by Amelia Autin
“I’ll get breakfast on the table,” Chris told her, turning back to the stove. “You go take care of your boys.”
* * *
Evalinda McCay folded her lips together and stared at her husband over the breakfast table. “I don’t like it, Angus.”
“I told you what Mr. Colton said.”
“Yes, but I don’t like it. When we spoke with him last week, he didn’t think it would take very long. Now it sounds as if he’s not even trying to find Holly.”
“It’s not as if we’re paying him by the hour, Eva,” Angus McCay was quick to point out as he swallowed the last of his coffee. “He’s not even charging us at all, except for expenses, so what’s the complaint? Besides,” he said, “you were the one who was so sure he was the perfect PI for the job, what with his father being a serial killer. And he didn’t seem all that smart to me—he bought the story we told him.”
“Maybe,” Evalinda McCay said. “But now that I think of it, I wish we hadn’t mentioned the Alphabet Killer angle. Too far-fetched. That might have made him suspicious.”
“I don’t think so. If Mr. Colton believes the idea that Holly was ever in danger from the Alphabet Killer is ludicrous, I’m sure he’d chalk it down to us being loving in-laws, overly concerned about Holly’s safety.” He cleared his throat. “Either way, it’s no longer a concern now that the Alphabet Killer’s eighth victim has been found—Helena what’s-her-name.”
“That’s good,” Evalinda McCay said. “Just be sure you don’t mention anything about the Alphabet Killer the next time you talk to Mr. Colton.”
“Yes, dear. Of course.” Angus McCay winced inwardly. He wasn’t about to tell his wife he’d brought up the Alphabet Killer only the day before, when he’d discussed the progress in the investigation with Chris Colton. It wasn’t important, and she didn’t need to know.
He wiped his mouth on his napkin and rose from the table. “I’d better be getting to the bank. I’ll call you if I hear from Mr. Colton.”
* * *
Chris put out two fires at work via phone and made a judgment call to trim the bill on the case of a man who’d been desperately searching for his teenage daughter—it’ll barely cover expenses, his office manager had protested, but the man had cried when his daughter had finally been located. It’s not always about money, Chris thought as he dashed off an email to his office manager. Business was booming, especially since so many companies were implementing preemployment background checks on their new hires, and employing firms like Chris’s to do the work rather than relying on in-house human resource departments. He could afford to take the hit financially. He could still remember the way the man had wrung his hands when Chris had escorted the onetime runaway through her father’s front door. Could still see the heartfelt tears in the man’s eyes.
Happy endings didn’t always happen in his line of work. The joy on that father’s face when he was reunited with his missing daughter was priceless.
Chris rose and stretched, then moved to the other end of his L-shaped office, to the window there. He stared out into the fenced yard, where Holly, her twins and Wally were playing Wiffle ball. The twins were—understandably—not very good yet. But Wally chased down every ball that got past the boys and herded it back to them or carried it back in his mouth. Then, his tail wagging cheerfully, did it again and again.
Chris smiled, remembering playing ball with his younger brothers and Bouncer the same way. For the first time in a long time, thinking about Bouncer didn’t hurt. “I must have been eight,” he thought out loud. “Yeah, because Sam was about two, which meant Ridge was six and Ethan four.” Stair steps, his father had dubbed them. “Stair steps,” he whispered now, wondering how he’d forgotten that nickname. Trevor had been three years older, and somehow hadn’t been included—only Chris, Ridge, Ethan and Sam. Annabel hadn’t counted in his father’s eyes; neither had a soon-to-be-born Josie.
Thinking of his father reminded Chris that this was his month to visit Matthew Colton in prison. His month to obtain the next clue to his mother’s resting place. He didn’t want to go. Unlike his brother Trevor, an FBI profiler who’d visited their father in prison regularly as part of his job, Chris had never gone, despite Matthew’s requests some years back. From the time Matthew had been arrested for murder twenty years ago, from the time a trembling and tearful seven-year-old Ethan had confessed to an eleven-year-old Chris how he’d found their mother lying in her own blood, he’d had no desire to see his father ever again. But he couldn’t not go. Not when everyone was counting on him for that next clue.
Chapter 8
Fifteen minutes passed before Chris went back to his laptop. Fifteen minutes spent watching Holly, the twins and Wally, torn between getting back to work and going out to join in the innocent play. But then he remembered that moment in the kitchen this morning with Holly, and the similar instances last night, and he told himself discretion was the better part of valor. The more time he spent in her company, the more he would want her. The more he wanted her, the more difficult it would be not to touch, not to taste. Not to run his fingers through the spun gold that was her hair and drown in those soft brown eyes. Not to carry her to his bed that had been empty and lonely for so long.
Just thinking about doing those things to Holly made him hard. Made him ache the way he hadn’t ached for a woman since Laura. Not just an ache. More like a hunger, really. And he wondered about that. What was it about Holly that pierced the iron shell he’d built around his body...not to mention his heart?
It wasn’t just that she was a good mother, as his mother had been, although that played into it, sure. And it wasn’t just that she was quietly lovely in a wholesome, All-American, girl-next-door way, although that was part of it, too. At first he couldn’t figure it out. Then it hit him. Holly trusted him. What had she said late last night? You’re wrong if you think anything your father did is a reflection on you, or that you could turn out like him...
Very few women who knew about Chris’s serial-killer father had ever looked beyond that fact enough to trust him. Really trust him. Laura had. Peg, too. And now Holly. Somehow she’d sensed that he didn’t have it in him to kill as his father had killed. That whatever had been missing in Matthew wasn’t missing in his son. She’d known Chris just a little over a day, and yet she trusted him with herself and her sons. Implicitly.
Which was another reason to keep his distance from Holly. Because even if she trusted him, he didn’t trust himself.
* * *
When Chris finally dragged himself away from the window, he sat down and began Googling for more information related to the article he’d read last night on Yahoo, the one he’d discussed with Annabel. As he’d told his sister, he didn’t believe in coincidences. Six years ago Josie had disappeared. At first everyone thought she’d run away because her boyfriend had dumped her. Then there’d been that period of time when Chris had feared Josie had been murdered, her body hidden in a remote location. But after the supposed sightings of Josie, he’d reverted back to thinking she’d run away for some reason. But what if she hadn’t just run away? Could her disappearance have anything to do with the death of the drug lord with the same last name as her foster parents?
But the more he dug, the more questions he had...because he couldn’t find anything on the death of Desmond Carlton. Not a single story. Not even a reference to Desmond Carlton in a related story before his death six years ago. The only mention of the man Chris could find anywhere was in the article from the day before.
That could mean only one thing. Someone—or a group of someones—had gone to a lot of trouble to erase Desmond Carlton’s existence.
Chris picked up his smartphone and hit speed dial. “Brad?” he said when a voice answered. “It’s Chris. I need you to run a trace for me. And this one’s not going to be easy. I need you to track down any references you can find
to a Desmond Carlton.” He spelled the name carefully. “Or to a couple who may be related, Roy and Rhonda Carlton... Yeah, same last name. All I know about Desmond Carlton is he was a drug lord who was killed six years ago. As for Roy and Rhonda, they used to be foster parents, so there’s got to be some kind of record of them with the state—criminal background checks, home inspections, the works. Oh, yeah, and they died in a car crash about five years ago.”
He listened for a minute, then said, “No, there’s no case to charge this to, but I’ll clear it with payroll. Oh, and, Brad, when I said this one wasn’t going to be easy, I meant it. You’re not going to find anything on Desmond Carlton on the internet—I already looked. You’re going to have to hit the main libraries in Fort Worth and Dallas, see if you can turn something up the old-fashioned way. And if that doesn’t work, try the offices of the Star-Telegram or the Morning News. I’m betting there will be articles in their morgues,” he said, referring to the newspapers’ private archives.
He listened for another minute, then laughed. “Yeah, that’s why I called you. The younger guys wouldn’t even know where to begin if they couldn’t Google the name.” His laugh trailed away. “Call me the minute you find out anything. And, Brad? Watch yourself, okay?...No, no, this isn’t like the Winthrop case. But no one knows I’m looking for this info. Someone whitewashed the search engines, and until I know why...Yeah, exactly. Thanks, Brad.”
Chris disconnected. His fingers flew over his laptop’s keyboard and he pulled up the article he’d been reading the night before. He quickly skimmed through it again, noted the originating newspaper was the Dallas Morning News and jotted down the byline. “The guy must have dug deep to get as much as he got,” he murmured to himself. “Good thing I told Brad to check those newspaper morgues—I’ll bet a dollar to a doughnut that’s where this guy found the link.”
He thumbed through his smartphone’s contacts until he found the number he wanted and hit the dial key. It rang three times before it was answered.
“Hey, Taylor, Chris Colton here...Yeah, long time.” He shot the breeze with his old college buddy for a few minutes, then said, “I need to talk with one of your fellow reporters...No,” he added drily at a question from the other end. “No, I’m not planning to give a scoop to a rival—any scoops I have go to you, you know that.” Chris rolled his eyes, glad Taylor couldn’t see him. “I just need to ask a few questions about an article this guy wrote, so I need his direct line.” He gave Taylor the reporter’s name and jotted down the phone number he was given. “Thanks, Taylor, I owe you one.”
Never one to let grass grow under his feet, Chris had no sooner hung up than he was dialing the new number. But all he got was the reporter’s voice mail. He thought about it for a few seconds, and before the recorded message finished Chris decided not to leave a callback number and disconnected.
He drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment, then called Taylor back. “Hey, buddy, it’s Chris again. I need another favor. Can you set up a one-on-one for me with your colleague?...Yeah, him. ASAP.” After a few seconds he said, “No, nothing like that.” Realizing he’d need to reveal a few more details to convince Taylor, but not wanting to say anything about the possible connection to Josie, he dangled a carrot. “I might know something about a perp in a story your colleague wrote that he would find very interesting.” It’s not a lie, Chris reminded himself. If the two cases are connected...
“Okay, thanks. Call me when you set something up. You’ve got my number.”
Chris checked his work email again while he waited to hear back from Taylor, scrolling through quickly, skimming and scanning as was normal for him. Three cases had been successfully resolved during his brief absence from the office, and he answered with “Attaboy!” messages, CCing the entire staff. It never hurt and cost him only a minute or two of his time. He paid all his staff well, especially his investigators—anyone who wasn’t worth the salary Chris paid didn’t last long at Colton Investigations. But money wasn’t the best motivator—recognition was. Chris had learned that early on in his career. He’d just clicked Send on the last email when his cell phone rang.
“Hey, Taylor,” he answered. After a minute he asked, “Where?” followed by “When?” He wrote swiftly. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll be there.”
As soon as he hung up he hit speed dial. “Bella?” he said when his sister answered. “You’re off today, aren’t you? I need a big favor.”
* * *
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Holly said furiously when Chris told her he was going out but that Annabel was coming over to watch her. “If that’s what you think, you’d better think again.”
“Not a babysitter,” Chris explained patiently. “A bodyguard.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not.” There was something implacable in his face, in his voice, and Holly knew she wasn’t going to win this argument...unless she took her boys and stormed out of the house. Which would be a stupid “cutting off your nose to spite your face” kind of thing to do.
“Look,” she began, but Chris stopped her.
“No, you look. Do I think the McCays will find you here while I’m gone? No. But am I willing to take that chance? No.” His blue eyes had gone cold, but there was something fierce in their depths that reminded Holly of an eagle’s basilisk stare. “No one is dying on my watch ever again, you got that? I made myself responsible for you—and you agreed to it.” He was breathing heavily now, as if he’d been running...or as if deep-rooted emotions were taking their toll on his body. “I’ve already lost—” He broke off, as if the rest of that sentence would reveal more than he wanted. “You agreed to let me protect you and your sons, Holly,” he said after a minute, a little calmer now. “You have to let me do it my way.”
“But—”
“No buts. My way, Holly.”
She was going to keep arguing, but then she heard Peg’s voice in her mind. Chris needs to do this, Holly. I can’t explain, but he needs to do this. So just let him take care of you and your boys.
She breathed deeply once, then again, and pushed her independent spirit aside for now at the sudden reminder. She wouldn’t always knuckle under to Chris—it wasn’t her nature and it wouldn’t be good for him anyway. But in this instance, maybe he was right. There was only a chance in a thousand something could happen to her or the boys while Chris was gone, but that was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. She wasn’t willing to risk it, either, not when it came to Ian and Jamie.
“Okay.” She held up one hand before he could say anything. “Okay, this time. When are you going? And when will your sister arrive?”
Chris glanced at his wristwatch. “Annabel will be here in about fifteen minutes. I’m not leaving until she gets here.”
Holly let the tension drain out of her muscles. “I’d better check on the boys—they’ve been quiet too long. Then I’ll make lunch.”
* * *
Chris was long gone. They’d eaten lunch, after which Chris had left and Holly had taken the twins to the master bedroom for their nap. Then, with Wally at her heels, she returned to the family room, where Annabel was reading a magazine she’d brought with her, Law Enforcement Technology. Holly had given Annabel the silent treatment during lunch but realized with a touch of remorse it wasn’t fair—Annabel was just doing her brother a favor, and giving up her free time to do it.
Before she could speak, though, Annabel said, “Your kids are really cute.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Holly chuckled, taking a seat at the other end of the sofa. Wally plopped himself at Holly’s feet, and she reached down to ruffle his fur before saying, “You’ve only seen them after they’re worn-out playing ball with Wally. Wait until you see them after their nap, when they’re reenergized. The word rambunctious was created with Ian and Jamie in mind.”
Annabel laughed. “Kids are like that. All kid
s. But women still keep having them anyway.” A wistful expression crossed her face. “I wouldn’t mind...” She didn’t finish that sentence, just tossed her magazine to one side and asked, “How old are Ian and Jamie?”
“Eighteen months.”
“Identical twins? They look like it, but have they been tested to know for sure?”
Holly nodded. “Identical. Even so, Chris can already tell them apart.”
“Really.” There was something in the way Annabel said that one word, something meaningful. Not a question, just an acknowledgment of what that said about Chris.
Holly nodded again. “He’s incredibly observant.” She started to say “for a man” but realized that wasn’t true. Chris was incredibly observant, period.
“That’s what makes him such a good PI,” Annabel stated. Then she laughed softly. “Of course, that wasn’t always such a great thing when I was in high school.”
“Chris admitted he scared away a few of your boyfriends.”
“That’s an understatement!” Annabel’s laughter softened into a reminiscent smile. “I tease him, I know, but he’s a great brother in most ways. When we finally reconnected in high school—”
“Reconnected?” Holly’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean, reconnected?”
Annabel looked surprised. “Didn’t you know? We were all sent to different—” Then she stopped. “You do know about our father...and our mother...don’t you?”
Holly nodded. “Chris told me the first time we met.”
“Hmm. Doesn’t sound like Chris. He doesn’t tell many people.”
“He was trying to make a point,” Holly said. “I think he wanted to shock me.”
“Now, that does sound like Chris,” Annabel replied. Her expression turned somber. “And it’s not like it’s a secret—just about everyone in Granite Gulch knows.” She was silent for a moment. “Well, if you know what happened, then I would have thought you’d know when our mother was killed and our father went to prison, the whole family was split up. We were all sent to different foster homes.”
