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

by Linda O. Johnston

  There. That interaction was normal. He undoubtedly asked the same question of all the customers and wished them each a good day.

  Everything still was going fine.

  Until she walked outside.

  She’d met Grayson’s eye where he stood near the door. He was thumbing through a local newspaper, but she had seen him glancing at her now and then.

  She had ignored him as if he was a total stranger. Which he was, to Chloe.

  Now, as she moved onto the sidewalk, a police car drove slowly by. She tried to keep her gasp inside and keep walking.

  Were the cops inside it looking at her? Did they know who she was? Had someone in the store called them?

  Well, she knew she didn’t look like the Savannah they might be looking for. She made sure she used the relaxed posture she’d been practicing. Her hair was different. Her face, too.

  She wore those glasses.

  Still, she had an urge to run. To call out to Grayson—assuming he was within hearing distance. But what could he do anyway?

  Instead, she kept walking. She glanced curiously in the direction of the police car. Normal people would do that, after all. The officer on the passenger side was looking in her direction, but the car continued on.

  It didn’t stop. Surely, everything was fine.

  She’d fooled them!

  Maybe. She couldn’t allow herself to get too excited, too confident. They could just have been headed to get more backup, then come after her.

  Savannah remembered only too well what it felt like to be taken into police custody. To be swept off to jail. To be questioned and—

  She forced herself to put as many of those thoughts aside as she could. She walked at a normal pace, glancing into a clothing store as she passed it, then a furniture store—like any normal pedestrian.

  No cop car drove by again. No one showed up to confront her.

  Maybe this had worked out. She felt jubilant—but quickly tamped that down again.

  She soon made it to the parking lot, where she took the elevator back up to the floor where Grayson had parked. No one was around, so she called him.

  He answered at once. “I’m already in the car and don’t see anyone around. Come on over and get in.”

  Which she did, opening the unlocked door, putting her package on the floor, and again lying down on the back seat.

  “How did it go?” Grayson asked as he started driving.

  “Fine, though I was worried when the police car drove by. Did you see it?”

  “I did, but I figured your disguise, including your posture, wouldn’t let them recognize you. You’re quite an actress.”

  “Me? Not exactly the career I’d choose if I decided to really work for a living.” Which actually sounded good now. She could make more choices for herself that way—assuming she was ever exonerated of these murders.

  Which was definitely what she intended.

  And so, she told Grayson, “Since I don’t resemble myself and I’m such a great actress, here’s where I want to go right now.”

  She gave him Zane’s address, which he apparently already knew.

  “It’s a big house in a neighborhood of big houses but not many people. This car looks enough like a delivery vehicle that I doubt any neighbors will pay attention if you pull onto the street a little distance away and we get out there. I’ll pretend to be a new cleaning lady if anyone pays attention to us, and you can bring a bag or something to deliver. The house is on a middle lot and we can get through the gate and inside in a way I know. Zane isn’t that friendly with anyone on the street anyway.”

  “Okay, Chloe,” Grayson said. “I understand this is important to you, and why. I just hope we find what you’re looking for.”

  “Me, too,” Savannah-Chloe responded.

  And she was very glad he had said “we.”

  * * *

  Grayson had agreed to do as Savannah wished, despite a whole lot of reservations. But he understood why she wanted it.

  And it truly did make sense, if they could actually find something to prove the guilt of Schuyler Wells—or even Zane Oliver himself. Even though Savannah’s access to the property as a resident of the guest house was now most likely limited since she was a fugitive.

  He only wished he could somehow do this on his own, keep her fully out of danger as he cleared her name. But that couldn’t happen. She was the one who knew the house and where Zane might have hidden anything that might absolve her or indicate that Zane had faked his own death.

  But if things went wrong...

  Well, they couldn’t. But in any case, he would keep his distance, mentally at least.

  He would also help her as much as he could. But he’d additionally have to convince himself that she was just one more person he helped as a first responder, no matter how much time they had spent together in the past few days.

  No matter how much he enjoyed her presence, and in so many ways.

  After all, he wouldn’t develop an ongoing relationship with this woman, even if things worked out as he hoped. She might not want to be with him anyway, since he might remind her in the future of all that was happening now.

  This time, he had her ride in the front seat with him as he followed her directions to the house. It wasn’t in an area he visited a lot. He wasn’t likely to be recognized. Hopefully, neither would Savannah in her Chloe disguise.

  He drove to one of the most upscale residential areas of Mustang Valley. It didn’t include ranches, but it did include large estates that fronted on a well-maintained road, Vista Lane. Not even a sign of earthquake damage here. Along the road were large homes including mansions, most set back behind fences. Grayson knew where Zane Oliver had lived, but though he’d looked up the address again, he mostly counted on Savannah—no, Chloe. He had to start thinking of her that way.

  They had already decided they would park some distance away, maybe a quarter of a mile, for unobtrusiveness. There was also an alley behind the homes that paralleled the main road. Savannah would walk that way back toward the house, while Grayson would carry a box he had stashed in the back of his SUV to make it appear he was delivering something, if he was approached.

  As they drove by the huge gray stone house, Savannah pointed out where she would enter the yard, through a gate at the side where she would be less noticeable.

  Grayson would go that way, too, since the neighbors would undoubtedly know that Zane had allegedly died and no one would be at home to open the front door for packages.

  Looking at the place made Grayson remember who Savannah Oliver was, notwithstanding her being a murder suspect and fugitive. She came from wealth and had married into it, too.

  Not that Grayson, a Colton, was unfamiliar with having a lot of assets.

  But seeing where she had lived exemplified her background, and he could hardly imagine what it had felt for her to be in police custody, incarcerated with a lot of people who were undoubtedly guilty of the crimes they were charged with.

  He had an urge to take her into his arms again at that thought. Good thing he was driving.

  “How about there?” Savannah pointed toward a road veering to the right. It was a short distance from Zane’s home, and there were other vehicles parked along it, too. The cars varied from relatively new ones like Grayson’s SUV to older ones, and he figured some household help, or maybe handymen, parked here.

  Good. His car wouldn’t be obvious, even though it was in better condition than most.

  He made the turn, then parked in the first available space.

  “Okay,” he said. “Here we are. You go your way first, and then I’ll come down the street beside the house and you can let me into the yard, too.”

  “Sounds good.” She tossed him a smile behind the sunglasses and disguising makeup she now wore.

  She might not look as beaut
iful as before, but he knew who was beneath that disguise. He pulled her toward him and gave her a quick kiss, then moved away.

  “See you soon,” he said.

  Chapter 18

  The walk along the back alley to Zane’s house—and her guesthouse—seemed to take forever in the Arizona heat. Savannah kept her pace fairly fast along the even cement in her new clunky shoes, while holding the kind of posture she had assumed along with the rest of her disguise. The wind had suddenly grown strong so the jacket she wore, and even her jeans, seemed to blow and flutter around her, making her feel even more uncomfortable. At least the cap on her head, which was part of her camouflage, along with her glasses, stayed on. Hopefully she looked different enough that even if she was seen, no one would associate her with Savannah Oliver.

  Fortunately, no one else was around. But if someone did appear, if anyone saw her or talked to her, she could let them know that she was a maid by profession and Mr. Oliver’s family had asked her, Chloe Michaels, to do some housecleaning and to come in this way.

  Zane had often had workers arrive through the side gate, after all, and when he knew they were coming he would leave it temporarily unlocked and without enabling the security alarm.

  But who in his family now would ask for help that way? Good question. Big-time investment banker Zane had staff as well as executives at his company whom he must’ve trained well enough to keep the place going. When he’d discussed traveling with Savannah, long before their divorce, he had indicated he wanted that kind of professional support in place.

  That had never happened. And now that he was “dead,” perhaps living in one of the far-off areas he’d thought they might visit someday, his allies were undoubtedly keeping the company successful for what they believed to be their own benefit, as well as Zane’s heirs.

  Oh, he still had parents and a sister. They were most likely his official heirs now, as long as people believed him to be dead. Savannah certainly wasn’t one, and might not have been even if they were still married as a result of Zane’s ungenerous attitude. In fact, her allegedly wanting to get her hands on more of his assets, despite her own wealth, was one of the motives the authorities had ascribed to her for his murder, as well as revenge for his affairs. They’d never put an estate plan together, even though she’d suggested it, thanks to her father.

  Arizona was a community property state, so she had been entitled to at least some of what Zane earned while they were together, but she’d gotten some money from him when they divorced that was supposed to satisfy the law. She assumed it still sat in the bank where she had deposited it.

  Thoughts of her dad brought to mind why she had married Zane in the first place. It had largely been her father’s idea. He had advised Savannah to marry soon and marry well, and when Zane Oliver had shown some interest, her dad had jumped right on it, urging her to go out with him. A lot. And marry him? Oh yeah!

  Oh, she had thought she loved Zane, but she hadn’t felt the kind of passion she’d anticipated having for the man she married and intended to spend the rest of her life with.

  Grayson’s face suddenly popped into her mind.

  Ridiculous. She was grateful to him. She enjoyed sex with him. And rightly or not, she trusted him.

  But she didn’t love him. Couldn’t, either now or later. He didn’t seem to want a relationship, and she certainly didn’t want one on the heels of what had happened with her terrible marriage and afterward. She needed time and space...and trust, which would be really difficult for her now.

  She turned the corner into the narrow outdoor passageway between Zane’s property and the one next door, both lined with fences. That was where she would open a gate and get inside. She knew where Zane put the key to that door, so even if he had changed locks, there should be no problem, assuming he hadn’t changed hiding places or the code for the security alarm.

  She hoped.

  She glanced toward the neighbors’ side and was glad to see the row of cacti still there. They apparently didn’t use their gate here, and hopefully didn’t stare at the plants along the fence.

  And she wouldn’t even glance toward the guesthouse.

  Fortunately Grayson had brought them both gloves to don to avoid leaving fingerprints. Savannah pulled hers on, then quickly searched for the key to the fence lock. There. It was where she’d anticipated, in a small box buried to the right of a fence post. This had been intended to be an emergency way to get on and off the property—and it worked right now.

  The main house’s front door? It was much more likely that neighbors would see her there, even if they didn’t recognize her. Plus, she didn’t have the front door key any longer. And the house’s main security camera was aimed there.

  As Savannah stepped inside the fence, in the shadow of the vast and lovely mansion she had called home for a couple of years, she saw Grayson approach from the direction of the main street. She waited for him. He, too, wore gloves.

  “So far so good,” he said as he reached her side.

  “Yes. And—well, I never told Zane, of course, but I kept a key to the side door of the main house hidden on the grounds, too. I didn’t think I’d have any need to use it, but it just—it made me feel a little better, a bit more in control. And I never disposed of it when we got divorced.”

  As they talked, they approached the side of the house. A keypad was attached to the wall near the door, and Savannah pulled it open and pressed in some numbers—and waited.

  “Good,” she said. “He mustn’t have changed the alarm code, either, or we’d hear a buzz to indicate we needed to try again.”

  “Really? Then we wouldn’t have been able to get in the house, even if you know where the key is.” Grayson sounded unhappy.

  “From what Zane told me when I moved in, that code hadn’t been changed in decades, so I wasn’t too worried.” There was a garden area off to the side, with a hopbush hedge nearly against the house. Savannah walked five steps with one foot in front of the other, then bent and dug a small hole in the sandy dirt. Sure enough, she found the key in a small box and stood up. Waving it toward Grayson, she said, “Let’s go inside.”

  She used the key in a side door, and soon walked into the kitchen—an appropriate entrance for the help, the way she wanted to appear at the moment, she thought.

  This was a swanky kitchen, with ornate and imported tile on the floor, and ebony wooden cabinets surrounding the most expensive major appliances, all in gleaming metal.

  “We’re in,” she said, knowing her grin was huge. Grayson smiled back, then grew serious again.

  “Okay, now that we’re in here, what are we looking for that might have evidence of Zane’s collusion with Schuyler Wells and even Ian Wright?”

  Savannah felt her face drop. “Well, I have a couple of ideas, but—Look, here are the possibilities I thought of.” She proceeded to tell him about Zane’s security camera, which was always aimed at the front door, as well as his proclivity for recording all phone calls—or so he’d told her. He’d never let her listen to any. But he did maintain a landline in his home office, so it was worth looking for it and grabbing anything that could have recorded calls. “He probably recorded some or all of his cell calls, too, but I’ve no idea where that phone is. I assume the police have it—or he still does.”

  Grayson looked at her. “So first thing, we need to go check out what’s recorded on the security camera at the front door.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “But we need to be really careful. The way it’s hanging high up on the wall, I don’t know if we can get to it without having our photos taken, too.”

  “Not good. Well, if we do, we’ll just have to bring the whole thing with us so no one else will see us.”

  She nodded, though she said, “I’m not sure that’s possible. Getting to it, even with a ladder, isn’t easy. Besides, I think that the recordings of landline calls will be the most l
ikely to include any conversations he had here with Schuyler and Ian. They might not have come to the house at all.”

  “Got it. Now, where’s the front door?”

  Savannah led Grayson out of the kitchen and through the wide hallway decorated on both sides with modern artwork. They soon were near the front of the house, but she stopped before taking him into the large, open entry area. She pointed toward the wall to indicate where the camera was mounted, though they couldn’t see the device from here.

  He got it. “Do you have any ladders?”

  “Yes, in the basement. Let’s just go up the back stairway to Zane’s office for now. Maybe we can find what we’re looking for there.”

  She thought that was a better idea, especially since past conversations she’d had with Zane were now tiptoeing into her head—where he talked about phone calls he’d had with friends or business associates while he was working here in his office. He’d laughed and said he figured they’d all feel screwed if they knew, because he got them talking about things they would never admit if they thought anyone else had the possibility of hearing them.

  In other words, he’d recorded them. But he hadn’t mentioned how, or where he kept the audio files.

  Still, when they got up the stairway and Savannah led Grayson to the closed, ornate wooden door into Zane’s home office, she said, “I assume you’re more techie than I am. I’m not sure what to look for, but we can check to see if there’s any kind of recording device.” She hesitated. “Although—well, Zane never seemed to trust anyone.”

  She was glad when Grayson preceded her into the office and began looking everywhere, starting around where the phone sat on Zane’s huge but far from ornate wooden desk. Nothing there, nor inside the drawers. Or on any of the shelves behind the desk, or under the comfortable-looking desk chair or any of the other furniture in the room.

  Grayson sat at Zane’s desk, pulling some of the drawers out beside him. He extracted files and laid them on top of the desk, going through them and checking out the now empty drawers.