned off and headed down a dirt road beyond the Rattlesnake Ridge Ranch, between it and other ranches. He drove as far as he could into a grove of trees near the side of a fair-sized hill and parked behind bushes that obscured his vehicle.

  He got out of the car and looked around, listening.

  “Okay,” he finally said, opening a back door. “Time for you to visit the next exciting mansion where you’ll hang out for a while.”

  “I’m not sure I like your sarcasm, Grayson,” she said, stepping out of the car and pivoting to look around them into the woods.

  He noted that she retained her disguise, slouching and frowning and sticking her gut out to appear heavier than the lovely, slender woman she was.