Colton Christmas Protector

by Beth Cornelison

  She curled her shoulders in now, her fingers rubbing her temples as she shook her head. “Reid, stop. I don’t know what to think! I can’t—”

  “You think the only reason I wasn’t charged is because I’m a Colton. Don’t you? And because your father went to bat, defending me.”

  “That chafed,” she admitted under her breath.

  “Pen, Andrew was my friend. My partner.” He placed a hand over his heart, pleading with her, and his voice cracked with an unexpected surge of emotion. “I didn’t intend to kill him. I didn’t tamper with his insulin, and I didn’t know that anyone else had.”

  “Stop it, Reid!” she said, her voice taut and thin. “Just...s-stop!” She bent her head, covering her face with her hands, and her shoulders shook as she sobbed. “I c-can’t do th-this...”

  His heart squeezing painfully, Reid took her by the arms and pulled her into a firm embrace, tucking her under his chin and rubbing her back. He’d expected her to fight him, to pull away, but she wilted against him, the embodiment of defeat. “Pen, I’m sorry. So sorry for everything you’re going through. I want to be there for you, if you’ll let me. Andrew would have wanted me to look out for you. You know he would’ve.”

  Her head bobbed slightly in agreement. When her fingers curled into his shirt, fisting the loose material as if clinging for dear life, his pulse bumped higher.

  “I...I wanted to b-blame you,” she squeaked, her head still bowed as she cried against his chest. “I needed s-someone to blame, somewhere to d-direct my anger and p-pain.”

  “I know. And if you want to vent on me, go ahead. I just wanted you to know the truth.”

  She was silent for a few moments, crying softly and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “Use my shirt. It’ll dry.” A chilly breeze stirred her hair and lifted the scent of her shampoo to his nose. December wasn’t the best month to be standing outside for a chat, but he’d endure arctic snow if it meant healing the rift between him and Penelope or easing her emotional suffering.

  Then over the skittering sound of dead leaves blowing across the parking lot, Pen mumbled, “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What? Of course it does.”

  “Why are you doing this? It won’t bring him back. You weren’t charged, so—”

  He grunted. Did she really need it spelled out?

  Because I care about you. He balked at putting it quite so bluntly. He didn’t want her misconstruing his intent.

  “Because I...value your friendship. Because I valued Andrew’s friendship and wish like hell I could do that day over. Not just because I’d change the things that made me look guilty, but because I hate that we argued on our last day together.”

  She heaved a deeply weary and ragged sigh. “S-so did we.”

  Her admission was barely a whisper, but it jolted through him like a prod from a stun gun. “What?”

  She raised wet, red eyes to meet his gaze. “I fussed at him. That morning b-before he left for work.”

  “Aw, Pen,” he murmured, thumbing a tear from her cheek, then hugging her tighter. “He knew you loved him and he sure as hell loved you. Don’t waste time kicking yourself about that morning.”

  “But his last—”

  “Hey, married people fight. In my family, they fight a lot!” He chuckled dryly and earned a brief, lopsided grin from her.

  Then her posture drooped, and she shook her head slowly. “I snapped at him about sleeping through Nicholas’s crying, leaving it up to me to do all the baby duty the night before.”

  She spoke in a hushed, mournful tone that tugged at his heart. Yeah, he knew all about regrets. Though he’d meant this conversation to clear the air between them, if she wanted to unburden her soul, he’d be her listening ear.

  “And when the dryer wouldn’t start, I f-fussed about him ignoring his to-do list.” She frowned and cast a side glance at him. “He said he’d been feeling bad recently, hadn’t felt good that last night, but promised to look at the dryer that evening. I should have told him to go to the doctor, but I was tired and cranky and I didn’t cut him a break. Before he left for the station, I yelled about something else trivial. I don’t even remember what. His wet towel on the floor, maybe? A spill on the counter? But I remember feeling like a first-class witch after he left. I texted him an apology, but he never replied.”

  She shivered, and he knew it was as much from grief as the brisk wind. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, her nose rosy from crying, and for both reasons, he tugged her close again, offering an embrace meant both to warm her and comfort her. Although she was finally opening up to him, and he hated to do anything to mess with that, he was concerned for her comfort. He savored the feeling of her silky hair under his cheek, her arms around him, her scent teasing his senses for a few more precious moments. Who knew when he’d get the opportunity to hold her like this again?

  Finally, when an especially strong shiver rolled through her, he offered, “Maybe we should continue this conversation in my truck.”

  Pen took a step back and met his gaze with a discerning stare. “You’ll explain to me why you accused Andrew of stealing from the evidence room? Of being a closet junkie?”

  He jerked a nod. “I will.”

  Chapter 6

  “I found it as hard as anyone to explain what was going on,” Reid said after recounting his story. “I worked with Andrew, trusted him, knew him to be a top-notch detective. But I couldn’t deny his behavior had been off in recent weeks. He complained of not feeling well, and when I found the drugs under the seat of our cruiser...well, I knew I hadn’t put them there. Then the report came out that drugs from a sting operation were missing from the evidence room, and—”

  “You assumed Andrew had taken them,” she interrupted, not bothering to mask her hurt and consternation. But the source of her pain was shifting. If Reid was telling the truth, then Andrew did look guilty of terrible things. The man she’d married and loved for eight years couldn’t have done the things Reid was laying out. But...

  His story had a ring of truth. She’d seen some of what he mentioned for herself. Andrew’s poor health in his last few weeks, his acting odd and seeming distracted.

  “I didn’t want to believe what the evidence pointed to, but before I could look into alternate explanations, I had to confront him with my suspicions, ask him for his side of things.”

  She exhaled deeply. “So your fight that day...”

  “Wasn’t supposed to be a fight. I tried not to be accusatory, to give him the benefit of the doubt, but when I started laying it all out...” Reid met her gaze, his dark blue eyes full of remorse.

  “He got angry. Shouted at you. Escalated the discussion to a yelling match.”

  His sigh answered for him, before he gave a tight nod. “That’s what the people at the station overheard. We were in an interrogation room. I thought we’d have more privacy there, but clearly my choice of locations only put his back up.”

  She made a tiny noise of dismay. “Of course it did.”

  He raised a hand. “I know. My bad. I admit I made mistakes. I handled it badly and have a lot of regrets about how things unraveled. But I didn’t kill him over it. Later that day, when he fainted while we were in the field interviewing a witness, I did what I thought I needed to help him. He’d been nauseated and told me to get his emergency kit from the cruiser and—”

  “Yeah,” she said, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “I know this part.”

  “But do you believe me? I don’t care if anyone else in the department or the justice system or all of Texas believes me, so long as you do.”

  Pen swallowed hard as she met his stare.

  His gaze warmed. His navy eyes were intense, penetrating. Soul searing. Her tremble now had nothing to do with the chill.

  “You�
��re the only one who matters to me,” he whispered.

  Her heart stuttered at the wounded look he gave her. She realized her hand was still on his arm, and she withdrew it quickly, curling her fingers into her tingling palm. “Wh-why?”

  The raspy question slipped out before she could swallow it, choke it back down. Why was dangerous. Why left her vulnerable, showed she cared enough about him to need an answer.

  “I think you know why,” he said in a voice as soft as a caress, as tender as a kiss.

  And therein lay the real dilemma. She knew exactly why, and it scared her to the core.

  * * *

  He shouldn’t have been so honest with Pen.

  An awkward silence filled his truck as he drove her back to her house. He’d given her a lot to consider, and the knit in her brow said she was deep in tangled thoughts.

  His regret wasn’t for telling her about the events of the day Andrew died. No, he wanted her to understand what had transpired, give her the version of those events she hadn’t yet heard. But he’d all but admitted his long-held feelings for her. If pressed on the issue, he supposed he could deny any deeper meaning. I just meant you’re my friend, and I want your forgiveness, your trust. You’re his widow, and your opinion is the only one that matters.

  But the gut-wrenching ache in her tone, the raw emotion in her eyes and quiver of vulnerability in the rasped why? had punctured his defenses, undermined his better judgment.

  Add to that the disturbing information they’d uncovered at her father’s house, the indications Andrew was onto something incriminating—and the bombshell that Penelope might not know she was adopted. His own emotions were in upheaval today, and her question had blindsided him.

  At a red light, Reid tapped the steering wheel with the side of his fist. When he added his own father’s disappearance and other recent tumult at the Colton Valley Ranch, he had quite enough to ruminate on before adding today’s mysteries to the roster. He pondered the fact that Hugh Barrington had been key in stirring up false hope about Eldridge’s whereabouts last month. Was there a connection to what Andrew was researching? Maybe not, but he didn’t buy into the theory of coincidence, either.

  He continued to mull over these thoughts as he turned onto the neighborhood street where Pen lived. The long residential lane was lined with carbon-copy houses with winter dead yards and a variety of Christmas decorations on display.

  Reid had been down this street enough times to be familiar with the lay of the land, but he still took note of the details. Old habits and all...

  Most of the driveways were either empty, since the owner would have been at work at this hour, or had some fashion of minivan or SUV which belonged to the stay-at-home mom or babysitter. Sure, there were exceptions. He’d met the Clarks’ across-the-street neighbor, Ned Smithe, who did shift work, and his legal-assistant wife, at a Super Bowl party two years ago. The pickup truck in the driveway would be Ned’s, sleeping off a graveyard shift. As they drove past, Penelope returned a wave to an older gentleman raking leaves at the end of the street. All was quiet. Normal. Americana... The term popped into his mind.

  What would it be like to live in a middle-class neighborhood like this one instead of a sprawling ranch with quarrelsome siblings and stepparents? To have neighbors over to watch the game or call friendly greetings to someone working in their yard? The simplicity of the lifestyle and idyllic imagery appealed to him. Although, he admitted, he enjoyed some of the creature comforts of having wealth. Having household staff to cook and clean. An infinity pool and tennis court. Privacy when it was warranted to keep the family circus on the down low.

  He glanced in Penelope’s direction and amended his previous question. What would it be like to live with Pen in a neighborhood like this? His chest tightened. Where had that idea come from? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he needed to rein it in. She was his partner’s widow. Making a move on her would feel...wrong somehow. How could he even think of taking advantage of Andrew’s death by moving in on is wife?

  As they approached Pen’s house, he noticed a light blue sedan that had been parked down the street pull away from the curb. He’d been briefly distracted by his wild sidetrack thought, but he’d not seen anyone get in the car. Of course, that didn’t mean—

  A brief flash of sunlight on metal snagged his attention. An odd intuition sent a prickle of alarm to his core. He backed off the accelerator, slowing to a crawl when he saw the driver’s window lower. “Pen, do you know—”

  A handgun appeared at the sedan’s window.

  “Gun!”

  The muzzle flash and crack of his windshield were simultaneous.

  Pen screamed.

  “Get down!” he yelled even as he yanked her arm, pulling her down on the seat. He ducked, too, as another shot slammed into his front hood. He shifted automatically into cop mode. Crisis mode. Protect Pen. Consider civilians—the old man raking. ID the gunman. Age, race, anything!

  The sedan rolled straight toward them. He narrowed his eyes, lifting a hand to block the sun’s glare behind the approaching car. Another bullet hit the side of the truck with an ominous thunk.

  “Reid!” Pen cried, reaching for him, tugging at his jacket sleeve as if to pull him down onto the floorboard with her.

  He only had a split moment to decide: flee or stand and defend. The cop in him refused to retreat. He had a better chance of protecting Pen by shielding her, and he’d rather catch or kill the bastard responsible than run from him.

  “Glove box!” he returned, and she scrambled for the Smith & Wesson .40 he kept stored there.

  He had only a second to study the person in the driver’s seat as the sedan neared. Reid’s angle was bad, seated higher in his truck than the guy in the car. The shooter’s face was largely hidden by the bill of a ball cap. Dark winter coat. Caucasian male.

  Pen raised her head for a look, the pistol clutched in a two-handed firing grip.

  Another muzzle flash had Reid diving for cover. “I said get down!”

  He watched the roof of the blue car pull alongside them, and he pushed her head down again. Reid shielded Penelope as the shooter took direct aim now through the truck’s driver-side window.

  “Sonofabitch!” Reid snarled, raising an arm for protection as shards of glass from his blasted-out window rained down on them.

  Penelope yelped, and Reid’s gut swooped. “Are you hit?”

  “I don’t think—”

  Tires squealed as the car raced away.

  Pen shoved at him and climbed onto the seat, twisting toward the shattered back window. She aimed the Smith & Wesson at the fleeing vehicle, and Reid grabbed her wrist. “No!”

  “I can shoot! Andrew taught me!”

  He, too, surged up to look out the back window, squinting at the suspect’s back bumper. “There are bystanders!”

  “But... Damn it!” she growled and lowered her hands. Hands shaking, she set the pistol on the seat beside her.

  He shared her frustration and gritted his teeth in disgust. “Write this down... BHD43. That’s as much of the plate as I got.”

  Flicking away bits of the broken window, she dug in her purse and found a pen and an old receipt. Trembling, she jotted down the partial plate number.

  Reid, too, was shaking, the aftermath of his spiked adrenaline, and he carefully shook the shards of broken window from his shirt and out of his hair. “Careful of all the glass.”

  “Right. I—” She paused and swallowed hard. “What the hell was that about? A drive-by in this neighborhood?”

  “I don’t think it was a drive-by in the sense that you mean.” He cut the engine, leaving his truck in the spot where they’d been attacked. By doing so, the police would be better able to trace the trajectory, find the bullets for a ballistics report and analyze the crime scene. He mentally replayed what had tra
nspired and came up with a chilling conclusion.

  They’d been targeted. The blue sedan had been parked down the block, waiting for them. But why?

  He faced Pen and pushed her hair back from her face. Touching his finger to a small cut on her face, he wiped away the crimson bead there. “You’re bleeding. Mostly nicks, but you need first aid.”

  She cast a side glance at him and gave a short, humorless laugh. “Have you looked in a mirror? I’m not the only one.”

  He didn’t care about himself. He’d sustained far worse in the line of duty over the years. And a guy didn’t grow up with as many rowdy siblings and half siblings and all the inherent rivalry without scrapes and bruises on a daily basis.

  The older man who’d been raking appeared at the passenger-side window. “Are y’all all right? Hell’s bells! I can’t believe what this world’s coming to!”

  “We’re not hit, but you might check on the neighbors. A stray bullet could have pierced a door or window.” Reid turned to survey the houses, looking for obvious damage.

  “I don’t feel so good.” Pen pressed a hand to her mouth.

  She did look pale. Nausea in the wake of such a scare was common enough. Reid put a hand on the back of her head and pushed her forward. “Bend over. Head between your legs.”

  The older neighbor pulled a chunky old flip phone from his pocket. “I’m calling 911. You should get her an ice pack for that bump on her head.”

  Bump? Reid ducked his head and pulled Pen’s chin toward him so he could see the other side of her face. Sure enough, a goose egg was swelling at her temple. “Damn, Pen. Did I do that when I shoved you down?”

  She covered the injury with her hand and shrugged. “No sweat. Better a bump on the head than a bullet in my brain.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You probably saved my life.”