Finally the guard stopped in front of a door and opened it, gesturing for Ridge to enter. The moment had arrived. He was really going to do this.
Ridge took a deep breath, his stomach twisting hard. He hadn’t seen Matthew Colton in twenty years, and in all that time, he’d tried his best to forget his father’s face. Would he even recognize the man now?
He was about to find out. He stepped past the guard with a nod. “Take all the time you need,” the man said.
Ridge didn’t respond. If he had his way, this visit wouldn’t last long at all.
The room was a narrow rectangle, divided into individual stations by a series of partitions that gave the illusion of privacy for each visitor. Black phone handsets hung on a reinforced glass panel that revealed the room beyond. Ridge was the only one there, which meant he had his pick of seats. He chose one close to the door so he wouldn’t have far to go when it was time to leave.
After a moment, the door in the adjacent room opened and a guard stepped in, followed by a thin, white-haired figure. Ridge sucked in a breath as he got his first look at his father.
The years had not been kind to Matthew Colton. Neither had the cancer. His once tall, powerful frame was now skeletal and gaunt, and he moved in a halting shuffle that suggested he was in pain. Ridge watched him approach with a curious sense of detachment. Had it been any other person, this graphic evidence of disease would have triggered his sympathy. But try as he might, Ridge could muster no sorrow for his father’s ongoing demise.
Matthew sat down with a wince. Then he lifted his head and looked directly at Ridge for the first time, his piercing blue eyes full of rage. Ridge didn’t know whether his father was angry at the cancer or upset over the fact he was going to die in prison. Either way, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Matthew Colton’s life had always been fueled by hate. Why should his death be any different?
Matthew’s thin, gnarled hand reached for his receiver. Ridge picked up his end and was treated to the rattling sound of Matthew’s breathing.
“Ridge.”
“Matthew.”
The man’s mouth twisted in a cruel smile. “Don’t you mean Dad?”
Ridge pretended to consider the question. “No. I really don’t.”
Matthew narrowed his eyes but gave no other sign of displeasure. “Well, now, that’s a shame,” he drawled. “Here I thought I was going to have a conversation with my son. But if that’s not the case, I might as well just go back to my cell.” His brow rose in challenge, and Ridge clenched his jaw. Just play the game, he told himself. Let him think he’s won something. It made him physically ill to appease this monster, but he had to get his clue so he could help his mother rest in peace.
“That won’t be necessary,” Ridge ground out. “Dad,” he added, almost choking on the word.
Matthew nodded, his expression triumphant. “That’s more like it.”
Ridge didn’t bother to respond. After a moment, Matthew shifted on his seat. “Tell me what it is you do again.”
The question made the hair on the back of Ridge’s neck stand on end. “That’s not part of the deal.” Even though there was no way Matthew Colton was ever getting out of prison, Ridge didn’t want him knowing the details of his life. He didn’t deserve to have that information.
“Guard!” Matthew called out, his voice surprisingly strong. The guard stepped into the room and Matthew cocked his head to the side in a silent question.
After a moment’s hesitation, Ridge nodded. Matthew glanced over his shoulder. “Never mind. I don’t need you yet.”
The man frowned and glanced at Ridge, who shrugged an apology. Matthew waited until the door shut again before turning back to face Ridge. “Well?”
Ridge willed his jaw to relax. “I work search and rescue.”
Something ugly flashed in Matthew’s eyes. “You think you’ll be able to find your mother’s body?”
“Yes.” Ridge refused to even entertain the thought of failure. They would find Saralee and lay her to rest. There was no other option.
A small, secret smile flitted across Matthew’s face. “We’ll see about that,” he murmured.
The conversation had gone on long enough. “I believe you have something for me?”
“I do.” Matthew straightened up, then started to cough. Ridge somehow managed to hold on to his patience while the other man hacked and gasped for what seemed like forever. When it was over, he raised a shaking hand to his mouth and wiped, trailing a small streak of bright red blood across his pale lips.
“The clue?” Ridge pressed.
“B.”
Ridge frowned. “B?”
Matthew nodded. “That’s right.”
It didn’t make any sense. “The letter, or the insect?”
The old man didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, Ridge feared he wouldn’t respond at all. Then he let out a sigh. “The letter.”
Ridge added it to the short list of clues they already had: Texas. Hill. B. He turned the words over in his mind, searching for a connection that would help him find his mother. Was it the name of a town? A place of business? One of Matthew’s old friends? But nothing jumped out at him.
Frustration welled in his chest at the futility of this visit. Was Matthew ever really going to tell them where to find Saralee? After all, it’s not as if they could do anything to him if he didn’t hold up his end of the bargain—the man was dying in prison. How much worse could things get for him?
“You don’t look too happy,” Matthew observed.
Ridge bit back a dozen retorts, knowing he had to play nice if he hoped to get more information out of the man. “The letter B isn’t much of a clue.”
“Oh, but it is,” Matthew said, a smug note entering his voice. “More than enough, if you’re clever. You just have to think like me.”
Ridge’s horror must have shown on his face because Matthew laughed, a harsh, grating sound that triggered another coughing fit, this one longer than the last. Finally, he wiped the tears of amusement from his blue eyes. “That’s right, boy,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re going to have to get into my head if you ever want to find your mama.”
“You’re disgusting.” Ridge didn’t bother trying to hide his reaction. It was clear Matthew wasn’t going to offer any additional help, not to him anyway. Maybe one of his siblings would have better luck. Like Trevor, for instance. He had made it his life’s work to understand monsters like Matthew and he knew how to talk to them. Hopefully, he would be more successful at prying information out of the man. It wasn’t a skill Ridge cared to acquire.
“That may be,” Matthew replied. “But my blood runs through your veins, and don’t you forget it. Like it or not, I’m your father. I’m a part of you and always will be.”
Ridge shook his head, thinking back to his time with little Sara. Taking care of that baby had made one thing very clear—fatherhood was more than just shared genes. “You’re not my father. You’re nothing more than a sperm donor.” He stood and dropped the black plastic receiver back into its cradle, ignoring Matthew’s muted shout of protest. Then he turned around and walked out, leaving the old man to rot in his own bitterness.
* * *
Annabel Colton pushed back from the table and allowed herself the indulgence of a jaw-cracking, eye-watering yawn. She’d risen with the sun to start her shift, then had come home to sift through the stacks of Matthew’s mail that Trevor had dropped off.
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Her older brother had seemed almost reluctant to part with the letters. She’d tried not to take it personally—none of her brothers were happy about her choice of career, but she was good at her job and even they had to admit it. Still, they tried to protect her from what they saw as the messier side of things.
“I’m happy to help.” She k
new Ridge had originally volunteered for the job, but he deserved a break. He’d been even more quiet than usual after his visit to the prison. Annabel didn’t know if it was something Matthew had said or just seeing the man again that bothered him so much, but either way, he didn’t need to trouble himself with Matthew’s fan mail. Besides, he and Darcy were like two teenagers in love and Annabel didn’t want to mar their happiness. Ridge had been alone for so long—it was nice to see him smiling again.
She pushed a stack of letters to the side and pulled another one forward. Sorting through Matthew’s mail was harder than she’d anticipated. It wasn’t the content of the letters—although that was pretty bad. Rather, it was the tangible proof that so many people admired him enough to go to the effort of writing. How many more out there looked up to Matthew but hadn’t bothered to send a letter? It really made her worry about the state of humanity, that so many people wanted to connect with such an evil man.
Her eyes burned with fatigue, but she didn’t stop. She had a meeting with her boss in—she checked her watch—just about an hour, and she wanted to report on her progress with this batch of mail. If she found something, it could really help direct the investigation.
Fortunately, there hadn’t been any new victims of the Alphabet Killer of late. The police had held several press conferences to spread the word that women with long dark hair should take extra precautions, and it seemed the message was getting through. Annabel had seen women in Granite Gulch walking in groups, and she personally knew several women who had taken to wearing a wig to hide their hair when going out in public. It was a shame people needed to alter their lives so drastically for the sake of safety, but it was a small price to pay if it prevented additional deaths.
Of course, if the Alphabet Killer really had gone to ground it was going to be that much harder to stop her. But Annabel wasn’t going to give up. She would see this case through to the end, no matter what.
With a sigh, Annabel pulled out another letter and began to read. It seemed familiar somehow, and when she got to the end, she realized why.
What she had initially mistaken as an ink blot was actually a crudely drawn red bull’s-eye.
Chills raced through her limbs, chasing away her fatigue. She sat up and read the letter again, this time paying more attention to the handwriting. Was it the same as the other letter from their killer?
She pushed aside piles of paper, searching frantically for the photocopy of the killer’s letter that Trevor had given her to use as a comparison in case she found something. Excitement bubbled in her veins as she realized she had probably just discovered the proverbial needle in a haystack.
At last, she found the page and held it next to the letter. A wide grin split her face as she verified it was indeed the same handwriting.
But the best part of all?
This letter had a signature.
Regina Willard.
“Gotcha,” Annabel whispered. Now they had a solid lead, after weeks of guesswork and circumstantial clues.
She stuffed the letter and the photocopy back into the original envelope, noting with a small shock the return address in the upper left corner. Blackwood. As in the next town over.
“You’ve been here the whole time, haven’t you?”
It was almost too good to be true—the killer’s name and a location all at once. Annabel glanced at her watch. It was still early, but this news was too exciting to sit on for long. She grabbed her keys and phone and hopped in the car, dialing Trevor as she drove.
I’m coming for you, Regina, she thought, stepping on the gas to beat a yellow light.
You can run, but you can’t hide.
* * * * *
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We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Romantic Suspense title.
You want sparks to fly! Harlequin Romantic Suspense stories deliver, with strong and adventurous women, brave and powerful men and the life-and-death situations that bring them together.
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ISBN-13: 9781488004896
Colton Baby Homecoming
Copyright © 2016 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Lara Kingeter for her contribution to The Coltons of Texas miniseries.
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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From New York Times bestselling author Cindy Dees—a thrilling new romance with a sinister edge
Lover. Trickster. Villain. Hero. Which of these is undercover spy Max Kuznetsov? Despite her psychic gifts, Lissa Clearmont isn’t sure. All she knows is the gorgeous guy saved her life outside her New Orleans curio shop. And now they’re fighting brutal Russian mobsters…and feeling extrasensual passion.
Although he’s protecting her, Lissa knows Max keeps his darkest self—and true mission—hidden. It pains her when Max doubts the powers that have already cost her a normal life. But when Lissa foretells inescapable danger, Max and his team of SEALs must believe in her…or the dead people she sees will be all of them.
“About that kiss last night…”
Max leaned forward curiously. “What happened? Is that what it’s always like to kiss you?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never kissed myself.”
“Something happened when you kissed me, Lissa.”
“You mean the earth moved under your feet?” she joked.
He frowned across the table at her. “I’m serious.”
She really wished he would drop the line of questioning, but she sensed there wasn’t a chance in hell he would do that. Instead she asked a shade shortly, “Describe something.”
“It was like my imagination went crazy. I saw all kinds of images and felt all kinds of feelings. But it all happened in, like, a mill
isecond.”
She swore under her breath. Did he have a gift of his own, then? “Has anyone ever told you you’re an empath?”
He leaned back hard in his chair. “I have some experience in watching other people’s body language. But that doesn’t make me some kind of psychic.”
He said the word as if it was filthy. A momentary knife of pain twisted in her gut.
* * *
Be sure to check out the next books in this exciting new miniseries, Code: Warrior SEALs: Meet these fierce warriors, who take on the most dangerous secret missions around the world!
* * *
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Dear Reader,
It seems fitting that, ten years after Hurricane Katrina, you and I should return to New Orleans for a steamy story of intrigue, magic and love. In the next installment of my Code: Warrior SEALs series, the team receives some unexpected help from Eve Hankova’s older brother, Max, and from the strange and wonderful fortune teller he meets while performing surveillance on her shop. The Warrior SEAL net is tightening around the shadowy Russian spy running a mob ring in New Orleans, and their foe is more dangerous than ever as they close in on learning his true identity.
I’ve long been fascinated by the role of intuition in special operations situations. Soldiers rely heavily on gut feelings to warn them of unseen danger and approaching threats. But exactly how far will a warrior trust not only his own intuition, but the intuition of a woman who may be working for the enemy?
Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2016 Box Set Page 43