The plan was a good one. Solid. And he couldn’t stop thinking about how Everleigh was both a vixen and nurturer, her softness and strength, the way she’d coaxed more out of him than he’d ever given before.
They’d said one and done.
He was sticking to it.
He wasn’t the settling-down sort, and Everleigh was the most loyal, settling-down woman in Grave Gulch.
Shuddering at the thought of the last time he’d thought he and a woman were on the same page—the way Aubrey had been hurt and then out of control—he turned off the shower. That nightmare was far too potent, too fresh, to make him think, even for a second, that he and Everleigh could have a second night together. Or even a third.
She wasn’t a woman who just had fun. And he wasn’t going to give his conscience another mark to worry about—take a chance on another woman reading him wrong and her getting badly hurt in the process. Hurting women wasn’t cool.
Hurting Everleigh... He’d rather die saving her life than cause her any more pain.
Downstairs was completely quiet, uninhabited when he got there, and he did a quick about-face, running back up the stairs to see that her door was closed. And he could hear movement on the other side.
She was still there.
Breathing a quick sigh of relief, he hightailed it for his coffee before he had to share the kitchen with her, and then holed up in his office.
He had plans to make, and then people to get with, in order to keep her safe, in order to have a team ready to save her, in the event that their visit to her house that day did bring her killer out after her.
With the warning having been sent, the perp was going to be watching to see if Everleigh complied and left town. And be agitated to find out that she had not.
Everleigh Emerson was not going to die that day. He’d die first. He’d die for her.
They might not have sex again, but he would always care about her.
He had an email from Bryce, who’d looped in Troy and Melissa. He still hadn’t located Tatiana Davison, the murderer’s daughter. They had to find Len Davison, before his next kill. And hopefully before the townspeople got wind that there was a criminal in their midst. They’d already lost enough faith in their law-enforcement department.
Troy responded that they’d made no progress on finding Randall Bowe.
Hitting Reply, Clarke’s fingers flew across the keyboard. With some help from Ellie the night before, he’d done a thorough workup on Davison’s two victims, as Melissa had asked. And proceeded to give the team more than they probably needed in terms of life histories, to conclude with the only information they really needed. Other than their ages and being unfortunate enough to both walk their dogs in the same park, there didn’t seem to be any connection between the two. Which made it more difficult to predict, and thus maybe be able to protect, Davison’s next victim.
By the time he hit Send on that one, he could hear Everleigh in the kitchen. And soon smelled bacon, too, whetting his appetite.
This woman seemed to have a knack for that.
And it just might be the death of him.
* * *
Turned out Everleigh wasn’t a one-and-done kind of woman. She’d wanted to be. Had honestly thought she could be. But when, just before dawn, she’d woken up next to Clarke Colton, and the flood of emotion had entangled her, she’d known she was in trouble.
All she’d wanted to do, the only thing that had sounded right to her, was to cuddle up next to him and go back to sleep.
So, she’d quietly left his bed and retreated to her own world as much as circumstances and being trapped in his condo would allow.
She’d showered. And started to research what it would take to open her own salon and spa. She didn’t need a cosmetology license to own the business, which surprised her, but she wanted one.
She wanted to be a stylist, too. She didn’t just want to run the salon. She wanted to have clients of her own. To make people feel good about themselves. To pamper them. She knew firsthand how easy it was for anyone to lose faith in their value. To allow themselves to be used, in the name of being a good spouse or family member, without asking for the time and space for the self-care they also needed.
She’d been cutting hair at the center, and for her mom and grandmother, for years. For some friends, too. She’d had no formal training, but she’d watched a lot of videos. And just liked to fool with hair. With different styles.
So, she looked at the nearest beauty school, found out she could be licensed in just ten months. And felt stronger. More in control of her life. Like she had a purpose.
And wanted to run downstairs and tell Clarke what she’d found out. Tell him she was going to get things started with the building she owned downtown. Ask him if he knew a good business attorney.
A lot needed to be done: get the place licensed; contract work, acquire permits and schedule inspections...but that could all be going on while she was in school. It wasn’t unrealistic to think that within a year she could be open for business.
But she couldn’t go running to Clarke Colton.
She couldn’t need him, want him or count on him.
They’d made an agreement. She was still a woman who stuck by her word. She hoped to always be that woman.
And yet...she was a woman who didn’t trust her own judgment where the people in her life were concerned. But life was still good. The future promising. Gram had listened to Clarke. There was a chance she’d think about the plea agreement. For the first time in her life, Everleigh had more money than she needed—or would the following Tuesday, when the life-insurance money entered her account. And she had a plan for her future that actually excited her.
A plan that included turning into the woman she’d always wanted to be.
She could do this.
And get along just fine without Clarke Colton.
Chapter 17
Everleigh brought him breakfast—a plate to his office—and wanted to know how soon they’d be leaving for her place. She didn’t look him in the eye. Didn’t look at him at all, really. He could have been naked, instead of wearing the jeans and brown sweater he’d pulled on after his shower.
No...of course she’d have noticed that.
He just wished he was naked, with her standing there.
Wished he could slowly pull down those jeans...pull that black sweater over her head...unfetter those gorgeous breasts...
Instead, he told her that patrol officers were checking out her house this morning—part of his plan—and would be letting him know as soon as it was deemed empty and safe for their arrival.
That call came in while she was on her way out the door.
He ate his breakfast on the fly.
Patrol officers would be making periodic drive-bys until he let them know they were in and out. They would also be on call in case he sent out the distress signal.
He had this one.
Right up until they were standing in Fritz Emerson’s ransacked office, getting ready to take it apart in a systematic order, and he pictured Everleigh there as the man’s wife. As the woman she’d been, in that home, her home, for so many years.
She’d come alive in his bed the night before, a curious mixture of naivete and experienced pleasure giver that ate at him every time he thought about it. She’d known exactly how to please a man. But hadn’t seemed at all familiar with the pleasures she could receive in return. Hadn’t seemed to expect them.
Had, more than once, been wide-eyed and shocked by them.
The travesty sickened him.
He wanted to kick in the man’s desk, stomp on his things, throw anything that mattered to Fritz Emerson against the wall and break it.
Because, in Clarke’s mind, the dead man had done exactly that to the love and sweetness his wife had brought to him. And had continued to bring to him
faithfully for so many years.
Eighteen years of a woman’s life... Emerson had taken them, used them and then tossed them in the garbage.
Instead of unleashing violence, Clarke had to carefully look through the man’s things. To get into Emerson’s life, his mind, in order to find out who’d wanted him dead. And then come after his wife.
The fact that the newest ransacking focused almost exclusively on Fritz’s office, where the murder had taken place, didn’t pass him by. The threat had come to Everleigh to leave the state and she could live... Whoever was after her didn’t have a personal vendetta against her. It had something to do with Fritz.
“I still think we’re looking for evidence of a lover,” he said aloud, breaking the silence that had been their almost constant companion all morning.
They’d said one and done. It was done. Nothing to talk about.
And yet his hours in bed with Everleigh were all he could seem to think about other than work. Other conversation didn’t crop up.
She’d told him that she’d follow all of his orders, was pretty much doing nothing until he directed. So, there she stood, in her own home, in the middle of a room with drawers and cupboards open and things strewn all about, waiting for him to tell her what to do and how to do it.
He knew how he’d do it. He’d trample everything that didn’t matter to the search. But he was in her home. “Let’s get things put back together first,” he said. There was some sound reason for that. She’d more likely know then if something was missing. Except that she’d already said that she hadn’t been in Fritz’s den since he’d moved out, until the first time they’d cleaned it up.
But she went into action so quickly, he didn’t have time to change his mind. Just as they’d done before, he straightened and stacked, and she put away.
“What if, instead of a lover, this all has something to do with the building?” he asked. Needing answers. Needing to get her safe so he could get out of there and leave her alone. “We now know that whoever is after him wants you gone, not necessarily dead, like we first thought. Unless you stay in town. Then you have to die.”
“You aren’t suggesting I leave the state, are you? My entire life is here. Everyone I know and love... I’m not leaving Gram. Never...” She glanced at him briefly, but long enough for him to see the hurt in her eyes.
And his gut tightened. Everleigh was too sensitive...too deep...for that.
“I wasn’t suggesting that you leave town. Just that...as we’re looking...maybe keep your eyes open for everything to do with the health spa. Just in case.”
“If this had to do with the spa, wouldn’t it have been broken into, as well?”
“Obviously, whoever is looking for something believes firmly that it’s in this house...”
“Or was. Maybe they found it and now just need me gone to do whatever they want to do with it.” While he’d been stacking books, she’d gone to the corner with the tackle boxes. They were still intact this time, unopened, just out of the cupboard where she’d so neatly placed them.
Her theory held some weight. More so than his health-spa one did. “What would you being out of town have to do with any of it?” he asked, thinking aloud, keeping his thoughts focused. Her life depended on him doing so. “You still own the building downtown. You still own this home and everything in it. With you out of state, everything would still be yours...”
On her knees in front of the floor cupboard she’d been refilling, she looked up at him, frowning. “You’re right, of course. So, what...?”
It made no sense to him. Meaning the motivations of whoever he was after were not making sense? That he’d been right all along, and this was a crime of passion? “We have to face the fact that we’re not going to find a clear motive,” he told her. Everleigh was in as deeply as he was now, in terms of this particular investigation. That had been her choice, one that she had every right to make. “And I’m back to being certain it’s a former lover,” he said. “Or, more likely, one who was current at the time of Fritz’s death. She’s not acting rationally. She’s acting on emotional impulse.”
“Maybe that’s what she’s been in here doing—removing any evidence that she was involved with him, so there’ll be no proof to link her to the murder.”
Now, that made sense. He grinned.
She grinned back at him.
And he got hard.
* * *
Everleigh tried not to notice the bulge in Clarke’s jeans as she went back to work, straightening the room. A woman who was done with him shouldn’t have been looking at the crotch of his jeans to notice anything getting larger there.
As she worked, she was looking for evidence, too, but figuring that if whatever the killer wanted had been in plain view, it would be gone now. Taking stock of all of her deceased husband’s things...recognizing some, not others...wasn’t easy.
The book she’d bought him on tying flies... It was still the most read one in the office.
And the photo of him on the elliptical... She’d had it professionally framed for him to hang in his small office at the spa, but he’d chosen to keep it at home, where he did most of his desk work. He hadn’t liked keeping records at the health club. He’d wanted them at home with him...
“We need to go through the physical health-club records,” she said. The room was basically put back together. Enough for them to move around and know what they’d searched and what they hadn’t. “He was funny about not keeping confidential information at the club... If something was important to him...he’d have kept it here.” She glanced at the framed photo again. “Maybe there’ll be a picture of the woman...”
Not that a photo would necessarily tell them anything. But it could.
“We need to be looking for a journal, a calendar, anything that might make mention of a meeting, a place, something that will tie him to this woman,” Clarke said, going to the drawers in the desk. He pulled them all out, looked behind and underneath every one of them.
“I never knew him to keep a journal,” she said. “Fritz wasn’t big on writing...or reading, either...” Should she be feeling guilty, being in Fritz’s office with the man she’d just slept with?
Would the old her have felt guilty?
Did it matter?
What would Gram think?
Back at the bookshelf, she shook her head, started pulling out every single title, leafing through them, looking for a written dedication, a name, any notes. Finding that on most of them, the bindings weren’t even cracked.
She was thirty-eight years old. What her grandmother thought of her choices, while noteworthy, wasn’t a decision maker or breaker. Yeah, for all of her youth, Gram’s teachings had shaped her, but she wasn’t a kid anymore. Not by a long shot.
And at the moment, she wasn’t even sure she agreed with the older woman about the case. Thinking a jury was going to exonerate her because of circumstances...or worse, thinking that Everleigh’s freedom was worth spending the rest of her life in jail...
“I called the prison this morning to check on Gram,” she said aloud. “She’s not feeling better, but she’s not any worse.” Yet. She’d asked for special visitation privileges again that day, just needing to see for herself that her grandmother shouldn’t be in the infirmary. Being sick in prison...a woman Gram’s age...with all the communal facilities, eating, showering...the gatherings during free time...
“That’s good to hear.”
She glanced at Clarke, watched him flip Fritz’s desk chair, knocking around the bottom of it, as though Fritz could have hidden something there.
She wouldn’t put it past him. But she’d never have thought to look there. Clarke didn’t find anything. Put the chair down and moved to other furniture in the room. He was professional. Thorough.
And...he’d done her a solid, talking to her grandmother. She had yet to tell him that, with or
without him, she planned to visit the prison sometime that day. “I was just wondering... When you said that about the DA being able to recommend, say, Gram not having to do jail time, and just being on house arrest, and maybe paying a fine and that a judge could accept that... Is there anyone you could speak to, personally? Could we get some kind of verbal promise that that’s how it would go?” She wanted a guarantee, in writing, not just a promise.
Promises didn’t mean the same to everyone. To some they meant nothing.
She was learning.
And she knew enough to know that the DA couldn’t guarantee anything. The justice system didn’t work that way. For good reason.
Her trust level might be in the red, but she still had hope. And an ultimate faith that life in general held more good than bad.
The night before had shown her something amazing she hadn’t even thought to hope for.
What other joys might life have to offer her that she didn’t know about yet?
She had to use her intelligence, her experience, to make the best choices she could make, and then hope for the best...
Clarke was looking at her.
“What?”
“I was just...” He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“What?” Was he offended she’d asked for a favor? Like...she’d slept with him in order to get a favor? Or thought, since she’d slept with him, she’d earned one?
“The expressions on your face... They’re fascinating to watch.”
Oh.
What in the hell did she do with that?
“In answer to your question, you know I know someone who could talk to DA Parks. I know several someones. I have reason to believe someone has already spoken to her, and the information I gave you, and your grandmother, was a result of that. But this is all just talk. She’d need her lawyer to approach the DA to make the deal.”
Her lawyer—the same court-appointed newbie who’d tried to represent Everleigh. And until Tuesday, Everleigh wouldn’t have the funds to hire a more experienced defense attorney.
Colton's Killer Pursuit Page 17
