Colt, Billionaire Reunion: Sweet, Clean Christian Romance with Suspense (Billionaire Protectors Book 2)

by Alexa Verde

“Praise God.” The words didn’t come out easily.

  He’d tried hard to be true to God, to live out the faith that came so easily at sixteen when he, Brett, and David all accepted Jesus as their Lord at the same summer camp. But Mirabella’s disappearance shook his faith badly.

  If God had meant Mirabella for him, why had He taken her away?

  She glanced at the bank of monitors, normally concealed behind a sliding pine wall. “It should be okay to sleep for a little while. I’ll go to my room.”

  “Sure. Goodnight.” Why he felt a sense of loss as she headed down the hall, he couldn’t say.

  Hand on a bedroom door handle, she hesitated. “Actually, I’m too wound up to sleep right now. And I want to do some research on my phone. Would you mind if I stay out in the living room for a while?”

  She hadn’t ever asked permission from him, for anything. Her voice didn’t sound as if she was asking now. But a new note of uncertainty underlined it.

  “Of course, I don’t mind. I think I’m too wired to sleep, too. How about I help you with your research. You could bounce ideas off me.”

  Her gray eyes narrowing a fraction, she tensed. She’d never bounced ideas off him in any of her cases, and he understood the client confidentiality thing. Yesterday, when she’d mentioned Ross and Scarlett, was the first time she’d discussed anything about her work. Only from Brett had he learned she’d been one of his top operatives, solving several difficult cases.

  But it wasn’t like he talked to her much about his work, especially after she’d blocked any of his attempts to share exciting discoveries in the lab or celebrate a breakthrough in his research.

  This case felt different.

  Was Mirabella?

  To his surprise, she nodded as she sat on the huge leather sofa facing the fireplace. “O.Kay.” The word seemed dragged from her. “I guess I could do that.”

  Whoa.

  Mirabella trusting him with something.

  Anything.

  That deserved celebrating. “Sounds great. Oh, and I owe you cocoa with marshmallows, I believe. I’ll go make us some mugs.”

  Earlier this evening, back had home, Mirabella had retreated to the guesthouse after a quick dinner of Moirah’s great meatloaf. She insisted she needed to look through some files she’d downloaded to her phone. He hadn’t pushed her about the cocoa and marshmallows then. Work had always been important to her—obviously more so when her life was on the line. He ironed out his frown.

  He hadn’t been hurt by how much of a hurry she’d appeared to be in to get away from him after dinner. Not one bit.

  Besides, she’d agreed to time with him now.

  Her eyes darkened. “You don’t owe me anything.” Then she muttered under her breath. “It’s me who owes everybody else.”

  “What do you mean?” Already on his way to the kitchen, he stopped and glanced back.

  “Never mind.” That brooding darkness leaving them, her eyes softened again. “Thank you. Cocoa with marshmallows would be great.”

  When he returned, she was engrossed in reading something on her phone. Yeah, her important research. But then, he was nobody to judge her for it. He’d often withdrawn into his work, especially after the issues in their marriage started.

  He placed the two steaming mugs on the oak coffee table. Missing the twins, he’d picked Corbin’s mug—with a horse on it—for himself and given Mirabella Kitty’s mug, predictably bearing a monkey. A loving uncle, Brett always made sure to have things the twins liked at his properties. Each place Brett owned had a monkey and a horse mug, and blankets in the twin’s favorite colors.

  And soon Brett would have a child of his own, bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh.

  Something Colt would never have.

  Blood related or not—he still had a hard time believing Mirabella had kept it from him that the twins weren’t her biological children—Kitty was like a miniature Mirabella, reminding him of his ex-wife just as much as if Mirabella had given birth to her.

  He claimed a seat near Mirabella on the sofa.

  “We should give thanks.” She bowed her head.

  Neither one of them said a word.

  Air left his lungs. “Where’s Corbin when we need him?” He covered the emptiness inside him with a light tone.

  He missed the twins so much and ached to check on them. David would understand if Colt woke him up in the middle of the night, but Colt wouldn’t do that to his friend.

  She sighed. “We need our children very much. They remind us what’s important in life.”

  He took her hands, and her fingers trembled slightly in his. He’d suspected before that her tough shell covered something fragile, and now he knew for sure.

  Then he bowed his head. “Dear heavenly Father, please bless this food… Or the drink… Or whatever it is… Oh, You know I’m out of practice at this. Thank You, Father, for all Your blessings. Please keep Corbin, Kitty, Mirabella, Brett, Ashley, David, Zack, Fred, Jackson, Moirah and Archie McCoy safe in Your care. Please help us figure out the mystery of the Daisy Killer before anybody gets hurt and before the victims’ families get their painful memories stirred up any more. I ask this in the holy name of Your Son, Jesus, amen.”

  “Amen,” she echoed.

  For a few minutes, they sipped the delicious hot sweetness in silence. Should he light the wood laid set and ready to go in the fireplace? The summer nights up here in the hills were often cool enough to justify it. Despite his bad experience with the house fires, there was still something about an open fireplace.

  This one was nothing like the one at his own house. But the feeling… the feeling was the same.

  Nah, better not. Not when Mirabella had been so badly burned in Australia. She had even more reason than him to want to avoid flames. When they’d been married, he and Mirabella hadn’t spent as much time in front of their fireplace as they should have. The few evenings when they’d sat simply looking into the flames in silence and holding hands, after the children were asleep, had been so precious.

  Those wonderful moments were gone too soon. Maybe because he knew how easily it all could be lost, now he savored every sip of chocolatey liquid, every flutter of Mirabella’s eyelashes, every second with her.

  They were a precious gift from God.

  She eyed him over the rim of her mug as if undecided whether to speak. “I had a gut feeling while investigating the Daisy Killer—that maybe there was more than one killer at work. So just because Cantorini died in Australia, there could still be another murderer out there.”

  His jaw slackened. So she really was willing to share. Maybe to share more than he wanted to hear. “Marlowe, and the blackmail theory?”

  “It’s not impossible, though something tells me this is more than mere blackmail. Has he contacted you again?”

  Colt shook his head. “Not yet. I’ll tell you if he does.”

  “Do.” She sipped her chocolate and raised a shoulder in a shrug. “It could even be that he’s the other killer. I intend to research him a little more thoroughly for involvement with any previous victims. Along with researching and interviewing my other suspects.”

  So matter-of-fact about a murderer not only out there, but after her.

  Somehow, he would’ve preferred to believe it was Marlowe blackmailing him. The man might be ruthless, but he probably wouldn’t go as far as murder. But someone who’d killed before?

  Unbidden, a prayer rose in his mind.

  Help me to protect her, please, Lord. I don’t want to lose my Mirabella before I even have her truly back with me.

  No escaping the truth. She was “his Mirabella”. The only woman for him. She always had been, always would be. And somehow, he had to find a way to keep her safe.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Forcing himself to focus on her words and not his feelings for her, Colt did his best to wrap his mind around what Mirabella was saying. If he was going to help protect her, he needed to understand the situation. “If it’s no
t Marlowe, who else? Do you think Cantorini had an accomplice? Maybe his sister, Jade? Or is it a copycat killer?”

  “I’m not sure.” She took another sip and placed the mug on the table with a click. “I’m still not writing off Ross as a suspect. I don’t believe his alibi, and he had a strong motive. With the Daisy Killer on the news so often, easy for another killer to think the daisies would mean he’d never be suspected. But Ross wasn’t the only one I suspected in Karli’s death.”

  He simply nodded, unwilling to say anything that might stop her speaking.

  “Brett helped me by obtaining forensic details about similar murders. I studied pictures of other victims, talked to the medical examiner, the detective who was handling the case, and to Karli’s mother, who found her body.” Mirabella visibly swallowed, and moisture glittered in her eyes. “Now that I’m looking over the same files again, I have the same feeling. Karli’s murderer may not have been the same person as the other Daisy Killer murders.”

  This couldn’t be easy for her. Karli had been her one close friend. His shoulders sagged as he blew out a long breath and salt prickled his eyelids. Another of his mistakes was not understanding why Mirabella had needed to solve that case so badly, not showing enough compassion for her grief.

  If something happened to David… Colt couldn’t imagine the agony.

  Against his best judgment, he reached for Mirabella’s hand. To show his support and comfort her, not for himself. Okay, maybe just a little for himself. “You found discrepancies?”

  Again, tears glistened in her eyes, and her lips tightened. “Karli’s body… there were more stabs than usual, and they were more random. The next murder had exactly the same number of stabs as the earlier killings, in exactly the same places. The Daisy Killer was more precise. Maybe, more detached from what he was doing. I got the feeling Karli’s killer was more… I guess… passionate about it. Her murderer wanted her dead, not just any random woman he or she could kidnap.”

  He went quickly in his mind over what she’d told him until it clicked. “Scarlett. She had a clear motive to get rid of a rival if she was in love with Ross. And, since she was his alibi, that makes her alibi as weak as his.”

  “Yes. Exactly. I’d like to talk to Scarlett tomorrow, as well as Ross.” Her eyelids drooped.

  “We will.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and the fact that she didn’t withdraw from him warmed him more than the cocoa. Maybe she was simply too tired to protest. Or maybe they were finally building bridges.

  He preferred to think it was the latter.

  “We?” Her voice sounded sleepy now.

  “Of course. It’s we.”

  For now, at least.

  He kept telling himself this was just for the children’s sake. Corbin was already clingy with her, and as independent as Kitty acted, she needed her mother, too.

  They’d been toddlers when she’d disappeared the first time, so they’d adjusted fairly well. But now they were old enough to understand and remember. He wouldn’t put their little hearts through the grief of losing her.

  For some time, neither of them said a word. A wave of tenderness surprised him. Or maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. She felt so familiar in his arms—as if she belonged there. But now, something was different. A new understanding between them that hadn’t been there before. More than the mere rush of physical attraction.

  Good and necessary as that was in a marriage, they’d needed more. Needed something deeper, from the heart.

  He understood Mirabella better now. He understood her need to make a difference, to lead a life of her own, to have an identity outside of being a wife and mother. He understood why Karli’s case had been so important to her, important enough to leave him and the twins. He’d been so wrong to accuse her of infidelity.

  His heart shifted. There was still so much about her he didn’t know or understand. But the more he got to know the real Mirabella, the deeper his feelings for her became.

  He glanced down at her, and warmth expanded in his chest. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing even. A half-smile curved her lips. So sweet and endearing. He didn’t want to wake her. Even when his arm became numb, he sat cherishing this rare feeling of connectedness and togetherness.

  Hopefully, he’d be able to carry her to bed without waking her. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be mad at him about it the next day, as she’d been the last time he’d carried her to bed. But for now, he simply sat in silence, embracing the woman who mattered so much to him, tenderly and gently. The way, one day, he might want to embrace the future with her. He hadn’t arrived at the final destination on the road of forgiveness, but tonight he’d taken the first step.

  Lord, if You mean us to be together, show me what should I do to help Mirabella. Help us both to forgive each other for all our past mistakes. Help us find the way to be together. And please, help us figure out who’s threatening her before anyone is harmed. I ask this in the holy name of Your Son, Jesus, amen.

  He felt somehow different after the prayer. A deeper trust and certainty. So it wasn’t only Mirabella he needed to learn to trust again. He needed to learn to trust God again, too.

  As morning light filtered through the curtains, Mirabella opened her eyes.

  She stretched on the exquisite percale cotton bed sheets, so different from the regular ones in her apartment. The room smelled of wood and pine needles, also different from her apartment bedroom, usually holding only the faint scent of her jasmine perfume.

  Weird. She didn’t remember getting into bed. She remembered getting sleepy while talking to Colt on the sofa. When he’d wrapped a comforting arm around her, she hadn’t moved away. She’d even leaned into him.

  Oh no. Don’t say he’d carried her to bed.

  Warmth crept up her neck as she threw back the bedclothes, leaped out of bed, and slid her feet into soft slippers. Brett kept his cabin equipped and ready for pretty much anything and anyone. From fluffy slippers and spare toothbrushes, to a full arsenal of weapons. Then she picked up her purse and rushed to the bathroom to brush her teeth. The spicy cinnamon flavor of the toothpaste she’d chosen refreshed her and woke her up fully.

  The last thing she needed was for Colt to carry her to bed. She’d told him as much when they’d been married, and she’d fallen asleep in front of the fire one of the rare times they’d watched a movie together. All he’d needed to do was to wake her up.

  He’d looked disappointed when she’d told him so. Obviously, a guy thing. She’d have to tell him again.

  After pulling her hair off her face with a headband, she examined herself in the mirror. The bright lighting did nothing to help her feel better about the scars. Last night, she’d slept with her makeup on to cover them. She’d been afraid she’d be woken in the middle of the night in Colt’s guesthouse, and she’d been right.

  At least, the scars on her face had improved thanks to all the plastic surgery. Her body, however, was a different matter—even after all the surgery. This past year, Brett helped her pay for more, to loosen the scars forming tight bands on her chest. She’d only agreed because the painful stricture affected her ability to run and fight. And only after he promised never to tell Colt.

  How could she let Colt see those terrible scars or the other scars on her stomach, back, and upper arms? When he’d seen the “before” version, back when he’d called her beautiful. When she’d rarely used makeup because she didn’t need to. When she’d been able to wear short skirts and sleeveless dresses. Though she’d never dressed immodestly, she hadn’t needed to keep almost every inch of skin covered up.

  Time to wash off yesterday’s makeup and replace the mask for today. This guest bathroom was obviously meant for a woman and contained rows of eye shadows, lipsticks, rouges, mascara, eyeliners, and creams and lotions. She picked up the most covering and concealing of the base layers here.

  Still, she preferred her own, specially designed for burn and birthmark cover and made to match her skin tone. She should ha
ve stopped to pack her bag in the guesthouse, but like Colt, she’d felt an urgent need to get away. Knowing everything she needed would be waiting here, she’d focused on her weapons and forgotten her second most important possession.

  Straightening, she looked at her reflection. She could take care of herself. She didn’t need anybody to carry her—or her burdens, for that matter. Drawing her shoulders back and standing tall, she touched her lips with a pink lipstick. After pulling off the headband, she brushed her hair and hurried to the bedroom. Of course, the wardrobe contained several different choices of clothing, each in a range of sizes.

  Her own well-worn jeans would be way more comfortable than the selection of stiff new designer ones. After donning a cobalt linen tunic top, loose enough not to cling to her scars as well as allow for a holster not to show, she wrapped a generous turquoise cotton scarf to cover her scarred neck and walked to the hall.

  Even if she hadn’t already known where it was, the scent of pancakes and syrup would guide her to the kitchen.

  “So, you remember my cooking and decided it was safer to do it yourself, huh?”

  Colt greeted her with a chuckle and a wave of the spatula as he flipped a pancake on the stainless-steel restaurant-sized stove. “These pancakes aren’t as great as Moirah or Ashley make. But they’re edible. I decided not to fly Moirah here.”

  She smiled at his joke. Like her, he often covered his concern with a light tone.

  When they’d first met, that had made her think he didn’t care much about things, that he’d gotten it all easy. After all, he had money enough to do and to buy things other people could only dream of. What issues could a guy like that have?

  She knew better now, saw the worry and apprehension lurking in his blue eyes. Knew Colt felt things far deeper than he let on.

  “Last night—” Ready to berate him for carrying her to bed, she stopped. “Thank you for making the pancakes,” she said instead. “They smell great!”

  After opening several of the rough-hewn cabinet doors, she found plates and set the big farmhouse table in the middle of the room for breakfast while Colt piled up the pancakes on the large plate and turned off the stove.