But as a private investigator, even one who occasionally worked for GGPD, he didn’t have to worry about following as many protocols. Something he’d never been all that good at. Which was why the job fit him so well.
Everleigh pulled straight into the garage, leaving the newly shoveled driveway open for him. Or so he thought to himself as he parked behind her.
Though the yard was covered with the snow that had fallen the night before, he figured her for the type to have flower beds lining the front of her house, with colorful blooms all spring. And she’d probably be growing tomatoes in a little garden out back, too.
And she’d come up with all different things to do with them, various ways to prepare them so not a single one went to waste.
At least that was his profile of her based on the testimonies he’d read in her file—from those who knew her.
With a couple of long strides, he was beside her, managing most of the bags there on his own. His muscles and long limbs came in handy for all kinds of things.
“I can get those,” she told him, but he didn’t listen.
That was a fault his sister pointed out to him on occasion. He always thought he knew best.
He knew what pissed her off was that he so often did. Probably because for so long he’d been more wayward than reliable. A product of their artist mother’s genes, he’d decided. He had a spirit that craved freedom.
And what made Melissa love him, he’d also decided, was that he’d learned how to admit when he was wrong. To apologize. And to make good on his debts.
Exploits that didn’t exactly pull off as envisioned tended to teach a guy a thing or two.
Moving a little more quickly than the slender model-perfect short-haired blonde woman in front of him, Clarke almost crashed into her as he took the one step up to enter the door she’d just unlocked.
“Oh, my God!” Her cry caught at him, more than the situation would normally have caused.
She was tall, but he was taller; he could easily see beyond her shoulder as she stood stock-still, grocery bags in her hand.
Either she was one hell of a bad housekeeper—which his picture of her didn’t relay—or someone had ransacked her house. The hall he could see was strewn with debris. Papers, outerwear, a broken vase with silk flowers askew.
“Step back.” All business, he moved quickly, getting in front of her, setting his bags down on the floor and reaching for his gun. “Stay here.”
He entered the kitchen. Cupboards were hanging open, things pulled from them onto the floor and counters. As he made his way through the house, he found the same in the living room... Things had been pulled out of spaces; cushions were overturned. Rapidly making his way through the rest of the home, he ascertained, first and foremost, that they were alone.
Whoever had been there had left.
And he had a self-professed job to do—find out who was after Everleigh...and protect her at all costs.
Chapter 2
Everleigh unbuttoned her coat. She had to sit down.
And was afraid to touch anything, not even to pull out one of the four chairs around the kitchen table. Her home, having undergone crime-scene tape, body removal, forensics and then a thorough cleaning, had, just two months later, become the scene of another crime.
Forester! Was he okay? Glancing toward the archway leading from the kitchen to the rest of the house, she told herself that the cat Fritz had brought home a month before he’d walked out on her would be tucked safely under her bed, where he spent most of his time.
That was apparently where he’d been found after Fritz’s murder and her subsequent arrest.
Standing there, trembling, she surveyed the mess, hearing Clarke Colton moving about the house, listening for signs of struggle and feeling a need to dial 911.
Refusing to allow herself to become overwhelmed.
She couldn’t put away groceries until she cleaned up the mess all over the cupboards and counters, which were now part of a crime scene.
Her milk was going to spoil.
No. The refrigerator hadn’t been touched. Glomming on to having something constructive to do, to help her keep her sanity, she shrugged out of her coat, quickly found the bags with frozen and refrigerated items. She put them all on their proper shelves and in their proper drawers in the side-by-side refrigerator Fritz had bought her for Christmas ten years before.
Back when his business had been doing well. He’d been on top of the world then—and on top of other women, too, as it had turned out, but she hadn’t known that then. She’d thought their marriage healthy enough. Was somewhat disenchanted with what it had turned out to be—all about Fritz, rather than the partnership they’d vowed to give each other—but had been giving it her all. Determined to make it work. Had been focused on starting a family...
Before she’d unloaded one full bag of perishables, Clarke came around the corner, his gun back in the holster at his waist. And his phone to his ear.
“Yeah, Melissa, it’s me again. The Emerson home has been completely ransacked. Break-in was a bedroom window, not the master. No sign of the perp. My guess is whoever did this is the same person who just tried to run her over...”
Silence and then, “Yeah.”
More silence. Watching him, instead of surveying the mess, calmed her. He had blue eyes.
“Yeah.”
He was a Colton. And from what she’d heard, a womanizer like Fritz. She was grateful for his help. But wanted him gone.
“I’m on it.” He hung up. Glanced at her with obvious compassion.
She’d fallen for a charmer once. Clarke could turn that warm, caring glance on someone else. She’d have her own back from there on out, thank you very much.
“Troy’s on his way over,” he said. “My cousin Detective Troy Colton.”
Yeah, she knew who he was.
The man who’d come into her place of employment and slapped handcuffs on her wrists. She’d never, ever forget that feel of cold hard steel clamping down against her wrist bone. Bruising it.
Right now, she had to get her head out of shock city and deal with the current situation.
“Someone evidently wants me dead,” she said. “And they tear up my house...” They were definitely out to get her...still. The same fact she’d been living with the two long months she’d been sitting in prison. “I don’t get it,” she continued. “Unless this has something to do with why Randall Bowe framed me in the first place...”
She’d never even met the department’s forensic scientist. Had no idea why he’d have it in for her.
“Doubtful,” Clarke said. “Yours wasn’t the only case he tampered with.”
She nodded. But... “I’ve heard he’s on the run,” she said, not able to let it go. When a guy you’ve never met lands you in prison and you’re facing the rest of your life locked up in a cell... “Until we know why he did what he did, we don’t know he’s not behind this.” Shuddering, she shut up. No good was going to come out of scaring herself. She needed her wits about her. And the strength Gram had instilled within her from a very early age.
Taking care of her was her job. No one else’s.
“He’s on the run because he knows we’re on to him,” Clarke told her, still standing in the entryway to the kitchen, as though purposefully blocking her from the rest of the house. And seemingly willing to stand there and chat for the rest of the day.
The man had some age on him, but then, at thirty-eight, so did she.
Age gave him a maturity she found...reassuring. And he was way too good-looking, all tall and muscular with thick brown hair and blue eyes that seemed to see inside her. He wore his sexuality as confidently as he did the tight jeans that hugged his...hips...well enough to be on the front cover of a magazine.
He’d unbuttoned his thick corduroy coat, revealing a blue plaid flannel shirt acros
s a far-too-impressive expanse of muscular chest.
What in the hell was the matter with her? She’d spent two months in prison, not twenty years locked away from all men. And she’d never been one to ogle a guy, anyway.
Had to be the tension.
He was a distraction. That was all.
She couldn’t clean yet. Not until Troy, Clarke and the others released her home back to her a second time.
“Bowe isn’t going to risk getting caught by running people down in the middle of town. He’s facing way too many charges to take a chance on that. And while he might not have gotten the conviction he wanted where you were concerned, he did get them for others.”
Shuddering again, she felt for whoever those people were. She’d come so close to being one of them.
When the thought of the cell brought a jittering sense of panic, she forced her mind back to the moment at hand.
Which was equally scary. Just in a different way.
It made sense that Bowe would not be the one after her now. Besides, why ransack her home if he intended to kill her? “So, who would be? And what were they looking for here?” Why ransack her house just to scare her and then go try to run her down? She’d never have known about the vandalism to her things if she’d been killed. Which meant...
“Whoever was here was looking for something,” she said slowly.
Clarke nodded.
She looked up at him. “And they want me dead, too.”
“Which leads me to believe that today’s events are connected to Fritz’s murder. Most likely, the real killer is behind it. Fritz had something that person wanted.”
“Based on the fact that whoever it was came for me, after ransacking the house, do we think he or she found what it was? Or not?”
Shaking his head, Clarke took a step closer to her, but when she stepped back, he stopped immediately. He got kudos for that.
And a shard of fear of an entirely different kind shot through her and she frowned. “Wait. There’ve been a few times since I got home that I’ve thought someone else has been in the house.” She started out slowly, but her words picked up pace as reality set in further. “The first thing I did when I got home two days ago, after getting Forester home, was put everything back in its usual place. The house had been cleaned professionally, but no one but me would know where things went. But then it seemed like things were moved again. I put it down to my having missed them the other day. I was a bit...distracted...” Worried sick about her grandmother was more like it. “Then I noticed closet doors open, but I put that down to me being paranoid. Figuring they’d been opened when the police went through here scouring for evidence or something.”
His attention seemed to sharpen and focus completely on her. His look was intent.
Could it be that a killer had been in her home the same time she’d been there?
The idea was creepy as well as frightening.
Scary beyond what she felt equipped to handle. So, she had to find more strength than she knew was there. Draw on an empty well until it sprang new sources...
She continued, “Last night...I was certain I heard someone in the house, a couple of times. I really had a sense that I wasn’t alone. But then Forester jumped up on my bed, and I chalked the sensations up to him. He’d only been here a few months before I went to prison, and he generally spends most of his time under my bed when I’m around...”
Speaking of which...now that she knew the house was clear of any immediate danger...she brushed past Clarke, careful to keep as much distance as the cupboards on either side of her allowed, and headed to the third and largest of the house’s three bedrooms. The purple coverlet she’d left neatly on the bed that morning was in a lump on the floor. She couldn’t even assess the rest of the mess and damage.
Things didn’t matter as much as life...
On her knees and then hunched down, she peeked under the bed. And came eyeball to eyeball with the cat who never quite seemed to trust her.
“Hey, Forester,” she said softly. “Did you see who was here, buddy? Can you tell me who it was?” Of course, she knew there’d be no reply, but she’d been working on the hope that if she used a gentle voice and real conversation, the cat would begin to trust her.
She didn’t blame him when it didn’t happen. She wasn’t going to be sweet-talked into trusting again, either.
Not ever.
* * *
Everleigh Emerson sure was prickly. Scared as hell, too, if he read the expressions flittering across her face right—and he usually did read other people pretty accurately—and yet putting up “leave me alone, I don’t need help” signals all over the place. Which made the promise he’d just made to his sister a bit more challenging to keep.
Another challenge loomed, as well...that curvaceous backside in those jeans, the zipped-up black leather ankle boots drawing attention to long legs bent under her as she peered at her cat... He couldn’t afford to be attracted to this woman.
Not on any level.
All too aware that they were in the room where she’d later be sleeping, without those jeans and boots, he headed out of the room the second she stood up. Kept his back to her for a second as he gave parts of himself a stern talking-to, and then stepped aside to let her lead him back out to the rest of the house.
She’d had very little control of her life, for what sounded like a lot longer than the time she’d spent locked up.
He didn’t want to take away any more of it than he absolutely had to, to keep her safe.
“You don’t have to stay,” Everleigh said, coming to a stop at the archway leading into the ravaged living area with a view of the small, equally pillaged den just beyond it. “I’m fine to wait for your cousin on my own.”
Was he mistaken or had there been a slight emphasis on the words your cousin? Not that he blamed her if there had been.
Some of the town’s residents were having a hard time trusting their police department at the moment after what Bowe had done. But he knew that most of the cops, Coltons and non-Coltons alike, were hardworking, capable and honest people who’d dedicated their lives to police work. His family, in particular, had grown up in the shadow of his aunt’s senseless and unsolved home-invasion murder. The incident was so much a part of their family it had literally shaped who they all were, instilled in them a deep understanding of the need for justice—most particularly for her kids, Clarke’s cousins.
His own lack of regard for rules, and early penchant for flouting convention, was a part of that, too, he supposed, which was why he was a PI, not a cop like so many of them. There’d been such a tight rein on all of them growing up...or so it had seemed to him, anyway. He’d needed to break out of the box. To do things his own way, whether his way was best, smartest, safest—or not. Not all of his family members would concur with the sense of tight reins on them, he was sure. It wasn’t something they sat around and talked about.
Regardless of who his family was, or how many of them worked for the GGPD, the truth was, people in town had a valid reason for mistrusting GGPD at the moment. One of their own had violated that trust in the most heinous way.
Randall Bowe had one hell of a lot to answer for. He was going to wish he’d never done anything to sic Clarke Colton on him, that was for sure.
But first things first...
“I...uh...don’t want to impose on you, but...since I was the one who found the evidence that set you free...I was hoping you’d trust me enough to help you find out who’s behind all of this...” He spread his arm wide to encompass the disaster of a mess in her home.
The way she was assessing him, he braced for a kindly worded slap in the face.
“I’m not just a private investigator,” he told her. “I work for the GGPD regularly. You can check up on me.”
He was going to have to find a way to get her to agree to him protecting her,
in order to have any hope of getting her to comply with what Melissa wanted.
What he must want, too, since he’d agreed to his little sister’s suggestion without even a token argument. And if she tried to make anything of that, she’d get double the argument from him.
“I was hoping life was going to get back to normal.” She looked around her. “A new normal,” she amended.
“It will.” He wanted that for her. With a strength of emotion that rattled him. What the hell? She was a case. He was doing a favor for his sister. For the whole Colton family. This was not his own personal crusade. “This whole episode, though, starting with your husband being murdered... It’s just not done yet. Let me help you finish it.”
“Okay.” He almost took a step back, he was so surprised by her capitulation. “But only because I don’t trust the GGPD to do the job themselves. And because I can afford to pay you,” she added. “Here I am, two days ago, worried about getting a proper haircut, and I hear that I’m receiving a payout from Fritz’s life insurance. Since he didn’t file for divorce yet, and didn’t change the beneficiary, I’m it. I go down on Tuesday to sign papers and then the money will be direct deposited into my account, at which point I can pay you. Ironic, isn’t it? He pilfers away everything either of us earned, leaves me and then ends up leaving me well-off. Which just makes me look guilty for killing him, doesn’t it?”
His gut lurched at the instant fear that emanated from her hazel-eyed gaze. “You’ve been exonerated, Everleigh,” he reminded her softly.
She nodded. “I didn’t even know he’d kept the life-insurance policy...until two days ago.”
“So, you got your haircut,” he blurted inanely, wanting to bring her back from that brink of fear. And then realizing that talking to her about her appearance probably wasn’t the way to get her to agree to his next request.
Colton's Killer Pursuit Page 2