The Missing Colton

by Loreth Anne White

  He didn’t return her smile. His narrow-set eyes bored into her—the chief was drawing his line in the sand.

  “We’d like to report an attempt on our lives,” she said.

  His eyes did not blink. There was no surprise at all in his face. A typical veteran cop, thought Jagger, practiced at not revealing any emotion.

  “What do you mean, ‘attempt on your lives’?”

  “Someone tried to run us off the road repeatedly and fired a weapon at us.”

  The chief eyed her for a moment, then leaned over and opened the low door in the counter, admitting them into the bull pen area.

  He picked up a clipboard with forms from one of the desks and led them through to an interview room, indicating they should take seats at the table, which was bolted to the floor. Drucker took the plastic seat opposite them.

  “What happened?” he said, clicking his pen, eyes fixed on them.

  Mia explained the events of the morning.

  “And you didn’t report it right away?”

  “Medical emergency,” she said, her glance flicking toward Jagger. “I was worried about a possible hematoma on his brain—we went straight to Cheyenne Memorial where we had an appointment for a CT scan, then we came right here.”

  Drucker’s eyes narrowed. “You could have called it in on your way to the hospital.”

  “My cell battery is dead.”

  Jagger inwardly raised a brow. She was fast. And he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to secret thrill in aligning with her against this balding cop. He found her sexy right now. Jagger reached under the table and put his hand on her knee, squeezed. Her spine stiffened but she didn’t look his way.

  He repressed a smile.

  “I guess it’s state jurisdiction?” Mia said as she looked at Chief Drucker with doe eyes. “Or Laramie’s. Perhaps we should have gone there.”

  “You did your best,” Drucker said brusquely. “I’ll handle it from here and bring in whoever is necessary.”

  Inwardly Jagger grinned. Drucker was territorial. Mia had read and played him well.

  Drucker took down the details of the truck chase, shooting, location and descriptions of the vehicle and driver, then he asked Mia if she had a carry permit for her handgun. She produced it from her purse. Drucker examined it, then looked up from his paperwork directly at Jagger. “You done this before?”

  “What?”

  “Ambush. Firebombing. Shooting out tires.”

  Jagger blinked, momentarily assailed by sounds and scents of an ambush of a very different kind.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “But you’re practiced with a weapon.”

  “It would appear so.”

  “Why do you think someone is trying to kill you, sir?”

  But Mia sat forward, heading him off. “How can he know that if he can’t recall why he came here in the first place? Or who he is? The neurologist we saw today explained that his memory might take some time to return, if ever,” she said, embroidering slightly on the prognosis. “You can speak to Dr. Colton about that. I’m sure he’ll confirm it, although it’s patient privilege.”

  Drucker pulled his hand over his mouth, drawing his lips down into a frown as he eyed Jagger. In turn, Jagger met the man’s scrutiny with a cultivated blankness.

  “Why do you think someone might be trying to kill me, Chief?” asked Jagger.

  The chief didn’t answer. Instead, he abruptly pushed his chair back from the table and stood.

  “Can you leave your weapon with us, Ms. Sanders? We’ll need to take it into evidence.”

  Mia hesitated, then took her gun from her purse and slid it over the table toward the chief. “Any word when your DNA technician will be able to do the test?” she asked. “The sooner we know, the better for our patient.”

  This time Jagger did see something flicker through Drucker’s watery gray eyes. And he now felt certain Drucker was delaying the test in his own interests. He clearly wanted control, and he wanted all his legal ducks in as clean a row as possible. Jagger wondered how long Drucker would take to tell Laramie or state police about the truck incident, if at all. Or if he was going to try and handle it solo first, from the Dead River end.

  “He should be finished testifying and back here tomorrow. I’ve informed Jethro Colton, who’ll be providing his own DNA, to see if there’s a paternal match. I’ll be bringing my technician out to the ranch—he can take blood samples there. The D.A. has recommended blood over saliva. It’ll be better in the event of a trial down the road.”

  Irritation flashed through Mia’s eyes. “Well, thank you for letting us know. How long until we get results after the samples are taken?”

  “It’ll depend on the lab schedule.” His tone brooked no further discussion. “If that’s all?” He held his hand toward the door.

  “Chief Drucker,” Mia said sweetly, staying seated. “One last question—you’ve seen this man’s ID. He showed it to you in the diner. Why have you kept this from us?”

  The Chief’s mouth flattened, his eyes inscrutable. “The case is under investigation.”

  She got to her feet abruptly “You can’t tell him the name on his own driver’s license?”

  “We’re checking to see whether the identification is fraudulent. Once we have DNA test results we can match—”

  “What about the prints?”

  “Ms. Sanders, this is a police matter. Now if there’s nothing further, I have an investigation to run.”

  The chief showed them out in silence.

  “He’s an ass,” Mia muttered as they exited the station.

  “He’s a cop.”

  “Not all cops are asses,” she said grumpily as she strode over to the parked Escalade.

  Jagger beeped the locks and opened the passenger door for Mia.

  “First stop, I’m getting a new weapon,” she said as she climbed in. “There’s a store down Main Street, across from the Dead River Diner.”

  He got behind the wheel.

  Half an hour later they had a Glock and a Smith & Wesson in their possession, along with plenty of spare ammunition. Mia also bought new bear bangers and flares.

  “Make sure you keep that pistol and spare ammunition on you,” Jagger said quietly as they walked back down the sidewalk to where he’d parked the Escalade.

  “Hey,” Mia said, stopping suddenly and grabbing his arm. “Isn’t that Grace, the diner waitress, across the street in the parking lot?”

  Jagger turned to look. Grace was leaning against the wall smoking. “I don’t know,” he lied.

  “I’m sure it is,” she said, squinting to see better. “Tanner said it was Grace who served you that night, and that you spoke to her for a while.” Mia glanced up at him, her eyes suddenly bright. “Maybe she remembers something, Cole. Come, let’s go talk to her.” Mia started across the street without waiting for a reply.

  Jagger followed. Mia was right—Grace might be of help, but for different reasons. Her boss, Maggie, had shown a keen interest in him from the moment he’d walked into her diner. Maggie might have even called Drucker on the phone after she’d seen him. Jagger wanted to know why.

  “Grace!” Mia called, waving, as the waitress stubbed out her cigarette and began to head back to the diner.

  The waitress spun round at the sound of her name, and surprise showed on her face. “Hey,” she said, coming over, hugging her arms against the chill.

  “Grace, my name is Mia, I work as the nurse on Dead River ranch.”

  “I know,” said Grace. “Nice to meet you.” She glanced at Jagger. “I served you the other night but I guess you don’t remember, huh? They say you might be Cole Colton. I figured that’s why you were asking so many questions about Jethro and the ranch. At least, that’s what I told the police
.”

  “They questioned you?” Jagger said.

  “Basically interrogated anyone who might have crossed your path that night.”

  “Do you have a second, Grace?” Mia said. “Can we ask you a few questions?”

  The waitress cast a quick backward glance toward the diner windows. “Better be quick—Dragon Lady will be watching. Come over this way. It’s warmer against the wall, out of the wind.”

  They followed her to the wall where the sand was still piled in soft drifts. Grace took a package of smokes out of her deep apron pocket and lit another cigarette. She blew out a long stream of smoke, and said, “What do y’all want to know?”

  “Anything that might help trigger the return of Cole’s memory,” Mia said. “Like, what did he order that night?”

  Jagger saw where Mia was going—starting with the easy questions. She’d have made a good reporter, building trust slowly.

  Grace flicked another glance toward the diner. “Uh-oh. She’s watching, like I told you.”

  Maggie was standing in the window.

  “That’s Maggie-Jane Draper, she owns the joint. Always on my case.” She took a drag. “I have five more minutes on my smoke break.” She waved brightly, and Maggie sifted back out of sight.

  “Okay, let’s see...you had a burger—the ranch special, with fries and two beers.” Grace paused, studying Jagger. “You really don’t remember, do you? You said we might meet up at Joe Bear Bar later.”

  “I’m guessing I didn’t show?” Jagger said cautiously.

  “’Fraid not. Might’ve saved your bacon had you come,” she said with a seductive smile.

  Jagger grinned. He liked Grace. She was worn around the edges but she was real.

  “I’m told I had a photo of Brittany Colton on me,” he said. “Did you see it?”

  “Uh-huh. Fell out of your wallet and landed right onto the table. Maggie was telling everyone after you left that it was a picture of Brittany with the kidnapped Colton baby, and that you were a spitting image of Jethro when he was younger. She’s the one who first said that you could even be Cole Colton yourself.”

  Jagger’s pulse kicked. Mia shot him a glance.

  “Maggie knew Jethro when he was younger?” Mia said quickly.

  Grace took another long drag and blew smoke out the side of her mouth. “Maggie and her husband used to work on Dead River Ranch. They started shortly after Jethro Colton bought the place, but didn’t stay long.”

  Jagger’s pulse went up another notch.

  “Maggie helped in the kitchen. That’s where she got started cooking the crap she has them dishing up in the diner.” She paused, looking weary all of a sudden. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean they serve crap on the ranch.” She dropped her cigarette and stubbed it out under her black shoe. “I’m a single mom with a five-year-old son. I hate the job, but I need it.”

  Jagger felt a stab of compassion for her.

  “The word among the old-timers in Dead is that Maggie and Mr. Colton, you know, had a thing. I don’t know whose skirts old man Colton didn’t try to get under back then, a regular breed bull he was.”

  Then she blushed. “Oh, God. You could be one of them, a Colton. He’s your father. I’m really sticking my feet in my mouth now, aren’t I?”

  “It’s okay. I’d rather know.”

  “Yeah, well.” She scuffed the dirt with her foot. “Maggie had a hard time with her husband. He used beat her before he went and killed himself. Shotgun in the mouth. Some say Maggie did it, and no one cares if she did. He was a mean piece of work, that husband of hers.”

  “What was his last name, also Draper?” Mia asked.

  “Nah, his name was Mitch Radizeski. Maggie changed it back so she could start fresh. He used to work as a hand on the ranch. Either they both saved up all their money, which I doubt because Mitch used to drink it all away each month, or Maggie got cash from somewhere else after they left the ranch, but she had enough to buy this diner.”

  Jagger thought of Jethro. Money. Criminal connections. Paying people off.

  “Did Mitch Radizeski ever do time?” he asked.

  Her brows arched right up. “Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “Well, yeah, he did. He was part of a petty theft ring called the Dalton Gang or something. But he cleaned up after, you know, before he went to work the ranch.”

  “Where did he do time?”

  “Wyoming Medium Correctional from what Maggie says.”

  Jagger felt his skin prickle—the kind of feeling he got when he knew he was onto something. Wyoming Correctional was where Jethro Colton had served his sentence before buying Dead River Ranch. Jagger made a note to look up this Radizeski’s case as soon as he could get his hands onto Mia’s computer.

  “When was Radizeski’s suicide?” he asked.

  “About ten years back.” Grace threw another glance over her shoulder. “I reckon that’s when Maggie and Drucker started their affair.”

  Mia caught Jagger’s eyes again.

  “Drucker and Maggie were seeing each other?”

  “They were until Drucker’s wife, Harriet, found out.” Grace checked her watch. “My break is up. I need to get back in there.”

  “Grace, before you go, what else did Cole tell you in the diner that night?” Mia said.

  Grace hunched her shoulders against the cold and rubbed her arms. A strand of brown hair blew across her face and Jagger saw silver in it. Her makeup showed streaks in the stark outdoor light. Again, he felt sorry for her.

  “Well, he’d told me he’d seen the news about the Colton kidnapping on TV in Casper.”

  Mia’s eyes narrowed. “Casper?”

  She nodded. “And that he’d come looking for work on Dead River Ranch.” She turned to Jagger. “You were asking questions about Jethro, and about Cole Colton—like, whether I thought that old kidnapping case was connected to the recent Cheyenne one.”

  “Apparently he showed Drucker his ID,” Mia prompted.

  “Yeah. Montana driver’s license. I didn’t see it, though. One of the ranch hands did—Tanner, I think it was. Look, I really should get back,” Grace said. But she hesitated then looked up into Jagger’s eyes. “It was good to see you again. I hope it all works out.” She glanced at Mia. Then turned. Shoulders hunched against the cold, her brown skirt ugly, she made her way back to the diner.

  * * *

  “I feel bad for her,” Mia said as they got back in the car.

  Jagger started the ignition and pulled out into the street.

  “So—Casper, Montana—ring any bells?”“

  Jagger inhaled deeply, shook his head.

  “And what was that about prison and doing time, why did you ask that?” Mia said. Jagger could feel her eyes boring into him, but he focused on the road.

  “I don’t know...just a feeling.”

  “Like a memory?” There was bite to her voice. Impatience.

  “I don’t know, Mia. Maybe I was drawing a connection between what she was saying, and what you intimated about Jethro possibly having a criminal past. About him coming into sudden money. And Maggie coming into money to buy the diner.” He stopped at another red light. As far as he could tell, Dead River was a two-stoplight town.

  “We need to look up this Mitch Radizeski,” he said. “And add both his and Maggie’s names to the list. Put Hank Drucker’s wife, Harriet, on there, too. She might be holding a deep grudge—not that I can imagine how it might connect to the Coltons.”

  The light turned green and Jagger made a left turn, heading down the valley he’d walked on his way in. He hadn’t seen the road in the daylight—evidence of the wildfires was everywhere along this section of the foothills.

  Mia sat in silence all the way back to the ranch. Jagger wo
ndered what she was thinking, if she was even more suspicious now, after having listened to Grace.

  “Turn there,” she said as they neared the back end of the Colton spread. “We’ll go in via the employee entrance, then turn back to the field where I found you.

  A few minutes later they were traversing the track that Jagger had been walking in the dark. This area had all burned and looked bleak, depressing. The Colton mansion was just visible in the distance and Jagger realized how close the fire had really come.

  “Stop here, this is it.”

  He drew the Escalade to a halt. Ashen dust settled around them.

  “I was riding across there—” she said, opening the door and getting out of the car. Mia stood with her arms tight across her stomach as she waited for Jagger to get out and come round to her side.

  “That’s the ditch.” She pointed. “You were lying in there, unconscious. Your hat was over there.”

  There were still hoofprints in the ground. And lots of human prints. Probably cops, he thought as he dropped to his haunches to study them.

  Mia was standing over him, watching him with such intensity it unnerved Jagger. There was a need in her eyes—a need for him to remember, to be whoever it was that she wanted him to be.

  His chest ached suddenly to meet that need—her every need.

  And he realized he had a big decision to make. Being undercover was one thing, but lying to Mia was another. He couldn’t do it. Not now.

  Now it had become personal.

  He was going to tell her, everything. Tonight.

  * * *

  Hank Drucker stared at the name on his computer screen. He’d gotten a hit on the prints. Not only did this guy have a record, he was also linked to a military database for which Drucker would need higher clearance to access.

  He sat back in his chair, adrenaline trilling soft and hot through his blood, his brain racing.

  Jagger McKnight.

  And the man’s photo matched the mug shot on the fake Montana driver’s license.

  Checking his watch, Drucker called his wife. “Harriet, I won’t be home for dinner,” he said when she answered. “Something’s come up.” He paused as she ran through her usual set of questions. “Yes, it could be an all-nighter. I’ve got a major break in the case. I’ll be here in my office, call me if you need me.”