Colton First Responder (The Coltons 0f Mustang Valley Book 4)

by Linda O. Johnston

  “You’re Marty?” Chad asked.

  “Yes. Yes, I am. I want to go home.”

  “Absolutely,” Chad said, and Grayson noticed that a lot of the people who’d been back around the vehicles had now joined them, including an EMT who began examining the young man. Then there were a few people filming what was going on. Were they live on social media or just recording everything?

  In any case, it didn’t hurt to give First Hand a little publicity. They’d earned it, thanks to Chad and Winch. And since Chad was being kept away from Marty by those tending to his health, Grayson approached and held out his hand to his employee. “Great job, Chad. And Winchell.” Grayson bent to pat the sitting, panting dog on the head between his pointed ears. He was glad Chad was wearing a First Hand shirt—a blue one—and he gestured toward it. “Our company, First Hand First Responders, is really proud of you.” And Grayson was bold enough to smile at the cameras.

  Chad laughed. “That’s a bit over the top, boss—but you know we’re both proud to be private first responders for your company. Aren’t we, Winch?”

  At his name, the dog looked up at him and gave a quick bark, causing nearly everyone around there to laugh as Chad stroked Winch’s back.

  Grayson had an urge to pat his human employee on the back and to let Chad know he’d get a bonus for this. He didn’t do either...yet. But he would.

  Grayson told Chad, “Go ahead and hang out here for a while in case more help or information is needed. I’ve got to run—but I can’t tell you how glad I am that I saw Winch and you in action and doing so successfully.”

  “I can guess, boss.” Chad aimed a salute his way, and Grayson, saluting back, turned to head toward his car.

  Well, something, at least, had gone well that day. And now it was time for Grayson to start picking up those supplies for Savannah.

  Savannah. If only he could help her reach as successful a conclusion as this.

  But how? Getting her inept attorney into the media the way this had been picked up?

  He just wished he had more answers—and could get them quickly.

  * * *

  Okay, Savannah thought. Patience. She needed patience.

  She also needed to hear from Grayson.

  It was late afternoon. Had he seen Ian Wright yet? If so, what did he think now about her lawyer?

  When would she hear about it?

  When would she see Grayson?

  She was inside the cabin, going crazy as she usually did these days. Was Grayson at least getting her the disguise items she needed?

  If not, she still had to get out of here, soon. Sitting at that darned table nibbling on apple chips that Grayson had brought wasn’t doing her any good.

  Neither was thinking about Zane, and why he was so angry with her that he’d decided to fake his own death so he could frame her for murder. They could have found a way to get along as time went on after their divorce, couldn’t they?

  Zane clearly didn’t think so. And though Savannah thought he could have disappeared to someplace as far away as Bali, she wondered if he was instead hanging out around here to laugh at her.

  Okay. There was one thing Grayson had brought that could at least get her mind occupied so she wouldn’t feel so nuts.

  Maybe.

  She pulled the burner phone off its charger. Again. She was doing that a lot. She certainly hoped that Grayson continued to keep her well supplied with batteries for the charger.

  What she needed to do now was figure out where to go from here and how to get there—notwithstanding whether Grayson actually came through with her disguise.

  Too bad she couldn’t just place an online order for what she needed. She preferred actually shopping in person, enjoying the outing, but she had used the internet for acquiring plenty of things before.

  But even if she wanted to shop online, where could she have anything sent?

  She needed to decide at last where to go.

  Maybe to Phoenix—still in Arizona and not extremely far away.

  Or Los Angeles—so big and crowded she could surely get lost there.

  Or Mexico. It was just across the border from Arizona, after all. But just being in another country wouldn’t solve her problems, especially since she didn’t really know its language. And she didn’t have the ID she would need to leave the United States.

  Or—where else? New York City? Washington, DC? But how would she get there...or anywhere? And how could she live there on her own, with no money since she didn’t dare to try to access any of her ample accounts? They had probably been frozen anyway, considering that she was accused of committing a murder and had even been denied bail.

  No job. No identity she could use.

  She sighed. Maybe looking at the news or some feature stories would help. Would she be able to learn how other fugitives got away—successfully?

  She started her search this time at the local level. On her phone, she found a link to stream the news on the local affiliate of a national station. She turned up the sound on the phone and started looking.

  And she immediately gasped aloud.

  The story that came up wasn’t at all what she was expecting. It couldn’t be true. And yet, how could it not be?

  With a photo in the background that seemed much too real, too familiar, and a banner at the bottom that said “Breaking News,” the female newscaster with the solemn face was saying, “The police are not giving details yet, but the body of attorney Ian Wright was just discovered by his secretary inside his office building. More details to come. Ian Wright was representing murder suspect Savannah Oliver, now a fugitive. Although police have not publicly commented on potential suspects, we understand Oliver might be a suspect in this murder, as well.”

  Savannah sobbed as she closed the browser. She pushed the buttons on her phone to call Grayson, whether that was smart or not.

  He answered right away. “Hell. You heard?”

  “Yes,” she managed to say. “Had you met...had you seen Ian?”

  “Yeah, I did. I’ll tell you about it later. Right now—well, stay where you are. I’ll see you soon.”

  And then he was gone—when she perhaps needed to talk to him most.

  He’d seen Ian. Talked with him.

  Murdered him? Surely not. Why would he?

  But the only thing Savannah could be sure of was that she hadn’t been the one to kill Ian.

  * * *

  Damn.

  He had just stopped making calls and turned on the car radio, driving along one of the nicer, four-lane downtown streets in Mountain Valley, from a discount store to a more posh one a couple of blocks away. Grayson had earlier bought some of the disguise makeup that Savannah had asked for, as well as a few other supplies like batteries. When he heard about Ian Wright on the radio, he nearly drove into a car parked along the curb.

  Which was when Savannah had called. He pulled over and answered immediately, wishing he was with her to comfort her.

  What the hell had happened? When he had left Ian, the attorney looked nervous yet had definitely been in lawyer mode. He’d done whatever he had to do to get Grayson out of his presence.

  But he had definitely been breathing. And Grayson might have been the last person to see Ian alive. Except for his murderer.

  Apparently the SOB had been shot—but who had done it?

  Savannah had sounded scared on the phone, and no wonder. The media probably didn’t know all the details yet but the reports indicated that Wright’s cause of death was gunshot wounds. Whether or not the cops had suspects in mind, the media had taken no time to latch onto Savannah as their prime suspect. Even though she presumably had an alibi—being at the cabin—for this period of time, which they wouldn’t know.

  That was logical. Grayson admitted it to himself. Savannah theoretically could be mad at her lawyer for not ge
tting her out on bail or clearing her name.

  Grayson had wanted to keep talking with Savannah now but knew that wasn’t a good idea. Instead, after ending their call, he continued to listen to the news as he drove toward the fishing cabin.

  Even though no one was likely to be aware he had any connection to Savannah or Ian other than having found the van and visited Ian, Grayson recognized he could be under some kind of official surveillance regardless, as a result of those events. Or unofficial surveillance by Zane or his cronies attempting to frame Savannah.

  And so, again he took a circuitous route to the cabin, keeping an eye out for anyone behind him. He even looked up to see if someone might be overhead in a helicopter or following him with a drone, since the authorities might be even more inclined now to be conducting a search for Savannah.

  It might make them look bad if they didn’t.

  But Grayson had to continue to act normal, or at least appear that way.

  Through the city streets he drove, going the speed limit while wanting to race. Into the suburbs, then along a road circling the town and back toward Mustang Valley. But instead of heading into town he aimed his car to the back roads that had been affected by the quake—out toward the fishing area and the cabins abutting parts of it.

  All the time watching out for anyone following.

  He shut off the news and called Chad, again congratulating Winch and him. Then he called Pedro to hear about the vehicle fire he had helped to put out, the drivers and passengers he had helped to save, along with the town firefighters and EMTs.

  Finally he called Norah at the office and calmly discussed with her the successes of the others that day—and thanked her for being the backup in charge.

  “I guess no one’s in big trouble today,” she said, “or I’d have been called out as an EMT, too, to help save a life or two.”

  He heard the humor in her voice and said, “Or three or four. Well, wait for it. You’re always on call, you know, like the rest of us. And you always do your job well.”

  “Like you, boss,” she countered.

  He hoped so. But if the world knew what he was up to right now, who he was trying to help—well, his company would be in big trouble

  He soon hung up from that call, too, and continued driving slowly, carefully, along the narrow and uneven road into the wilderness that had come to mean a lot more to him these days than it had when it simply contained old fishing cabins, trees and wildlife.

  Now, it contained a woman on whom he had bet his life, his ongoing existence, in a way. And despite how absurd, how dangerous, it might be, he was glad.

  He had come to really believe in Savannah. To care for her. To cherish those kisses they’d shared and hope for more. A lot more.

  Well, hell. All he had to do was figure out the best way to exonerate her from all accusations against her. Clear her of two murders—one of which might not even have occurred, according to her.

  And the other?

  The sky was growing darker along this remote road; he occasionally saw another car going the other direction. He was nearing the cabin. He would soon see Savannah—and prove to himself that she was indeed there and could not have buzzed, carless, into town, murdered her attorney and returned to eventually cry on his shoulder.

  Right?

  What was he doing? Why was he risking so much to help this woman? Why did he believe in her and her innocence, despite there apparently being plenty of evidence against her?

  Well, heck. He hated to admit, even to himself, that he was attracted to her...despite himself. For now. But he would slough that off soon, when he no longer needed to do things for her.

  There. He had reached the turnoff to the cabin. He slowed to make sure he saw no one nearby, then drove in that direction.

  He soon parked beside the cabin. He didn’t see Savannah outside, at least. Was she inside? Was she hiding?

  Was she okay?

  He realized he needed to stay calm and act certain that all would be well, or he would just make things worse for her. She must be freaked out, justifiably so.

  Well, as far as he was concerned, another glitch had occurred that they would need to deal with, but life would just go on and they would find a way to fix things for Savannah.

  He had to. His mind leapt to why he had become a first responder in the first place, how he hadn’t been able to help his friend Philip Prokol, who’d come home from military service with PTSD, which had killed him.

  Well, nothing like that would happen to Savannah. Grayson would help her. Somehow.

  He got out of his car and pulled out from the trunk a couple of bags of things he had bought for her.

  Then he went to the cabin’s front door. It was locked—a good thing. He knocked.

  “Yes?” called a familiar voice from inside. Or was it familiar? He had heard Savannah in distress before, but the quiver in her tone and higher pitch suggested she truly felt tormented now.

  “It’s your deliveryman Grayson, Savannah,” he called out, keeping his tone light.

  The door opened immediately. Savannah appeared as anxious as he had imagined, her face ashen, her lips straight and tight. “Come in,” she managed to say, and as soon as he was inside she closed the door behind him and locked it.

  He looked down at her in the light from the lanterns, holding out a few bags.

  She didn’t reach for them. Instead, she headed for that same old table and sat down.

  And put her face in her hands. “What am I going to do, Grayson?” Her voice was a wail—although a sweet, despairing one.

  He wished he had an answer for her. A good answer.

  For now, he placed the bags on the table in front of her and reached down, encouraging her to stand again.

  Which she did. And again looked up at him. Her eyes sought his. Her mouth opened slightly—as she reached out at the same time he reached for her.

  Their kiss was soft at first, as he attempted to use the contact to reassure her physically.

  But then it began heating up, their contact growing fiercer. He felt her arms pull him closer as his did the same. He allowed his hands to range along her back, touching her buttocks, then released her slightly so he could reach between them and feel her wonderfully firm breasts.

  He grew harder, even as Savannah pushed her body against his even more. She clasped him tightly to her, then moved enough so she could first grasp his butt, too, then move her hand forward to touch his erection as their kiss became hot and all-encompassing. He couldn’t think of anything else but her.

  Except—

  “Please, Grayson,” Savannah said, stepping back only enough to start unbuttoning his shirt.

  So what could he do but do the same with hers, while leading her toward the cabin’s bed?

  Chapter 14

  This was such a bad idea. A stupid idea. And yet Savannah wanted it, wanted Grayson, more than anything else at this moment.

  No, it wouldn’t last long, but for now all she needed to think about was how being near him this way set her body ablaze with desire. Concentrating on what was here and now and not happening anyplace else, whether or not it concerned her.

  She had tamped down her interest in him from the moment he had arrived at this cabin. It had seemed so inappropriate. It didn’t matter that he was the only person she could communicate with in her current, small world. That wasn’t the sole reason she found him attractive.

  She had forced herself before to ignore any interest in him, or at least keep it deep inside.

  No longer.

  “Are you sure, Savannah?” Grayson’s voice was raspy, totally sexy in tone and it stoked her desire even more, even as she considered her answer to him.

  “Yes,” she said with no hesitation.

  Would this wind up being the last good memory she had of freedom before she was caught
again?

  Would it be the beginning of something new and wonderful?

  Or would it be a huge mistake? After all she had gone through, she still had no intention of getting involved in the long term with Grayson or any other man, no matter what the circumstances were now...or later.

  But she needed this.

  She needed him and what he could do for her at this moment.

  And she would do all she could to reciprocate.

  They were sitting on the bed now, on top of the sheets. As soon as she pulled his shirt off, he did the same with hers. At the same time she gazed at his muscular chest, she rejoiced in his hot stare on her breasts and wished she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  That wish immediately came true as he reached around her, hugging her close but only for an instant as he unhooked her bra and drew it off.

  She trembled in anticipation as he drew in his breath, looking at her as she felt her nipples grow taut—until he reached for her, bringing her close to him once more as he dipped his head to kiss and suckle those sensitive tips.

  They weren’t the only part of her that reacted to him now, but she wanted to see him, feel him, before she bared the rest of herself. She reached toward his pants, intending to maneuver him as he sat facing her and pull his clothes down, but instead connected with his erection again. She rubbed at the fabric outside it with the heel of her palm, then grasped at it—as Grayson pulled back.

  “Oh,” Savannah said.

  But the delay was only for an instant as Grayson used it to pull down his dark slacks and the shorts beneath them.

  His thick, enticing shaft was revealed, causing Savannah to reach for her own pants. She had help as she pulled them down and pushed them away.

  “Grayson,” she gasped aloud as he began stroking her, moving from her breasts slowly downward as he again kissed her mouth.

  His fingers were hot, probing, magnetic, exciting her even more—especially when he reached her hottest, most female area and explored it with his touch, his grasp. Those fingers were long and thick and utterly engaging, and when Savannah felt one, then two, inside her, she began to writhe, to beg internally for more.