Undercover Protector
Page 25
“Nadine?” Anderson’s smoke-rough voice made her want to cry, but his next words made her laugh instead. “You’re kind of hurting me.”
“Ditto,” she replied.
“Sorry.” He groaned, rolled off and sat up. “What happened?”
“There was a bomb. And the house is burning down.”
“You sound awfully calm about that.”
“That’s because it’s over.”
“Over?”
“For me,” she confirmed, thinking of her dad’s wish that she forget and move on.
Somehow, Anderson managed to read her expression yet again. “You remembered.”
“Yes. And I’ll tell you about it, but I think right now we should worry about getting out of here.”
He followed her nod toward the burning house. “Sounds like a good plan. Can you walk?”
Another little laugh bubbled up. “Can you?”
“Think so.” He grunted and swayed a little as he did it, but still managed to push to his feet.
Nadine stood, too. “You know that when I say ‘get out of here’ I’m not just talking about going back to the hotel, right?”
“I hope to God you mean the other side of the world, actually.”
“You’re sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because Garibaldi’s still in control of the town.”
“I know. But everything that matters to me is covered in soot, standing outside a burning building, telling me it’s over. I believe her. And all I want is to have a normal life. It’s kind of all I’ve ever wanted, actually.”
Nadine’s heart skipped a beat at the echo of her father’s last words. “Me, too.”
“Good. Then let’s make that happen.”
As the wail of sirens started in the distance, Anderson slung an arm over her shoulder. And as they started their mutual limp away from the wreckage, Nadine wasn’t sure who was supporting whom, and for some reason, that fact filled her heart with more joy than she knew what to do with.
Epilogue
Anderson squinted against the sun, smiling at the sight of Nadine’s blond head thrown back in laughter. She was about ten feet in front of him at the market, clad in nothing but a sarong and a bikini top, and she stood out like a short, fair-haired beacon. It didn’t help that her skin couldn’t seem to soak up the sun. Five days under the Mexican sun, and she was still as creamy as a sheet. She’d confessed a little ruefully that she didn’t burn, but didn’t tan, either. Anderson’s own face and shoulders were crimson. By the end of the week, he’d be the color of the sunset. A week after that, he’d be as toasty brown as an almond. Though, at the moment, a week seemed awfully far into the future.
He felt a frown crease his forehead. What’s taking Harley so long to check in, anyway? We agreed on seventy-two hours.
Like his thoughts brought it on, his cell phone buzzed to life in his pocket. A glance at the screen told him it was the man himself.
“’Bout time, Harley,” he greeted.
“Hey,” the other man replied. “Better late than never. Just a second.”
“Just a—”
On the other end of the line, the phone clattered noisily enough that Anderson had to pull his own cell away from his ear. The jarring sound was followed by a child’s squeal of laughter, then his friend’s responding chuckle. Anderson heard some muffled conversation, a question about locating someone’s mother, then another laugh, and finally a sigh right into the receiver.
“Sorry about that,” said Harley. “Not sure where Liz disappeared to.”
“Liz?” Anderson repeated.
“The woman who owns the place where I’m staying.”
“Yeah, I know who she is. Proprietor of Liz’s Lovely Things, aka one of our suspects. Why aren’t you at the apartment?”
“Change of plans. Been a little hectic here. Settling in, though. Cover story’s going well. Just that Tegan—Liz’s kid—has been at me all morning to play some card game. Who knew that third-graders were so demanding?”
“Everyone?” Anderson replied drily.
“Really?”
“Yeah, Harley. Kids are pretty much a full-time nuisance. But I hear they’re worth it.”
“Probably true.”
Anderson let out a sigh. “Do you have news about the actual case? Or have you just been babysitting for the last five days?”
“I’ve got news.”
“All right. Hit me.”
Harley’s voice dropped low and turned serious at the same time. “They closed the case on the fires.”
Anderson couldn’t keep the surprise from his reply. “Really?”
“Did you seriously doubt me?”
“I guess I did.”
“You should know better.”
“Tell me how it worked.”
“Easier than you think, probably,” his friend said. “I was able to pull some strings and call in a favor with the National Park Service. My guy came in and declared jurisdiction. Even passed off the fire at Nadine’s mom’s place as being set by the same people. And I gotta say...locals were actually kind of happy to hand over two arsons and a murder-suicide to someone else.”
“That doesn’t sound easy at all,” Anderson replied.
“All about who you know.”
“And what are the papers reporting?”
“Not much. My NPS guy made a show of being tight-lipped.”
“And me and Nadine? Are we accounted for?”
“Your lack of faith in me is astounding.”
“Just spit it out, Harley.”
“Someone tipped off the gossip section of the papers that you headed to Canada for a quickie wedding. Maybe there was a surprise baby involved, maybe not.”
“You’re sure the locals actually believe it? Or is it more manipulation by Garibaldi?”
“Heard it directly from an old guy at the barbershop.”
“Well. I guess I needed a little bit of reassurance. Though I don’t know whether to be annoyed or grateful.”
“Stick with grateful. You’ll live a happier life.”
Automatically Anderson’s gaze sought Nadine. “Can’t say I disagree about that.”
“Sucker,” Harley cajoled.
“Shut up. Tell me about Garibaldi.”
“Nothing yet. I would guess he’s got someone looking for you up north. But I think you’re safe. I’ve got this, Anderson. You just worry about using up those accrued hours of yours. Have a margarita for me and give Brayden a slap on the back while you’re at it. I’ll call you when I have news.”
“On time?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Stay safe, buddy.”
“Always do.”
Anderson pressed the hang-up button, then started to lift his eyes toward Nadine again. A hand on his wrist stopped him.
“You touch, you buy,” said a gruff voice.
“I think the saying is actually ‘you break, you buy,’” he corrected, looking from the ring box he’d accidentally picked up to the grizzled man who was stationed at the table.
“My shop, my rules,” said the old guy. “Or you wanna correct me about that, too?”
Anderson fought a smile. “I wouldn’t dare. But I suspect the ring isn’t my size. Fat knuckles.”
The man snorted, but gave Anderson a sharp look. “Don’t you even want to see inside?”
“No.”
“Won’t hurt to look.”
“Fine. But I’m not agreeing to a ‘you look, you buy’ policy, either.”
“Wait and see.”
Anderson flipped open the lid, preparing to nod politely. Instead, he stopped and stared. The ring was silver. Small, as he’d suspected. And topped with a reddish-orange stone that caught the sunlight just r
ight. There was nothing else like it on the table. In fact, it was the only piece of jewelry in sight.
“It’s a firestone,” the merchant told him. “Very rare.”
Anderson ran his thumb over it. “Firestone?”
“Yep. Think you might know someone who’d like it?”
In spite of the way he willed himself not to—it would be bad for negotiating a good price—he lifted his head to gaze at Nadine again. The old man picked up on it right away.
“Not your traditional gold and a diamond,” he said shrewdly. “But perfect for someone as unique and fiery as this ring.”
Anderson started to argue, then shook his head. “Name your price.”
The merchant frowned. “It’s real silver. I was hoping to get—”
Anderson cut him off. “I’m not going to argue. So you might as well go high.”
He barely heard what the other man said. He just yanked out his wallet and handed over a stack of bills. Everything about the ring was perfect. Except, of course, for one thing—the fact that it wasn’t yet on Nadine’s finger. But he’d fix that. Quickly.
* * * * *
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LAST CHANCE HERO
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WORTH THE RISK
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Colton’s Deadly Engagement
by Addison Fox
Chapter 1
Cold air pierced Finn Colton’s lungs as he ran hell-for-leather beside his faithful and loyal partner, Lotte. Although she was trained specifically for attacking and guarding her quarry, the German shepherd was a mighty fine tracker and Finn followed in her wake as she pounded over the hills and valleys of Red Ridge, South Dakota.
In February.
Damn, it was cold.
As soon as the thought registered, Finn pushed it aside as he pressed on toward the fleeing figure about seventy-five yards ahead, weaving in and out of shadow. Was it possible they were this close to the suspect dubbed the “Groom Killer”?
Although he’d put little stock in the sensational and lurid depiction the local press had been dreaming up for nearly a month, he would cop to concern over the safety of his town. A police chief’s duty was to his people and that was a mighty challenging job when everyone he spoke to admitted to walking around in fear.
Tonight’s discovery of a second dead groom was going to turn subtle unease to full-on terror.
Lotte’s bark pulled him from his dismal thoughts as she put on another burst of speed, leaping forward into the night. Finn ignored the cold air and kicked it up a notch, digging deep for the stamina to keep moving.
In an apparent burst of speed of his—or her—own, their quarry put on the juice and zagged out of view. Finn kept going, trailing Lotte so close he could feel her tail slapping against his thigh, but in moments it was clear they’d lost the trail.
Lotte whined as she slowed, running in a circle as she fought to pick up a fresh scent on the ground before letting out a sharp cry.
The distinct odor of bleach, especially piercing in the bitter cold, hit his nostrils as he narrowed the distance to his partner. He came to a solid halt and bent to settle his hands on his knees. He quickly stepped back, ordering Lotte with him, out of range of the harsh scent.
Years of consistent training and the deep love and affection they’d built had her backing up immediately and she moved to his side.
“We were set up, girl. That bleach was laid down only a little while ago. Bastard wasn’t running from us. He was running to his own version of the finish line.”
Finn cursed again and stood to his full height, willing his other senses into action as he searched the darkened night. A wash of stars lit up the sky, made even brighter by the thick halo of a nearly full moon, but revealed nothing. Whomever they’d chased was gone and the night held no clue as to where.
He toyed with following, anyway, heading in the last direction he’d seen his quarry, but knew it was a lost cause. If the killer was smart enough to put down the bleach in advance, he or she was smart enough to change direction once out of sight.
Lotte edged toward the chemical, backing away when the scent hit her nose once more.
“Clever,” he muttered. And dangerous, he added to himself. Very dangerous if the killer had enough sense to prepare like that.
Red Ridge’s K-9 unit was famous across the state and even farther on than the boundaries of the Black Hills and the South Dakota border. The killer would have known they’d use every resource at their disposal, including well-trained K-9 dogs who needed relatively little scent input to hunt their quarry.
He patted Lotte’s head, burying his fingers into the thick pelt of her fur. She was lean and fit, but winter had brought her thicker fur and he loved the way his palm seemed to sink into the warmth. She was a beauty and he scratched behind her ears as he praised her, reassuring her of her successful tracking even if the perp did get away. Finn Colton loved his sweet girl and he always made sure she knew she was appreciated and important.
He also talked to her like a partner. While he harbored no delusion she understood the differences in the gauge sizes of guns or the headache of late-night paperwork, she understood her role in their partnership and always sat and listened, staring up at him with large, soulful eyes. They shared an amazing bond and he never took her or her training for granted.
His wealthy uncle, Fenwick Colton, had seen to it that his investment in the unit and its cofunded training center—one of the largest in South Dakota—was well publicized. His uncle was an old bastard, Finn thought, but a crafty one. Man could get three dollars out of one and was always looking for an angle. If there was an opportunity to put Colton Energy in the paper, on TV or splashed all over the internet, he leaped at the chance.
The K-9 unit and training facility had given Fenwick that and more. Not only did they receive more than their fair share of local news coverage and even the occasional spate of national attention, but the unit had been a tribute to Fenwi
ck’s late first wife. Dubbed “the only one he ever loved” by Fenwick’s own admission, he’d continued the funding long after he’d assuaged his grief with a string of generously endowed younger women.
The training center was one of the few reasons Finn tolerated his uncle. While his appreciation had a solid core of selfish motivation for the continued support of his precinct, a small corner of his heart liked the fact that Fenwick might have been a decent human being once upon a time.
Since he’d gotten Lotte as well as his entire department from the deal, Finn could hardly complain. But it did mean his uncle came calling a bit too often at police headquarters. His recent rant over the need to catch the Groom Killer had been a world-class tirade.
The fact that his uncle believed it was his niece and Finn’s cousin Demi Colton who was responsible, had added an uncomfortable edge to the proceedings. He knew how to deal with his uncle—he wasn’t a man who backed down easily before anyone—but the determined rant that Demi had gone so far off the edge she’d started killing men was a tough pill to swallow.
If asked, Finn would have said it was ludicrous. But after finding her necklace at the first crime scene and her name drawn in blood beside the body, he could hardly ignore what was in front of his face. Given her strong motive—she’d been engaged to Bo Gage before he’d dumped her for another woman he’d quickly proposed to—and the circumstantial evidence, Demi was their prime suspect. Yet the man who’d known her since she was an infant wanted to believe in her innocence.
The police chief had to work every angle, run down every lead and needed a great deal of objectivity. Especially with Demi on the run and seeming uncomfortably guilty when he’d questioned her after Bo Gage’s murder.