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

by Linda O. Johnston

  Savannah had apparently been watching. “That’s so cool,” she said. “This place could turn into quite a home if you ever wanted to live here.”

  “That was the point,” Grayson responded.

  He couldn’t resist. The last time they were there, the previous night, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her, and he wanted to touch her now. Which he did. But he limited himself to giving her a quick kiss. For now. And was delighted that she returned it.

  Then he plugged the recorder into the generator while Savannah went into the bathroom to change back to looking like Savannah. They soon sat down on two folding chairs in the middle of the room and used a third to hold the recorder. Grayson looked the machine over, then pushed the buttons he thought would get the audio started, hopefully from the beginning.

  It took a little more effort, though, since what they heard at first included some static and telephone sounds like a busy signal. But soon Grayson had it working just fine.

  And from what he could tell, they were initially listening to telephone conversations Zane Oliver had had some time ago, maybe a few months. Most seemed to be with business associates, though not all of them.

  Grayson was sometimes captivated, sometimes amused, by the conversations they heard, though nothing was particularly helpful when Zane talked with, chided, and even threatened people who apparently were mostly customers of his. Grayson was disappointed that he heard nothing from Zane admitting anything incriminating. Even the threats were fairly inconsequential.

  Grayson only hoped there would be some other, more helpful conversations to come.

  * * *

  It felt so weird to Savannah to be listening to these phone conversations. Listening to Zane being Zane, encouraging business associates to invest lots and lots of money in his bank.

  Before sitting down, she had removed her disguise. That felt better, but it also felt good to know her trick had worked.

  The folding chairs Grayson had in this attractively decorated cave were surprisingly comfortable, with cushioning on the seats and back, a good thing because Grayson and she might be there for quite a while hearing the recorded conversations. Grayson had given Savannah yet another pad of paper to write on, this time so she could make notes about whose voices they heard, if she recognized them or figured out who they were from what they or Zane said.

  Savannah was able to identify quite a few people, even those who didn’t live in Mustang Valley. Zane had had a lot of contacts all over; at parties and other occasions many people attempted to get to know him better, impress him, so he would not only do business with them but would also provide information and support for them and their companies.

  Some of the names she heard included Rex Affler, owner of a local brewery, and Miranda Borden, from a national clothing manufacturer. All businesspeople who undoubtedly had appreciated having a contact at a successful investment bank like Zane’s.

  All people who apparently wanted something from him.

  Which Zane clearly knew, sometimes stringing them along, sometimes telling them to call back the next day when he was at work. Sometimes insulting them. Sometimes insinuating threats if they didn’t invest money through his bank’s services. And sometimes even telling them he was sorry, but he couldn’t help them.

  But Savannah knew Zane and his voice well enough to be sure he wasn’t sorry at all, at least in most cases.

  Plus, after some of those calls, the next conversations would be with one or another of his own employees at the bank, with Zane often making fun of those business associates he’d just spoken with.

  At least none of them were with his lovers, thank heavens. Not then, at least.

  Grayson and she listened for an hour without hearing anything that could be helpful to her.

  No, what she wanted was to reach out and grab Zane by the throat—not to kill him as she allegedly had, but demand when he would actually say something helpful.

  Assuming he ever would.

  “Are you okay?” Grayson asked. She must have made some kind of movement or otherwise indicated her frustration, since he was looking directly at her.

  “Fine,” she grumped, then repeated “Fine” in a tone that she hoped was closer to sounding fine.

  “Hey, I’m going to bring our lunch over here,” Grayson said.

  “Good idea.” But Savannah didn’t let him do it on his own. She rose and began helping him—and when their arms touched, she looked up at him...and she wanted so much to drag him over to that bed.

  Not then, though. The recording was still droning on, and it was vital that they heard all of it as quickly as possible.

  Surely sometime, it would contain the voices of at least Ian Wright and Schuyler Wells—along with Zane.

  And when it did, would they be conspiring to frame her for Zane’s eventual imaginary death?

  Now, though, Zane held a conversation with one of his employees. How did he ever decide which calls, or other work, to take care of at home rather than at his office? Savannah had no idea.

  Grayson and she each chose a sandwich. They turned to sit back down and bumped into each other.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “I’m not.” Still holding his own sandwich, roast beef, Grayson bent down to kiss Savannah right on the mouth. “Mmmm,” he said. “Potato chips and dip. I can’t wait to taste you again after you’ve eaten your sandwich.”

  Savannah laughed, and the thought of dragging him over to the cot once more permeated her mind.

  Not going to happen, but her windows of opportunity to get him to bed again were dwindling.

  But after another hour of listening and nibbling on their sandwiches, they still had nothing useful.

  Savannah was beginning to give up hope.

  “What should we do if there’s nothing here?” she finally asked Grayson. At that moment, Zane was talking to someone whose name or voice Savannah didn’t recognize. From the conversation she had learned that the other speaker was apparently not only a female executive of a local consumer electronics company, but someone he’d slept with—or was trying to seduce.

  Not a surprise, but Savannah was disgusted anyway. She was happy when that call ended.

  And the next one? Hearing the second voice caused her to stand up in excitement.

  Zane was talking to Ian Wright! So he had known the attorney, as she’d come to believe.

  “Hey,” Grayson said softly. “That’s good news.” Then he put one long finger over his own mouth as if to shush himself and listen.

  Savannah kind of wished it was her finger there—but instead concentrated on the conversation.

  Ian was apparently returning a call from Zane about possible representation on a legal matter for the investment bank.

  Nothing about Savannah. Nothing conspiratorial about framing her for Zane’s murder.

  But at least this proved they’d known one another.

  And it gave Savannah hope there would be more later on. And ended at least some of her frustration at all the unhelpful calls before.

  She couldn’t rely on what she heard now between Zane and Ian being of much use, though. She needed the reality of more conversations, discussions that finally made it clear that those two had done more than discuss banking and legal issues.

  With Schuyler, too.

  Grayson had also finished his sandwich. He must have seen the conflicting encouragement and discouragement on Savannah’s face that she felt inside. He moved his chair closer and put his arm around her as they continued to listen.

  For another hour. Savannah, who put her head down on Grayson’s shoulder, appreciated his nearness, even if they wouldn’t, couldn’t, do anything about it.

  She appreciated him. Still. More.

  Realized she had come to hope for a future that included him.

  But—

 
; She closed her eyes, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to go to sleep—and then, there it was.

  Zane was not only talking to Ian, but to Schuyler, too. Was it a three-way phone conversation? Were Ian and Schuyler together?

  No matter. The main thing was what they were saying.

  “So, Schuyler,” Zane said. “You know my divorce is final, but unfortunately that’s not the end of things. Did Ian explain what I want both of you to help with?”

  “Hey, yeah,” said Schuyler Wells. Savannah recognized his voice. Of course. Wasn’t she supposed to have been having an affair with him at the time of this conversation?

  She would have laughed—but she needed to be completely quiet to hear this.

  “I gather,” Schuyler said, “that you’re about to be murdered, right? By your wonderful ex—and I’m going to get to know her better. Way better. You’ll disappear, and the cops will just happen to find some damning evidence against dear Savannah. But without your body around—well, there should be arguments that you’re okay, that your ex is innocent. And our buddy Ian there is going to take her case to prove it.”

  “Or not,” Ian said, and all three men laughed.

  The conversation continued a little longer. Savannah was staring straight at Grayson, knowing her eyes were wide and she was smiling. She had proof now. She didn’t kill Zane, and the world—and the authorities—would know it. She would be exonerated in court at last. She wanted to shout, to hug Grayson, to laugh and laugh and engage in nice, celebratory kisses with him.

  And when those men hung up, Grayson said, “We’ve got it!”

  Chapter 20

  And that call wasn’t the last of it. Grayson chortled as, still sitting there with his arm around an excited Savannah, they heard a couple more conversations—and the final one on this subject contained verbal confirmation of everything they would need to demonstrate to the police that Zane was still alive, and Savannah was not guilty of killing him.

  It should also let the authorities know there were a couple of better suspects in the murder of Ian Wright—one of his coconspirators in framing Savannah.

  “This is so amazing,” Savannah said, looking at him with a huge grin after one of those calls finished. “I don’t know why my ex was stupid enough to record those calls, since they’re proof of so much against him. But I’m so glad he did!”

  “He might have wanted some kind of reminder of what was said in case he needed to use it against his coconspirators,” Grayson told her. “Or maybe he just wanted to save them as proof that he hadn’t been alone in this, if the truth ever did come out. As it will now.”

  One of those last calls was certainly the best. In it, the men had all agreed to do what was needed to frame Savannah as Zane’s revenge against her. He promised to be generous in his payments to the others, and the amounts he mentioned seemed a lot more than that.

  And the very last call? It described how Zane would cut himself with the knife and hide the bloody thing in her closet. He would disappear then.

  Too bad he didn’t mention where he would disappear to.

  Grayson’s mind began spinning. What should they do next? But his thoughts were interrupted when Savannah rose and pulled him up to stand, too. In moments, they were kissing, sweetly and happily at first, and then more heatedly.

  Grayson felt his body reacting. He wanted more, much more, as part of their celebration. But this definitely wasn’t the time. They had to act on this and get Savannah cleared before anything else.

  And after? Well, maybe they could get together again, to celebrate or whatever. And determine if that would be their happy ending, or if there could be more...

  There had to be more. He hadn’t planned on it, but he had fallen hard for this vulnerable, yet smart and sexy, woman. She had stood up in the face of adversity and was about to win. They had to have a future together.

  But this wasn’t the time to think about that.

  He finally broke away from Savannah, as much as he hated to. He looked down at her ecstatic face.

  “Here’s what I want to do now. I intend to take this recording to the police, of course, but first I want to get a copy of it. I know enough cops I can trust, including Spencer and my brother Rafe’s fiancée, Kerry. But I want to make sure this doesn’t get misplaced, intentionally or otherwise.”

  “Great idea,” Savannah said, still smiling but a bit less so. “Where will you get it copied? Do you have any equipment that’ll do it in your office, or do you know someone you trust enough to do it?”

  He nodded. “I may not adore all my family members, but most of us do care enough to help each other whenever possible. My brother Callum is a bodyguard, and you wouldn’t think someone like him would have technological equipment as part of his profession, but Callum does. I’ll call him from my car and head to his office. I don’t know if he’s working at the moment, but unless there’s something going on right now, he’ll meet me there and we’ll get this copied right away.”

  “Sounds good.” But Savannah’s tone didn’t sound as enthused as before.

  “It is,” he said. “I want you to stay here, where it will be safer. Even if you get your disguise on, I don’t want the cops to see you until I turn the recording over to them and they have a chance to listen to it. I’ll come get you then, okay?”

  “Sure.” Savannah looked up at him again. “But make it fast. Please. I can’t wait till I’m cleared and this is all behind me.”

  “Me, too.” Grayson unplugged the recorder.

  He took Savannah into his arms then and gave her a long, deep, celebratory kiss.

  “Hey, girl,” he said when the kiss ended and he had stepped back just a little, looking down into her gorgeous green eyes. “In case you can’t guess, I’ve fallen for you. Hard. See you soon.”

  “And I’ve fallen for you, too,” she said, making him smile.

  Then he left.

  * * *

  Savannah paced the inside of the bunker after Grayson left. She wanted to clap, to cheer, to run outside and restart her life. With Grayson in it. Forever.

  But she knew it was too soon.

  After Grayson got everything handled, took a copy of the recording to the police and made sure they listened to the right part, he would return here for her. He’d promised.

  In the meantime, she simply had to wait.

  Not so simply, though. She at last had more than hope. This horrible time would soon be over.

  For now, she just needed to be patient.

  Right.

  Grayson hadn’t been gone long, and Savannah needed to occupy her mind as she waited. She spent a few minutes sitting on one of those folding chairs and checking things on her burner phone but nothing captured her interest. She put the phone down on the chair beside her.

  Work on Grayson’s first responder website idea? She wouldn’t be able to concentrate.

  She wasn’t hungry, so she didn’t try eating another of those sandwiches.

  Looking around, she spotted the tall, thick bookcase that didn’t look as it if belonged out here in this former mineshaft. The shelving looked potentially unstable and likely to collapse on this uneven floor and spew the many kinds of books on it onto the vinyl tiles. It seemed surprising that it hadn’t toppled in the earthquake a few days ago, but maybe the shaking hadn’t been too bad right here.

  Who knew when Grayson had brought the bookcase to this bunker? It had probably been when he was a kid, and she gathered that it hadn’t fallen over yet. Or at least he hadn’t mentioned it, and she saw no damaged parts.

  In any case, she approached it for the first time and looked more closely at the books on it. They ranged from thrillers to biographies and travel guides to all sorts of countries.

  To her own surprise, she picked out a fiction book that was apparently about a first responder. She was fascinated not only by Grayson h
imself, but also what he did.

  She would need a new life after this was all over. Would she be able to become a first responder and have him hire her?

  After all, she enjoyed helping people. Had learned a bit from Grayson about all that first responders do. Enjoyed the idea of becoming one herself.

  And that way, they would definitely remain in each other’s lives—even if only professionally.

  As she sat there starting to thumb through the book, she realized she hoped they would remain in each other’s lives for additional reasons, too.

  It might be too soon for her to embark on a real relationship with another man. But if she ever did, Grayson was one man she was certain she could trust.

  And love.

  Unlike that horrible former husband of hers, who had tried so hard to ruin her life.

  A noise sounded from the entryway. This was much too soon for Grayson to return after having a copy of the recording made and taking it to the police. He’d hardly left. Did he forget something?

  She stood and put the book down on the chair. Surely it could only have been Grayson she’d heard, though—right?

  Unless some animal also called this bunker home sometimes.

  Or—

  Oh no!

  “Hello, Savannah,” Zane Oliver said with a smirk, walking through the opening.

  He was a man of moderate height, with dark hair but a receding hairline. He was a few years older than Savannah’s thirty-one, but his sagging jawline made him look a lot older. He’d been relatively good-looking when they had met, but not any longer. Or maybe that was just because Savannah had come to despise him.

  How had he found her here? This place was Grayson’s. It pained Savannah even to see this miserable person in a location she had come to value so much, thanks to the wonderful man who had brought her here.

  Like her, Zane was wearing a completely casual outfit—a light yellow T-shirt and black shorts—that wasn’t at all like his usually professional attire.