She sat on the edge of the water fountain and held Cheyenne’s hands while her daughter stood on wobbly legs and watched the flowing water with wide eyes.
Jethro had taken a pay-off. Dead River Ranch had been built with dirty mob money. Her family fortune was born from lies, criminal activity and cover-up. The bitterness that had swamped her inside returned, accompanied by a burning shame. After all her preaching to Slade about honesty and integrity, what must he think of her after learning her family’s private shame?
And there was more. What was Breen telling Slade even now? How could she face him, knowing the scandals that surrounded her family?
Earlier today, she’d been foolish enough to think that maybe she’d found a man she could open herself to and rely on. But after hearing what Breen had to say about Jethro, would Slade want anything to do with her and her family’s lies?
Chapter 12
After Amanda pulled the door to Breen’s hospice room closed, Slade turned to the dying man and gave him a no-nonsense look. “All right. She’s gone, and I don’t need the facts softened with build-up. Just lay it out. What do you know about Jethro that Amanda couldn’t hear?”
Breen shifted in the bed, clearly in pain. He already seemed weaker than when they’d arrived, and Slade knew the conversation was taking its toll on the former campaign manager.
“After we struck our...bargain with Jethro,” Breen said, then stopped to draw a raspy breath, “I flew to Wyoming...to check up on Jethro. I wanted to be sure he was...holding up his end of the deal. I intended to...drop in at the ranch...unannounced...and repeat the warnings about...never interfering with Joe Colton’s political career.”
Slade sat forward, rubbing his hands on his jeans impatiently. “And?”
“I arrived at about...2 a.m. one night, and I’d just...checked into my motel room in town. I was almost ready for bed, but...needed a bottle of blood pressure medicine...that was in my car. As I started out, I saw...a truck pull in to the lot. As the truck passed...under a security light, I...recognized the driver. It was Jethro Colton. I ducked back in...the room and watched through a window as a woman came out...from another motel room and...hurried out to the car.”
“So Jethro was up to his old tricks,” Slade said and shrugged. “It’s widely known he was a womanizer. That he had affairs with married women.”
Breen shook his head. “No. He opened the passenger door of his truck...and took a baby out. He handed the kid to the woman.”
Slade tensed. “A baby?”
Breen nodded weakly. “The woman talked to him...for a few seconds, then...hurried inside her room with the child. Jethro drove away.”
Slade gripped the armrests of his chair, a sick certainty that he knew what was coming gnawing his gut. “This was about thirty years ago?”
Breen’s eyes lit with a zealous conviction. “The next morning...the town was buzzing that Jethro Colton had...reported his infant son, Cole, missing. He claimed the baby...had disappeared from his crib overnight.”
Slade’s thoughts spun in a dozen directions. This was explosive, if true. But he had to verify the facts, get some kind of corroboration. “Are you sure it was Jethro you saw?”
“Absolutely.”
Slade’s heart thundered against his ribs. He found it hard to breathe. “How can you be sure? It was night. Dark—”
“Because I confronted him...later in the day. I went to the ranch. Had a private meeting with him. Told him what I saw. His reaction was...proof enough.”
Slade frowned. “Wait...you confirmed with Jethro that you’d seen him hand off a baby—his baby—to some woman, and didn’t report what you’d seen to the police?” He dragged a hand over his mouth, aghast. “Why the hell not?”
“Because I wasn’t...a nice man back then. Everything I did...had one goal. Getting Joe Colton elected. I didn’t want to...get dragged into a scandal, a police investigation or...anything that could haunt the campaign. What’s more...I had the...best insurance in the world to hold...Jethro to our bargain. I told him I’d disappear, say nothing, keep his secret, so long as...he never came anywhere near Joe Colton...or even hinted to anyone they had...a family tie.”
Nausea rolled through Slade’s belly. He wasn’t sure who he despised more. The man who’d given his own child away and lied for decades about the boy being kidnapped or the political aide who’d helped bury the truth to protect his candidate.
Slade sat back in his chair and stared blankly at the floor, not seeing anything—except his own child, lying in a hospital bassinet, hooked up to tubes and wires that would prove insufficient to save her fragile life. Air balled in his lungs, stagnant and painful. He’d give anything, even his own life, to have Emily back, to give his baby girl a chance at life. But Jethro Colton had had a healthy son and had callously gotten rid of him. Then lied about it for thirty years.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he jammed the swell of emotions down, slamming his iron facade in place as he shifted back into investigative mode. He remembered the photographs in his backpack and pulled them out.
“Do you remember the woman he gave the baby to?”
Breen nodded tiredly. “Like it was yesterday.”
Slade started with a picture of Agnes Barlow to test the man. “Was this who you saw?”
Breen studied the picture for a few seconds and quickly shook his head. “No.”
Slade moved on to a picture of Faye Frick, the woman who’d brought her son, Dylan, to live at the ranch a year after baby Cole disappeared. Dylan had grown up on the ranch in the employee wing and had recently been proven through DNA tests to be Cole Colton. “Is this her?”
Breen knitted his brow as he studied the picture. “No. I don’t know her.”
Disappointment punched Slade. If it wasn’t Faye Frick...
He flipped through the pictures he’d compiled. He pulled out a photo of Mathilda Perkins, the head maid, grasping at straws. “How about her?”
Again Breen shook his head. “Not her. But I remember her being at the ranch that day. She was as distraught over the baby’s disappearance as the rest of the household.”
Slade grunted. That fit with what he’d observed of the head maid and her relationship with the family she’d worked for the past thirty-odd years.
“Her?” Slade held up a picture of Cole’s mother, Britanny Beal Colton, knowing that the woman had been killed in a car accident months before Cole disappeared.
Breen’s face creased as he studied the black-and-white photo. He reached for the picture with a shaking hand. “May I see that?”
Slade passed the photo to Breen.
“I...I think this could be her. Something’s off, though.”
Slade’s shoulder’s drooped. Since there was no way Britanny could have been the one at the motel that night, he began to seriously doubt the rest of the dying man’s wild tale. “I’d say something’s off. That woman had been dead for months before Cole, her son, disappeared. That’s Britanny Beal.”
Breen shot Slade a scathing look. “I know what I saw! Are you calling me a liar?”
“I’m just saying that couldn’t be the woman you saw. She was dead.” Slade snatched the photo back and jammed the stack of photos into his backpack.
“I said that woman...was close. It wasn’t her, but...there were similarities.”
Frustration ticked through Slade, but he took a calming breath and gave Breen the benefit of the doubt. They had come all this way to hear Breen’s story. He might as well follow this tale through to the end. “Similar how?”
“The face is close, but the hair was too dark.”
“Ever heard of dye? Wigs?” Slade said.
Breen glared at him for a moment, then glanced away, his expression full of defeat. “Did Britanny Beal have a sister?”
Slade’s p
ulse tripped. He searched his memory, trying to recall what his research had said about Jethro’s first wife. “Maybe.” He pulled his laptop out of his backpack. “This place have wifi?”
Breen turned up a palm. “Maybe for the staff’s use?”
Slade logged on and checked for a public signal he could use to get on the internet. Brookdale. Five bars. Bingo. He accessed the network and quickly typed in his search parameters. Britanny Beal Colton. Sister. The first link that came up was Britanny’s obituary. He clicked the link and scanned the archived article from the Dead River Gazette. “Britanny’s survivors include her husband, Jethro,” he read aloud, “son, Cole, and—I’ll be damned—sister, Desiree.”
“Is there a photo of her?” Breen asked, even as Slade clicked the second link, which took him to a photo taken at Britanny’s funeral. The picture was of a grim-faced Jethro, standing beside his wife’s open grave during the service. To his left, a young Mathilda Perkins held Cole in her arms, and to Jethro’s right stood an attractive young woman who bore a striking resemblance to the photo Slade had of Britanny. The caption identified the woman as Desiree Beal.
A tingle of anticipation spun through Slade. He turned the laptop so that Breen could see the image on the screen. “Is that her? Is the woman on the right the one you saw Jethro give his son to that night at the motel?”
Breen squinted at the screen, then tightened his mouth. “Yes. I’m sure of it.” He released a weary sigh as if relieved to have his story vindicated.
“So Jethro Colton gave his son to his sister-in-law and told the police Cole had been kidnapped.”
Breen nodded, his eyes troubled, sad. “But the question that’s...bugged me all these years is why?”
“Other than because he’s a selfish bastard?” Slade said, grinding his back teeth as he closed the laptop. “That’s what I intend to find out.”
* * *
“What did he say?” Amanda asked when Slade stormed through the front door of the hospice and strode briskly toward the rental car. She had to jog a few steps to catch up to him, which wasn’t easy with Cheyenne in her arms and a large diaper bag over her shoulder.
Slade’s mouth was set in a grim line and tension rolled off him like heat waves from pavement. “A lot. But nothing I plan to tell you until I can fully verify his story.”
Amanda goggled at him. “What? You promised to tell me! That’s the only reason I left you alone with him!”
“I didn’t say when I’d tell you.”
Fury surged in her. “Don’t you dare jerk me around, Slade Kent!” she fumed, winded from hurrying to keep pace with him. “I am sick to death of lies and cover-ups! You promised me—”
He stopped abruptly, and she had to pull up quickly to avoid running into his back. He reached for the diaper bag and sent her an apologetic look, as if he’d just realized he’d neglected to help her with her load. He nodded to Cheyenne. “Want me to get her?”
“No. She’s fine.” She hiked Cheyenne higher on her hip. “What I want is answers. Tell me what he said!”
“No.” Turning his back, he headed for the car.
“Slade! If you learned something about my father, I have a right to know!”
He used the remote key fob to unlock the car. “You have a right to the truth, which I’ve yet to determine.”
“Meaning?”
He swung the diaper bag onto the backseat and turned back to her for Cheyenne. “Meaning I will look into Breen’s allegations against your father, and if I decide what Breen said is the truth...” He paused and clenched his back teeth so that the muscle in his jaw flexed. His eyes were dark with turmoil, and Amanda’s gut knotted. When he spoke again, his tone was rough-edged and quiet. “Then I’ll tell you.”
“Is it that bad?” Her voice, her body, her heart all trembled.
Slade pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Which was all the answer she needed. It was that bad.
When he met her eyes, Slade’s expression had softened. “Try not to worry, okay. It could all be a big misunderstanding. Maybe—”
Amanda stiffened her back, and her voice hardened. “Do not patronize me. Please, Slade. Of all people, you should know I don’t like being put off or managed.”
He held her gaze for several seconds, studying her, then nodded. “All right. Fair enough.”
This time when he reached for Cheyenne, she passed her daughter to him and watched him buckle her into the car seat. He seemed to have moved past whatever aversion he’d had to Cheyenne at the start of the trip.
Circling to the passenger side of the rental car, Amanda mulled over what Slade had told her. He had some kind of dirt on her father, something he wanted to verify, something bad enough to have put Slade on edge. Dread coiled inside her.
What had Jethro done? Had she ever really known her father? How many secrets were still buried, and what if the past had the power to destroy her future? To destroy Cheyenne’s future?
She had to convince Slade to share what he’d learned with her, especially if it could come back to haunt Cheyenne. She’d do whatever it took to protect her daughter.
Chapter 13
Amanda stood in his hotel room door, wrapped in a towel, her wet hair slicked back from her model-worthy cheekbones. Her skin was dewy from the shower and her smile promised pleasures yet to come. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you.” He tossed the bed covers back, summoning her.
She crossed to his bed, the towel riding lower on her breasts with each step. He was ready for her, his body humming and taut with anticipation. When she paused, a few steps beyond his reach, he lunged from the bed, capturing her shoulders and tossing her playfully onto the bed. He ripped open the towel, exposing her naked glory, and a growl of satisfaction rumbled in his throat. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this. For you.”
Her body bowed toward him in invitation, and he buried his face in her—
A loud cry yanked Slade from his sensuous dream, and he scrubbed his face, clearing the cobwebs.
In the next room, Cheyenne wailed pitifully, and he heard Amanda’s soft murmur, comforting her child.
His heart still thundered, and his body was tense and trembling with sexual energy. Damn but the dream had felt real, had felt...
He huffed in frustration. Forget it, Kent. You have no business going down that road with a Colton, of all people.
The Colton family was culpable in covering up the murder of his father. Jethro Colton himself could have even had a hand in killing Slade’s father to keep his part in Cole’s disappearance a secret. The man had given his baby away. The heartlessness galled Slade. How could Jethro have done it? Why had he?
Slade clenched his back teeth. Jethro had no valid excuse in his book. He was a man of means and resources. He’d had staff to help raise Cole after his first wife died, even if he hadn’t wanted any part of caring for his child. The man was selfish, arrogant, insufferable...and Amanda’s father.
How a woman as strong and upbeat and warm-hearted as Amanda could have Jethro for a parent was a mystery. He sat up, listening for a moment to Cheyenne’s crying, before shuffling to the connecting door and knocking. Amanda opened her side of the connecting doors and greeted him with an anxious look.
“She woke you? I’m sorry.”
He dismissed her apology with a flick of his hand. “Can I do anything?”
“Cure the common cold. It’s her stuffy nose that keeps waking her. This is the eighth night in a row she hasn’t slept well.” The worry and strain were clearly etched in the creases around Amanda’s eyes.
“And therefore the eighth night you haven’t slept?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t care about my sleep. I’m used to late-night calls. But my heart breaks for her. I wish I could do more.”
S
lade squeezed the door jamb, knowing intimately the helpless feeling she described. Just one more reason he should stay the hell away from Amanda Colton and her baby. They were a too-painful reminder of what he’d lost. When they got back to the ranch tomorrow, he’d do his best to avoid Amanda.
She shifted her fussy baby from one shoulder to another and narrowed a hard look on him. “Have you reconsidered keeping what Breen told you from me?”
Sighing, Slade plowed his fingers through his hair. “No. I’ll tell you if and when I feel the time is right. If and when I prove his allegations. I’m trying to protect y—”
“Then we have nothing else to discuss,” she said and closed the door in his face.
He barely got his fingers out of the way before they’d have been smashed. With a grunt of aggravation, Slade turned on his heel and strode back to his bed. As he tugged the sheet back over him, the remnants of his erotic dream flashed in his mind. While her anger with him would make it easier to keep her at arm’s length, clearly his desire for her would not be as easy to dodge.
* * *
“I’m going to get a bottle of water and something to eat.” Slade hitched his head toward the newsstand in the airport the next morning. “Do you want anything?”
Amanda lifted her chin. “Answers about what Breen told you.”
He scoffed. “Right. So nothing for you, then.”
“Jerk,” she grumbled as he walked away.
In the convenience shop, Slade took two chilled bottles of water and two packages of peanut butter crackers to the checkout and waited his turn to pay, scanning the headlines of the tabloids in the nearby rack. “Inside Job!” one headline screamed, with a secondary line that read, “Authorities believe assaults at Dead River Ranch the work of ranch resident.”
Slade hated the tabloids’ penchant for fixating on the troubles of the rich and famous, sensationalizing a family’s pain for the circulation boost a murder meant.
While the tabloid’s theory was nothing new to Slade, seeing the claim in print made the reality of the headline resonate differently with him. How must Amanda feel knowing someone she trusted, perhaps someone she loved, was responsible for attacking, even killing people around her. And targeting her daughter for kidnapping. No wonder she found it hard to trust.
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