Colton 911--Family Defender

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  The box inside wasn’t heavy but the news its contents was about to bring her could change her entire life forever.

  In all of the ways she’d imagined her life, her future, she’d never, ever seen herself as someone who’d end up with life changing results from a one-night stand. Until three months before, she’d never even considered the possibility of participating in one. Would never ever have knowingly gone into one.

  She was the woman who, at thirty, with a masters in clinical social work, had still believed she’d find her one true love.

  Had being the operative word. Now she was just a woman who’d fallen for a gorgeous face with a slightly scraggly beard, who’d let her naive beliefs lead her into being a fool and who now had to face the consequences.

  On her own, thank you very much.

  Her choice.

  Her insistence, more like.

  She might not have a clear plan that took her past the next half hour, but she knew one thing for certain: Riley Colton would never know what she’d thought their night together had meant. And he was never, ever going to know about, or meet, anyone who might have resulted from that night.

  If there was a baby—and the if was getting smaller and smaller with every week that passed without a period, with every footstep she took toward home and the bathroom—that baby would be a Kent, period. Any Colton contribution would forever remain biological only.

  The man had acted like she was peanut butter to his jelly, like he’d been as fascinated by her, as inexplicably drawn to her, as she’d been to him. And then, as soon as he’d had his pleasures for the third and obviously last time, he’d gotten up from the luxurious sheets they’d rented together, put on his clothes and without as much as an “I’ll call you,” or even a “I had a great time,” had walked out on her. Never to be heard from again.

  A man who’d behave so abominably, who’d turn his back with such lack of compassion, would be at risk of doing the same to any child he’d created.

  Good riddance to him was all she could say.

  And hoped to hell that someday the memory of him—how his abrupt departure and its finality had cast such doubt inside her, replacing her belief in one true love—would fade into the same oblivion that had sucked him up.

  If she was going to have lifelong, lasting repercussions from that night, she was going to do so with joy and love in her heart. Which was why she had to get the man out of her psyche. The feelings that thoughts of him instilled inside her were not good.

  As she neared the town house she shared with her elderly aunt, anxiety returned in full force. She fought it back. Running through a list of her strengths. Financially, she’d be fine. Emotionally, who was better equipped to run a family than one who spent her days teaching other families healthy ways to live together? And... What was that vehicle doing?

  A small black pickup seemed to be headed straight toward her! Jumping the curb, it came up on the sidewalk and was pointed right at her. She started to run and the pickup veered, missing her only by a foot or two as a male voice rang out, screaming, “Mind your own business or I’ll end you!”

  The truck swerved back on the road at the last second, speeding away before she could form a coherent thought, the message from its driver ringing so loudly in her mind she couldn’t hear anything else.

  Still in shock, she heard footsteps racing toward her and screamed, dropping her bag as she ran behind some hedges in front of their building. Panting. Shaking all over.

  Vaguely aware that she’d just trapped herself with nowhere to run, she heard the steps slow as they got closer and she caught a glimpse of her pursuer’s face.

  Oh, God. It couldn’t be.

  Fate had a cruel sense of humor.

  Her psyche was superimposing...

  With a face clearly filled with concern, a tall, dark man with a scruffy beard glanced from her to the now-empty street.

  “Are you okay?”

  Nope, no mind tricks going on... She knew that voice. It had seduced her...

  What kind of sick irony brought Riley Colton to her rescue?

  “I’m fine,” she told him, still shaking, and maybe not just from the threat that had been so violently delivered. She wasn’t fine. She wanted to throw herself in the ex–FBI agent’s arms and find protection there...for the brief second it took her to take a breath and take back the sense of control the near miss with the truck had stolen from her. Then she’d be well enough to convincingly pretend she was fine.

  He was looking her over as though he’d be able to detect signs of broken bones through her skin when, in fact, she hadn’t been touched. She shivered again. Pretended it was a leftover residual of fear.

  “I saw what happened,” he said. “There was no license plate, but I got the make and model of the truck. Did you recognize the driver?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “I think he was male, but I was too shocked by the truck itself, watching that bumper...”

  She tried to relive the incident, knowing she had to help herself, to figure out who’d just threatened her.

  “He told me to mind my own business or he’d end me.” The exact words continued their internal replay.

  “Did you recognize the voice?”

  You’d think she would have if it was someone she knew, but...she shook her head.

  “Your job, you talked about your caseload—specializing in potential and reported domestic violence situations—those are some of the most dangerous cold calls for cops to take and as a social worker, you do home visits...”

  The intense tone in his voice was doing nothing to help her calm down. He was acting like she’d been shot—or had actually been hurt. He was scaring her. Making her feel helpless again. And she couldn’t have that. Why was he even there?

  “I’m a big girl, Mr. Colton.” She continued, “I can handle the kind of stuff my job hands out to me—it’s men who walk out on me at two in the morning who cause real damage.”

  She regretted the words before they were even fully out of her mouth. Couldn’t believe she’d actually said them aloud. Oh God, she’d known, with two missed periods going on a third, that she had to be pregnant. Only hormones could make her say something like that.

  “How many home visits did you do today?” Riley asked, his gaze more pierced, but right on track. Why should she be surprised? The man had shown the same lack of emotion when he’d left her, the one and only night they’d spent with each other.

  Two could play his game. “I’ve done five in the past two days, all here in Grand Rapids, two of which required a police escort for my safety. Any one of those abusers, and others, as well, could be behind this. If someone had a court date today and lost, or has an upcoming court date...”

  They could stand there all day, talking. With the immediate danger gone, she needed to collect her bag from the grass where she’d dropped it down by the sidewalk, get inside, call the police to make a report and continue on with her life.

  Without Riley Colton anywhere around, thank you very much.

  * * *

  After pulling out his phone, Riley pressed speed dial for Michaela Martin, the front desk cop at the Grand Rapids Metropolitan Police Department. He stood directly in front of Charlize, keeping his body between her and the street, with only the building behind her, as he gave a full description of what he’d seen. Thank God he’d arrived when he had. And when Michaela asked to speak with Charlize, he handed his phone over to her.

  Her report was as professional as his had been. She was one hell of a conundrum. A beautiful lady, standing there all perfect and delicious-looking with those fine-boned features that camouflaged a strength that drew him. With that long dark hair, those so darkly expressive eyes that hid as much as they revealed...

  The woman had just had her life threatened and there he was, ogling over her. When he had a missing sibling and her
aunt as the only viable lead at the moment.

  “I intended to do that myself,” Charlize said, handing him back his phone after she concluded the call and started to step past him.

  Riley moved before she could get by him, keeping himself between her and the street as they made their way down the slight hill in the yard to the sidewalk. Other than the one speeding truck, the neighborhood was quiet—not a single person out on the block other than them. No other obvious threats. He was the first to reach the bag she’d dropped, bent to pick it up.

  “It’s fine, I can get it,” she said and grabbed for the bag. “I...thank you for...well, thank you. This is me.” She pointed to the steps leading up to a small landing and front door, and turned as though she was going to leave him standing there.

  Except that he didn’t let go of the bag. Instead, he stood there staring, holding on to the thin, white, translucent plastic as though if he didn’t let go, there would be no progression from the product he’d seen in that bag to what he didn’t want to find out. She had a pregnancy test.

  And he was struggling to drag air through his lungs.

  “I’ll take that,” she said again, pulling at the bag with a bit more force.

  He had to talk to her aunt. He was there to talk to her aunt—not her, despite their night together. If he focused on that the panic dissipated. He just had to ask if her aunt was home. Looking up to do so, he met that brown stormy gaze and asked, “Is this about that night?”

  Eloquence had never been his strong suit.

  “Yes, of course it’s about that night,” she said, grabbing the bag. “Contrary to what you obviously thought, I’m not the type of woman who has one-night stands. That was my one. And my only.”

  He nodded. Did some quick math. Three months...more than one missed cycle...chances were not good the test would be negative.

  Damn.

  He wanted to tell her he wasn’t a one-night stand type of guy, either, but wasn’t going to lie to her on top of everything else. He didn’t have them often, but they were the only kind of nights he shared with women.

  Which mattered not at all to the problem at hand. Panicking wasn’t going to help, either.

  He was a man severely on the verge of that.

  “You planning to take this now?”

  If she wasn’t, he was going to do what he could to convince her to do so. Facts were most definitely needed. Immediately.

  Before he said something inane like admitting that there was no way he could be a father. That he wasn’t dad material.

  That his life had too much danger in it to be safe for a child.

  That he’d raised all the kids he had the wherewithal to raise.

  That he was too old...

  Her head bobbed slightly to the left, then the right. Not a nod, or a shake.

  “I’ll wait,” he told her.

  And sat down on the step to do just that.

  Chapter 3

  He couldn’t stay. She couldn’t have him there. Not at her house. In her space. And with her mind clearing as she went into self-protection mode, something else occurred to her.

  “Why were you here?” she asked the man sitting on her front steps as though he planned to stay as long as it took.

  She could call the police. Have him removed. No matter how tall and strong he was. If he thought he was going to come waltzing back into her life for another quickie, he had some learning to do. He’d had all of Charlize Kent he was ever going to get.

  “That can wait.” He stood, his expression not quite as penetrating as he glanced at her. “Until after we get the test results.”

  She wanted to argue. To insist he tell her why he’d been walking down her street toward her house. But sensed that he wasn’t going to give up on this one. And perhaps the reason no longer mattered.

  Or maybe it did. Maybe he’d been on his way to see her. To explain. Apologize.

  Glancing at his gorgeous face, the scruffy beard seeming to hide what she needed to see, to hide all expression, she reprimanded herself.

  Really? Even now she was going to try to see fairy tales where there were none?

  Angry again, she stood there, bag in hand. Contemplated options while he stood silently, toe to toe with her, saying nothing.

  Oh, she could have him removed from her property, but the sidewalk was a public thoroughfare. In front of her house. Down from her house. Across the street from her house.

  And she could get him for stalking if he hung out for any length of time in any of those places.

  But the bottom line was, he had a right to the test result. Now that he knew there was need of a test. The responsibility for the act that had created their current situation was as much on him as it was on her. And she had to hand it to him; he was being decent about it. For the moment at least. He wasn’t losing his cool, wasn’t laying blame.

  With a nod of her head, and a knot in her stomach, she led him up the stairs, unlocked the front door and felt his warmth at her back as he followed her inside.

  * * *

  He’d talk with the aunt while Charlize did what she had to do. It would speed up his retreat out of there when the test was through. His brain focused, popped up decisions in quick succession as was normal when his adrenaline was pumping.

  One fact was very clear. Marriage and parenthood were not on the table. And forty-three years of going without it was good precedent.

  “Is your aunt here?” he asked, looking around the immaculate, well-sized living room she led him into off from the front foyer. She’d told him she lived with an aunt. The question was understandable.

  “She is, but don’t worry, she won’t be out. She’s got a migraine today. She took a headache pill about an hour ago and went in to lie down.”

  One plan felled. He’d text Brody while Charlize was taking the test. Maybe he’d get lucky and the young attorney would answer. He could also check with someone at CI headquarters to see if perchance he’d shown up at the house with his cell phone still off. That would be the best-case scenario...

  “Does she know about...this situation?” he heard himself ask when his brain had clearly been told to focus on finding Brody’s answers.

  “No. No one does,” she said. Which told him that she’d spent the past two months at least, probably more like two and a half, carrying the situation around on her own. Worrying. Which made him feel like crap.

  Made him want to know what kind of thoughts had been running through her head all those weeks—other than an obvious dislike of him, that was. Did she want to be a mother someday? To get married and raise a family of kids? It wasn’t something they’d talked about.

  Just like he hadn’t bothered to mention that he was just a one up kind of guy. He always let the women he was with know what not to expect from him. Having any more family to look after didn’t appeal to him. At all. Hadn’t since he’d left home. And with so many years of work that touched the darkest side of life, he felt like more of a risk to any potential wife or kid than ever. Why hadn’t he been clear with her?

  Not coming up with any answer he liked to that question, he sat there, a low life cringing with shame.

  “I’ll...be back,” she said, leaving him standing there at the archway into the living room as she disappeared out another archway and off into the house.

  Standing there in his jeans and tennis shoes, he didn’t feel like sitting down. Didn’t feel welcome. Not that he blamed her. He wouldn’t want him around, either, after the way he’d hoofed it out on her.

  He walked around, looking at the bookshelves, wondering if it was Charlize or her aunt who liked to read historical novels. Didn’t care enough about reading material to follow through with any suppositions. Zipped straight to telling himself she wasn’t pregnant instead.

  He was not about to find out he was going to be a father.


  This was just a blip in a day that turned out to be filled with them. A distracting sidebar that would turn out to be nothing.

  As the tightening of his muscles became uncomfortable enough for him to notice, he stood at the window and focused on the scene he’d witnessed just moments before when the truck had almost run over Charlize. He was waiting to hear back from Michaela. Either someone would need to come to Charlize’s house for a statement, or they’d need to go down to the station. Which they could do separately.

  Better yet, a CSI like Sadie could come talk to her, to take photos of the tire tracks on the sidewalk and in the grass where the small truck jumped the curb. And he could stop home for his SUV and make a quick run to the station before the meeting with his siblings. And ask around about Wes Matthews and Capital X while he was there. He should get some photos of Charlize’s front yard on his own before he left, just to make certain there were some taken.

  For that matter, maybe he should call Blythe Kent. Once he knew that he wasn’t...

  Footsteps sounded. Light, little clicks against hardwood floor from sandals Charlize was wearing. She’d only been gone a minute or two.

  Swinging around he looked at her. Saw the little piece of cardboard between two of her fingers. Glanced back at her face. She’d make a great poker player. Was giving him nothing.

  He looked down at her hand again, finding it difficult to draw in a long, healthy breath. Had no personal experience with the stick things. He’d heard of them, of course. Couldn’t watch television without knowing some things, but none of his four sisters had had children yet, and...

  “So?” he asked when he felt like his brain might explode with needing to know what he was dealing with.