Hunting the Colton Fugitive

by Colleen Thompson

  “You’re right,” Sierra said over the sound of the engine starting. “Those kinds of situations can be tricky. But it sounds as if she’s accepted that it wasn’t your fault that her mother chose to keep her existence from you.”

  “Maybe it was, in part. I had a girlfriend, after all, and her mother knew it, so maybe she was scared I would reject her or—” With a grunt of disgust at his younger self, Ace put the car in gear and started driving. “I owned up and begged Nova to forgive me for it. But she said her mother had never seemed too bothered by it. Apparently, she quickly moved on and later burned her way through her own family fortune in Europe, where the family fled to avoid any gossip over the pregnancy.”

  “You jet-setting rich kids sure had different ways of solving problems than those of us from my side of the tracks,” Sierra commented, sounding more amazed—or possibly amused—than resentful.

  “Unfortunately, Nova hasn’t always had an easy time of it—the money ran out some time ago and then she accidentally discovered that the father of the child she’s carrying, this guy named Ferdy, wasn’t only emotionally abusive. He was a dangerous criminal as well.”

  “I heard something about that,” Sierra said, “about him following her from New York here to try to kill her.”

  “I wish I could have been there for her then, could have protected her from that creep.” He swallowed past the regret lodged in his throat. “If it weren’t for Nikolas—I owe him and the police both, for ending that threat and saving my daughter and granddaughter’s lives.”

  “Granddaughter? The baby’s a girl?”

  He broke out in a grin. “Not just any girl, but the perfect little girl. I’m sure of it.”

  Throwing her head back, Sierra laughed. “Listen to you already! When that little one comes along, you’re going to be insufferable. I can just see it.”

  As they passed a security light, he glanced her way. “Will you?”

  “Will I what?” She shook her head.

  “Will you be around to see it, Sierra? By my side, because that’s what I want—yet I can’t shake this feeling that you’re more likely to bolt than be in my life a week from now, much less when I’m holding my first grandchild.”

  “Ace, you know—you know this isn’t for me, don’t you?” She flung an impatient gesture in the direction of the condo. “The whole family deal, with all these clinging strands, like spiders’ webs stick, stick, sticking to a person, until you’re wrapped up so tight, you can hardly breathe. I—I’ve enjoyed our time together, but the truth is, I’m a loner. It’s my nature. Maybe I got it from my mother. She couldn’t hack that whole scene, either.”

  He heard the flippancy in her voice, the disdain and the dismissal, but he wasn’t buying any of it—not after having seen her drop her guard to let him see through—to touch, to hold, to make love to the real her.

  “I think you’re fooling yourself, if that’s what you believe. You’re alone because you’ve had to be, not because it suits you. You’re warm and compassionate, Sierra. And soft beneath that hard-ass facade. A loving woman who deserves to be loved back.”

  “You don’t understand. I have to go,” she insisted, emotion clogging her voice.

  “You’re scared,” he said. “And I understand that. This has been so sudden, this thing blazing up between us, and you’re right. My family situation is a lot to wrap my head around, so I can only imagine how it must feel to an outsider.”

  “Outsider,” she echoed. “That’s what I’d always be here. Some lowlife Vegas bounty hunter they’ll all take for a dirty gold digger. You know it and I know it, so let’s nip this little fantasy of ours, this idea that we could maybe have a future, in the bud right now before someone ends up really hurt.”

  This time there was no mistaking the bitterness in her words. But there was something else, as well, an edge of desperation.

  That was when it hit him, how badly she wanted to make him believe what she was saying. How terrified she was he wouldn’t.

  Too distracted to drive any farther, he quickly pulled over, alongside a barn-size metal building where custom Southwestern-style furnishings were manufactured.

  “Not here,” she warned, sweeping the Dumpsters, parked delivery trucks and alleyway with an anxious gaze. “If we really need to talk about this, at least pick somewhere with better lighting. Or someplace more open.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s really going on. And why you’ve been lying to me.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Stop it, Sierra,” he said sharply. “I’m not playing games here. Tell me what you’re really up to.”

  Glowering at him, she blurted, “Maybe I’m trying to make sure I don’t get you stabbed again, you stubborn jerk! Now let’s get out of here before I take back my offer to let you drive my car.”

  “Your car, yes. The one with the Arizona plates I’m sure aren’t registered to you. What’s up with that, Sierra?” he asked. “Was the transaction even legal?”

  There was no answer but the sound of her rapid breathing as she braced her hands against the dash.

  “Just answer me this,” he said, “and please, if you care for me at all, be honest. Ice Veins’s death wasn’t the end of your issue with him, was it?”

  He caught the faint gleam of a tear, reflected off the dash illumination, as it traced its slow path down her cheek.

  Shaking her head, she whispered, “My cop friend in the organized crime division back home thinks it might’ve been Ice Veins’s nephew who’s responsible, that he put out the word from the hospital where he went after he was stabbed. Or possibly some other associate. But word on the street is there’s a hit out on me.”

  “A contract? So you’re not planning to return there,” he said. “You never were at all.”

  “Not since I heard, no. I—Las Vegas is no longer a safe place for me. I have my doubts it ever will be.”

  “Then stay here, in Mustang Valley,” he said, dark visions of the thugs he’d witnessed hurting her parading through his head. He damned well wouldn’t, couldn’t, let those kind of scum ever hurt her like that—or worse—again. “Stay with me, not in the condo, but at the Triple R. Security there is top-notch.”

  “Against mob hitmen? I don’t think so. What you’ve seen so far—those thugs were only out to hurt me, Ace, teach me a lesson,” she said, shaking her head. “Now it’s only a matter of time before some enterprising killer—some serious assassin—tracks me to the location of my last known job.”

  “We can keep you safe. I can.”

  “How can you,” she demanded, “when you haven’t even been able to figure out who’s pulling the strings behind these attacks against your own family? Or confront the woman who switched you with Payne and Tessa Colton’s real firstborn son and find out what her game is?”

  “I know there’s a lot on my plate right now, but Sierra, you need to trust me.”

  “No, Ace,” she said. “You need to trust me on this. I know the threat I’m dealing with, the criminal underworld and how it operates, far better than you can ever hope to. I’ve already delayed leaving too long as it is, but after we see Payne this evening I can’t—I won’t put it off any longer.”

  He fought back the desire to argue with her, the need to swear that he’d do anything, face any threat, to free her of the need to live in fear. But he had obligations, too—a family counting on him, a father who deserved justice for the shooting that had left him in a coma for months.

  A lump thickening his throat, he felt the loss of her tearing a hole in him as he asked, “But where will you go? How will you live? And will I ever—will you ever come back?”

  She hesitated for so long he thought she wouldn’t answer before finally saying, “It’s probably safer for us both if you don’t know the answer to any of those questions.”

  “Then I’ll wait,” he vowed. “
I’ll wait for you. When the time is right, when it’s safe again, you’ll reach out, come to me, and we’ll be together. I promise you, we’ll—”

  “Don’t wait on me,” she told him, her words choked with emotion. “And promise me, Ace, you won’t ever postpone a shot at happiness. Because we never have any way of knowing when it’s the last one that we’ll get.”

  * * *

  Gliding through the dark streets, Ace clenched his jaw to keep from shouting in frustration. To keep from arguing that he damned well wasn’t going to accept that, now that he’d finally found a woman who made him want to play for keeps, the two of them had zero chance of ending up together. As he struggled to come up with alternatives that wouldn’t involve abandoning the family he both needed and wanted to do right by, his thoughts chased themselves in endless circles, like a dog running after its tail.

  “Ace,” Sierra was telling him, her voice seeming to come from a great distance. “Ace!”

  “What?” he ground out.

  “Slow down, will you? You just blew through that stop sign. And getting the two of us or someone else killed isn’t going to fix a thing.”

  “You’re right,” he conceded as he eased off the accelerator. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I just—I’d fight a war to save you. Don’t you know that?”

  “You’re already fighting a war of your own on more than one front right now,” she reminded him, “so you’re going to have to trust me to handle my own battles.”

  He felt torn in two, thinking of failing her when she most needed him, whether or not she was willing to admit it. “Do you even have a weapon? Or money enough to finance an extended stay away from home?”

  “I’ll pick up something for self-defense, and I’ve got the money from Selina. Most of it’s in the bank, of course, but I’ll make an ATM withdrawal to get me started.”

  “That’s not going to be enough. Not for—”

  “I’m used to living by my wits,” she insisted.

  “It’s the thought of your dying by them that scares the hell out of me,” he said. “So at least let me help you, will you? Make sure you leave Mustang Valley armed and with plenty of cold, hard cash in hand. I have a good amount, you know, buried in a cache not far from the bunker.”

  “You do?” Sierra shook her head. “Why on earth didn’t you say so earlier, when Ice Veins’s goons were threatening to blow my leg off over that missed payment?”

  “I thought about it,” he said as the lights of Mustang Valley General Hospital came into view. “But at first, I didn’t trust you—no offense.”

  “None taken,” she said, “being as I figured you for a wannabe murderer yourself. An incredibly hot one, as it turned out, but still.”

  “And after those thugs showed up—and Ice Veins himself, later—I figured if I mentioned I have cash, rather using my accounts to buy us some more time until the police arrived, they’d march us at gunpoint to get it and then leave two dead bodies where the money used to be.”

  She exhaled noisily. “You might’ve been raised in privileged surroundings, but I’ll give you this. You’re a pretty quick study when it comes to dealing with the criminal element.”

  As they pulled into the parking lot, he said, “So then the plan is this, right? After we see my father, we’ll head back up to the bunker and get you the cash you’ll need.” If he thought he could hide her there, he would, but they were both all too aware that the location could never again be considered safe or secret.

  “I don’t want to take your money, Ace. I can’t—can’t say when or if I’d be able to pay you back.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the money,” he said. “You’ll take it, and there’s a gun there, too, buried in the footlocker.”

  Sierra snorted, shaking her head. “So you were holding out on me about the weapon, too? For shame, you desperado.”

  He shrugged. “You never gave me half a chance to get to it, but yeah, I’ve got another handgun squirreled away up there.”

  “You know, if you don’t end up going back to the high-roller CEO life, I’m pretty sure you could have a future as a bounty hunter...or a felon.”

  “And if you ever give up the bounty hunter business—” a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, as well as at his heart “—maybe you could be a stand-up comic, because that’s the most hilarious suggestion I’ve heard all night.”

  She chuckled as he put the car in Park, but when their eyes met, Ace felt fear, as cold and wet as fresh-poured concrete, filling up his chest and lungs. Fear of losing the woman who’d not only found but also resurrected him from the closed coffin of his life in hiding.

  She must have felt it, too, for his last glimpse, as she turned from him, was of the tears gleaming on her lashes. Then she flung open the passenger door and stepped out of the car.

  Following suit, he hurried after her, calling, “Sierra, don’t. Please. Let’s figure out a way that we can—”

  “Ace, look out!” she warned him, started as a small and wiry man rose from between two cars, springing toward them, aiming something at—at Ace?

  Camera, he realized, blinded by the flash as the man wearing black sweats, a ratty ponytail and round, steel-rimmed glasses, snapped away. With a curse, Ace raised an arm to block his camera shot, spinning away to hide his face.

  “Give me that! I’ll take that memory card!” Sierra advanced on the photographer, a man Ace suspected was a stringer hoping to sell dirt on him to whichever news outlet would pay the highest dollar for the images.

  “No! Hey, let go of my camera! You can’t—this is public property!” Short and scrawny as he looked, he held on to the strap for dear life as she fought to jerk it away.

  “I’ll give it right back. I promise,” she said.

  “Let it go. Let him go!” Ace called to her, worried she’d be injured—or possibly haul off and slug the photographer in her frustration.

  Several parking spaces over, a commotion erupted. A woman screamed, and an older man yelled, “Security!”

  The sounds were Ace’s only warnings before he heard the roar of an engine and the triple crack that he instantly recognized as gunfire. A clunk-clunk followed—the sound of a body or bodies slamming the side of a vehicle as both Sierra and the man she’d been struggling with went down in a writhing tangle of limbs.

  His pulse booming in his ears, Ace shouted Sierra’s name and lurched forward but was cut off as a dark-colored luxury car—the shooters’—pulled between him and the pair.

  Two more rounds exploded before the sedan peeled away, wheels squealing. As the black Mercedes fishtailed, Ace turned his head in time to glimpse a gun barrel swinging toward him. As he dove, another burst popped against the sheet metal of a parked SUV behind him and Sierra’s earlier words ran through his mind. In their line of business, witnesses are liabilities.

  But with the shrieks and cries of witnesses multiplying, the shooters didn’t stick around to make sure.

  Pushing himself back to his feet, Ace scrambled to the spot where he’d seen Sierra and the photographer tumble down beside the truck.

  Neither one remained there, but there was a dark gleam on the otherwise dry pavement that had his heart plunging through the soles of his boots. A thick, crimson smear that led behind the pickup’s front tire.

  “Sierra, are you under there?” he called, wanting to cough up his own pounding heart. “They’re gone now, and help’s on the way.”

  At least he presumed that was the case, judging from the sounds of fast-approaching sirens. But it all faded to background noise as he dropped onto his knees and crawled forward, not caring about the dampness on his palms and knees as he lowered himself to peer at the limp arm flung out before him.

  “Sierra!” he screamed.

  The hairy arm jerked away—the photographer it belonged to groaning as he drew himself into a fetal position. At the s
ame time someone laid a hand on his back, saying, “I’m here, Ace. Right here. But let’s get him help. He’s been hit, I think...”

  Turning abruptly, Ace pushed himself onto his knees to where Sierra had knelt behind him. Squeezing her tight, he said, “I was—was sure you’d been shot. Are you—I thought they’d killed you.”

  “I’m—I’ll be fine. It’s just, when I fell, I hit my—” She pushed back from him, pain tightening her face as she cupped a hand over the back of her head. “Hurts so—”

  Her green eyes rolled back, shuttering as she collapsed.

  “Sierra!” he yelled, catching her and lowering her limp form to the pavement—and praying he wouldn’t find a bullet wound that he had missed at first.

  Chapter 11

  With the night strobe-lit by the flashing lights of emergency vehicles, Ace tuned out the sounds behind him. The frantic voices, running footsteps and the engine sounds all faded as his senses focused in on the essentials. Was Sierra bleeding? Breathing? Was that her heartbeat throbbing beneath his fingertips or his own leaping pulse?

  Though he found little in the way of blood, one thing was for damned sure. She wasn’t responding to his desperate pleas—“Open your eyes, look at me!”—any more than she did when he shook her roughly by the shoulders to try to rouse her.

  Feeling as helpless as he ever had in his life, he remembered the loud thumps he’d heard when she and the photographer dove for the pavement along with her pained look when she’d reached to touch the back of her head. Before he could check for an injury, however, someone touched his shoulder.

  A red-haired man in a blue uniform was holding some sort of medical kit, his younger female partner a half step behind him. “We need you to step back, sir. I’m an EMT, and she’s a paramedic. Our ambulance was just leaving when we heard the shots, but we’ve got the vic—is this your wife?—from here.”

  Now that the danger appeared to have passed, others were rushing to help, as well, Ace saw, heroic men and women coming out of the hospital in scrubs, street clothes and uniforms. But his focus was on the man’s startling question. What the hell did it matter what Sierra was to him when he couldn’t even tell if she was still alive?