His Forgotten Colton Fiancée

by Bonnie Vanak

  West tapped on the suspect’s hair. “Make his hair greasy, get rid of the cowlick.”

  Derek adjusted the image.

  “Cheeks fatter, nose more bulbous with a few broken veins, green eyes instead of brown, eyebrows thicker and blacker,” West instructed.

  When they were finished, Derek whistled. “Do you know this guy?”

  The man on the screen only slightly resembled the one pulled from Quinn’s scrambled memories. But he knew this man. He’d interviewed him.

  Cotton in the cheeks made lean cheeks fuller, darker eyebrows, green contact lenses, a body suit to appear fatter than the unsub truly was...

  His heart dropped to his stomach. How the hell could they have missed this?

  “Email it to me and I’ll run it through our facial recognition database.”

  Back at his computer, he logged on to the database and began running the program with the new sketch. The Bureau had more than four hundred million images in the database, but he narrowed the parameters.

  Mike called him a few minutes later.

  “Hey, how are you doing, champ? How’s Quinn?” Her voice was soft, but he wasn’t buying it.

  “I’m fine. Guess she is, as well.”

  “I’m sorry, West. It’s a bitch trying to keep a relationship thriving with this job. I hope it works out for you.”

  Too personal. “What do you have for me?”

  “DNA evidence at the second crime scene turned up inconclusive. Vic’s DNA, and nothing else flagged.” Mike paused. “But we found something interesting from the first bomb site.”

  His heart skipped a beat. West gripped the phone receiver. “What?”

  “The cigarette you bagged.”

  West frowned. And then he remembered. “Oh. I must have tossed that in with the evidence I gave you. A witness tossed it on the ground.”

  “Good thing you bagged and tagged it.”

  He listened to what Mike told him.

  When she finished, he steeled himself. “Mike, I’m coming clean with the Coltons.”

  Silence.

  “There’s no evidence they’re hiding their sister, or have destroyed any leads linking her to the Groom Killer. I’m tired of working on the outside.”

  A heavy sigh. “Your call, West. Pack it in, and soon as Dean Landon returns to duty at Red Ridge, you’re back in Sioux Falls.”

  She hung up.

  Sioux Falls. Once he would have jumped at the chance to return to the field office, leave behind the camaraderie of working closely with other officers.

  Not any longer. Maybe he’d make other changes, as well.

  Next he called Quinn. Her voice was soft, hesitant as she answered, “Hi, West.”

  First names. Maybe she had forgiven him a little. “Hi. I really need to talk with you, Quinn.” He swallowed his pride. “Please. There’s something you need to know.”

  “I can’t. I have a client stopping by at six thirty to pick up an order for a dinner party.” She sighed. “Maybe tomorrow we can meet at the store.”

  Had to keep her on the phone. “What kind of dinner? What are you making?”

  “Mexican vegetarian. Enchiladas, burritos... The guy is Hispanic, a salesman on his way back from Cheyenne, entertaining corporate clients.”

  “Sounds good. Even if it’s meatless. What does he sell?”

  “Aluminum siding, I think.”

  West paused, gripped the phone tight. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too,” she whispered. “Have to run. Bye.”

  The line clicked off.

  Encouraged, he focused on the job before him. West read over all his notes from the first bombing. He began rearranging words on paper. And then everything clicked.

  By 5:30 p.m., he organized his notes, printed out the report Mike emailed and called Finn Colton, asking for Brayden and Shane to attend the meeting. Then he found an energy bar at his desk and ate it while waiting for the chief.

  West studied the report Mike had sent over. It was time to have a little talk with Finn, Shane and Brayden.

  Taking the report, he headed to the chief’s office. Finn Colton was at his computer. He glanced up as West strode inside.

  Chief Colton scrutinized his expression. “Want to tell me what this is about?”

  When both were seated at the conference table in the office, West sat where he had all three within easy view. Then he tossed the fax in front of Finn.

  “Lab report on the sleeping bag found at cabin seven in Pine Paradise. Nothing was in it. It was brand-new. All the items there, including the baby diapers, had no prints on them. Demi could have used gloves, but it’s not winter.”

  Finn blinked. “And her jacket?”

  “Her prints were all over the jacket. Quinn’s, as well. She could have been there. Could be Demi is in league with the bomber. Or someone stole her jacket, but that’s doubtful since the security cameras would have picked up anyone entering or exiting Quinn’s apartment.”

  If Brayden knew where she was, the man might trip now, blurt out a clue in his fierce defense of Demi.

  “My sister is innocent.”

  “We don’t know if she is,” Finn said slowly. “We can’t be certain until she’s found.”

  Shane spoke out, his tone milder than his brother’s. “And knowing Demi, she’s good at hiding.”

  West leaned forward. “Do you know where she is?”

  As he spoke, he studied the three Coltons. None looked away, even Brayden. They made eye contact, and no one tensed up.

  Quiet relief filled him. All his instincts told him they didn’t know any more than he did. At least these Coltons on the force had no clue of her whereabouts. West rubbed the back of his neck. “The hairs on the brush aren’t human.”

  “Synthetic,” Finn murmured. “A wig.”

  West nodded. “Nothing else there except food wrappers, a sleeping bag in a bedroom with a bed that wasn’t slept in and the hairbrush. No fingerprints on anything. Not even the brush.”

  Finn leaned back in his chair. “Someone’s trying to frame Demi.”

  “Not so much framing her as trying to make us believe she was there so they could collect on Devlin Harrington’s reward. Who was the person who called in the tip?” West locked gazes with the chief, who shook his head.

  “It was a man. Didn’t leave a name, said he’d call back with details soon. Knew that reward was a bad idea,” Finn muttered.

  “The lack of fingerprints, of real clear evidence, points to someone wanting us to believe she was there. No biological fluids, no prints anywhere in the cabin. No skin cells.” West drummed his fingers on the armrest.

  West knew, as they did, that you always shed skin cells when you slept. Microscopic skin cells should have been present inside the sleeping bag. Even if Demi slept fully clothed, there would be cells present.

  “The only real evidence pointing to Demi was the jacket. Maybe the unsub planted it there to throw us off,” Brayden mused.

  “Or the unsub used the property while he experimented with making the TATP bomb. He just didn’t stay. And he’s long gone by now.”

  Shane frowned. “Then where is he?”

  West narrowed his eyes. “In town. Right under our noses.”

  He pulled out the report and pointed to the new sketch. “DNA on a cigarette stub at the first bombing belongs to Aston Reston, accessory to a car bombing in Kanas City eight years ago. Sentenced for ten to twenty, served four years. Released in February for good behavior, skipped parole. He probably headed to South Dakota. His mother still lives in Sioux Falls.”

  “First bombing?” Finn leaned forward. “The cigarette was found in the rubble?”

  West explained how he had bagged the stub to throw out and included it in his evidence to submit to the FBI lab, along with the butterfl
y compact.

  The chief’s expression hardened. “I don’t recall a woman’s compact logged as evidence from the first scene.”

  He locked gazes with the other man. “Because I didn’t include it. I sent it separately to my field supervisor to run the DNA. I’ll explain later. Right now you need to read this report.”

  Finn studied the papers. “Aston Reston is related to Noel and Evan Larson. Second cousin. Damn, this was under our noses all this time?”

  “More than under our noses. In our faces! He was a witness. Santo Nestor is an anagram for Aston Reston. Nestor is the man I interviewed at the first crime scene. He changed his name after violating his parole. Changed his appearance, as well.”

  Chief Colton went very still. “We’ve found our bomber.”

  West clenched his fists. “Yes. And he’s still in town, after Quinn, the only witness who can identify him.”

  “Well, I’ll send a team over to alert her. Keep an eye out for this Santo/Aston and put an APB on him.”

  West headed for his truck, Rex trotting behind him. He opened the door, and the Lab jumped inside.

  For a moment he sat, trying to collect his thoughts. Santo. Hispanic. Aluminum siding. Witness.

  “Damn, Rex,” he said, his heart banging hard. “Her new client.”

  West dialed Quinn’s phone. It went to voice mail. He left a message, then raced to his desk to collect his keys.

  He started the engine, praying he could reach her on time.

  Because the bomber who killed Tia had a six-thirty appointment with Quinn.

  Chapter 20

  Quinn walked around the kitchen in a daze. She picked up a bottle of seasoning, set it down. Picked it up again.

  Everything inside hurt as if someone had sliced her open. Backing up against the wall, she slid downward until she sat on the floor. Quinn buried her face into her hands.

  How could this have happened? She didn’t remember her life with West, but everything indicated they’d been happy. He’d loved her, cared for her. Quinn had been alone for most of her adult life, never finding that right man she wanted to marry.

  And now she’d pushed him out of her life and she was alone once more.

  How could he lie to her? What was wrong with her that everyone left her?

  There’s nothing wrong with you, a little voice inside whispered. You’re fine. It’s the other people who have a problem.

  Her father. Her mother, and the parade of stepfathers roaming in and out of her childhood. Even Demi, who had never wanted to get close.

  And West.

  But maybe it wasn’t always them. Not West, who had been kind and thoughtful and staunchly always there for her.

  Maybe it’s you.

  It hurt to acknowledge she was partly at fault.

  If you hadn’t shut him out, shut him down, jumped all over him when he told you the truth, he’d still be here.

  She hated secrets. Secrets damaged people, they seldom could be kept for long. Most of all, she hated being the target of one.

  And yet West merely did his job. He hadn’t come to Red Ridge for her, but to find the Groom Killer, and discern if Demi’s relatives knew her hiding places.

  All her life, she’d felt like a second-class citizen, the Colton from the wrong side of the tracks. She’d struggled to build her business, build respectability.

  No one would ever ignore her or make her feel rejected and unwanted again. The only people who drew close were those who wanted something from her.

  That’s the real reason I drove West off. All those memories from the past, the people who I thought cared and didn’t. I thought he was the same. He kept a secret from me. But other than hiding his real purpose here, what crime has he committed?

  Did he ignore you as your mother did? Sneer at you and tell you to “get lost, kid,” as your second stepdad did?

  Invite you to parties as that one Colton cousin did, and then laugh, saying, “Mistake. You aren’t invited, after all.”

  No, he’s been nothing like that. Don’t screw up, Quinn. Don’t toss him into the garbage pail of all your past hurt memories and paint him with that brush because you’re afraid of getting hurt again.

  Afraid of being rejected like you were all those times from your stepdads, and your own mother.

  Quinn lifted her head and hugged her knees. There was a killer on the loose and Agent West Brand vowed to keep her safe. He kept that promise.

  She’d made a promise, too, to marry him. To trust that the old Quinn would love him enough to commit the rest of her life with him. Because for her, marriage wasn’t like shopping at a grocery store as it had been with her mom.

  It was the real deal, a one-stop, no-more-shop event. The old Quinn would have worked hard at marriage the same way she’d done with her catering business. It didn’t matter what others in town thought of her.

  What mattered the most was how she thought of herself.

  The oven timer dinged. Quinn walked over to the industrial oven to check on the cream cheese enchiladas. Steam misted from the bubbling dish. Using heavy mitts, she pulled it out and set it on a metal trivet.

  It smelled delicious, but she had no appetite.

  She found a box to pack the foil containers and keep them warm. Everything was ready. Except Austin wasn’t here. Her business partner had muttered something about getting sales from a client preparing an end-of-summer party in another city.

  Ordinarily she wouldn’t mind, because she loved to cook and focus on her creations. Today the quiet bothered her. Too much swimming through her brain. Not memories she desperately needed to recall, but images of West.

  How could he have kept such a drastic secret from her? She didn’t know what was real and what was not. Trusting her partner was important. How could they have any kind of relationship, let alone a marriage, if he lied?

  A tinkling sounded from the storefront. West had installed a small silver bell to alert her of customers. At the thought of West, her throat closed up.

  Quinn pasted a bright smile on her face and wiped her hands on a dish towel, then went to greet the client.

  He lounged by the pastry case, but studied the room and not the treats inside the glass. Lanky, his hair slicked back, he didn’t look like a polished salesman.

  “Hi. I’m Quinn Colton, owner of Good Eats. You’re Mr. Nestor?”

  “Yeah.” His dark gaze crawled up and down her dress and widened at her belt. “Nice flashlight.”

  Her smile was terse. “It’s a Taser. My boyfriend taught me how to use it for when I was alone.”

  Ex-boyfriend, but Nestor didn’t need to know that.

  “Good thinking. Is the order ready?”

  He kept staring at her boldly. Quinn shifted her weight, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. She glanced at the sign West had installed, indicating the security cameras were operational and anyone entering the store would be recorded.

  The cameras provided her a small amount of reassurance. That and the weapon.

  “I received your deposit into my bank account, and I have the order ready. Do you need help loading it into your vehicle?”

  “Nah.” The man handed her a check.

  Right amount, right date. Gooseflesh crawled over her bare arms. Something about the man nagged at her. With his skinny-fit chinos, short-sleeved plaid shirt and sneakers, he dressed too casually for an important corporate party.

  Doused in cologne, the man couldn’t hide the fact that the stench of smoke clung to his clothing. Her nose wrinkled.

  Scolding herself for judging—hey, the guy could be changing after delivering the dinner—she started for the kitchen.

  Nestor followed her. Quinn ground to a halt.

  “Do you mind if I see the kitchen? Always wanted to see what kind of industrial kitchen a vegan uses.”

&nbs
p; Alone, with a stranger, in her kitchen? “I don’t think so...”

  On the counter, her phone buzzed. Caller ID said West Brand.

  Quinn ignored it. “I don’t allow clients back there.”

  Nestor sighed. “I really would like to see your setup. These clients of mine, they’re big in town and throw a lot of parties. Wife just turned vegan and I promised I’d check things out for them. Might mean more business for you.”

  How could she turn down business? Austin’s voice sounded in her mind. We need the money, Quinn.

  “This way.”

  Inside the kitchen he looked around. “Very impressive.”

  His gaze centered on the back door. Quinn walked over to make sure the door was open. Being locked inside with this, well, creep, gave her the willies. She withdrew her prized chef’s knife, began slicing the carrots left on the cutting board.

  The man paled a little. “Nice blade.”

  Quinn did not smile. “It comes in handy.”

  Nestor pointed to the walk-in cooler she’d had specially installed. “What’s that?”

  Still holding the knife, Quinn went to the door, opened it. He peered inside. “Wow, lots of stuff here. Enough to feed an army.”

  Having this man in her kitchen made her uneasy. “You’d better leave. You don’t want the order to get cold.”

  She handed him the box filled with the enchiladas and burritos, covered to keep them warm.

  He nodded and left, the bell tinkling as the door closed behind him.

  Relief filled her. Quinn returned to the kitchen, placed the check on the table.

  She pressed two fingers to her head. Another headache. Was her memory returning?

  No, it must have been the smell of smoke from Nestor’s clothing. So strange. A man who professed to like health food and smoked. Well, his clients liked healthy food.

  Still, she couldn’t ignore the gut feeling something was wrong about the man.

  Maybe she should call West. Ask his advice.

  You never wanted anything to do with him again.

  Quinn returned to slicing carrots when a truck screeched to a halt at the curb. As she glanced up, West ran into the kitchen, Rex beside him.