Her Colton P.I.

by Amelia Autin

  Chris had also been right about not going with him when he went to pick up her SUV. Ian and Jamie were doing okay. They missed her, but they were okay because Peg was making sure of it. It wouldn’t be fair to Peg to flit in and out, getting the twins all wound up when their mother left.

  One more day, she reminded herself. Only one more day away from my babies.

  Holly wandered into the bathroom to brush her teeth, which she’d forgotten to do after breakfast. Her gaze fell on the whirlpool tub, and her memories of last night came rushing back. Not just what she and Chris had done in the tub. Not even what they’d done in the bed, although that qualified as one of those “just once in my life I want to” occasions she’d never forget. No, it was the moment they’d stood together in the kitchen, when she’d fallen in love with Chris, that she was thinking of now.

  She stared at the mirror, but she wasn’t seeing herself, she was seeing Chris in her mind’s eye. So many different aspects of his character, but none more lovable than the “born to be a father” persona that came so naturally to him.

  She wasn’t looking for a father for her sons. She could never fall in love with a man who wouldn’t be a good father, but that wasn’t why she loved Chris. She loved him for the gentle, caring way he had, for the tenderness not far beneath the surface. She loved him for his straightforward approach to sex, and how he made her believe physical perfection was highly overrated. She loved him for the protectiveness he displayed, not just to her and her sons, but toward his sister and brother—his love for them ran so deep, but she wasn’t sure he knew how deep it ran. She even loved him for his insecurities, for his self-doubt.

  But most of all she loved Chris because he made her laugh. Despite the threat hanging over her head, despite her fear for herself and the twins, he made her laugh—she’d forgotten how much fun life could be. Nothing could ever be so bad that Chris couldn’t find some humor in it, and she loved that about him. Gallows humor, maybe, but humor nevertheless.

  “Now all you have to do is make Chris fall in love with you,” she murmured to her reflection, “and you’ll be in high cotton.”

  That was the problem in a nutshell. Holly had tried to make a man love her once and had failed spectacularly—she wasn’t going down that road ever again. She’d even done something of which she would forever be ashamed in her quest for her love to be returned. Never again would she marry a man who didn’t love her, heart and soul, unreservedly. No matter how much she loved him. No matter how tempted she might be.

  “But if Chris grows to love you,” Holly whispered to herself, “then...”

  He was attracted to her. Okay, more than attracted. She was the first person he’d made love to since Laura, and that said a lot about how much he wanted her for herself. The question was, did he want her permanently? With all the baggage she brought with her?

  “Not that Ian and Jamie are baggage,” she corrected. “But we are a package deal.”

  She wouldn’t use her sons, though. She wouldn’t hold them out as an inducement to Chris to replace the child he’d lost—Chris had to love her for herself alone.

  But if he did...she and the twins could make him so happy. Ian and Jamie were already attached to Chris—they could easily grow to love him, just as she did. They could be a family here. So much love had gone into this house—Holly could feel it. Not just the love Laura had for Chris, wanting to make a happy home for him and their baby. But the love Chris had for Laura, too. All the safety features he’d built in, to make his wife and child as safe as he could when he wasn’t there.

  Holly wouldn’t be taking anything away from Laura—a part of Chris would always love Laura, just as a part of Holly would always love Grant. Holly didn’t want to replace Laura in Chris’s heart, she wanted to build her own place there...if he wanted it, too.

  Love wasn’t linear, it was exponential. And there was room in Holly’s heart for the man she’d once loved...and the man she loved now.

  She just prayed Chris would come to feel the same way.

  * * *

  “Eleven years ago?” Trevor asked Chris. “All I can think of is Josie telling the social worker she didn’t want to see us anymore. I was a year out of college, just starting my career with the FBI. It was a knife to the gut, but Josie was adamant.”

  Chris snapped his fingers. “That’s right. I’d forgotten exactly when that happened, but you’re right.”

  “Is there anything else you needed?” Chris heard the exhaustion in Trevor’s voice and figured he’d been up all night with the latest Alphabet Killer murder, same as Annabel and Sam. He’d been tempted to do as Holly had suggested—ask Trevor point-blank why he’d abandoned him when they all went into foster care. But his brother had enough to deal with right now. “Nothing urgent,” Chris said. “Thanks for reminding me about Josie. Good luck on the case.”

  “Same to you.”

  “How’d you know I—”

  Trevor cut him off. “I hadn’t seen you around for a few days, so I asked Annabel. If anyone knew what was going on with you, it’d be her. She mentioned she and Sam were helping you set a trap to catch a couple of attempted murderers in the act. I wish we were that fortunate—catching our serial killer in the act,” he added drily. “So good luck.”

  “Thanks.” Chris disconnected, then sat there for a moment, mulling over what Trevor had said, carefully fitting one more puzzle piece in place. Then he saw it, the whole picture. And he could have kicked himself it had taken him this long.

  Chapter 19

  “You had it all wrong,” Chris murmured to himself. “Josie didn’t kill Desmond Carlton, not even in self-defense. That’s not what this was all about.” Pieces of the puzzle were still missing—pieces only Josie could fill in—but he was pretty sure he knew the basic outline of what had happened.

  Josie’s strange behavior eleven years ago...at the same time that small-time drug dealer was murdered. She’d only been twelve—she couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with it. And word on the street was that Desmond Carlton had killed the other man. What if Josie had witnessed the murder? Carlton had probably been a visitor in his brother’s house—heck, the murder could even have taken place there for all he knew. And what if Carlton had threatened Josie somehow? Carlton could have killed her, but...he had a daughter himself, just a year older than Josie. What if he couldn’t bring himself to kill Josie because of that, but had threatened her instead? Keep quiet or I’ll kill everyone you love.

  That made a heck of a lot of sense. Lizzie had given them all a clue back in February, when Josie had still been a suspect in the Alphabet Killer murders, but none of them had made the connection because they hadn’t known about Desmond Carlton. Chris couldn’t recall Lizzie’s exact words, but the gist was that Lizzie and Josie had been extremely close, like sisters. Right up until Josie suddenly became distant and guarded at age twelve...eleven years ago.

  Josie had never given Lizzie an explanation, Lizzie had told them, no matter how hard Lizzie had pressed Josie to open up to her. But Lizzie had also been adamant back in February that Josie wasn’t the serial killer, long before there was concrete proof. That Josie didn’t have it in her to kill at all.

  Someone had killed Desmond Carlton six years ago, but not Josie. And someone—or some organization—had done their best to erase Carlton’s name from existence. “Should have focused on that before,” he berated himself. “Only one entity has that kind of power. That kind of clout.” Conspiracy theories be damned, in this case there was only one answer—the federal government. That led directly to federal agencies that might have reason for secrecy of this nature, and only one came to mind. Witness Security, run by the US Marshals Service.

  Which would mean Josie was in Witness Security, commonly known as Witness Protection by the general public. Which would also mean she hadn’t run six years ago because she
was guilty of something. And she hadn’t cut off communication with her family when she was twelve because she no longer loved them, either. She’d been afraid for them...because she loved them. Carlton’s threat wouldn’t have worked otherwise.

  Now Chris’s mind was flowing freely from one conjecture to another, but conjectures that fit all the facts. What if six years ago Josie decided she was tired of living in fear, tired of living under Desmond Carlton’s threats? What if she went to the police and told them what she’d witnessed? And what if they’d set up a sting to trap Carlton...a sting that went horribly wrong?

  That matched what the reporter had said about Carlton’s death. There were no shell casings and someone even dug the bullets out of him, so there was very little to go on... A botched sting would explain it. Or even a deliberately botched sting. Either way, they’d whisk Josie away into Witness Security afterward. Give her a new identity, just in case any of Desmond Carlton’s associates decided they wanted revenge.

  The more he thought about it, the stronger Chris’s hunch became that Carlton’s death might somehow be connected to why he had no convictions after twelve arrests. Why his murder had never been solved. Because someone didn’t want it solved?

  Maybe. But that wasn’t the most important thing right now. Because all of Desmond Carlton’s known associates were either dead or in prison. And if Chris’s conjectures were true, Josie no longer needed to fear reprisals. Which meant...if she really was in Witness Security...she could finally come home to her family.

  Annabel had told Chris where the man from the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list was currently incarcerated—the man who’d once run with Carlton. After this whole thing with the McCays was wrapped up, Chris was going to rope Trevor into paying the guy a visit with him. And get some answers.

  * * *

  Chris left, but not without telling Holly he was leaving. “I already took Wally outside, so he’s good,” Chris told her. “I’ll be back long before the McCays can get here, but don’t answer the door, just in case last night’s goons return. Sam and Annabel are here—if Wally starts barking or the alarm goes off, they’ll know what to do—so you don’t need to worry about that. If the phone rings—”

  “Don’t answer it. Got it.”

  He shook his head. “Do answer it. We want the McCays to know you’re here because we want to draw them here.” He grinned suddenly. “Gotta bait the trap with something irresistible, and...” He looked her up and down, sending her pulse racing when he waggled his eyebrows at her and said in his most suggestive voice, “I can’t think of anything more irresistible than you.”

  Then he kissed her as if he meant it, and her racing pulse went into overdrive. He muttered something Holly couldn’t catch and reluctantly let her go, then grabbed his black Stetson from the hook by the front door and settled it firmly on his head. He turned with his hand on the door handle and said, “And stay away from the windows. I mean it, Holly,” he added implacably when she started to speak. “You trusted me to keep you safe, and I will. I’m not chancing a marksman taking you out with a high-powered rifle.”

  He grinned again. “And before you say it, I am the boss of you when it comes to this.”

  * * *

  The morning dragged for Holly. “Stay away from the windows,” she grumbled under her breath. Problem was, there wasn’t a single room in the house that didn’t have at least one window, not even the bathrooms. She made the rounds of the house, Wally at her heels, and confirmed she was right.

  The drapes were drawn in the living room and formal dining room—neither had been used since she’d been here—but could someone see her shadow if she got too near those large windows? The kitchen windows only had café curtains—they let in the sunlight beautifully, but she would be a sitting duck if someone took aim at her while she was in there. The family room wasn’t any better than the living room, unless she crouched in the corner—something she wasn’t about to do.

  There were no drapes in the master bedroom, only those top-down, bottom-up shades, with a valance across the top and floor-length swags on either side. But those swags were decorative only—they wouldn’t close. They looked pretty, but they wouldn’t provide any additional coverage. The two guest bedrooms were occupied. And no way was she going into the baby’s room, not for any money—she’d probably start crying for Chris and everything he’d lost.

  Which left Chris’s office. It had a window, but only one. And it was L-shaped. If she sat at his desk, no one would be able to see her.

  She fetched a book from her bedroom, then settled down in Chris’s desk chair to read. But for some reason the book couldn’t hold her interest, so she glanced around the room. For the first time she realized that of all the rooms in the house, this was the only room that reflected Chris’s personality. The rest of the house—even the master bedroom—had been furnished to a woman’s taste. Laura’s taste.

  But this room was different. There were none of the little decorative touches here that were in the other rooms. Chris’s office was beautifully furnished—desk, bookcases and credenza were all honey oak—but there was a solidity to the furniture and a lack of feminine knickknacks that bespoke a man’s occupancy.

  Holly nodded to herself, smiling a little. If she never saw Chris again after this was all over, if she returned to her life in Clear Lake City with Ian and Jamie, she would always remember Chris in this room. Sitting on the floor with Wally draped across his legs, Ian on one side, Jamie on the other, as he read them their bedtime stories. Sitting at this very desk, concentrating on his work. Standing in front of this desk and kissing her as if his life depended on it—their first kiss that had devastated her with how much she wanted him, and—oh, God—how much he’d wanted her. Go to bed, Holly, he’d told her in that deep rasp his voice made when he was hurting. This isn’t what you want. Thinking of what was best for her and the hell with what he wanted.

  “How could I not love him?” she asked herself.

  Still smiling, but just a tad misty-eyed, Holly glanced down at the notepad sitting in the center of the desk. Cryptic notes jotted down in a distinctive scrawl that had to be Chris’s—who else could it be? But she couldn’t make heads or tails of it, although she was sure it meant something to Chris. Especially the two words circled near the bottom—eleven years.

  She realized with a sudden start of guilt she had no business reading anything on Chris’s desk, and she hurriedly put the notepad down. She turned away, and that was when she saw the silver-framed photograph standing in a secluded corner of the desk. Not large—four by six, maybe—but the face, surrounded by wavy light brown hair parted on one side, was immediately recognizable. The resemblance to Peg was obvious, but even if it wasn’t Holly would have known who this woman had to be. Annabel had described Laura to a T—sweet, pretty, with a gentle, almost shy smile.

  Curious, even though Holly told herself not to be, she reached over and picked up the photograph, studying it minutely. Peg’s features were here, but nowhere did she see what Peg had an abundance of. Grit. Determination. Character. Not Wonder Woman, but a woman who did what she had to do without complaint. Her love for those around her flowed from strength.

  What had Annabel said about Laura? Chris was her world, and whatever he did was right. Good in some ways, not so good in others.

  If this photograph was anything to go by, Laura wasn’t much like her older sister. Not that sweetness and gentleness were traits to scoff at. And Laura was far prettier than Holly could ever hope to be. But there was something lacking in Laura’s face Holly couldn’t quite make out. Then it dawned on her—Laura wasn’t a fighter. In Holly’s place she could never have stood up to the McCays.

  Maybe that was what Annabel had been trying to tell Holly the other day, that what Chris really needed was a strong woman. An independent woman. A woman who wouldn’t always agree with him, who wouldn’t let him immerse h
imself in his work, body and soul. Who would force him to have some balance in his life.

  A woman like me.

  The phone shrilled suddenly, and Holly almost dropped the framed photograph. Remembering that Chris had said to answer the phone if it rang, she snatched up the receiver. “Hello?” Nothing but dead air answered her. “Hello?”

  Whoever it was disconnected without saying a word, and Holly shivered. Could it have been one of her in-laws? One of their henchmen? Or just a wrong number?

  She hung up and carefully replaced the photo of Laura exactly where she’d found it. Then whirled and caught her breath when the bell-like alarm went off, indicating a door or window had been opened somewhere in the house.

  “Holly?”

  She breathed sharply when Chris called her name, only then realizing she’d been holding her breath until she knew who it was. She shook her head, impatient with herself because she should have known by the tinkling sound it wasn’t someone trying to break into the house. “In here,” she called back. “Your office.”

  Chris appeared in the doorway, so reassuringly big and male. “Hey,” he said, juggling her keys in one hand. “Anything happen when I was gone?”

  “Someone called just now. I answered, but they didn’t say anything.”

  He smiled and nodded with satisfaction, as if this was just what he expected. “The McCays checking to make sure you’re here.”

  “It could have been a wrong number, but—”

  “But probably not,” he finished for her. “I parked your SUV out front. They can’t possibly miss it.”

  “So what do we do now?” she asked.

  “We wait.”

  “What if they don’t show up?”

  He leaned his weight on one hip, his eyes narrowing as if debating whether or not to tell her something. Then he said, “They’re already on their way. Driving, not flying.”