by Bonnie Vanak
Then friendly, pretty Valeria bounced over. She hugged Quinn. “Oh, I’m so glad you could come!”
Valeria studied West. “Hi. Nice to see you again.”
He nodded at Valeria, and then his expression softened for Quinn. “I see Brayden over there. Have to talk shop about the training center for a few minutes. Will you be okay?”
“She’ll be fine. I’ll take care of her.” Valeria made a shooing gesture. “Go talk your testosterone stuff.”
Amused, Quinn let Valeria lead her over to a group of people whom she didn’t know. Earlier, she’d decided to overcome her fear of meeting those she didn’t remember by asking them questions about their interests. It was a good way to deflect attention from herself and to the person.
Everyone loved talking about themselves.
Everyone but West Brand.
These strangers were friendly and were talking about horses. Riding. She liked horses. Or did she?
At any rate, it was ordinary. Normal. Ranching talk. Holding her bottle of green tea, she smiled, nodded, listened. Asked questions when someone turned to her, as if wanting to know more about her.
Quinn didn’t want to talk about herself. Not even about her business because she feared she lacked the right answers.
Valeria excused herself to attend to the barbecue. When the talk switched to cooking and more glances flicked to her, she scanned the crowd for an escape. Please don’t ask me about my bestselling recipe for vegan or something else you liked. I have no clue. Right now I’m lucky I remembered to make dessert.
Smile and nod. She could do that much. But every few minutes, when it felt as if her face would crack, she scanned the crowd for West, needing reassurance. As long as his tall, muscled form was nearby, she felt confident enough in this first public outing since the explosion.
And then suddenly, she could not find him.
* * *
West’s specialty as an FBI wasn’t only investigating bomb sites with his canine partner, but good old-fashioned police work.
Most people, he’d learned, never truly listened to what someone else said. While the other person talked, they were already forming in their head a response. Or even interrupting.
Today at the barbecue, he had a perfect opportunity to listen to Shane, Brayden and Finn, his three targets on the Red Ridge police force. His FBI boss, Mike, felt certain the Coltons knew something about where Demi was, and were covering up the information to protect her.
Much as he hated leaving Quinn alone, he had his duties. Here in the informal atmosphere of food, family and fresh air, he brought up the subject.
One or two beers also helped to loosen tongues. West sipped his as he stood in a semicircle with the three Coltons near the fence.
He mentioned something about the Groom Killer going quiet since the bombing. That led to talk about the killer, and the victims. Then West focused on the Colton most likely to defend Demi. In the locker room recently, Brayden had muttered his sister was innocent and being framed.
Of all the Colton siblings, Brayden was the only one who believed in Demi’s innocence. “Do you think Demi is guilty?” he asked Brayden.
That was all it took. He shut up, and the three Coltons began to discuss the case. West said nothing, but watched their faces. Shane had received a text message a couple of months ago from Demi. He wished he knew her whereabouts.
“She’s alone with a baby. She can’t take care of a newborn on the run,” Shane muttered. “I wish she’d turn herself in, and we could help her.”
“She didn’t do it. Demi’s too smart for that,” Brayden countered.
West gestured with his beer. “What do you think, Chief?”
Finn Colton gazed into the distance, his expression thoughtful. “Demi’s smart. I don’t know if she did it. We can only discern that once she’s found and questioned. At this point, I want this case solved. We have too much to lose.”
“More grooms,” Shane cut in.
“Don’t forget the funding for the center,” Brayden added.
West sipped his beer. The chief was proud of the K-9 training center and the team. He needed Fenwick Colton’s funding to keep the unit operational.
The trio kept talking about the Groom Killer, then talk switched to the recent bombing and Quinn. He made noncommittal answers when they questioned him about Quinn’s recovery.
Doubts filled him. Mike might suspect the Coltons of harboring information, but the more time he spent with them, the less he believed his boss’s assertions.
He mulled the information over in his head. Carson and Danica Gage had believed Demi killed their brother, Bo, the first victim, and the other grooms—until they themselves had gotten romantically involved with Coltons who professed Demi’s innocence. Maybe deep down, though, the Gages still believed Demi had murdered their brother.
Mike suspected the Coltons were withholding information because they were family and evidence pointed to Demi as the suspect.
Could the FBI have been dragged into an old family feud, with the Gage family pointing fingers at the Coltons because of past grievances? Mike was smarter than that, but he knew his boss’s ruthless abilities. Mike was as zealous as West when it came to delivering justice.
But he’d been hanging with the Coltons for barely a month, and saw no justification for Mike’s beliefs.
The main reasons?
The Coltons might have a famous feud with the Gage family, but they were dedicated to the job. Single-minded—a trait he shared with them.
And all three—Finn, Shane and Brayden—had steady female companions of their own, even if they weren’t obvious about it. He’d seen Shane around Danica Gage.
He saw the way Finn Colton gazed at Darby Gage when they’d passed each other on the street.
They hadn’t said anything, but West would bet his shield that the men were damn serious about those women. Even if they tried to keep those relationships secret.
Serious enough to marry.
And no one dared to get married in this town until the Groom Killer was caught.
They wanted the Groom Killer caught.
Making a mental note to dig further, he walked with Brayden over to watch the horses in the pasture. Of all the Coltons, Brayden was the one who most believed in Demi’s innocence.
Brayden was the one with the most to hide...
* * *
Quinn tried not to panic. West was someplace in the crowd. He wouldn’t abandon her. Surely he had a good reason to walk out of view.
She needed a respite. Some place to sit, relax and decompress because she felt as if she were swimming through a vat of Jell-O.
A dark-haired man turned, saw her, his hard gaze fixed to her. Smoke wreathed his head from the cigar dangling from his thin lips.
That look...cold as ice...
Smoke.
Quinn froze. An enormous buzzing seared her ears, as if the air compressed and the world went dark. The green tea bottle spilled from her hand, crashing onto the patio.
In the distance a locomotive wailed, the eerie blast of horn echoing across the rolling plains. It sounded like a cry.
A scream for help from a woman.
“I remember...” Quinn gasped.
A man’s face, a flash of dark hair, but that expression. Cruel, ruthless. She vowed she’d never forget it.
And she had not. Because it came back to her like a jolt of electricity.
People crowded around her, asking questions, but their voices became a jumbled buzz of sound. West. She needed West. Where was he? Frantic, she whipped her head around, the people pressing closer, suffocating her...
Quinn fumbled for her cell phone. Fingers shaking, she pressed the speed dial for his number, the number he’d urged her to call if she got scared.
West spotted her. His expression dropped. He r
aced to her side. “Back off. Everyone get back,” he commanded in his strong, authoritative voice.
The crush of people eased a little and she could breathe. West gently gripped her shoulders.
“Quinn, honey, what is it?”
“That man, that man... I know. I remember.” Throat dry, she could barely form the words. “I remember what happened right before the bomb went off.”
West went still. Then he scanned the crowd. “Is he here?”
She looked around. The dark-haired man with the hard eyes had drawn closer, but his chin was all wrong and his hairline receding, unlike the man she’d seen before the explosion. He looked the ruthless type, but seeing him close made her realize the resemblance had been in his expression.
“No. I just...remembered.”
“Quinn, this is imperative. Write down all the details you remember about the man, what you saw.”
West guided her to a nearby picnic table. Valeria raced into the house, returned with a yellow legal pad and pen. Hand trembling, she penned the snatches of memory coming to her like a blinking light. That profile, the jeering smile that had looked as if he enjoyed inflicting pain, the cheap business suit.
Cheap because the cuffs came halfway down his hand. Ill fitted, not tailored as the one Noel Larson had worn. His hair inky black.
When she finished, her stomach knotted in tension. Finn Colton, sitting across from her, studied the list.
“We need to sit you down with the sketch artist. Because if this is what I suspect, you’ve just remembered the last person in Tia’s office,” Finn told her.
She looked at West, her rock of stability right now. “The last person? The one who set off the bomb?”
His jaw tensed beneath the slight beard stubble. “Yes. Tia’s killer.”
Chapter 12
The police station at Red Ridge felt impersonal, brisk, filled with efficiency. Yet it was quieter and less suffocating than the atmosphere at the Colton ranch.
Finn had sequestered her in a small conference room while he went to find the sketch artist. West accompanied him.
She was alone with her thoughts. Memories.
Heart racing, she closed her eyes, trying to recall every last detail of the killer’s face, what he’d been doing the day her world blew up and killed Tia. Smells helped, as well. She could recall the delicious fragrance of the casserole she’d held, hoping it would please Tia. Such a difficult client.
Always demanding.
Cigar smoke.
Snatches of argument... No, that was the previous day. Tia, on the phone, yelling at someone as Quinn quietly walked into the office.
You’ll never have it, Larson! And I’ll never partner with you. That would be a marriage made in hell!
Hold on to the image of the killer...that smirk as if he owned the world, the cowlick in front sticking out, she reminded herself.
The door opened and Finn walked inside with West and a tall, lanky man bearing an artist’s pad. The lanky man introduced himself as Derek, the police sketch artist.
Quinn told West and Finn what she remembered of the conversation. She gave an anxious glance to the artist. “Are you certain this will work?”
He gave an encouraging smile. “I’m going to ask a series of questions, and you answer them as best as you can.”
West sat at her side, holding her hand. His palm was warm, strong and comforting as she haltingly explained the man’s features. Round chin. Thin mouth, smirking. That cowlick.
“I remember the hair because of mine.” Quinn pointed to her curls. “It looked like he’d had a bad hair day.”
During the process, her brothers Shane and Brayden walked in. She barely noticed them, for all her concentration centered on the memory regained.
Thirty minutes later, a stranger stared at her from the sketch pad.
“I’ve never seen him before the bombing, not that I remember and by now I would remember him,” Quinn told him. “But that’s the man who was there in Tia’s office before the bomb went off.”
“I have no idea who he is.” Finn glanced at West. “Do you?”
“No. I’ll send this through the facial recognition database, see if we get a hit,” West said. “Then once the DNA analysis is complete, we’ll run it through CODIS.”
“What’s CODIS?” she asked.
“The FBI’s DNA database for violent offenders.” West’s expression tightened. “We could be looking at someone with no priors.”
Finn nodded. “Which will make him harder to ID. I’ll bet he’s not local. I’ll make a copy, get this on the wire.”
“I’ll show it around to my contacts,” Shane offered, following him out.
Derek went with them, leaving her with Brayden and West.
West’s expression darkened. “He’s probably connected some way to the Larson brothers. My gut tells me they had something to do with Tia’s death.”
“Probably,” Brayden agreed. “At least this is something that can’t be pinned on Demi. She didn’t do this.”
Tension curled in her stomach as West’s expression narrowed. She didn’t know what Demi was capable of, but everyone seemed to blame her for everything.
“How do you know, Brayden?” West asked.
“My sister doesn’t know anything about making bombs,” Brayden shot back.
“Demi’s far from innocent. Until she’s found, and those hiding her are found, Quinn’s not safe.” West leaned on the table. “Do you know where she is?”
Brayden scowled. “Of course not!”
“Really?”
“Are you calling me a liar, Brand?”
“Do you have something to lie about, Colton?” West challenged.
He locked gazes with Brayden. Neither man backed down.
Quinn threw up her arms. “Enough! Can we end this? I’m really tired and I want to go home.”
Brayden looked apologetic, but West did not. He looked intense. Focused. Driven.
Which made her wonder... Why was West Brand really in Red Ridge? To help the department by filling in for the injured Dean Landon?
Or was he hiding a secret of his own?
* * *
The whole experience at the police station left her shaky. Quinn fought to keep her hands from trembling as West drove her home.
“Why did you say that about my sister, Demi?” she asked him.
Knuckles white on the steering wheel, West stared at the road. “Because your sister could not only be the Groom Killer, but she might have targeted you, Quinn. If she found out about our engagement, she may have wanted you dead, as well.”
“That’s ridiculous. If she is killing grooms, she’d be after you, not me.”
“Unless she changed her methodology, and her motivations changed, as well. Her only sister, getting married, while Demi’s own engagement was broken, the man she loved jilting her to marry another. Jealousy is a strong motivation.”
“You said no one knew we were engaged.”
West reached over, picked up her hand and gently squeezed it. “Austin figured out we’re engaged. That means others can, sooner or later. People have a habit around here of finding out secrets, much as they have a habit of keeping them.”
“Do you think Brayden is keeping one? Is that why you jumped all over him?”
West dropped her hand, his jaw tensing. “He could be. And I didn’t jump all over him, Quinn. It’s called questioning. Don’t worry about it.”
No, she had more than her brother’s secrets to concern her. West’s secrets were more bothersome.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working with him and the others on the squad? Why are you antagonizing him? He wouldn’t hide anything to do with Demi.”
“Oh? She’s his sister. He might want to protect her.”
“And she’s my sister,
as well. Maybe you don’t believe me, either.” Quinn watched his face. “Or maybe you think I know something, or did know, before the explosion. Do you?”
West said nothing.
Silence, when she needed answers. I’m not giving up. “West, do you think I know something?”
A quick, sideways glance. “Not now, Quinn.”
Some answer. Ambiguous. “Not now” meaning he wanted to drop the conversation? Or “not now” meaning he didn’t think she knew anything now because she’d lost her memory?
Too exhausted and mentally drained, she dropped the topic and they rode in silence the rest of the way.
He escorted her up the stairs to her apartment. Giving her the usual grave look, he made a cup of tea and set it on the kitchen table. Rex gulped down water from the bowl she’d set for him in the corner, then sat, panting.
She fetched him a dog biscuit. He ate it in one gulp and then pushed his cold, wet nose against her leg. Tears burned in the back of her throat. Dogs were so loyal and good. They weren’t suspicious and didn’t have ulterior motives.
People, such as the man whom she’d identified to the police sketch artist, were not good.
West seemed like one of the good guys. He’d demonstrated concern the entire time since she’d been awake. And yet the cold, calculating way he’d interrogated her brother at the station indicated West Brand wasn’t all he seemed. And he’d failed to answer her question.
If only he hadn’t made that phone call in her hospital room! Better to be safe and wary of him, than caught off guard like before.
West rubbed a hand over the slight bristles on his high cheekbones.
“I have to get back to work and I’ll be working late now that we have a suspect. Are you certain you’ll be all right on your own?”
Quinn stirred the tea with a desultory gesture. “I’m fine. Go. Go find the bastard who did this. The sooner you catch him, the safer I am.”
He bent his head, gave her a quick, smooth kiss on the cheek. “Wish I could leave Rex here, but we have to get to the training center. Don’t leave the apartment unless you take someone with you. Stay here, watch those movies you love. I’ll try to make it back around midnight.”
