The Colton Marine

by Lisa Childs

  “He’s a natural,” Jade said. Her pride in her nephew was obvious.

  She had reason for pride. She’d taught the boy how to ride—even before she’d known for sure that Cody was a Colton.

  A twinge of regret struck Knox now—for all the years of his son’s life that he’d missed. But he shook off the regret. He couldn’t change the past, but he could make sure that he was present every day for his son now.

  “He’s had a good teacher,” Knox praised his sister. “Thank you for being part of his life.”

  Jade reached out and squeezed his arm. “It’s not your fault,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “It’s Livia’s,” Jade said, and there was resentment and something else in her voice. Fear.

  His mother had manipulated him and Allison when they were young. But he couldn’t lay all the blame on her. He couldn’t blame Allison, either. She’d only been trying to protect their son from being a Colton and all the drama that caused. It was his job to protect him now.

  “How is the investigation going?” she asked.

  He shrugged and reminded her, “I’m not a Ranger anymore.”

  “You should be.”

  “No.”

  “But you are a lawman,” she said.

  He agreed. But he didn’t want to go back to the Rangers—not now that he had a family. He didn’t want to miss another minute of his son’s life. “I’ll figure something out.”

  He had an idea. But he needed to talk to his wife about it first. They had promised to keep nothing from each other ever again.

  “Will River?” Jade asked.

  “Will River what?”

  “Figure something out,” she said. “He seems lost.”

  Knox sighed. He’d noticed that, too. But he didn’t know how to help him. Cody wasn’t the only one of whose life Knox had missed ten years. His youngest brother had been gone that long, and even though he’d returned, there was something missing. He seemed like a stranger to them all.

  Jade lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and murmured, “He’s been going over to La Bonne Vie.”

  Knox tensed. “The property’s been sold. He’s trespassing.”

  “I don’t think Edith Beaulieu is going to press charges.”

  Knox had seen Everything’s Blogger’s latest post complete with a photo of Edith outside La Bonne Vie. “What’s Mac’s niece got to do with the estate?” he asked.

  “She works for the new owner.”

  “Who is it?”

  “She won’t say,” Jade replied, and the resentment was back. “She won’t say who it is or what he or she wants with the estate.”

  Knox shrugged. “Who cares?”

  Jade gasped. “I care.”

  “Why?” Was she trying to hang on to fond memories of the house or dispel bad ones?

  “And I don’t want River spending time in that house,” she said with a grimace and wrinkled her nose.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to him there,” Knox assured her. “River’s home. He’s safe.”

  Jade shook her head, which had her ponytail swinging across her shoulders. “Nobody’s safe at La Bonne Vie.”

  He didn’t have great memories of growing up there, but he didn’t have horrible ones, either. Of course his father hadn’t died there—like Jade’s had. A horse had killed Fabrizio, though, not the house. Concern for his son had him turning his attention back to the ring. But Cody rode with ease and confidence.

  How could Jade work with horses after what had happened to her father? But maybe that was why she did, so she could make sure nothing like that would happen to anyone else.

  He wound his arm around her thin shoulders and offered a reassuring squeeze. “River will be fine.”

  Jade just shook her head. “Nobody is safe anywhere—until Livia is back behind bars.”

  That much was probably true. Their mother was a dangerous, unpredictable woman. While there had been sightings of her in Florida, nobody knew for certain that was where she was. Hell, she could be anywhere.

  Chapter 7

  River flinched as he shoved his arms into the sleeves of the cotton shirt. His shoulders and back ached from all the work he’d been doing at La Bonne Vie. But those weren’t the only parts of his body that ached. There was tension gathered lower that intensified every time he saw or even thought of Edith Beaulieu.

  Heat flashed through his body, chasing away the last of the chill from his cold shower. He glanced toward the open bathroom door and thought about taking another. Then he heard the footsteps on the stairs, leading up from the barn. Someone was coming.

  Usually he dreaded visitors, as uncomfortable as they were with how they couldn’t look directly at him as if they didn’t know whether to meet his one good eye or stare at the patch. But now his pulse quickened with anticipation. Was it Edith? Had she thought of something to tell him about the house? Another chore for him to perform?

  She’d sounded like she’d meant it earlier—when she’d sent him home with orders to take the night off. She’d said he’d been working too hard.

  What about her?

  In the week he’d been working with her at La Bonne Vie, he’d rarely seen her take a break. She toiled tirelessly, inventorying every damn item she found in the estate—examining every room.

  But for the secret ones. She hadn’t found those. And neither had River. Because of Edith, he hadn’t had a chance to look. She was always there. Except maybe now.

  Maybe now she was here.

  He needed to be there, then. He needed to get back inside the house to continue his search. He was pretty sure he’d found a secret room off the wine cellar. He needed to get inside it—to see if Livia had stashed anything there. Anything that might help him find out who the hell he was.

  But if Edith was here, he didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be wherever she was. He reached for the buttons on his shirt just as the door creaked open. He was surprised that she’d walk in without knocking. But she had that day she’d held him through the end of his nightmare. Or maybe she’d knocked and he just hadn’t heard it.

  He glanced up and disappointment flashed through him. “Hey, Thorne...”

  His brother stepped inside, closed the door and leaned against it. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at River.

  “What?” he asked. It was clear his brother was angry with him. “What the hell did I do?”

  “It’s what you haven’t done,” Thorne replied.

  River groaned as realization and guilt dawned on him. “I’m sorry. I know I should be helping you and Mac out around here—since you’re letting me stay here and—”

  Thorne held up a hand. “This is your home,” he said. “You don’t have to work to stay here.”

  “Then what are you mad about?” River asked. “What haven’t I done?”

  “You haven’t stopped Edith from working herself into the ground,” Thorne said. “You’re supposed to be helping her over there. I vouched for you—”

  “You vouched for me?” he interrupted.

  “I told Edith she could trust you.”

  He nearly flinched. But he hadn’t asked his brother to lie for him. Of course Thorne had had no idea he was lying. He didn’t know River’s real reason for wanting to work at La Bonne Vie. And if he learned the truth, he would probably be furious that River hadn’t been open and honest about his intentions. Of course, if Thorne had known the truth, he probably wouldn’t have vouched for him.

  “Thank you,” he murmured.

  “Don’t thank me,” Thorne said. “I think I made a horrible mistake.”

  Had his brother figured out that River had ulterior motives? But now those motives didn’t include just being around La Bonne Vie. He wanted to b
e around Edith, too—to breathe in that unique fragrance that was hers alone, to watch her as she moved with an innate grace around the house.

  “Has Edith complained about me?” River asked as dread clutched his stomach muscles into knots. Maybe he’d unnerved her with his presence. Maybe she couldn’t stand looking at him and his scars.

  But she looked at him often. He caught her studying him as much as he probably studied her. Her interest helped his healing in a way that medical attention and time had not. The way she looked at him almost made him feel whole again.

  But that was ridiculous...

  “No,” Thorne replied. “I’m complaining.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” River said. “But I don’t know what you’re complaining about. I’ve been helping her as much as I can over there.”

  “Too much,” Thorne said. “You’ve got the house ready enough for her to move in.”

  “What?” He’d done a lot of work in the past week, but there was still a lot left to do.

  Thorne unfolded his arms from across his chest, and the glare left his face. “You didn’t know?”

  “She didn’t say anything about it,” River said. But she’d obviously told him to leave early in order to get him out of her way. “She told you?”

  Thorne shook his head. “I just happened to stop by the B and B in town as she was checking out of her room.”

  River groaned. Now how the hell was he going to search for those secret rooms?

  “I see you’re no happier about the idea than I am,” Thorne remarked. He narrowed his eyes and studied River. “Why aren’t you?”

  “I don’t think it’s safe for her to be there alone,” he admitted.

  “You really think she saw something that first night?” Thorne asked.

  River nodded.

  “What was it?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You didn’t see anything yourself?”

  “Not really,” he admitted. He’d seen a glimmer of something, but with his vision being compromised, he wasn’t certain it had really been there. “But the way she screamed...she must have seen something.”

  Thorne’s brow was furrowed with the same skepticism with which he’d studied River’s face.

  “You don’t think she saw anything?” he asked.

  Instead of answering his question, Thorne asked one of his own. “Has Edith told you about her mom?”

  “No.” They’d talked about the house, about the damage the FBI search had done. They didn’t talk about personal things—as if they were both trying really hard to keep their relationship professional.

  “My aunt has some issues,” Thorne said. “Some serious ones.”

  River snorted. “Don’t we all...?”

  “Not like these,” Thorne said. “She’s been institutionalized for most of Edith’s life.”

  “Oh...” The dread moved from his stomach to his heart, clutching it.

  “So you see why I’m concerned,” Thorne continued.

  River shook his head. “Actually I don’t.”

  “If Edith is seeing things...”

  Anger surged through him. “Edith isn’t seeing things,” he hotly defended her. “And you, of all people, should know better than to judge someone by what her mother has done.”

  Thorne flinched. “You’re right. You’re right. None of us are killers just because our mother is.”

  Speak for yourself... The words burned the back of River’s throat, but he kept them to himself. He didn’t want to think about what he’d had to do—let alone talk about it.

  “It’s just that Aunt Merrilee sees things, too, that aren’t there,” Thorne continued. “She started exhibiting the symptoms after Edith’s dad died and got diagnosed when she was committed.”

  River couldn’t imagine how hard that must have been on her daughter. He wanted to ask questions, wanted to know what had happened to Edith. But Thorne was already talking again.

  “When Mac found out, he figured she might have been misdiagnosed,” Thorne continued. “But by the time Mac did find out, she’d been moved to a better psychiatric facility and the diagnosis was confirmed. She has schizophrenia. That’s a disease that’s oftentimes hereditary.”

  “But you and Mac don’t have it,” River said.

  Thorne shook his head. “No.”

  “Edith doesn’t have it, either,” River assured his brother. “She saw something that night.”

  Thorne released a ragged breath of relief. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. It was probably an animal, huh?”

  River nodded. “I’ve found quite a few of them in the house.” A possum, a raccoon, a squirrel and of course the mice. But he wasn’t certain it was an animal Edith had seen.

  Or if there was something else in that house—or someone else...

  * * *

  The woman was already back. Why did she never leave for long?

  She must not have seen anything that first night she’d showed up at La Bonne Vie—or she would have called the police. And she wouldn’t keep coming back.

  Tonight she had returned with a suitcase. She intended to move in.

  That would not do.

  Her presence would make things more difficult, make it harder to remain undetected. But getting rid of her would draw attention to the estate, too. The police would come then—to investigate the young woman’s murder.

  The knife dropped back onto the bureau—next to the gun. No. Neither weapon could be used.

  The only way to get rid of Edith Beaulieu without drawing attention would be an accident. The house was in disrepair. The young woman was alone in it.

  Accidents were bound to happen.

  Sooner rather than later.

  * * *

  Thorne thought she was seeing things. Edith hadn’t missed the speculation in his eyes as he’d studied her like a psychiatrist studied a patient, trying to determine how great a danger she posed to herself or others. Edith knew that look well; she’d watched her mother be evaluated so many times.

  And every time Merrilee had been deemed a danger to herself. She would never harm anyone else—not like Thorne’s mother had hurt people. So many people had been hurt because of that woman. Edith should have pointed out to her cousin that she wasn’t about to judge him because of what his mother was. So he had no right to judge her.

  But she understood his concern. She was concerned herself.

  She dropped her suitcase onto the bed in the master suite River had repaired. The bathroom functioned, like the powder room on the main floor. Leaving her suitcase unpacked, she hurried down the back stairs to the kitchen, where she’d left a bag of groceries on the counter. River had also gotten that room operational again, too. He impressed her with everything he’d accomplished in a week.

  But she had not done nearly as much as she’d wanted, as she’d intended. She’d let him distract her from her responsibilities. That was why she’d had to move in—because it would take working around the clock to get the inventory done in time for Declan’s visit.

  She couldn’t let River distract her anymore. Maybe she would have to let him go. He’d done what she’d wanted—gotten the place inhabitable. But the thought of firing him had her stomach churning with dread.

  Or was it fear?

  She still didn’t like being alone in the house—except that she never felt truly alone. Even now...

  River was gone. He’d assured her he’d gotten rid of all the creatures inside, as well. So what was that creaking noise she heard?

  He’d cut back the vines over the windows and the branches from the roof. So what could it be?

  Had he missed something? Or someone?

  She’d left her purse on the counter next to that bag of groceries, so she pulled
out the canister of pepper spray and her cell phone. Of course the noise came from the basement. She could have called for help—could have called River or her uncle Mac or even Thorne. But River had already investigated the basement several times, and he had never found anything.

  She hadn’t found anyone but him. So she wasn’t too concerned about investigating again. She slid her phone into the pocket of her jeans, so she could hold on to the pepper spray as she opened the basement door. Her hand trembled as she turned the knob and opened the door. She flipped on the light switch and chased away the shadows.

  The dampness remained, making her shiver as she descended the steps. She was grateful now that she’d put on jeans when she’d changed back at the B and B. She probably should have worn more than a T-shirt with them, but it was still warm outside. Fortunately, River had fixed the air conditioner.

  Apparently there was nothing the man could not do. He was extremely smart and good with his hands. She thought of those hands—those big, strong hands touching her like he touched his tools. And she shivered again.

  Then something clanged, distracting her, and the sound echoed throughout the cavernous space. It sounded like that noise she’d heard the day she’d found River with the crowbar in his hand.

  What had he been up to that day?

  And had he returned despite her telling him to knock off for the day?

  “Hello?” she called out. Her voice trembled like her hands. “River?”

  If she caught him again, she would have no qualms about firing him. She couldn’t work with someone she couldn’t trust.

  She couldn’t lust after him, either. And she’d been doing entirely too much of that. She expelled a ragged sigh of resignation. She would have to fire him—whether or not she found him down there.

  Another clang rang out.

  “River?” she called out. She hoped he was the one making the noise.

  Because if it wasn’t him...

  Who the hell was it?

  His fixing the gate had stopped any more reporters from trespassing. He’d repaired all the broken windows, too, so no more animals should have been able to get inside...unless he hadn’t found all the ones who’d already taken up residence in the abandoned house.