by Jane Godman
Brayden straightened and stood over them. “Sorry to break this up, but Echo and I have to go put on a show for the crowd.”
“Of course.” Esmée lifted Rhys into her arms. “We have to say goodbye now.”
“Bye, Ko.” He waved a hand over her shoulder at the dog.
Esmée wondered if Brayden had any idea what he’d just done. For an instant, they gazed at each other. His eyes were unusual. More green than blue and fringed by thick, dark lashes, their expression was intense. When she first saw him, her first thought had been that he was unapproachable. Devastatingly handsome, but, oh, so severe.
Now she was being forced to rethink her first impression. Because she was sure he had deliberately taken time out of his busy schedule to spend with Rhys when he had figured out that her little boy needed a push to keep him talking. Maybe he didn’t know he had just changed her life, but Brayden Colton had done a good thing for a stranger. That had to make him a special kind of person. She hadn’t formed any idea about his sister, but Brayden thought Demi was innocent. More than ever, Esmée wanted to hear his opinion.
“Thank you.” It seemed an inadequate thing to say, but it was all she had. The emotion was still close to the surface. Even those two words had her throat tightening painfully all over again.
“All part of the service.” Somehow, she sensed Brayden understood the raw emotion that was churning through her. He placed a hand briefly on Rhys’s shoulder. “He’s a great kid.”
“He is.” She rested her cheek against Rhys’s curls. “He’s the best.”
He reached into his top pocket, pulling out his shades. “Oh, and that interview you wanted?”
“Yes?” Her heart beat a little faster. She wasn’t sure whether it was at the prospect of the interview, or the chance to spend more time with him. Possibly it was both.
He slid the shades on, hiding his eyes. Hiding himself. “Still not happening.”
* * *
It was a good thing Echo knew what he was doing because Brayden had been afflicted by a curious inability to concentrate. It was a unique experience for someone who was usually focused, and it was annoying him intensely.
He was well aware of the reason for his distraction. Throughout the K-9 demonstration, during which the police dogs showed off their different skills, his eyes seemed to have developed a will of their own. No matter how hard he tried to keep his gaze on what was happening around him, his eyes insisted on wandering to the picnic rug where Esmée was sitting with Rhys and Hester.
Although they were some distance away, Rhys was a splash of bright color in his red sweatshirt, and Esmée’s skirt was equally eye-catching. Brayden choked back a laugh. She could be camouflaged to blend in with her surroundings. He’d still find her.
The truth was, Esmée da Costa had shaken him and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. The fact that she was five foot three inches of delicious femininity hadn’t escaped his notice, but it was not the only reason she had grabbed his attention.
Even though she looked like every man’s hottest fantasy, he’d been ready with a few well-chosen words of angry dismissal when she’d mentioned an interview. Then the drama with her little boy had unfolded. What he’d seen then had been remarkable. When Rhys said his first words, Brayden had been able to feel the emotion coming off Esmée in waves. In her eyes, he had seen hope mingling with a love so intense it was fierce.
He had spent time with Rhys for the kid’s own sake. Something about the little boy had reminded Brayden of himself. When Esmée said her son hadn’t spoken until today, it was clear Rhys had problems that went deep. Brayden didn’t know what they were. As a child, his own intense shyness had been crippling. After knowing Rhys for only a matter of minutes, he wouldn’t presume to say he knew how the boy felt. All he could say was he remembered what it was like to wish he could retreat behind an imaginary wall in a grown-up world. He’d seen a way to reach out, and Rhys’s smile had been the only reward he’d wanted.
When he saw Esmée’s reaction to Rhys’s first words, he had experienced a strong desire to go further and help her as well as her kid. The feeling was so strong he had put aside his personal animosity toward her purpose for coming to Red Ridge. Had even possibly forgotten all about the story she was covering and just enjoyed that brief encounter with her and her son. As incredible as it seemed, for the first time since Bo Gage had been found shot dead with a cummerbund stuffed in his mouth, Brayden had stopped thinking about the investigation.
As his gaze strayed in Esmée’s direction again, he decided it was worth a reminder that the presence of a child indicated there was a father around somewhere. Not that he had any intention of letting a pair of big dark eyes and those pretty legs with their lickable knees divert him from who she was. A few wrong words from Esmée could hurt Demi, and Brayden wasn’t going to add to his sister’s problems.
With that thought in his mind, he glanced at his cell phone. He had gotten into the habit of willing Demi to get in touch, even though he knew she wouldn’t. Brayden didn’t have much of a relationship with any of his half siblings; they’d all been raised by different mothers. They were all close in age, and had lived nearby when they were growing up—he and his older sister, Quinn, had even been in the same class at school—but their mothers had instilled a sense of distrust in them that had lasted into adulthood. Brayden, Quinn and Shane didn’t dislike each other. They just had nothing in common and no reason to get to know each other.
Demi was different. They weren’t exactly friends, but their shared love of the outdoors had brought them together when they were growing up and a bond had developed between them because of events that had come their way. It was the reason Brayden was certain his sister wasn’t a killer. It was also how he knew she wouldn’t contact him. Strong-willed, stubborn and feisty, Demi was also fiercely loyal. She wouldn’t put Brayden in a position where he had to choose between her and his job.
He just wished she would get in touch with someone to let them know she was okay. Those rumors were swirling around town that Demi was pregnant with Bo Gage’s baby. Her critics were claiming it as further proof of her guilt. Bo dumped her and was marrying someone else while she was carrying his child, so she killed him? Brayden shook his head. Demi had a temper, but she was more likely to confront Bo and land a punch on him that would break his nose. And the idea that Demi had then continued killing other bridegrooms? Jack Parkowski was the fourth victim. Fourth. Brayden just didn’t buy into the idea that his sister was out somewhere close by, stalking and killing engaged men.
Even so, the evidence against Demi wasn’t good. A search of her house had revealed photos and love letters to Demi from Bo, with big Xs across them and the word Liar scrawled in marker across one letter. No matter how bad things seemed, if she would just give herself up, Brayden was sure they could clear her name.
The K-9 demonstration was over and Brayden looked in Esmée’s direction once more. She was chasing Rhys in a circle around their picnic rug, letting him stay just ahead of her. Almost as if she sensed him watching, she looked up and stared back at Brayden across the distance between them. Hurriedly, he turned away to help Danica dismantle the agility equipment.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and alcohol fumes greeted him as he turned his head. Brayden resisted the temptation to groan.
“Saw you talking to that pretty little reporter a while ago, son.” His father, Rusty, only ever called Brayden “son” when he wanted to borrow money from him.
“She’s not a reporter.”
“Whatever she is, that would be one mighty fine way to spend an afternoon.” Rusty winked and elbowed Brayden in the ribs. “Maybe I’ll invite her over to the Pour House. Tell her my side of the story while we, uh...relax.”
Brayden had given up on wishing Rusty would treat women with respect. Usually, he called his father out on the worst of his comments without much hope t
hat he would be listened to. For the first time ever, real anger blazed through him at his father’s attitude. The thought of Rusty leering at Esmée infuriated him almost as much as the idea that he would contemplate discussing Demi’s situation with a stranger. A stranger who was here to make a documentary. To expose every aspect of their lives to the world.
“Stay away from her.” The words came out harder than he’d intended.
“Whatever you say.” Rusty held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “Look, I have a problem—”
“How much?” Brayden didn’t want to hear the latest inventive reason why Rusty needed cash.
“Fifty should do it.”
Brayden handed him the money and Rusty stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans. He stooped to pat Echo before wandering away, whistling tunelessly. Despite telling himself he wouldn’t, Brayden turned once more to look at Esmée.
She’d gone. He already had plenty of reasons of his own to stay away from her. The fact that he was more disappointed than relieved that she was no longer around added about a dozen more.
Chapter 3
Two days had passed since the dog show and Esmée congratulated herself that she hadn’t contacted Brayden during that time. The temptation had been almost overwhelming, but she had resisted for a number of reasons.
The first was that he had made it clear he didn’t wish to speak to her. The man had to be dealing with a world of pain right now. She had caught some of that in his expression before he lowered his shades. She had also heard it in his voice. The last thing he needed was for her to disrespect his wishes and trample roughly over his feelings. Esmée hadn’t given up on her desire to talk to him, but she worked within a strong code of ethics. She wasn’t going to try to coerce him into it.
Her hope was that, once he saw other people opening up to her and became aware that she was treating his sister’s story with sensitivity, he would change his mind. If he didn’t? She would take her research in another direction. She’d done it before. A documentary of this kind took a long time to make and there would be many twists and turns along the way. Right now, it felt like Brayden was her starting point, but that could change.
An approach to the subscription TV company that had bought the documentary about the murders in the Welsh farming community of Glanrafon had proved promising. They were keen to work with her again and loved the Red Ridge idea. Viewing figures for What Remains had been phenomenal and it had won several prestigious awards. Esmée’s terms were simple—a good price and total artistic control over her work.
Her second reason for keeping her distance from Brayden was more personal. Rhys was talking. She wanted to hold her breath every time he spoke in case he stopped again. The remarkable thing was that he was good at it. All that listening to Esmée must have paid off. He was speaking in simple sentences, his vocabulary was good and he could pronounce most words well.
Esmée had called both his speech therapist and psychologist to discuss this new development. The speech therapist had been encouraging.
“You know what to do as well as I do. Give him a context to talk. Keep modeling what to do. Ask him questions. This is the turning point—it will all move forward from here.”
The psychologist, while also optimistic, had added a word of caution. “You say this started with a dog? Make sure Rhys doesn’t develop a reliance on the animal.”
“He’s been talking just fine without Echo,” Esmée had explained as she watched Rhys eating the cookie he had asked for. Not signed. Not gestured. Asked.
“Just something to be aware of.”
While Esmée had no doubt that Echo had been the trigger for Rhys to start talking, she didn’t believe that his continuing recovery depended on the dog. Even so, he had several times asked the same question.
“See Ko?”
“Echo is busy. He has to work.” Although Rhys had accepted the explanation, his disappointment had been obvious. Once or twice, he had asked to see the picture of Echo on Esmée’s cell phone. And, after watching Brayden and Echo demonstrate their search-and-rescue skills at the dog show, Rhys had developed a love of playing hide-and-seek. It was his new favorite activity, and even when Esmée couldn’t join in, he played hiding games with his toy animals.
His interest in Echo turned Esmée’s thoughts toward the future. Maybe it was time to put down roots. Her own nomadic childhood had been happy, but she wasn’t sure she wanted the same thing for Rhys. And if they settled in one place, they could get a dog of their own. She was becoming drawn to the concept of a pet as a form of therapy.
How about a tall, handsome cop? Was there a therapeutic role for one of those in her life? She shook aside the thought as soon as it appeared. There was no room for any man in her life. Period. She had messed up in a big way with Gwyn. The only thing she didn’t regret about that part of her life was that it had brought her Rhys. Her son was everything to her. Even though her relationship with his father had gone horribly wrong, she could never wish it hadn’t happened.
The experience had changed her in so many ways. She supposed the blithe, pleasure-loving person was still inside her somewhere, but that part of her remained well-hidden these days. Rhys was her priority. Even if she had any inclination to start dating again, there was no way she would risk unsettling him by introducing a new father figure into his life. It was just as well she had no interest in men.
Or she hadn’t...until Brayden Colton had appeared on her horizon. And that was yet another reason not to contact him. Esmée couldn’t be sure, if she did get in touch with him, that she would be doing it for the right reasons. Yes, she wanted to talk to him about Demi, but she was honest enough to admit to a strong desire to see him again. It was an unexpected and dangerous attraction, one she wasn’t willing to pursue. It was probably a good idea to steer clear of Brayden and take her research in a different direction for the time being.
With that in mind, she had pursued a few other leads. One of those had been an interview with the owner of Bea’s Bridal. The store, located among the fancy boutiques and restaurants of Rattlesnake Avenue, had been temporarily closed. It was another sign of the Groom Killer’s impact on the town. No one wanted to be seen ordering wedding gowns in Red Ridge right now. Grooms-to-be were not safe.
Just a few miles away from Rattlesnake Avenue, there was another, very different side to Red Ridge. Located in a run-down part of town, the Pour House was the notorious bar owned by Rusty Colton, Brayden and Demi’s father. Hester had watched Rhys the previous night while Esmée made a visit to that interesting establishment. It had helped clarify a few aspects of her potential story.
Rusty was a large, loud personality who had four children, all with different mothers. Although the half siblings had been raised near each other in the poorer part of town, their mothers didn’t get on and the kids hadn’t been close as they grew up. Observing Rusty as she sipped her soda in a quiet corner of the bar, Esmée couldn’t picture him as a loving father.
She would need to speak to him, of course, but she hadn’t approached Rusty for his views about his daughter’s guilt and her disappearance. Part of her preparation was about getting a feel for the key characters in her story. Even so, word had already gotten out about who she was, and a few people had come forward to give her their opinions. If she went with what she had so far, she would be on her way out of town already, the story of Demi’s guilt all neatly packaged up.
What had surprised her was that most of the people who were keen to give her their theories about Demi’s involvement were members of the Gage family. It hadn’t taken much research to uncover that there was a century-old feud between the Coltons and Gages. In the Groom Killer case, the first victim had been a Gage, the suspect a Colton. These new murders were a fresh wound on top of an older hurt.
Esmée wasn’t an investigator. When Demi was found, it would be up to the legal system to determine her gu
ilt or innocence. Esmée’s story would be about the people, the town and the impact of the murders. It was about Jack and Sarah and the other couples whose hopes and dreams had been torn apart by a killer who didn’t want to see them make it down the aisle. It was about the Gage-and-Colton feud and why this place couldn’t move on from that. It was about the welcome she had received from the people of this pretty mountain town and the contrasting raw pain she could feel beneath.
She and Rhys took their cereal out onto the porch of their tiny bungalow. The Red Ridge Bed-and-Breakfast was situated right on the edge of town, close to the winding trail that led to the lower slopes of the Coyote Mountains. Comprising eight wooden guest cabins arranged around a grass lawn, the place had been the most comfortable of those Esmée had viewed. The owner, Wendy Gage, was a distant cousin of Bo, the first victim of the Groom Killer, and a firm believer in Demi Colton’s guilt.
Although breakfast was provided each morning in the main house, Esmée and Rhys had only tried it once.
Rhys wasn’t a picky eater, but faced with a plate piled high with sausages, eggs, bacon and muffins, he had struggled to finish. Wendy had made a comment that her kids would have been made to sit at the table until the last mouthful was gone. It had taken every ounce of diplomacy Esmée possessed not to respond. Instead, she had informed Wendy that she and Rhys would make their own arrangements for breakfast in the future. The proprietor’s initial outrage had been appeased when she realized Esmée was still prepared to pay the full bed-and-breakfast rate.
It was a beautiful day, and the view was perfect. Across to her right, rolling fields of farmland and ranch land stretched away into the distance. To her left, up close, thick trees bordered the Coyote Mountain range.
She wondered what it would be like to grow up in a place like this. Esmée’s own upbringing had been unconventional. Her father had died when she was seven and, from then on, her mother had followed the stories she needed to write her bestselling books. If they stayed anywhere long enough, Esmée attended a regular school. If not, she was homeschooled. But Portia wasn’t a traditionalist. Esmée learned as much from the outdoors as she did from her lessons. The long hikes her mother had taken her on when she was a child meant walking was in her blood.
