Colton's Twin Secrets

by Justine Davis

  Dante said something, he wasn’t sure what but it had probably been an oath. And a moment later, he was standing there with his silent phone, staring into space.

  “Are you all right?”

  Gemma’s quiet voice yanked him out of whatever space he’d been spinning out into. “What?”

  “Bad news?”

  “What?” he repeated, then shook his head sharply. “No. I mean yes.” He took a deep breath and tried again. “Bad, but not unexpected.”

  “You just looked a little...shell-shocked again.”

  He finally looked at her. There was concern in her eyes that he would swear was real. But there was only one thing at this instant that he was absolutely certain was real.

  “A funeral. I have to plan a freaking funeral.”

  She reached out then, touched his arm. “I’m sorry. I won’t say I know how you feel because I don’t. But I am sorry.”

  His emotions were so tangled even he didn’t know how he felt, so he appreciated that she didn’t claim to.

  “I don’t even know where to start,” he said, hoping he didn’t really sound as helpless as he thought he did.

  She looked as if she were thinking, considering. She did a lot of that, he’d noticed. Gemma Colton might be a beautiful heiress who’d rarely had a care in life, but she was certainly no airhead.

  “Who does the planning if...forgive me, if something happens to one of your officers?”

  He blinked. “I don’t know.”

  “That might be a place to start.”

  For a moment he just stared at her. “I... Thank you. That’s a good idea.”

  She hesitated, then said, “I’m fairly good at organizing.”

  Those galas, beautifully coordinated fund-raisers, popped into his mind. “I know.”

  “If you get me the contacts, I could make the calls. It would be easier for me, I think.”

  He nearly gaped at her, so unexpected was the offer.

  “I’ve never done a funeral, but I think the principles are probably the same. Contact the people who handle things, arrange the location, put out the information, make sure the crucial people know.”

  Again he just stared at her, unable to think of a damned thing to say.

  “I can do it while the girls are napping, or while you’re with them.” When he still didn’t speak, she shrugged. “It was just an idea.”

  She started to turn away. He grabbed her arm. Finally found his voice. “I... You’d do that?”

  “Like I said, it’s what I do. And you’ve said you weren’t that close, so there’s no reason you absolutely have to do it yourself. You’d only have to tell me what you want.”

  What I want...

  The thoughts that crashed into his mind at that moment were unexpected, unwanted and entirely inappropriate for the moment, because they all involved this also unexpected woman standing bare inches away, looking at him with a gentle, caring concern he never would have expected in Gemma Colton.

  Only then did he realize he was still holding her arm.

  And that she hadn’t tried to pull away.

  He let go, suppressing the urge to yank his hand back as if suddenly burned. He looked away from those soft, warm eyes. He had to look away.

  “What I want is for none of this to have happened,” he muttered.

  “Of course. Who wouldn’t? But it has.”

  Again, the matter-of-fact words helped him get a grip, at least on his tangled feelings about his brother, the twins and planning a funeral. They weren’t so much help on that other thing.

  “Devlin Harrington is a lucky man,” he said, his voice a little rough. “And if he lets you get away, he’s a fool.”

  It was her turn to stare at him, and he couldn’t miss the color rising in her cheeks. And the smile she gave him then changed from pleased to perplexed so quickly he couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking.

  What you should be wondering is what the hell you’re thinking.

  * * *

  There was no way her boss’s words should have had that kind of effect on her. She’d taken to thinking of Dante as only her boss—or tried to, at least—because it helped slow down stupid reactions like the one she’d had when he said that about Dev.

  She had thought, once, about going out with someone else and flaunting it in Dev’s face, but she’d been so stunned by his unexpected ending of their relationship she hadn’t pursued it. Besides, she didn’t want him angry.

  And maybe you’re just not sure he’d be jealous at all?

  She brushed away that thought. He’d been clear about why he’d broken up with her, but he’d been so very gentle about it that she knew he loved her and hated doing it. So as soon as she had proved his assumption wrong, everything would be fine. He could go to his father—because she suspected the senior Harrington was behind it, and she knew too well how rich, powerful fathers liked to control everything—with proof she’d be just what he wanted, a good mother, and all would be well.

  Dante made a couple of calls to find out who handled arrangements if an officer died or was killed. The result was a list of numbers provided by, he’d said, Lorelei Wong, the civilian who, along with whatever sworn officer was assigned at the moment, handled front-desk duties. Gemma remembered the woman with an amused glint in her eye behind her silver-framed glasses, who had given her directions and let her through the day she’d walked in on a bare-torsoed Dante three days ago.

  Three days ago. Had it really only been that long? So much had happened, it seemed much longer. He wasn’t the only one whose life had been upended.

  She shook her head, made herself focus on the list. Funeral homes, cemeteries, florists, news outlets and a long list of numbers for what looked like every sheriff’s office and police department within a thousand miles. The last two threw her until she remembered the source of the list. And visions of every police funeral she’d ever seen, with officers from all over the country coming to pay their respects to their fallen, flashed through her mind.

  She felt a sudden chill. She’d watched the coverage of those events, marveled at the turnout and the ceremony. She’d raised money for the Red Ridge K9 division and had met many of the officers. She’d admired all and liked most.

  But she’d never personalized it until now.

  Until she’d met Dante.

  In that moment the thought that he risked his life every day invaded her mind and left little room for anything else. That could be him one day. And he knew it. Yet he did it anyway.

  She fought off a shiver and made herself focus on the list. She was good at lists. With that thought in mind she began making one, of questions that had to be answered before arrangements could begin. Maybe it would be easier on Dante if she wrote them down, so he could answer without having to talk about it. Obituary—they’d need that written. Choice of mortuary and cemetery. Burial or cremation. Either way, together or separately. Maybe there was a will or document specifying their wishes.

  And maybe it was the inherently grim nature of the task, but when she had finished an image, washed over her. An image of Dante lying dead, that lean, muscled body bloodied, the life gone from those amazing eyes, nearly swamped her. How did anyone live with that? He himself, or anyone who loved him?

  She dropped her pen, wrapped her arms around herself. She almost wished the twins would wake, start fussing, anything to take that vision out of her head.

  You would have to be, she decided, an utter fool to fall in love with a cop.

  Chapter 16

  It should have occurred to him, but it hadn’t until Gemma had handed him her list of questions. He’d been surprised, not by the questions but by her selection of that method. When she’d quietly said she thought it might be easier for him to write rather than talk about it, he was amazed at how relieved he was.

  She�
�s got depth to her.

  Juliette was obviously right.

  It wasn’t until he’d read the bit about a document specifying their wishes that he remembered the large envelope he’d shoved out of sight when it had arrived via a messenger service. He’d expected it to be from the PD, maybe more info from the chief. But when he saw the law office logo in the corner, he’d known it was the copy of Dominic’s will. He’d had no desire to look at it and had stuffed it in a drawer in his desk in the den.

  But he got it out now—taking care not to wake the twins—and settled into his usual chair by the hearth to read it. He was used to reading legalese, so it only took a paragraph or so to get into the mind-set. It wasn’t that long, just a few pages, and when he was done he sat in silence, still holding the papers.

  It was a joint will, not unexpected in itself because Agostina had never wanted to bother with such things. She—

  “Dante?”

  He looked up to see Gemma holding out a glass to him. The amber liquid glowed in the light from the fireplace, which she had also apparently turned on. He hadn’t noticed any of it, which told him how out of it he’d been.

  “I think this process needs a drink,” she said.

  He took the glass; obviously she’d found the bottle of Scotch in the cabinet. And she was right—he felt like he needed a drink just now. Maybe several.

  “Thanks.”

  She only nodded. She sat down opposite him—no drink for herself, he noticed—then said, “You looked surprised a couple of times, reading that.”

  He let out a breath. “I’m surprised it—” he gestured with the will “—exists at all. Then again, I’m not. Nobody expects to die at thirty-one, but my brother didn’t lead the kind of life that promises living to a ripe old age.”

  She looked thoughtful. “And I suppose having children changes more than your life. It changes how you have to think about death.”

  Definitely depth.

  It hit him suddenly that now he had that responsibility, that he would have to make some legal changes on top of everything else. As a cop he had even more reason than his brother to think about the twins and what would happen if he were killed. He had a will, drawn up his first week on the job. Not that he had much to leave, except this place, whatever death benefits there were and a few material possessions. He’d directed whatever there was to go to the K9 unit, since he wasn’t about to leave it to his brother.

  And yet his brother had left the most important things to him.

  “I just don’t get it,” he muttered.

  “Families,” she said wryly. “Seems they all have their...quirks.”

  “I could have done without my brother’s. But I’m sure he’d say the same about me.”

  “Your quirk was being a law-abiding citizen?”

  “Yeah.” He looked down at the papers again. “He owned the house. Outright. That surprises me.”

  She looked surprised in turn. “As in paid off? Even my father doesn’t ever do that.”

  Her phrasing registered, and he wondered how many houses Fenwick Colton owned. Probably a ski chalet somewhere, an apartment in New York City and maybe a nice tropical getaway for when the Dakota winters got to be too much. And who knew what else.

  He shoved the thoughts out of his mind. “Yeah. Maybe he was a better crook than I thought.”

  “You say that so easily.”

  She sounded merely curious, so he answered, “I’ve had a lot of years to learn to accept it.”

  “The family business, you said.”

  “Yes.” He was getting uncomfortable talking so much about himself and decided it was her turn. “Not something you joined, either.”

  “Me? Heavens, no. The corporate world drives me crazy.”

  “Did your father want you to?” He was curious, because she hadn’t talked that much about herself, which surprised him. But he was beginning to realize he’d just might have bought into a stereotype.

  “He already had Layla, my oldest sister, and she lives for the business. He tried to push my other two sisters into it, but they went their own way. Bea has her shop, and you know what Patience does.”

  He nodded. “We’re lucky to have her. She’s a great vet.”

  “He really tried to push Blake, him being the only son, but Blake fought back harder than any of us. And went off and made his own fortune.”

  “Literally,” Dante said, rather drily. “But I asked about you.”

  She shrugged. “I think I was the lucky one. After all that, he didn’t try much with me. By then he had other things on his mind, I think. Or maybe he just realized I wouldn’t be any good at it.”

  He had his doubts—he’d seen her organize, seen the results. But he said, “It’s easier to be good at something you love.”

  “Like you love being a cop?”

  He nodded. “It was the only thing that ever called to me.”

  She gave him another of those looks. Gemma Colton, it seemed, had a very lively and curious mind. “Did you ever wonder if it was a reaction to...your family? Like it was with Blake?”

  “Often,” he replied, a little surprised since he barely admitted it to himself.

  In fact, he was a little surprised at this entire discussion. Never in a million years would he have ever pictured himself having such a conversation with the likes of Fenwick Colton’s offspring. But he’d been surprised by a lot of things about Gemma. Including his own reaction to her.

  Especially his own reaction to her.

  She was quiet for a moment, then nodded toward the papers he’d dropped in his lap. “Did you find anything helpful?”

  “Yeah. Dom left instructions.” Along with some other surprises that were probably going to present a moral dilemma for Dante down the line. He was glad his brother had provided for his daughters, but there was every likelihood the money in their trusts had been ill gotten. He shoved that out of his mind for later, even as he wryly acknowledged he’d been doing that a lot lately. “He even...had a cemetery chosen already. For both of them.”

  “That makes it easier, then.”

  She smiled at him, and suddenly he wondered if that had been the whole point of this unexpected conversation, if she’d purposely distracted him from the grimness of it by getting him talking about other things. A week ago he would have scoffed at the idea of the youngest Colton heiress having such sensibilities, but now it seemed completely possible.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  “I offered,” she said as he handed her the page with the details.

  “I didn’t mean for that, although I do thank you. I meant for the diversion.”

  She stared at him as if startled. “Dev usually just tells me to be quiet.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Already gave you my opinion of your ex.”

  She looked disconcerted then. And said rather too firmly, “He’s not my ex. Or won’t be, soon.”

  “Hmm.”

  “It’s true,” she protested. “Dev is—”

  He was rescued from hearing her glowing opinion of Devlin Harrington by a sudden burst of crying from the den.

  “Saved by the wail,” he muttered as she got up.

  She gave him a sharp look but only gestured with the page of instructions and said, “I’ll get on this first thing tomorrow.”

  She disappeared to deal with the twins. He wondered idly, because it distracted him from the weeping, if he should pay her for doing the organizing. That was what she did, after all. And he realized he didn’t even know if she got paid for that sort of thing. She certainly didn’t need the money, but it was a skill that deserved remuneration. He already owed her enough—he didn’t want this piled on top of it.

  He’d offer, later, and hope her rate wasn’t more than he could afford. And if it was, well, he’d think of somethin
g.

  Now if he could just stop thinking of other things. Things he had no business thinking about Colton Fenwick’s daughter and Devlin Harrington’s girlfriend. Ex or not.

  But the guy really was a fool if he didn’t realize what he had.

  Chapter 17

  “Are we done?”

  Attorney James Fisk leaned back in his chair. “I believe we are. Unless you have any questions.”

  “Seems pretty straightforward.” Dante nearly laughed.

  “Something funny?”

  “Just using the word straightforward about my brother.”

  “I understand that things were...difficult between you.”

  He did laugh then. “That’s putting it mildly.” The man seemed intelligent enough, so Dante guessed he knew that his client hadn’t walked the straight and narrow. But even crooks needed lawyers. Probably more than anyone. “You ever handle his...criminal cases?”

  The man’s expression never changed. “I don’t do criminal law.”

  “Then maybe you don’t understand—”

  “I understand. And however difficult your relationship, your brother admired you greatly.”

  Dante blinked. “What?”

  “That was quite clear from our discussions. He admired your strength, your determination.” Dante stared in shock as the man hesitated, then went on. “He once joked that he had no idea where your integrity had come from, since it did not run in the family.”

  When he got back to the car, Dante was still trying to process the lawyer’s words through his disbelief. Somewhat on autopilot, he drove to the K9 center, where he had dropped Flash off to ramble around the large, fenced enclosure, sniffing to his heart’s content.

  He admired your strength, your determination.

  Dom? Dom, who had never stopped ragging on him about his chosen path, his decision to walk away from generations of family history? It seemed impossible. But what reason would the lawyer have to lie? Not that they didn’t lie—as a cop he knew that well enough, but he couldn’t see why the man would, not about that, and not now.

  When he nearly missed the turn he needed, he yanked his wandering mind back to reality. Flash came to his whistle easily enough, not even giving him that woeful look for abandoning him, as he sometimes did. He spotted trainer Danica Gage waving from the back of the building and returned the wave, then gestured at Flash. She nodded in understanding, saving him a trip inside to let them know he’d picked him up. A prized dog and a puppy had been stolen not long ago—by the Larson twins, Danica believed—so now no dog left without her knowledge.