The Missing Colton

by Loreth Anne White

  “I wanted to tell you that I had my lawyer come in.”

  “Max Finch?”

  Jethro’s gaze sharpened slightly, then he coughed, pressing his fist tightly against his chest. “Yes—Finch handles some of my estate stuff along with...a few other things. I got him to change my will. I want you to know that as soon as the DNA paternity testing is confirmed you’ll receive the first of your inheritance cut that’s due all the Colton children on their thirtieth birthday.” He coughed again—a wracking and wet sound. “Chief Drucker said he’ll be here with his tech first thing tomorrow morning to do the blood sampling. We’ll have results by nightfall tomorrow—Drucker’s guaranteed me top priority with the lab.”

  Tension whispered through Jagger,

  “And if paternity is not confirmed?” he said quietly.

  Jethro waved the idea away with his hand. “Then the clauses I’ve added to the will do not kick in. The girls have expressed the same concern...they...” Another wave of coughing seized him. He was silent for a minute as he gathered his breath. “They don’t have to worry. If you’re not Cole, you get nothing.”

  “I don’t believe I came here for money, Jethro.”

  “Then what? Everyone wants money...my money.”

  “I don’t remember what I came for. Maybe it was to find out where I was born, to find a sense of belonging, home, family.” All things Jagger imagined Cole would want, if he was still alive. “Answers to why my father stopped searching for me.”

  The old man’s eyes flared to Jagger. “I never stopped— The leads ran cold.”

  Jagger nodded, thinking of his own parents, how they hired one P.I. after another, never gave up. Until they found him. Not that it resulted in the big happy ending everyone had hoped for.

  The old man stared at him for several beats, his features pained. Then he closed his eyes, breathing in deeply from the cannula in his nose. The oxygen machine hummed into the silence.

  Jagger glanced at the meds bag hanging from the drip. The contents were slowly going down.

  “We came back from Cheyenne through Dead River,” he said carefully. “Maggie from the diner there used to work on the ranch, I believe?

  Jethro frowned slightly and slowly opened his eyes. “Maggie Radizeski?”

  “She goes by the name of Draper since her husband killed himself.”

  Jethro turned his head away, eyes red-rimmed and rheumy. He said nothing.

  “Her husband worked here, too, didn’t he?”

  “Where you going with this, Cole?” His voice was weakening.

  Jagger got up, walked to the window, put his hands in his pockets.

  “It’s weird,” he said slowly, staring out the window, “Not knowing who you are, having no memory. You grab on to anything to try and understand the past, to figure out why you might have come here. Maggie seemed startled to see me from what I am told.” Jagger turned. “She thought I looked like you when you were young.”

  Jethro’s watery gaze met his. Silence filled the room, apart from the old man’s wheezy machine-aided breaths and the hum of the oxygenator.

  “I had a relationship with Maggie once,” he said finally. “It was just physical. A man can understand that.”

  “Chief Hank Drucker certainly would.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He also had an affair with Maggie.”

  Jethro stared at him, eyes going a little unfocused as morphine continued to feed infinitesimally into his veins. Tension wound tighter in Jagger. He could feel the clock ticking.

  “Maggie was a very, very attractive woman,” Jethro said quietly. “And a good woman. She gave Desiree Beale a job at her new diner....” His voice faded.

  Jagger’s interest piqued and he came forward. “When was that?”

  “Around the time of Brittany’s death. But Desiree didn’t stay long after Brittany’s funeral. She took a job at a diner in Jackson.”

  Jagger shot another glance at morphine drip. The meds were making the old man loquacious, but a tipping point would come any second now, and he’d go downhill as he drifted off into drugged sleep.

  “Where did you first meet Maggie?”

  Jethro closed his mouth, and through his nose he carefully inhaled a lungful of oxygenated air.

  “Mitch Radizeski.” He closed his eyes, inhaled again, slowly. “I knew him from...long ago.”

  The penitentiary? Or further back? Had Jethro been somehow connected to Radizeski’s petty theft ring? Had the money used to buy the ranch land been stashed away somewhere, the proceeds of crime? Jagger needed to get his hands on that laptop Mia said he could use—he needed to look up Radizeski’s case.

  “I want you to know, Cole, I did love your mother.” The old man’s voice was very weak now.

  Jagger seated himself again on the side of the bed. “That blue baby blanket I was wrapped in when I was abducted, you said that was given to my mother by her sister, Desiree, right?”

  He nodded. “Distinctive embroidery—I’d know it anywhere.”

  Jagger figured that whoever had planted that scrap of blanket on him had to know what had happened to Cole all those years ago. And that person was here in Dead River somewhere, maybe even on the ranch.

  “I’m told that Desiree was seen in Jackson with a baby not long after she left Dead River.”

  Jethro’s gaze ticked to his. Jagger could read caution in the man’s eyes—warning bells were going off somewhere in his mind despite the woozy effects of the medication.

  “What...do you want with this, Cole?”

  Jagger got up and paced slowly to the window and back.

  “I’m trying to piece together what might have happened to me, Jethro, and who might have taken me without wanting ransom. If my memory doesn’t return...I’ll never have any idea. The mystery will never be solved. So anything you can tell me would help.”

  The wariness lingered in the old man’s eyes. “She was murdered,” he said quietly. “And there was no baby. It was a rumour that was disproved. The detective investigating her death—Novak—he looked into it carefully and found no substance.” Jethro closed his mouth and inhaled slowly through his nose.

  “So many rumours, red herrings, false leads came in after you were taken. Everyone wants to help at a time like that. They all want to be the one who solves the case, but it can just confuse the process.”

  Taken.

  Again Jethro had chosen to use that word over abducted, or kidnapped. Was there a subliminal reason? Did it feel softer somehow, less violent or less criminal?

  “Why do you think no ransom was ever demanded?”

  The man’s eyes glazed over. Jagger’s gaze flicked back to the drip.

  “They...all waited for a note...never came.”

  “They” waited.

  Not Jethro?

  Perhaps the morphine was responsible for his choice of phrase. Or perhaps Jethro’s mental defences were dropping because of it. Urgency rippled through Jagger.

  “Tell me about it the abduction itself, Jethro.”

  He shook his head, face going white suddenly as he gripped his fist tighter against his chest, eyes watering.

  “Please, I need to know.”

  But the old man lay mute as the machine hummed, his eyes going distant. Finally he said, thickly, “I...showed them...the police...how it looked like...robbery.”

  “Robbery,” Jagger said, then threw a quick glance at the door, lowering his voice. Catherine might be coming back any second.

  “Wasn’t that what you and Mitch Radizeski did time for?”

  Jethro’s eyes fluttered weakly as he struggled to pull himself out of the haze clouding his brain.

  “Damn...meds.” He fisted the duvet, tried to pull himself up, but succeeded only in dragg
ing the bedding up off his feet. “Damn illness. No...time for illness.” He looked away. Frustrated.

  Jagger’s pulse quickened. He leaned forward. “Who took him, Jethro?” he whispered urgently. “Do you know who took your son? Is that why you didn’t need to wait for a ransom note? Did you help make it look like a robbery?”

  Jethro’s eyes closed, his breathing changed and his mouth slackened. The old man had gone to sleep.

  Jagger stood up, adrenaline buzzing through his blood. This was all he was going to get out of Jethro Colton, but more than ever now, he felt Jethro knew something. And was hiding it.

  But why?

  And how did it connect to what was happening on the ranch now?

  “Dad?” It was Cath, at the door.

  “He’s gone to sleep,” Jagger said, stepping back from the bed. “The meds have finally kicked in.”

  She came up to Jagger. “Thanks for sitting with him. I...” Her eyes filled with emotion.

  “Hey,” he said, hooking his arm gently around her shoulders. “It’s okay.” And as he comforted Catherine Colton, guilt bit into him. It was not a comfortable or familiar feeling for Jagger. He’d never felt guilty for going after a story before, but this was different. It was in a family’s house, up close and personal. This was not a battlefield or war zone, there were no political treachery or global implications. Why in hell had he been so consumed about getting this story, anyway?

  As he walked out with Catherine, Jagger reminded himself, it was about a stolen baby. A child never found. A father who stopped looking. Cole Colton—the little voiceless victim who could have been Jagger himself.

  That was the bottom line—always had been. And yes, it was intimate, because someone connected with this family had done an innocent child wrong. But after he told Mia the truth, that all might be tossed to the wind.

  “I hope you don’t mind that there won’t be a family dinner tonight, Cole,” Catherine was saying. “Gabby, Trevor and Kate are overnighting in Laramie, and Levi will be with the oncologist who’ll be arriving later.” She smiled. “But I’ve asked Agnes to prepare something special for when the others do get back, a feast. All of us together. Maybe we can manage to get father down, too. We could bring his drip and all.” She looked up at him, hope in her eyes.

  “Maybe we’ll even have reason to celebrate after your DNA results come in tomorrow. A proper welcome-home dinner.”

  * * *

  Mia found Dylan leaning with his arms on the fence as he watched his latest pride prance in the field. She leaned on the fence beside him.

  “Hey, Mia,” Dylan said, his eyes meeting hers briefly.

  “She’s gorgeous,” Mia said as she watched the chestnut mare trot across the grass, her coppery-red mane and tail ruffling in the wind. Against the backdrop of the mountains and the stormy sky the horse looked like a painting and Mia was reminded that this was beautiful place. It had also been a place of peace for her. Until recently.

  “How did the scan in Cheyenne go?” Dylan said, eyes on the mare.

  “Okay. There’s no immediate medical concern but his memory might take a while to return. Dylan, I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to imply anything—”

  “Midnight was taken out by someone that night, Mia,” he interrupted. “I questioned the grooms. One of them had returned to the stables that night to look for his watch, and he’d noticed Midnight’s stall was empty. He didn’t say anything because Midnight was back there in the morning. He assumed I’d taken the stallion somewhere.” He turned to look at her. “I checked Midnight out—there’s a small cut on his shoulder that no one can explain.”

  Mia stared at him.

  “And you don’t know who it was that took him out?”

  Dylan shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line. “Could’ve been any one of the better riders. Damn risky, though.” He went silent as he returned to watching the horse in the field. “I just don’t see any of them doing this, Mia, taking Midnight, running a man down.” His face darkened as he thought of something.

  “I don’t know what in hell is going on here. Dead River Ranch can never be the same again, not after all this.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I’d like my own place,” he said. “Been saving.”

  “You’ll get it, Dylan. I don’t doubt it.”

  He turned to her. “How about you, Mia?”

  “I...I’m thinking of moving on, too.” She hesitated, then said quickly, “That’s between you and me, okay? Besides, I have no idea yet where I might go.”

  He offered her a smile. “Gotcha.”

  Mia thought about how best to phrase her next question. She watched the horse for a while, then said quietly, “Someone tried to run us off the road in the mountain pass this morning.”

  “What?” His gaze flared to hers.

  “Someone tried to kill us, Dylan. He rammed us from behind with his truck and shot at us. We’ve reported it to the police. We think whoever tried to run Cole down with the horse is trying to finish the job and silence him.”

  “Silence him— Why?”

  “We don’t know.”

  Dylan stared at Mia, a strange look entering his eyes. “Who would do this...what kind of vehicle?”

  “Gray Ford pickup. Two-door—the plates were obscured by dust.”

  His eyes narrowed sharply and his features turned hard. “So that’s what you came out here for, to know if it was my truck?”

  “Dylan—” She touched his arm. “I know you. I trust you above everyone else on this ranch. You were the first one to help me feel at home. You set me up with Sunny. But I also know you loan your truck out.”

  “You think someone borrowed my truck to run you off the road?”

  “Where is it now?”

  “Behind the storage barn, where I parked it twenty minutes ago.”

  Relief washed through Mia. She was right. Dylan Frick had nothing to do with this.

  “The police are investigating this incident?”

  She nodded. Wind whipped hair over her face and she pushed it back.

  The horse in the field whinnied and trotted over to where they were standing. Dylan gave her a treat from his pocket. She nuzzled his hand, taking it, and he softly stroked her nose. Then, with a whinny, she trotted off.

  “First time she’s done that,” he said, pleasure in his voice. “She was real skittish when we got her. Takes patience to build that trust.”

  Trust.

  Trust was one thing Mia had lost with Brad. Dylan Frick was going to make a woman very happy one day. He was damn fine wrangler and an even better man.

  “Do you like him, Mia?” he said suddenly.

  Surprise washed through her. “You mean Cole?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I...I don’t know who he really is, Dylan.”

  “But there is something about him that you like.”

  “I...yes, I suppose. Is this about the rumours?”

  He smiled, a little sad. “No. It’s about your eyes. I can see it in your eyes.”

  She blew out air. “You can read people like you read horses, Dylan.”

  Clouds were darkening the sky as dusk crept over the ranch lands. Mia felt a few flecks of fine rain against her cheeks. “Look, I should go. Thanks for hearing me out.”

  “No worries.” Then he said, “Be careful, Mia.”

  His words played over and over in her mind as she made her way back to the mansion....

  Be careful, Mia.

  Then it was Mathilda’s voice....

  He could be dangerous, Nurse Sanders! Bernice Black’s words joined the chorus. Things—people here—are not what they seem.

  And that deep, cold sense of foreboding sifted deeper into Mia. As she neared the man
sion, she resolved to pull back from her involvement with Cole. They were all right—she didn’t know who he was, where he’d come from, what he might have done. Their visit to Cheyenne Memorial had confirmed that he was not in any physical danger from his injury. He no longer needed her to watch 24/7. She’d go up to the Blue Suite now, gather her things, move back into her room and keep her distance.

  At least until the mystery of his identity was solved. And that would happen by tomorrow night. Nerves ate at her as she entered the mansion, a sense of time closing in on her.

  * * *

  “He’s a reporter!” the voice hissed, low, angry, urgent. “He’s a goddamn journalist pretending he’s Cole Colton. He came to Dead River for a story and I hope to God he hasn’t filed anything yet. Where did you put his computer?”

  “I told you, in the root cellar.”

  “Did you look at it?”

  “No, what for?”

  “Listen, a story could bring us all down. This is a worst-case scenario. I don’t care how you do it, but stop him. Kill him. Before his blood can be taken for DNA tomorrow morning. No more messing around with subtlety or attempted accidents. The man must die, before it’s proved he’s not Cole Colton.”

  * * *

  “Hey.” Cole glanced up as Mia entered the suite. Fresh out of the shower, he was sitting at the table shirtless, and his hair hung damp over his brow. He was working on her computer.

  Mia froze, staring at her laptop.

  His smiled faded and he stood up. “Mia, I hope it’s okay, you said any time—”

  “It’s fine,” she said crisply, tearing her attention away from his half-naked body, the way his tattoo flexed across his chest, trying not the think of the heat suddenly washing into her belly. She brushed past him, making for her own room.

  “How was your visit with Jethro?” she called out as she opened her gym bag on the bed and began tossing her few belongings into it.

  He leaned against the doorframe. “Jethro gave me the name of the detective in Jackson who looked into the claim that Desiree Beale was spotted with a baby.”

  “And?” Mia continued packing—unable to look at him. Her heart rate was going up despite her intent to distance herself. He had a magnetic sexual power over her and she was quite simply weak against it. He could be dangerous...Be careful, Mia... All is not as it seems....