Colton Under Fire

by Cindy Dees

  “Wanna go zoom!” Chloe shouted.

  “You’ve created a monster,” Sloane groaned.

  Liam piped up. “Hey, if Chloe wants to learn how to ski, I’d be glad to teach her. I taught kiddie ski classes over my winter breaks all through college. My parents probably still have my first skis and boots, too. I bet they’d be about the right size for a two-year-old.”

  Chloe squealed in delight and clapped her hands. “Cwo-ee ski!”

  Liam picked her up in the air and swung her around, and the squeals turned into screams of laughter. Liam lifted her nose to nose with him and spoke solemnly to her. “It’s a date, kid. You and me. We’re going skiing as soon as we get back from your grandma and grandpa’s house.”

  Chloe threw her arms around Liam’s neck and hugged him tightly.

  It was all Sloane could do not to tear up again. But she dared not. Not in front of her all-too-perceptive brother nor in front of her well-meaning future sister-in-law who wouldn’t think twice about spilling the beans to Fox and Wyatt that Sloane had feelings for Liam.

  Liam popped Chloe into her car seat and Sloane buckled her in. She set up a princess movie on a tablet in a stand attached to the arm of the toddler’s car seat, and they were on their way.

  For once, Chloe was an angel in the truck. She finished the movie, ate a snack and then fell asleep, not waking up until they pulled up in front of the Durant mansion in an exclusive Denver suburb.

  “Nice house,” Liam commented.

  She replied under her breath, “Don’t be impressed. If you think Russ and Mara’s house is cold, this place is Antarctica. I’ll take your apartment any day of the week and twice on Sunday compared to this place.”

  “Twice on Sunday, huh?” he murmured back. “That can be arranged.”

  Laughing at his innuendo, she unbuckled Chloe and carried her up to the porch while he waited in the truck.

  She leaned over to let Chloe push the doorbell. Little Bug crowed when she heard chimes echo inside the house.

  The Durants’ housekeeper, Anna, opened the front door. “Mrs. Durant. It’s good to see you again. Hi there, Miss Chloe.”

  She didn’t correct the woman over her last name. No sense causing friction as she was about to hand her child over to these people.

  Carol Durant strolled into the grand foyer, looking as elegant and frigid as ever. “There you are, Sloane. You’re late. I’ve missed an appointment with my manicurist while I waited for you.” She reached out for Chloe, who recoiled in Sloane’s arms.

  Sloane clenched her teeth. She hated handing over her daughter to Ivan’s mother. And she wasn’t about to apologize for causing this woman to miss a manicure.

  She spoke as politely as she could manage. “I don’t know if Ivan told you, but Chloe was very sick about ten days ago. She was in the hospital for two days. She’s still recovering and needs not to get overtired or overstimulated. I packed a bunch of movies she likes and some quiet toys for her to play with. But please don’t do too much with her.”

  Carol shot her a withering look. “I am a mother, too, you know. I do know how to raise a child.”

  Sloane bit back a snort. If Ivan was any indication of the woman’s parenting skills, Carol shouldn’t be bragging.

  Carol reached for Chloe again, and Little Bug shouted, “No way!”

  Sloane bit back a smile. Good for Chloe. She said diplomatically to her daughter, “Would you like to go with Anna and feed the fish in the pond?” The Durants had a heated koi pond in their formal garden, and Chloe was fascinated by the big, colorful fish.

  “Feed fishies!” she exclaimed, wiggling eagerly in Sloane’s arms.

  She set Chloe down, and the toddler raced past Carol to the housekeeper, who’d retreated to the back of the foyer. Anna met Sloane’s gaze of entreaty at her employer’s back and nodded at Sloane in silent promise to take care of Chloe.

  Sloane trusted Anna. The woman had a slew of children and grandchildren, and handled Chloe beautifully with just the right combination of indulgence, firmness and humor.

  As the pair disappeared into the bowels of the mansion, Sloane passed Chloe’s baby bag to Carol, who set it down on the antique Louis XV fainting couch with distaste.

  “Okay, then. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sloane said. She turned and retreated quickly toward the truck. She had no desire whatsoever to get into a sparring match with her ex-mother-in-law. Their relationship had been chilly when she’d been married to Ivan, and she had no reason to believe Carol would thaw toward her now.

  She climbed back into the warmth of the truck, and Liam pulled away immediately.

  “You okay?” he asked quietly.

  She reached out blindly with her hand, unable to see through her tears, and he took it, squeezing it sympathetically.

  “It’s just one night, sweetheart,” he murmured.

  She nodded. He was right. And she had work to do today. She had petitions to file with various courts in Denver, and she had a pile of files to pick up for clients who’d asked her to review their cases.

  Liam parked and after a quick kiss goodbye, she headed for one court clerk while he headed for another to work on the search warrant for the home of whoever was watching her surveillance cameras.

  They agreed he would pick her up at the courthouse at five o’clock.

  For once, she felt as if she had her life together. Chloe was occupied, she got to be a lawyer for a few hours and at long last, she had a great guy in her life. Happiness bubbled up inside her, filling the hollow place deep within her and comforting her inner lost child, still wailing after all these years for her dead parents.

  Chloe’s birth might have quieted that inner howl of loneliness, but Liam was the first ever to completely silence it.

  Things couldn’t get much better than this.

  A little voice in her head warned her against getting too comfortable, but she dismissed it impatiently. After all, what could go wrong?

  Chapter 11

  Liam headed for the police station that had handled the April Thomas disappearance. He’d made an appointment with the detective in charge of the investigation, and the cop, a gray-haired veteran, walked Liam through everything they’d done to try to find the young woman.

  The detective’s work had been meticulous. It took Liam an hour and the help of two cops and a secretary to make copies of all the documents, interviews and statements surrounding the search for the missing young woman.

  But eventually, he carried a big cardboard file box out to his truck. The snow was really coming down hard now, accumulating fast. He had to push a good three inches of the stuff off the door handle to open it. He stowed the box of files and was just climbing into his truck when a cop called out from the doorway of the precinct.

  “Hey! Are you Detective Kastor of the Roaring Springs PD?”

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “Just got a call from the front desk. A search warrant has arrived for you.”

  Liam jogged back inside, pausing to shake snow off his shoulders. He followed the cop through the big building and signed for the sealed courier pouch that held his warrant.

  Perfect. If he caught a lucky break, he could nail Ivan Durant, today. He pocketed the search warrant and hurried from the station, antsy to get to the house in east Denver before the occupant left and he had to wait another week for the guy to show up.

  While he drove, Liam called a police operator and had himself patched through to the undercover cops staking out Gunther’s house. The officers verified to him that the occupant was still inside.

  He parked in the next city block and slipped between houses to approach the stakeout vehicle from the passenger’s side, across the street from the house under observation. Snow was falling in big, fat flakes that blanketed the ground in several inches of white fluff.

  Liam slid into the
back seat of the stakeout car and introduced himself, and the pair of cops in the front seat did the same. The driver said, “When you execute the search warrant, we’ll back you up.”

  No time like the present to find out who this dude was, and more importantly, who he worked for. Liam hopped out and jogged across the street.

  The residence in question was a haggard brick ranch house that would have been chic in about 1960. The silver aluminum screen door sagged on its hinges, and the front door behind it desperately needed painting. Liam peered in the little diamond window at face height and saw a dark hallway and a narrow living room to the left. No sign of anyone inside.

  He knocked on the door and heard movement beyond the living room. Probably a kitchen back that way. No one was forthcoming to answer the front door, however.

  He knocked again.

  This time he heard a sound that made him swear. A door opening and closing at the back of the house.

  One of the cops standing behind him yelled, “We’ve got a runner!”

  Liam tore around the side of the house, slipping and sliding in the snow. He quickly outdistanced the other cops. He hadn’t been a champion skier for nothing.

  Spying a figure cutting across a backyard and ducking around the corner of a house, Liam pounded after the fleeing man. The guy’s footprints were clear as day in the snow. Truth be told, Liam could have walked after the guy and just followed the tracks. But on the off chance that this dude had a getaway car stashed somewhere nearby, Liam kept running.

  He caught up quickly and took note of the balding head, beer gut and awkward stride. Rather than tackle the man, he got close enough to call, “Don’t make me knock you down. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

  The runner stumbled to a halt, sagging against someone’s garage wall, panting like a dying dog.

  “Are you okay, buddy?” Liam asked. “Do you need to sit down?”

  The older man swore colorfully. “Ain’t as young as I once was. Probably ought to cut back a pack or two a day on the cigarettes, too.”

  Liam grimaced. “Take your time, sir. Catch your breath.”

  “Don’t patronize me. I used to be a cop.”

  Liam’s eyebrows shot up. Really? How did a cop become a cheap gumshoe? Did he mess up a case? A personal problem maybe? A bad shooting?

  “You gonna arrest me?” the guy asked truculently.

  “Not unless you try to flee again. I really do just want to talk. Are you William Gunther?”

  The man eyed him warily. “I’m gonna need to see a badge before I answer any questions.”

  Liam pulled his out.

  “Roaring Springs? Well, shit. I guess I know why you want to talk with me, then. You better come back to the house with me, Detective Kastor. Bill Gunther. Pleased to meet you.”

  Liam kept pace beside the man as they retraced their steps to the home. They caught up with the two Denver cops and all four of them trudged back to the house through the snow.

  One of them held the back door open for Gunther, who led them into a family room at the back of the home. Three computer monitors sat side by side on a table, and Liam’s jaw tightened at the live views of Sloane’s house showing on them.

  “Did you install those surveillance cameras yourself?” Liam asked casually, trying to sound impressed.

  “Yeah. I was a tech guy in my former life.”

  “That’s nice gear,” he threw out to see what kind of response he would get.

  “Client told me to get the best money could buy. His dime, so I spent it.” Gunther chuckled a little, and Liam smirked along with him. If the FBI tech Zog was right, this surveillance setup had cost Ivan Durant thousands of dollars.

  Liam jumped on the opening Gunther had given him. “Who’s your client?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Can’t. I honestly don’t know who it is. The person pays for this house and my fees out of an offshore bank account and communicates by encrypted email.”

  “Can you give me the account number? I can track it down.”

  “You think I don’t have the resources to run down a bank account?” Gunther retorted scornfully. “I was a cop. I’ve got connections.”

  “Yeah? What did your connections tell you?”

  “That whoever owns the account buried his or her identity behind an unbreakable shell corporation.”

  “Any guesses as to who the client might be?” Liam threw out.

  “The ex-husband, maybe. He and the dame have had a couple pretty nasty phone calls that I caught on tape. But that’s just a guess. I’ve got no evidence to support it.”

  Liam asked, “What were your instructions specifically, regarding Ms. Colton?”

  “I’m supposed to get dirt on her. Anything that can be used to smear her good name and ruin her reputation.”

  “Did the client tell you why he or she wants to destroy Ms. Colton?”

  “Nope. Just to look for dirt and send along anything I find.”

  “Have you found any?”

  “Nah. This chick’s one of the most boring people I’ve ever watched. Her kid’s cute, though.”

  Liam’s jaw muscles rippled in irritation, but he tamped down the emotion. He had to keep things light and friendly. He gestured at Gunther’s monitor array. “So how does this setup work? How do the cameras send a signal to you? By cell phone tower? Wireless over the internet?” Zog had already explained it to him, but Liam wanted to keep this guy talking.

  “Nah,” Gunther replied. “The cameras shoot a short-range radio signal to a receiver and signal booster I installed in the woods behind the lady’s house. I attached them to a telephone pole and spliced the receiver into a phone line. I call a phone number, and stored images dump through a modem to this computer.”

  “That sounds complicated.”

  “It’s old school, but it leaves a small digital footprint. Hard to track. Speaking of which, how did you find me?”

  Liam shrugged. “Once I spotted your cameras in the lady’s house—”

  Gunther interrupted. “Hey! Ain’t you that guy who came into her house late at night a few weeks back and took some of her clothes? What was up with that? Are you some kind of creepo yourself?”

  Liam answered stiffly as the Denver cops perked up with interest. “Her daughter was in the hospital, and I volunteered to go to her home and get her a change of clothing and a toothbrush.”

  “Is the kid okay?”

  “I believe so,” Liam answered carefully. “At any rate, once I spotted your cameras, I called the FBI. They cloned your equipment, followed the signal and tracked you down.”

  “FBI, huh? Okay, then. I don’t feel so bad if it took the big boys to find me.”

  “Since you were a cop, Mr. Gunther, you do understand that I can charge you with a bunch of crimes, right? Breaking and entering, illegal surveillance, invasion of privacy, evading arrest. You know the drill.”

  “Yeah. I do know the drill.” Gunther threw him a sly look. “Whaddiya want from me in order to look the other way?”

  “Would you mind coming down to the police station and making a formal statement for us? Tell us everything you can about your client and give us the bank routing number and email address the client uses?”

  “Yeah, sure. But let me get this deal straight. I tell you everything I know and you guys don’t charge me with anything. I walk, and my private investigator’s license isn’t touched.”

  The Denver cops bristled at that, obviously not thrilled. But Liam didn’t care if they’d been trying to nail this guy or not. He wanted all the information he could get on who had hired Gunther. “Correct. That’s the deal.”

  While he drove the PI to the police station, Liam kept up the casual banter, eventually circling back to who might have hired Gunt
her and why.

  Gunther was more at ease without multiple cops hovering and waxed chatty. “In one of the emails the client sent me, he griped about it taking so long to find dirt on the dame. He said if I could get pictures or video of her with any man, they could be photoshopped to look worse than they were. Even if the guy was fully dressed and they weren’t doing anything out of line, I should forward the images to the contact email.”

  Liam gripped the steering wheel until his hands ached. “And did you?”

  “Nah. She’s never with anyone. Lives like a hermit.”

  “Did the client give you any idea what he or she wants to do with this dirt on Ms. Colton?”

  “Oh, he told me what he plans to do. He’s showing it to a judge. Wants to get her disbarred and make her lose her kid. He’s out to ruin her but good.”

  A need to hurt this nameless client surged through Liam. “How do you know it’s a man?” he asked tightly.

  Gunther shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. But it seems like a guy thing to ruin a person’s career and get their kid taken away. Women tend to go for the personal kill. They want to humiliate the husband or boyfriend by confronting them with pictures, catching them in a lie and kicking them to the curb dramatically.”

  Liam thought that was a wildly sexist observation, but he wasn’t here to argue with Gunther. He was here to get the guy’s cooperation.

  “Have you ever asked the client for more money?”

  “I’m getting free housing and three grand a month plus expenses to monitor the dame. Why would I rock that boat?”

  “Would you be willing to send an email to the client and demand more money just to see what kind of a response you get?”

  Gunther shrugged. “Might as well. You’re gonna be yanking out those cameras now that you know who I am, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Liam added, “And thanks for helping me out with this, Bill. I really appreciate it.”

  “Maybe you’ll owe me one before this is over with.”

  “I already owe you one, man. You quit running when I yelled at you to stop.”