Hunting the Colton Fugitive

by Colleen Thompson

  “Not, I’m afraid, according to the press conference given by Sergeant Spencer Colton last night, condemning this outrageous act of violence and asking the public for assistance in bringing your killers to justice. Which is why, for the time being, you’re going to be referred to by the name of Iris Higgins.”

  She blinked hard. “Iris Higgins? That’s the best you could do? Sounds like somebody’s great-aunt who smells of mothballs. The kind whose tuna casseroles go untouched at family reunions.” Not that she’d ever experienced such a gathering, but she had definitely heard things. Terrifying things that made her glad she’d never been forced to hang out with people she had nothing in common with but the tiniest trace of DNA.

  Ace chuckled at that. “Sorry, Sierra. It was three in the morning, and anyway, I happen to have known a very kindhearted older lady named Iris, whose casseroles were very well regarded.”

  “Don’t make a joke of this—of me,” she said, feeling sick, helpless and frustrated, all of which left her furious—and scared out of her wits. “We’re both going to end up dead if those killers figure out you’ve got me sitting here trussed up like this year’s Thanksgiving turkey for them.”

  “There’s a guard keeping watch outside in the hall, and anyway, the shooters are long gone,” he told her. “While you were, um, out of it, Spencer—Sergeant Colton—and I found the Mercedes, torched, in the industrial area.”

  A different fear pulsed through her as she thought of Nova and the siblings who’d met with them last night. “Not near your condo? Is your family all right?”

  “Not too close, but I warned them just in case. They’re fine. Worried about you, mainly.”

  “But not mourning me, I take it?” she asked before it occurred to her that though her “death” might cause brief shock and perhaps the same momentary sadness many felt whenever someone in her early thirties bought it, there were few who’d seriously grieve her. Not even the half-feral cat that had shared her home, as long as her friend Brie kept popping open the tops of his canned food and fluffing his favorite pillow now and then.

  “I decided to let some of my family in on it,” Ace told her, “just those who needed to know, since I’m going to need their help to keep you hidden, and Kerry, too, since she’s working with Spencer on this. And all of them know how imperative it is that as far as anyone else is concerned, even the medical staff who first saw you when you first came in downstairs, you succumbed as a result of the injuries sustained in the parking lot last night.”

  “So you plan to keep me hidden?” Sierra echoed. “Or prisoner, you mean. How long do you imagine—”

  “That depends on what your friend, Detective Stratford, tells us.”

  “What? Brie’s in on this madness, too?” Sierra’s eyes burned at what felt like another betrayal.

  “She’s one hundred percent in, Sierra—which is why she’s put the word out both on the streets of Las Vegas through one of her confidential informants and through an LVMPD press release regarding your murder. Because otherwise, she assured me, the attempts would never end until you really were dead.”

  “No,” Sierra said, head throbbing and hot tears spilling as she covered her eyes with her hands. “No, no, no. Tell me this is a nightmare.”

  “We only wanted to keep you alive, Sierra. You were helpless, hurt,” Ace said, his warm brown eyes holding a plea for understanding as he passed her a box of tissues from the rolling table by her bed. Yet, in his voice, she heard, too, the set stubbornness of a man fully committed to his action. “I was terrified you really might die—and willing to sacrifice anything to keep that from happening.”

  Pulling free several tissues, she wiped at her eyes. “But don’t you understand? Sacrificing my life, what I’ve made of it to this point—no matter what a mess it might look like by Colton standards—isn’t a choice you were entitled to, you or Brie, the sergeant, or anybody but me. What about my home, my—”

  “First off, I’m the last Colton in the world to judge what anybody else has going on in her life, especially someone like you. You were only trying to do the right thing by your father and then stick to your professional ethics when it came to Ice Veins’s nephew.”

  “Such a brilliant decision on my part,” she grumbled, though she knew in her heart that even if she could go back in time and amend that misstep, she’d still haul that piece of trash to jail—if only to wipe that smug sneer off his face.

  “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but Detective Stratford informed us there’s been a fire at your townhouse. The cause hasn’t been determined yet, but—”

  “Was—was anyone hurt?” Her stomach pitched again as she thought about her neighbors, along with any firefighters who might have stumbled into a blaze triggered by what she had little doubt would turn out to be arson.

  “No one injured,” Ace said, “but I’m—I’m afraid the place was gutted, the contents a total loss. There’s—there’s nothing left there to go back to. I’ve been asked to tell you that your cat is safe and doing very well with the detective.”

  Relieved as Sierra was to know that Rocky was all right, a lump thickened in her throat at the thought of everything she’d ever worked for, every memory collected—including irreplaceable photos of both the mother who had left when she was little and the father she had loved so dearly—stolen from her, along with her name. But she was too numb to shed any more tears.

  Taking a step closer, he smoothed a few strands of hair off her face. “I’ve had a taste of what it’s like, having an entire life, an identity, ripped out from under me. Of how hard it was to—”

  “Don’t compare us, compare this. You still have family,” she said, her pain so blinding, she could only flail out at the nearest, the only, available target. “Hell, even some with your DNA. They’ve made it clear you’re still a Colton, with a bank account, the fancy car and condo to go with it and a whole damned posse that has your back. Who do I have left now? What?”

  “You have me, Sierra, for whatever that’s worth,” he said, his tone giving the words the weight of a sacred vow. “And a safe place to rest and heal, for as long as you’ll need it.”

  “And you have me freaking tied here,” she fired back. “Cut me loose, and I’m gone—because you have totally crossed the line.”

  * * *

  As Ace stepped into the hallway, he did his damnedest not to look like a man who’d been absolutely gutted. Arranging his face in what he hoped would pass for a neutral expression, he murmured a greeting to his half brother Callum, knowing there was no one he could trust more than the former navy SEAL and bodyguard to watch over the comings and goings around this out-of-the-way third-floor room, one Spencer had talked a helpful hospital administrator into setting up for the hastily christened Iris Higgins.

  “You okay?” Callum asked him, the concern in his bright blue eyes telling Ace he hadn’t pulled off the casual look as well as he had hoped. “Or maybe I should ask, is she?” He nodded his reddish blond head in the direction of Sierra’s room.

  “I’ll be fine, eventually,” Ace assured him. “As for her, I’ve given her a lot to process, and she’s not a bit happy about any of it. So please, keep a careful eye out for every possibility.”

  Callum reached out and shook his hand, promising, “You can count on me.”

  After leaving his brother with his thanks, Ace tried to tell himself that in suggesting the plan to fake her death, he’d only done what was necessary—what both Spencer and Sierra’s detective friend from Las Vegas, along with Mustang Valley’s police chief, had all agreed it was going to take to save Sierra. But the look of betrayal on her face, the hurt and loss he’d seen there, had him remembering all too painfully how he’d felt when all of his own choices had been taken from him. Had he, out of love and fear, done the same thing to her by jumping the gun too quickly instead of waiting until she’d been in the position to make the call
herself?

  Groaning at the answer—and the wrenching fear that Sierra might never forgive him for it—he pushed the elevator’s button to take him downstairs.

  When the door opened, Ainsley paused her pacing to look up at him. Though her dark hair was neatly pulled up and she was dressed in one of the stylish blouse, skirt and jacket combos she might wear to the office, he noted the subtle signs of stress—or at least sleep deprivation: an earring missing, eyeliner smudged and a slight puffiness beneath her eyes.

  Figuring he looked even worse after his all-nighter, he asked simply, “Are you all right? I would’ve thought that after everything last night, you would’ve gone back home to get some rest.”

  Though Spencer had had a sweep done of the area around the condo to reassure everyone the assassins weren’t lurking anywhere nearby, the events of last night had resulted in numerous calls among the siblings—and between Ace and Nova, too—as plans were made, details ironed out and nerves were soothed. Ace couldn’t imagine any of them had gotten more than a few hours of broken sleep, at best.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, hoisting a take-out cup that he recognized as coming from Java Jane’s, “and before you ask—Rafe, Grayson and Nova and Nikolas are all okay, too, this morning.”

  “Nova...” he echoed, his sleep-deprived brain once more jolted by his new reality—his responsibility—as the only surviving parent of a grown daughter.

  “You’ve really impressed her, by the way.” Ainsley’s smile was approving. “From what I could see, you handled that first meeting really well.”

  “Not as much as she impressed me. And if I didn’t botch things with her last night, it was totally beginner’s luck,” he said. “But I’m determined to muddle my way through the whole dad thing as best as I can.”

  “I always secretly suspected that you had it in you,” she teased, “even all those years you spent playing the part of corporate shark and Arizona’s most eligible bachelor.”

  “Well, I’ve been retired from the former role and I’m pretty sure that at this point in my life, I’m permanently out of the running for the latter honor anyway,” he said, recalling the embarrassment—not to mention the teasing by his friends and siblings over being named man candy by some swanky lifestyle magazine out of Phoenix. “So is that all you came to see me about?”

  She shook her head. “Actually, no. I was really hoping I might catch you before you went to see our father.”

  “I was on my way for a visit,” he said, a mix of dread, fatigue and anticipation swirling at the thought of seeing their once-strong and vibrant father diminished by months in a comatose condition. “But I have to tell you, I just caught a whiff of that coffee you’re drinking, and it’s calling my name big time. So if you want to talk, how about we head over to the cafeteria? It won’t be half as good, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “You’re on, but I’m buying,” she insisted. “And you’re having breakfast while you’re at it. Before you open that mouth of yours to argue, stop. You’ve already lost more weight than is good for you, and I’d bet my next paycheck you can’t remember the last time you had an actual meal.”

  She would lose that bet, he knew, recalling the take-out dinner he’d shared with Sierra yesterday. A shared meal that had been a prelude to a conversation, and then a union that had torn his heart wide open...

  “Ace? Don’t tune me out like that,” Ainsley warned, her eyes narrowing as she studied him intently. “Now, come on, big brother. Let’s get some food in you.”

  “All right. You win, but only because it’s too damn early in the morning to go arguing with a lawyer,” he conceded, but as drained as he was feeling, he realized, too, how much he’d missed his sister’s harping on him—a sure sign that she cared.

  Inside the hospital’s cafeteria, she waited until he was seated with a tray containing a large black coffee and a plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, wheat toast and a side of mixed fruit before asking him how Sierra was this morning.

  “Iris is conscious, but she’s hurting,” he said, forcing himself to use the name Sierra so detested, even though the other tables in the corner they had chosen were all empty. “More so once I told her what we—what I insisted that we do to save her.”

  Ainsley shook her head. “I can’t imagine waking up hurt and terrified after that ordeal, only to find out that everyone you’ve ever known has just gotten the news that you’ve been murdered. She must be—I don’t even—”

  “She’s frightened and bewildered—and furious with me for doing this to her,” he said, what little appetite he had dying at the thought.

  “With you? But you meant—you were only trying to save her life.”

  He waved off her argument. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that she’s alive now. If that means alive and hating my guts, I guess I’ll have to live with that.”

  Reaching past the small cranberry muffin she’d ordered, Ainsley touched the top of his hand. “Don’t give up on her too quickly. Not if you’re really in love with her.”

  “Who said anything about love?” he demanded. Except that he nearly had, spilling his guts to Sierra like some smitten teenager after they had had sex, and what was more, he’d meant it in the moment. And still felt it—and couldn’t keep himself from feeling it even now.

  “No need to bite my head off,” Ainsley scolded. “I’ll drop the subject for the moment—on the condition that you have some coffee and make a dent in that breakfast.”

  “I’m not in the mood to sit here and chow down like everything’s just fine.”

  “Please, Ace,” she said, her eyes, so much lighter than his own, implored...and reminded him of the tremendous debt he owed her, for standing by and helping him when few others would have. A debt that left him humbled and contrite.

  “Sure, Ainsley, and I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll eat.”

  By thinking of the food as fuel, he managed to get down most of it and all the coffee. Neither made up for the night’s sleep he’d missed out on, but he had to admit that he felt more human for the effort.

  After disposing of their trash and going for a refill on the coffee, he told his sister, “Thanks for that. And for coming here to see me.”

  Frowning, she blew out a breath. “You may not thank me after I’ve told you what I have to tell you.”

  At her serious expression, he felt a cold chill overtake him as his thoughts ran to his stepmother. “Genevieve wants me kept out, doesn’t she?” he guessed. “She’s refusing to let me see our father? I understand what she’s been through, and it’s only natural that she wants to protect him, but if I could only talk to her, make her understand, I’m sure she’ll—”

  “No, no,” Ainsley assured him. “Marlowe’s talked things over with her. Went over again why the clues have never really added up to you, from the height and size of the shooter seen on the video to that Sun Devils pin Dad’s assistant found in the boardroom after he was shot—”

  “Speaking of that pin,” Ace said. “While I was...away, I spent some time online, searching Arizona Sun Devils alumni lists and forums. I kept hoping a name would jump out, or maybe I’d find out that our favorite evil stepmother was secretly some kind of closet Sun Devils groupie.”

  He smiled and raised his eyebrows to show he wasn’t serious. Or not completely anyway.

  “Selina?” Ainsley smiled. “That really is a stretch, big brother. As hateful as that woman is, she’s made it crystal clear she’d never risk killing the golden goose for a moment’s gratification. But getting back to Genevieve, Marlowe explained that even Spencer’s now convinced that you were set up from the start.”

  The warmth of affection served to thaw some of his tension. “What would I do without my little sisters?”

  “I won’t promise you Genevieve’s a hundred percent comfortable yet, but she’s willing to try. She does ask, though, that you
wait until—”

  “But I’ve been waiting for months now. I won’t be put off any longer,” Ace said, sharply enough that a few diners some distance away turned to look, shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

  Realizing he had startled them, Ace grimaced and raised his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said before looking back at Ainsley and repeating the apology more quietly. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you, but surely, you have to understand how big a deal this is for me. I haven’t seen Dad since before—”

  “Until tomorrow, I was about to say,” Ainsley continued, “since he’s being transferred to a room on the third floor this morning.”

  “Why would they do that?” Ace asked, realizing his father might well end up close to where they’d stashed Sierra.

  “I guess there’s some kind of maintenance issue with his room that can’t be safely addressed with a patient in there,” Ainsley explained. “Not only that, but the specialist overseeing his treatment is coming by this morning to see if there’s been any more progress. Or anything they can do to make his transition to full consciousness easier.”

  Anger falling away, Ace felt both soaring hope and deepening worry. “So they really think Dad’s waking up? That he’ll be—that he’ll still be him once he comes out of it?”

  Most of all, Ace wanted their father back, whole and well, wanted him to be fully present to hear Ace beg forgiveness for the harsh words they had exchanged not long before he’d been found shot in the boardroom. But Ace desperately wanted to know, too, who had pulled the trigger. Was it possible that his father would remember what had happened and could name the culprit?

  “I pray he will,” said Ainsley, “but I don’t know. No one does, but we’re really hoping the neurologist can give us a clearer idea after this assessment. So can I tell Marlowe you’ll hold off? Maybe until tomorrow?”