Her Colton P.I.

by Amelia Autin

  Chris gave them a brief rundown of what had happened. “Their goons were here, but the McCays are still in Houston, so—”

  Annabel interrupted him. “How do you know that?”

  Chris smiled faintly. “Trust me, I have my sources. If they’re coming in person—and I have a plan to get them here—they can’t possibly arrive for a few hours. If they fly, we’re talking three to four with all the hassle of flying nowadays. If they drive, at least four hours, maybe five or six even, depending on traffic. Either way, there’s time for the two of you to get a few hours of shut-eye.” He gestured toward the stove. “How about I make breakfast, then you can sack out.” Chris was already heading out of the kitchen and down the hallway toward the bedrooms, Sam and Annabel following him. Holly brought up the rear.

  “You can take my bedroom,” Chris told Sam, opening a door. “And, Bella, you can have the other bedroom.” Thinking she was being helpful, Holly opened the door to the bedroom across from the master bedroom. “Not that room!” Chris warned...too late.

  A baby’s room confronted Holly’s eyes. Pale green with yellow-and-white trim, colorful decals decorating the walls. A baby crib held pride of place in the center of the room, a darling mobile of butterflies and flowers dangling above it. Exactly the kind of bedroom she’d decorated for the twins—times two—back in Clear Lake City.

  Tears sprang to Holly’s eyes as she realized this room had been lovingly created by Laura in joyous anticipation of her baby...her baby and Chris’s. How much Laura had wanted her baby was clearly evident, even though she’d been only four months pregnant when she...

  Holly blinked rapidly to hold back her tears and closed the door as quickly as she could. She turned, and when her eyes met Chris’s across the hallway, she mouthed, I’m sorry. He shook his head slightly, as if telling her it was okay, he didn’t want her to feel bad about her honest mistake. And though she knew he meant it, she hated seeing the shadow of sorrow cross his face.

  “Must be this one,” Annabel said in her calm voice, as if she hadn’t witnessed the interchange between her brother and Holly—something Holly was sure Annabel had seen. “And you’re right, Chris. I’m wiped out. A good breakfast and a couple hours of sleep, though, and I’ll be good.”

  “Okay, okay,” Sam finally conceded. “You’ve made your point. But I want a hot breakfast and a warm shower before I hit the hay.”

  * * *

  Angus McCay hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in months, and last night had been no exception. He’d managed to stave off his creditors, but robbing Peter to pay Paul only worked in the short run, and now the vultures were circling. If he and Evalinda didn’t get their hands on the income from the trust Grant had set up for Ian and Jamie—and soon—the house of cards Angus had built would come crashing down. The fallout from that would be disastrous. Not to mention Evalinda would hold him personally responsible.

  He and Evalinda had tried to overturn Grant’s will legally...to no avail. They’d tried to gain custody of the twins legally, by painting Holly as an abusive mother...but that had gone nowhere. Angus hadn’t wanted to resort to murder, he really hadn’t. But Evalinda had convinced him it was the only way.

  The problem was, as Evalinda had been quick to point out at four this morning, the men he could afford to hire weren’t all that bright. Thugs willing to commit murder, yes. But easily stymied. They’d called him shortly after they’d been scared away—by a damn dog—from the house where Chris Colton had told him Holly was staying. But instead of lying in wait for Holly to come out of the house in the daytime and killing her then, they’d been spooked. They hadn’t turned tail and run all the way back to Houston—not yet—but they’d called Angus in a panic, looking for direction.

  “Lie low,” he’d instructed them. “I’ll come up there.”

  He didn’t want to. As Evalinda had stated last night, it was far better for the two of them to stay in Houston, establish an alibi there, than to head to Granite Gulch to take care of Holly themselves. But it was beginning to look as if they had no other choice.

  And that was another thing. He wasn’t sure he could actually pull the trigger. Squeamish, Evalinda had called him in that despising way she had when he’d balked at killing Holly, back when Evalinda had first raised the possibility. Eventually he’d caved...as he always caved when Evalinda had her heart set on something. This huge house in the best neighborhood, which they really couldn’t afford. The luxury cars that screamed “money,” money they didn’t really have. The expensive jewelry Evalinda just had to have, because I deserve it, she’d insisted.

  This time, though, he wasn’t going to cave. If Evalinda wanted Holly dead, she was going to have to do it herself. Sure, he’d help. But he wouldn’t pull the trigger, and that was that.

  Chapter 18

  “Give me your keys,” Chris told Sam as soon as breakfast was over. “I’ll park your truck in the garage—make it look as if Holly’s alone in the house.” He glanced at Holly. “And as soon as I make one phone call, I’m driving over to the Merrills’ to swap my truck for your SUV, so we can set the stage. I’ll park your SUV right out front, so anyone who knows what you drive will know you’re here.”

  Holly looked hopeful. “I can go with you and see Ian and Jamie?”

  He shook his head and said gently, “Probably not a good idea. You wouldn’t be able to stay long, and it might upset your sons more to have you come and go quickly than if you don’t show up at all.”

  At her crestfallen expression he said even more gently, “Why don’t you go call them now? I’ll clean up in here.”

  He could tell she was disappointed, but she was putting a good face on it. “You cooked, I’ll clean,” she insisted. “Besides, it’s still early. They might not be awake yet.”

  Chris was going to argue but thought better of it, since he was anxious to call Angus McCay. So while Sam and Annabel went to get some much-needed sleep, he moved Sam’s truck, then headed for his office.

  He hooked a recording device to his phone and dialed Angus McCay’s home phone number. It rang five times before it was answered, and by the third ring he was saying, “Come on, be home!” under his breath.

  “Hello?” A man answered and Chris had no difficulty recognizing Angus McCay’s gruff voice.

  “Mr. McCay? Chris Colton here.”

  “Oh. Oh, yes, Mr. Colton. I...I haven’t had a chance to book a flight yet, so I can’t tell you when my wife and I will be there. But soon, as soon as we can, because we can’t wait to see our grandsons now that you’ve found them for us.”

  “About that,” Chris said, smiling to himself. “I thought you should know your daughter-in-law called the police early this morning. Apparently someone tried to break into the house where she’s staying. The police took her report, of course, but they have more important things to worry about than a break-in that never actually happened. You’ve probably seen the news by now—the Alphabet Killer claimed another victim last night. The FBI and the Granite Gulch police are all focused on that investigation.”

  “Sorry to hear—another victim, you say? No, I haven’t read my newspaper yet this morning, so I didn’t know.” Angus cleared his throat. “Of course, it’s terrible two men tried to break into Holly’s house. Good thing her dog scared them off.”

  Bingo, Chris exulted inside. Got you on tape, too.

  Angus kept talking. “If Holly was back home where she belonged, and Ian and Jamie, too, she wouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”

  Chris rolled his eyes at the fake concern, but all he said was “Yes, sir. I totally agree with you. Holly and her sons need the kind of protection and support only a family can give.” Spreading it on thick. “So when do you think you might get here? The thing is, an emergency cropped up in my Dallas office, and I’m going to have to drive over there—it’ll probably take me all day
to resolve. So I won’t be able to meet you at my office in Granite Gulch today after all.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing,” Angus McCay reassured Chris. “You gave us the address last night. If we can get a flight, I’m sure we can find the place. As for your bill—”

  “Not an issue. I can mail the bill to you after your daughter-in-law and your grandsons are safely back in Houston. Good luck convincing her that’s where she belongs.”

  Chris hung up, laughing softly to himself. He disconnected the recording device and played back the conversation, nodding to himself as Angus McCay revealed three things that could be crucial at trial. First, Chris had never mentioned any details about the attempted break-in. But Angus McCay had revealed without prompting he knew it was two men. Second, he knew the men had been scared off by a dog. A dog he had no idea Holly had. Third, Angus McCay had admitted Chris had given him Holly’s address last night. So he couldn’t claim he didn’t know where she was staying.

  “What’s so funny?” Holly asked from the doorway.

  “Your father-in-law makes a lousy criminal,” Chris joked. “Almost as bad as you.”

  Holly’s face turned solemn, and Chris realized too late it wasn’t a joke to her. “I had more difficulty accepting he was trying to kill me than I did about my mother-in-law,” she said quietly. “She never liked me. Not when Grant and I were little, and not when we got married. But I never got that impression from my father-in-law. He...he’s weak, though. His wife rules him. So if she decided I had to die, he’d go along.”

  She breathed deeply, letting the air out long and slow. “My parents were so different. Theirs was an equal partnership as far back as I can remember. Neither tried to dominate the other. Doesn’t mean they didn’t have their ups and downs. Doesn’t mean they never argued. But the few times they couldn’t reach an agreement, they agreed to disagree and left it at that. I promised myself that when I grew up I’d have a marriage like theirs.”

  He had to ask. “And did you? Was that what your marriage to Grant was like?”

  She nodded slowly. “In a way. It wasn’t like my parents’ marriage, because Grant never— I mean, he loved me, but he was never in love with me. And that made things difficult at times.”

  She sighed softly. “But it wasn’t like Grant’s parents’ marriage, either, thank God. I’m not a doormat kind of woman,” she said, as if she were revealing a closely held secret. “Maybe you can’t see that in me because you’ve only known me on the run. Terrified something will happen to me, but more because if something did, Ian and Jamie wouldn’t have a mother. They’ve already lost their father. I can’t let them lose their mother, too. If I didn’t have them, I don’t think I would have run. I would have stayed and fought it out with the McCays.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. “I know you’re not a doormat kind of woman. Would a doormat have told me I’m not the boss of her?”

  She smiled, but there was a touch of sadness to it. “That was an inside joke between Grant and me. If one of us tried to—oh, you know what I mean—the other would say that as a joking reminder. Then we’d laugh and things would be okay between us. But that was before we were married. When we were just friends.”

  More than anything in the world, he wanted to erase that sadness from her face. Wanted to banish it forever. Wanted to tell her how sweet she was, without being too sweet. Wanted to confess what a difference she and her sons had made in his life. Wanted her to know he couldn’t imagine a more responsive lover—not just in the heat of passion, but the before and after, too. The way she fit so perfectly in his arms. The way she touched him so tenderly. The way she looked at him at times as if all light and hope in life emanated from him.

  The way she loved him.

  The realization hit him and knocked him for a loop. She loves you.

  Hard on the heels of that thought came another, just as much of a body blow as the first. And you love her.

  He opened his mouth to tell her, but the words wouldn’t come. And before he could stop her, she turned away, saying, “I’m going to call Peg, see if Ian and Jamie are awake now.” Then she was gone.

  Chris stared at the doorway where Holly had stood, calling himself all kinds of a fool for not grabbing the chance to tell her how much he loved her. He started after her and was halfway across the office when his cell phone rang. He was going to ignore it at first, but when he glanced at the touch screen, he recognized the caller and cursed softly because he knew he had to take the call.

  “Hey, Brad,” he said when he answered his phone. “What’s up?”

  “Hey yourself. Just wanted to touch base with you about those names you asked me to track down. Desmond Carlton and Roy and Rhonda Carlton.”

  Chris quickly sat at his desk and pulled a pen and a pad of paper in front of him. “Okay, yeah, what have you got?”

  “You were right. There’s no mention of Desmond Carlton on any search engine I could find. Not that I didn’t trust you, Chris, but it never hurts to double-check, you know? Desmond Carlton is a zero in cyberspace. A cipher. You’d think the guy didn’t exist, unless...”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless you peruse old police blotters and dig out old copies of newspapers. That’s where I hit pay dirt. Desmond Carlton was a drug lord who was murdered six years ago—I located an article from that time. And get this—the obit on the guy lists he was survived by his brother and sister-in-law—”

  “Roy and Rhonda Carlton?”

  “Give the man a cigar. Also mentioned was a daughter, Julia. I haven’t been able to track her down, but what I could find is that she was eighteen when her father bought the big one.”

  “She could have moved away. Gotten married. Changed her name some other way.”

  “Gee, thanks, why didn’t I think of that?” Brad asked drily.

  Chris chuckled. “Sorry. What else have you got?”

  “Roy and Rhonda died five years ago in a car crash, just as you said.”

  “Was it really an accident?”

  “Sure looks that way. Particularly gruesome one, but there never seemed to be a question it was anything other than an accident.” Brad hesitated. “You know, when I dug into Roy and Rhonda, I came across a couple of names that—”

  “Let me guess,” Chris said laconically. “Josie Colton and Lizzie Connor, now Lizzie Colton. Right?”

  “Yeah.” Brad seemed relieved this wasn’t news to Chris. “Lizzie’s older than Josie, but both fostered with the Carltons from an early age. Josie until she was seventeen—when she up and vanished—Lizzie until the car accident. Apparently the Carltons considered her like their own daughter, and she was still with them even after the state was no longer paying for her foster care.”

  “Anything tying Desmond and Roy together other than they were brothers?”

  “Nada. Roy was a straight arrow, and so was his wife. But Desmond?” Brad snorted his disgust. “Desmond had a rap sheet as long as my arm,” he said. “But get this, Chris—no convictions. A dozen arrests, not a single conviction.”

  “That’s got to be a mistake. A major drug dealer with no convictions?”

  “No mistake. Not even a misdemeanor.” Brad’s voice took on a cynical tone. “One thing after another. Problem with the chain of custody of the evidence? Case tossed out. Witness against him fails to show up at trial? Case tossed out. Oh, and I love this one. Evidence mysteriously disappears from the police lockup? Cased tossed out. The prosecutors were fit to be tied.”

  Chris cursed under his breath. “Either this guy was the luckiest SOB on the planet, or—”

  “Or someone on the police force—maybe more than one—was helping him out.”

  “Right.” Chris thought for a moment, trying to put all the puzzle pieces together. “Anything else?”

  “Desmond C
arlton’s name came up in a murder investigation eleven years ago. He was never arrested, but he was brought in for questioning. A small-time drug dealer was murdered and word on the street was that Carlton had something to do with it. You know how that goes. But the police could never pin it conclusively on him, and the case went cold.”

  Eleven years ago. Something about that niggled at the corners of Chris’s memory, as if it should mean something. I was twenty, he mused. I’d just finished my sophomore year in college, but Laura and I weren’t engaged yet. That was in the fall. So what happened eleven years ago?

  Try as he might he couldn’t pull a thread loose, so he shelved the question, knowing that forcing your brain to remember rarely worked. But if you put it aside, the answer usually came when you least expected it.

  “Is that all?” Chris asked.

  “Pretty much.”

  “This is terrific stuff, Brad. No kidding. I knew you were the right guy to put on this case, and you really came through for me. I won’t forget it.”

  Chris took a moment to ask about Brad’s wife and his three daughters, who were all in college and grad school. Then he disconnected and sat there, staring at the notes he’d jotted down on the pad of paper. “Eleven years,” he’d written near the bottom, and circled it twice. It meant something. He didn’t know what, but he knew it did.

  The more he stared, the more convinced he became. Then he did something he would never have done a week ago...before Holly entered his life. He picked up his cell phone and hit speed dial. When the phone was answered, he said, “Trev? It’s Chris. I know you’re busy, but I need to ask you a quick question.”

  * * *

  The urge to see her sons was so strong when Holly hung up the phone, she acknowledged Chris had been right. If she’d had her SUV, she wouldn’t have been able to resist driving over to Peg’s, even if only for a few minutes. And that could have been fatal. Not just for her, but for Ian and Jamie, too. Whoever had tried to break in during the wee hours of the morning could be lying in wait somewhere, watching for her SUV. She could be followed to Peg’s house, and...