Mr. Taken

by Danica Winters

  For a second, Colter stood watching the flames. He could let the man die. There would be no reprisal. Only William Poe would come after him, and he was already undoubtedly a target on that man’s list.

  The smoke curled into the night air.

  Wyatt had been right. If he let the man die, if he stood by and did nothing, he would be no better than the men who tried to do them harm. In fact, he would be just like his own biological father—abandoning the one thing that made him who he was and gave him purpose, in order to fulfill the unjust and dark desires of the wolf inside him.

  He pushed back a burning two-by-four, grabbed Daryl’s foot and pulled.

  Colter was, and would always be, a good man. A man who believed in the goodness and redeemability of people—even those who had wronged the people he loved.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ten stitches and two days later, Whitney was finally starting to feel better. She wasn’t seeing the flames every time she closed her eyes, and the smell of smoke was finally starting to dissipate from the ranch. Colter had been great, and even when they had kept her at the hospital overnight for observation, he hadn’t left her side.

  He was on the phone with Wyatt, and from what she could make out, Daryl was still under guard at the hospital. He was in critical condition because of his burns, but in his pain-medication-induced honesty he had confessed to starting the fire at Sarah’s café. If he recovered, he would head to jail. She should have felt some degree of relief that he was going to pay for what he’d done to her. Yet, as she ran her fingers over the bandage on her temple, the only comfort she could find was that she had Colter. They would protect each other from the world.

  The door to the office opened and the hoity-toity husband and wife made their way in. The woman was wearing a different pair of stilettos, equally high and equally as unpractical in the knee-deep snow and ice outside.

  “Hello. How was your stay?” Whitney said, welcoming them with as much warmth as she could muster.

  The wife wouldn’t look at her, but the husband nodded. “It was very nice. We were just hoping to check out and pick up Francesca.”

  “So that’s the dog’s name,” she said with a sad laugh as she glanced over at Lassie and Milo, who were currently snuggling together on Milo’s bed. She’d forgotten it completely.

  The woman glanced over at the dog and snapped her fingers. “Come, Francesca.”

  The dog looked up at her for a moment, then pushed its face under Milo’s armpit as though it could hide from the woman.

  “I guess she’s not wanting to go home,” Whitney said, trying not to sound as brokenhearted as she felt.

  “That’s ridiculous,” the woman snapped. “She’s just not listening.” She clapped her hands, the sound as shrill as the woman in the small space of the office.

  The dog only pushed its way farther under Milo’s front leg.

  “Come. Here. Dog,” the woman commanded, pointing at the floor at her feet.

  Watching the woman in action, Whitney thought it was really no wonder that the dog wanted nothing to do with her.

  The dog started to shake under Milo.

  The woman walked over and reached down to pick up the pup. Milo looked up at her, and with a lift of his lip, such as Whitney had never seen, he snarled at her. The woman recoiled.

  “Did you see that thing?” she said, pointing to Milo. “Your dog was going to bite me.”

  And what was more, Whitney couldn’t blame him. “I think they have fallen in love. He doesn’t want to see her go.”

  “And neither do we,” Colter said, clicking off his phone. “You know, if you’d like, you are more than welcome to leave Francesca here. We promise to give her a good home, one full of care and love.”

  Whitney smiled at him. “Absolutely. We’d love to have her.”

  The woman frowned. “But she’s mine.”

  Her husband shrugged. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll just buy you another. One that is better trained this time.”

  “Fine,” the woman said. “But next time, I want a prettier one.” She pushed her way outside as the husband paid their bill.

  He didn’t leave a tip.

  Colter laughed as soon as the couple was safely outside and away. “Wow. Is that what you have to put up with every day?”

  “Most are better than them, but hey, at least we got something good from it.” She motioned toward the dog. “Come here, Lassie.”

  The dog untangled itself from Milo and came hopping over, licking her hand as she reached down to give it a scratch behind the ears.

  “I’m sure we can’t be half as happy as she is,” Colter said, looking at the dog. “And hey, we have our first animal together.”

  She smiled. “You’re definitely the kind of guy I want to own a dog with.”

  Colter chuckled. “I’ll take that as a high compliment. And if you’re open to dog ownership, I’m taking it you’re going to stay?”

  “Well, if I am invited, I just may,” she teased.

  “Hmm. I guess an invitation could be extended. After all, you went out of your way to take down a killer.”

  “More like I stood in the way, but hey... I’ll play the hero.” She walked to the door and looked out at the old blue pickup, complete with BF Goodrich All-Terrain tires, which had belonged to Daryl Bucket. “Are they going to come tow that thing away?” she asked, motioning to the truck.

  “Wyatt said he’d send someone out later today and they’d take it to the county’s impound lot.”

  She didn’t care, as long as she never had to see that thing, or Daryl, again.

  “Why don’t we get out of here for a little bit? All the other guests are checked out, right?”

  “Yeah, that would be great.” It would be nice to get out of the office that still smelled of the guest’s perfume.

  Colter slipped on his coat and she followed suit. They made their way outside and to the barn.

  She watched Colter as he lifted the bale of hay and threw it into the wheelbarrow. Breaking off a couple of flakes, he took them to the mare closest to them and dropped them into her stall. There were still the cedar shavings from the party on the floor, and the Christmas tree stood at the end of the barn, not moving now until the holidays were over.

  Lassie and Milo made their way into the barn and sat by the door, keeping them company and watching on with approval.

  The horse nickered in thanks and started to munch on the hay he’d given her. Whitney walked over to the wheelbarrow and grabbed a couple of flakes and dropped them into the next stall. Clark stuck his head out and she gave him a scratch at the top of his head. He ignored the hay she had thrown in, instead choosing to take in more attention.

  “You’re a little stinker,” she said, smiling at the horse.

  “Is that what you think of me now—I’m a stinker?” Colter teased, though from his smile she could tell that he knew she was talking to the gelding.

  “I would use much stronger words for you, Colter Fitzgerald.”

  He got an innocent look on his face. “Who, me? The man who saved your life?”

  “How about I just call you God’s gift to women?” she said with a derisive snort.

  He smirked as he pointed toward himself. “I guess you could call me that or Superman or Firefighter Extraordinaire. Better yet, you could call me your husband.”

  He said it like it was just another name and he hadn’t just made her entire body clench with excitement.

  “What?” she whispered. “Why would I call you that?”

  His wicked smile grew larger. “Well, you don’t have to.” He walked over to the wheelbarrow. Tucked into the bale of hay was a small black velvet box. He picked it up and knelt down on his knee in front of her.

  She cupped her hands ove
r her mouth.

  “Whitney Barstow, I know we hadn’t talked about this, and that it’s a bit impulsive, but there are some things in life that you just know. I know that I love you. I know that I want to spend the rest of our lives together.”

  “But...what about my past?” she said. “About Daryl and William?”

  “What about it? Them?” He looked up at her. “We all have a past, and if anyone ever comes after you again, I promise that I will always be at your side and ready to protect you. I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again. Seeing you there...by the fire...”

  She reached down and ran her fingers through his hair. “It’s okay, Colter. That wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped that. Sometimes bad things just happen.”

  “Well, let’s make a stand. Let’s focus on the good. Let’s get married and start the great,” he said, clicking open the box.

  Inside was a cushion-cut diamond ring set in white gold. It was simple and elegant.

  “It’s one of a kind, just like you,” he said, smiling up at her.

  “Oh, Colter...” She leaned down and kissed his lips.

  “Is that a yes?” he said, his lips brushing against her as he spoke.

  She nodded, throwing her arms around his neck. “Always... I love you, Colter Fitzgerald.”

  He held her, box still in his hand. “I love you, too. I always will.”

  She let go of him and he slipped the ring onto her finger.

  Clark threw his head and whinnied at them from his stall.

  “It looks like the little stinker is excited, too,” Whitney said, staring at the new ring on her finger. “You know...” She glanced over at the horse. “If we’re going to have great new beginnings, you know what I want to do?”

  Colter slipped his hand in hers. “What?”

  She motioned toward Clark. “How about we go for a ride?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Colter picked her up and she wrapped her legs around him. She cupped his face in her hands and gave him a kiss and, with it, the silent promise that they would be together forever—and that she would love him until the end of time.

  Just like his smile, their future looked merry and bright.

  * * * * *

  Can’t get enough of Mystery, Montana?

  Check out the previous titles in the series

  from Danica Winters:

  MS. CALCULATION

  MR. SERIOUS

  And don’t miss the final book:

  MS. DEMEANOR

  Available December 2017

  from Harlequin Intrigue!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from SMALL-TOWN FACE-OFF by Tyler Anne Snell.

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  Small-Town Face-Off

  by Tyler Anne Snell

  Prologue

  Billy Reed looked down at the body and wished he could punch something. Hard.

  “This is ridiculous,” Suzy said at his side. “She’s not even eighteen.”

  His partner was right. Courtney Brooks had turned sixteen two weeks ago. The car she had been found in was a birthday present from her father. Billy knew this because he’d known of the girl since she was in middle school. She was a part of one of the many families in the small town of Carpenter, Alabama, who had lived there through at least two generations.

  And now she was dead in the back seat of a beat-up Honda.

  “Anyone tell her folks yet?” Billy asked. He’d arrived on the scene five minutes after his partner, Suzanne Simmons, had. By the time he’d cut through lunchtime traffic and bumped down the dirt road in his Crown Vic to the spot where poor Courtney had met her end, a set of paramedics, the deputy who had first responded to the call and the boy who had found her were all gathered around, waiting for what was next.

  “No, Rockwell wanted to make the call,” Suzy answered. Billy raised his eyebrow, questioning why the sheriff would do that when he hadn’t even come to the crime scene yet, and she continued. “He’s fishing buddies with her dad. He heard Marty call in the name.”

  Billy could imagine their leader, a man north of sixty with a world of worries to match, breaking the bad news from behind his desk. He’d let his stare get lost in the grain of the oak while he broke a family’s heart with news no parents should ever receive.

  “There’s no signs of foul play, as far as I can tell,” Suzy commented. One of the EMTs broke off from the car and headed toward them.

  “We both know what this is, Suzy,” Billy said. The anger he was nearly getting used to began to flood his system. The deputy could save the EMT time by telling the man he already knew what had killed her. An overdose of a drug called Moxy. The current scourge of Riker County. However, Billy’s mother had taught him the importance of being polite. So he listened to the man say that he thought Courtney had been gone a few hours before they’d gotten there, and if the paramedic was a betting man, he’d put his money on an overdose.

  “I’ve already taken pictures, but I’d like to look around again, just in case,” Suzy said. Billy was about to follow when a call over the radio drew him to his car instead. He asked dispatch to repeat.

  “The sheriff wants you here, Billy,” she said. “Now.”

  That gave him pause but he confirmed he understood. Suzy must have heard, too. She waved him away, saying she could handle it from here. Billy’s eye caught the teen who had found Courtney. He was standing with Marty, one of the other deputies from the department, and they were deep in discussion. Every few words he’d glance back at the girl. And each time he looked closer to losing it. He’d likely never seen a dead body before, and judging by his expression, he’d never forget it, either. It made Billy grind his teeth.

  No one in Riker County should have that problem. At least, not if Billy had a say about it.

  It had been six months since an influx of Moxy hit the county. In that time, Billy had seen four overdoses and an escalation of violence, two of those incidents ending in murder. For all intents and purposes, Moxy brought out the worst tendencies in people and then energized them. While Riker County, its sheriff’s department and police departments had had their problems with narcotics in the past, the new drug and its ever-elusive supplier had caught them woefully off guard. It was a fact that kept Billy up at night and one that stayed with him as he drove through the town and then cut his engine in the department
’s parking lot.

  Movement caught his eye, distracting his thoughts, and he realized he was staring at the very man who had called him in. Billy exited the cruiser and leaned against it when the man made no move to go inside the building, arms folded over his chest. Sheriff Rockwell put his cigarette out and stopped in front of him. He looked more world-weary than he had the day before.

  “I’m going to cut to the chase, Reed,” the sheriff said, leaving no room for greetings. “We need to find the Moxy supplier and we need to find him now. You understand?”

  “Yessir,” Billy said, nodding.

  “Until that happens, I want you to work exclusively on trying to catch the bastard.”

  “What about Detective Lancaster?” Billy asked. Jamie Lancaster’s main focus had been on finding something on the supplier since the second overdose had been reported.

  “Lancaster is crap, and we both know it,” the sheriff said. “His drive left the second we all had to take a pay cut. No, what we need now is someone whose dedication isn’t made by his salary.” The sheriff clapped Billy on the shoulder. “In all of my years, I’ve learned that there’s not much that can stand against a person protecting their own. You love not only this town, but the entire county like it’s family, Billy.”

  “I do,” Billy confirmed, already feeling his pride swelling.

  The sheriff smiled, briefly, and then went stone cold.

  “Then go save your family.”

  * * *

  TWO MONTHS LATER, Billy was sitting in a bar in Carpenter known as the Eagle. In the time since he’d talked to the sheriff in the parking lot, he’d chased every lead known to the department. He’d worked long, hard hours until, finally, he’d found a name.

  Bryan Copeland.

  A businessman in his upper fifties with thinning gray hair and an affinity for wearing suits despite the Alabama heat, he was running the entire operation from Kipsy. It was the only city within the Riker County Sheriff’s Department purview, Carpenter being one of three towns. But where he kept the drugs—whether it was through the city or towns—and when he moved them were mysteries. Which was the reason Billy hadn’t had the pleasure of arresting him yet. They couldn’t prove anything, not even after two drug dealers admitted who their boss was. Because, according to the judge and Bryan’s fancy lawyer, there was no hard evidence. So that was why, late on a Thursday night, Billy Reed was seated at the Eagle finishing off his second beer when a woman sat down next to him and cleared her throat.