Cold Case Colton

by Addison Fox

  A convenient power play and one designed to get him to let his guard down. But how did you remove something that had become such a part of you it had practically welded itself to your personality? He wasn’t a cop any longer. Nor was he a husband. Both of those things had nearly killed him and she wanted to talk about them as if they were as simple as discussing the weather.

  Seriously?

  The knot in his stomach that had nothing to do with eating a pound of barbecue wound itself a bit tighter, until he was nearly mad with the bitterness that seemed to never have a place to fully land.

  That never had a place to go.

  Until now.

  “I don’t want to discuss this.”

  “I’m not necessarily fond of discussing Livia Colton, but I did. I have. Don’t I deserve this?”

  “Deserve what? To rip me apart? To watch me bleed in front of you?” The words ripped from his chest, all black bitterness and white-hot anger. They raced through him, a fire in his blood that couldn’t be quenched.

  That refused to be quieted.

  “Is that what you want?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure those actually are the questions you want answers to.” He tore into the parking lot behind her store and threw the car into Park, his tires squealing against macadam. The air conditioner had blasted throughout the ride back, comfortable enough for the drive, but he now found he needed more.

  More cool.

  More air.

  More time.

  Only best as he could tell, Claudia Colton wasn’t going to give him any.

  Nor was she going to back down.

  “I don’t want answers to hurt you. Nor do I want them to be nosy. I want to know the truth. I want to understand what’s brought you to this moment. Damn it, Hawk, I want to know why you’re here.” Her voice had risen with each word she spoke, part demand, part plea.

  And still, he held out.

  How did you put into words your greatest failure? Was it really as simple as screwing up the courage and telling the one person you were already halfway in love with that you didn’t deserve them?

  That their heart was safer far away from yours.

  That the cold, empty life you’d been living—the one that was all black-and-white and bereft of color—was something you needed to remain trapped in as punishment?

  It wasn’t rational, nor was it simple. But it was terribly, horribly honest.

  “My wife was brutally murdered four years ago and I did nothing to stop it.”

  * * *

  Murdered.

  The implications hung there, dark and twisty, hovering in the car like wraiths. Claudia hadn’t responded with words during his outburst, but her body language said everything. Her pretty pale skin had gone paler, a sickly white that made her gray eyes stand out in harsh relief. Her mouth had dropped open before she closed it, the move repeated a few times as she processed his words.

  And bastard that he was, he kept on.

  “She was mistreated and abused before being killed and left dead in a field outside the city limits.”

  “Hawk. Oh, Hawk.” Claudia reached out for his hand but he pulled his back and slapped it on the steering wheel, seeking some neutral place to hold on to.

  “Don’t.” It was the sympathy that nearly broke him. Hers. Others’ before. The piteous glances and the “I’m sorry”s. People were so full of both, he’d long stopped acknowledging them. Had long stopped allowing them to burrow beneath his skin.

  He didn’t deserve it and he sure as hell didn’t want it.

  What he wanted was to be left alone, with his dark thoughts and his empty life.

  “Was her killer found?”

  “No. Bastard disappeared after such a heinous act, never to be discovered. I followed every lead and when those turned up nothing, I dug for more. I hunted everywhere I could, determined to find justice.”

  “Only none came.” Claudia put the truth into words.

  “Not a single damn bit of it.”

  Images of Jennifer’s smiling face filled his mind. The big curls that framed her face and the dark brown eyes that had been so expressive. She loved to laugh. She’d had a zest and a love of life that had been infectious.

  He hadn’t pictured her like that in a long time. Most of the time, when he did see her, his mind conjured up the picture of her at the end. Her body swollen with the ravages of death and the additional brutality of how she’d died.

  He hadn’t pictured her laughing in a very long while.

  Too long.

  “How can you say you did nothing to stop it? You can’t honestly think you’re responsible. There’s a killer who is responsible for this. A depraved, horrible person who committed terrible acts.”

  His earlier words winged back at him but it was the gentle hand, pressed to his shoulder, that offered one more kindness he didn’t deserve. Especially when that touch filled him with such longing.

  How could he talk about his wife when he wanted the woman sitting next to him? Jennifer’s death wasn’t some story to be pulled out of a mental box, shared and then snapped closed. A horrifying little anecdote to get under Claudia Colton’s skirt.

  “Because I am responsible. I made vows to her, before God and our family and friends. I also made a vow to the police department to protect and serve. I did none of that.”

  “Protecting and serving, just like loving and cherishing, don’t apply here.” Her hand never lifted from his shoulder. “Surely you can see that.”

  “I know what I see. It haunts me every night and it tells me every way I’ve failed. You don’t get to tell me different.”

  “I’m not telling you different. I’m trying to make you understand this isn’t your fault. You won’t convince me of it, Hawk, no matter what you think. No matter how many times you’ve told yourself this version of the story, you have to know it’s not true.”

  He’d seen her fire. Her inner light that drew him toward her as surely as he drew breath. Claudia wasn’t a woman to back down. Nor was she someone content with accepting things, just because someone told her to.

  “Then our time is finished here because you can’t change my mind. I’ve spent the past four years living with the poor choices I made. Jennifer died because I wasn’t there to keep her safe.”

  “Jennifer died because there are horrible people in the world. People who want nothing more than to hurt others and take what they want.”

  “Then he succeeded. And I let it happen.”

  Chapter 13

  Claudia fixed herself a cup of tea and wondered how the day could have gone so wrong. It had obviously gotten off to a bad start with the drive over to Jade’s, but that had paled in comparison to what had transpired on the drive back from Austin.

  Hawk’s wife had been murdered?

  She still struggled to wrap her head around the information, but the internet search she’d run the moment she got back to her apartment had proven the truth of it all. She could practically recite the opening line of the Houston newspaper article and could see the image of Jennifer and Hawk, smiling on their wedding day, from the photo that had been included in the article.

  How did a person survive that?

  And how many people lived with the same horrors in their own lives because of something her mother had done to one of their loved ones?

  That thought had settled in shortly after Claudia had first read the newspaper article and had been a strange accompaniment to the information Hawk had shared. Claudia had asked herself those questions over and over, actual answers nowhere to be found.

  But pending the outcome of the DNA test, it was highly possible her very own mother and grandparents had been additional victims of Livia’s machinations.


  A young woman sold into the sex trade, smuggled out of Russia. A family so desperate for answers they’d withstood numerous scams but continued their search.

  She’d paced the length of her apartment, trying to wrap her head around the details but unable to give her thoughts any firm place to land. Unable to truly reconcile the haunting image of Jennifer Huntley lying dead in a field and Livia Colton’s brutal approach to all things illegal.

  Yet were they really that far apart?

  Hawk’s wife might have been the victim of apparently random violence, but that made it no less horrifying than something premeditated. Or worse, a crime that was the result of careful planning and hidden behind an architecture of obedience and cultured civility.

  Civil?

  Just the crimes Livia had been convicted of had smacked of the worst, most heinous abuse. And those were just the things she’d been tried for.

  In some ways, wasn’t that actually worse?

  As horrible as it was, Jennifer was the victim of a wretched, horrifying attack, played out as a crime of opportunity. Claudia meant no disrespect or insensitivity, but there had been an end to Jennifer’s suffering. Hawk couldn’t find solace, but his wife had, her pain at an end.

  What about the women sold into Livia’s sex trafficking ring, ripped from their homes at young ages and treated like property? What about the minions kept in Livia’s pockets? The government officials paid to turn a blind eye and, if they didn’t, putting their families at risk?

  Ultimately, it didn’t matter, Claudia knew.

  She was grasping at straws as some way of convincing Hawk that he needed to look at his wife’s death differently. That he wasn’t responsible, no matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise.

  But it was an exercise in futility. In the end, all that mattered was someone you loved was gone. And for the ones still living, finding equilibrium and balance and an ability to rejoin the world was often just not possible.

  * * *

  “I love it. It’s perfect. So perfect.”

  Maggie beamed before the three-way mirror Claudia had hung in the back of the studio. She’d helped her future sister-in-law into her dress and then gently helped her stand on a small stool so she could finalize the measurements at the hem and make any needed adjustments.

  Claudia had arrived early to set up the studio and prep before Maggie’s arrival and instead, had barely had time to start the coffee. Maggie had sailed in, flush with excitement and brimming with barely contained energy.

  The woman wore her pregnancy beautifully and, just as Claudia had expected, Maggie wasn’t a “house.” She had gained a few more inches in the bust than Claudia had anticipated and she’d already marked down a few quick measurements.

  “Oh, and the bustle!”

  Maggie’s exclamations pulled her from her notes and Claudia rubbed at her eyes to wipe out the grit that didn’t want to fade this morning.

  “It’s gorgeous. And it gives the dress an entirely different look.”

  “Two dresses in one. Oh. Oh, wow.” The tears that had been intermittent company since Maggie’s arrival welled up again and Claudia helped her off the small stool so she could stand on terra firma when she blew her nose.

  “Shh, now. It’s okay.”

  “It’s more than okay. And I’m so happy. And we’re having a baby and I’m in love with Thorne. Mac and Thorne are even building my dream house, right there on the property.” Another hard sob hit Maggie and Claudia led her to one of the chairs at the small break table so she could gather herself.

  “Here. Let’s settle this over you.” Claudia added a drape over the front of the bodice to avoid the tears and the possible addition of Maggie’s makeup, then handed her a few more tissues.

  “I am sorry for the waterworks but it’s just a little overwhelming at times. I’m happier than I’ve ever been and I’ve got a stew of hormones racing through my blood. It’s the weirdest thing to keep crying pots of tears over all that happiness.”

  “Weird and absolutely wonderful,” Claudia reassured her.

  “The hormones have made me strangely perceptive, too.” Maggie took one last sniff and turned watery eyes on Claudia. “So why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on.”

  “Oh, girlfriend, it’s so not nothing it isn’t even funny. So come on and tell me, or I’ll play the whiny pregnant woman card and mix endless tears with nasty outbursts demanding you get me biscuits and gravy at the Cozy Diner. Take your pick.”

  Since Maggie’s eyes had taken on a diabolical glint beneath the tears, Claudia figured she’d better listen up. Even with that knowledge, she tried one more approach.

  “You’re wearing your wedding dress. It would hardly be fair for me to say anything in front of it to make it sad.”

  “It’s a wedding dress designed to begin a marriage. One that will be as filled with happiness as it will be with challenges. I think this dress can handle it. And if it can’t, I’ve got no business wearing it.”

  She loved Maggie—had loved her from the first time they’d met. But in that moment, Claudia understood what a gift this woman was to her brother. Warm and kind, funny and loving, Maggie knew what it was going to take to forge a lifetime with Thorne. And wasn’t that something special?

  “How’d you get so smart?”

  “Natural talent.” Maggie laughed before reaching for another tissue. “And now I’d also add experience. What Thorne and I went through to find each other. Almost losing Mac. All we’ve overcome together makes me that much more sure we have to keep that commitment and that focus on building our future.”

  “What if something had happened? Would you blame yourself?”

  The warm smile faded as Maggie leaned forward over the table. Or as far forward as she could go with her stomach providing a barrier. Her hand held the drape in place but her eyes were flat and focused. “What’s this all about?”

  The very last person she wanted to have this conversation with was a pregnant woman about to walk down the aisle. So it was strange to realize that Maggie was actually the most perfect person to have the conversation with.

  She understood the risks of loving. And she’d experienced the dangers of loss all too recently.

  “Hawk’s a widower going on four years now.”

  Maggie reached for the box of tissues, pulling out a fresh one for herself, then one for Claudia. As she took hold of the soft material, Claudia felt the overwhelming love and acceptance from her future sister-in-law in that simple gesture.

  “Tell me all about it,” Maggie said.

  And as she started the tale, Claudia knew she had the loving support to share all she’d learned.

  * * *

  The Cozy Diner was doing its usual brisk business when Hawk walked in, hungry for breakfast. He’d skipped dinner the night before, his eyes wide-open and focused on the ceiling above his hotel bed. He’d fought sleep—or it had fought him—until somewhere around four, when he’d drifted off.

  The dreams that came when he finally did sleep were what he’d have predicted. Images of Jennifer running through the field where her body had been discovered, trying to elude her captor. Her inert form out on a slab in the morgue. And the clumps of hair they’d found at the ultimate scene of her death. It was all familiar, the nightmares his steady companions for the past four years.

  So it was odd, at the end, when the nightmare had shifted. The soft strands of hair he held in his hand slipped from his fingers, caught on the breeze to dance and flutter just out of his reach.

  When he’d looked up, he’d seen Jennifer smiling, dancing before him with her arms outstretched. She wore her wedding dress before it morphed into the black sheath and coat she’d worn that last day to work. Even in the outfit that had been her last, she smiled
at him. Waved to him. And beckoned him toward her for a kiss at their front door.

  He’d watched her, entranced but confused, knowing even in sleep that she’d fade the moment he touched her.

  So it was even more jarring when she’d followed the wave with a small two-step, shimmying toward him in her high heels. And then she’d pressed her hand against his heart, her palm laid against the thick, heavy beats.

  He’d woken up then, the hard, insistent pound of the alarm on his phone dragging him from the dream.

  But as he sat up, he could have sworn he felt the indentation on his chest. The determined press of a hand where it lay against his heart.

  Damned fanciful notions.

  All cooked up by an overactive imagination that was trying to find some sense of order in the crazy chaos that had become his life.

  “Breakfast for one?” One of the waitresses he hadn’t met yet pointed toward the counter. “I can seat you at the bar or give you a booth in the back.”

  “I’d like the booth, please.” He was in no mood to make small talk with his neighbors at the counter and he’d forgotten to grab a newspaper on his way in, the ability to rustle it an effective shield against conversation.

  He’d nearly cleared the long row of booths that ran along the windows when he heard his name.

  “Hawk. Good morning.” Maggie Lowell, or the soon-to-be Mrs. Thorne Colton, waved him over. “Come join me and save me from the guilt of eating these biscuits and gravy.”

  “You don’t want them?”

  “I do want them but I’ll feel better if I wave a bit of my personal blend of pixie dust as I do.”

  The surly attitude that had carried him into the diner didn’t have a chance against her pretty smile, even as his stomach sunk toward his knees at the need to make conversation. And what on earth was she talking about with pixie dust?

  He and Claudia had left things on a terrible note the day before. He owed her an apology, but couldn’t summon up the needed elements to give her one. “I’m sorry” felt way too paltry and simple but he’d yet to settle on anything better.