“I’m not sure I can be a good father.” But he knew a man who’d been a darn good example. And might be willing to be a teacher, too.
“See, that’s where having two of us trying to have a relationship kind of works, because I am sure you can become a good father.” Emma’s words knocked him off course again.
And onto this new road, once more.
“You’re a good father every single time you give one of your clients a second chance,” she told him. “You have faith in them. You look after them. You counsel them. You save them from themselves sometimes. And, when necessary, you discipline them. Even when it means holding them accountable for their mistakes. Even when it hurts you to do so.”
Had his father ever held him accountable? Jayden couldn’t be sure. He’d known there were lines he couldn’t cross. So he hadn’t really tried.
His father had given him space in which to fly. And maybe kept him tethered on some invisible parental line, too.
But he was a man now. Not a boy. Or a teenager. Or a college kid. He was a grown man. It was time for him to find out if he had what it took to fly without protection.
“I don’t want to know what it would be like to spend another night alone in my house with you alone in yours,” he said.
She was crying again. He could feel the sobs in her body against his.
“I love you, Emma Martin.”
“I love you, too.”
The words cascaded around him. Through him. Settling in.
“So...you think we can always remember those we’ve lost, but forgive ourselves?” He had to ask.
“I do.”
“You up for sharing this place with a feral, no-named cat, who you probably won’t ever see?” Made sense that they’d live at her place, not his. Hers was ten times as nice.
And gated. Didn’t mean harm couldn’t come to her there...but there was less chance of it.
“The way I picture it, the cat’s going to have a name as soon as I see it and figure out if it’s male or female. And, within a month, he or she will be sleeping on the end of our bed.”
Yeah, she would see it that way.
And she’d probably be right.
“You think you’ll be up for sharing this place with a baby we might make at some point?” she countered.
It would take him some time. He didn’t kid himself about that. But for her...and for the child he so badly wanted to have with her...
“You think you can figure a way to get that cat out from under my bed and over here?”
“You going to help me?”
He’d said he didn’t want to spend another night in his home with her in hers, so... “Of course.”
“Then yes, I can get the cat out.”
“And I can share this space with whatever family we make together, canine, feline, human...who knows...maybe even some more fish.”
He wasn’t thinking it would be easy. Wasn’t sure how good he’d actually be at it, but he’d do it. And give it his all.
Because one thing Jayden knew about himself that just didn’t change...
He was a man of his word.
* * *
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Hunting the Colton Fugitive
by Colleen Thompson
Chapter 1
Sitting at the built-in computer nook of a bunker hidden in the secluded foothills surrounding Mustang Valley, Ace Colton had long since lost track of whether it was day or night. With little access to natural light and zero human contact, he’d spent much of the past weeks obsessively sifting through news reports while considering the evidence against him. Trying to make sense of the so-called witness to his confession, the planted weapon and the way the solid and successful life he’d so long taken for granted had fallen to pieces since January.
No, fallen was the wrong word. That implied something that had simply happened on its own, for no rhyme or reason. It was obvious by this point that his life as Payne Colton’s eldest son, the hardworking and successful CEO of a billion-dollar corporation, Colton Oil, had been deliberately blown to pieces. Stolen from him by whomever had sent out that email telling every other member of the board, his family, that he was, in fact, no real Colton, but an imposter foisted off on them at birth.
Then, before the sickening shock of it, the sense of isolation and displacement, could begin to settle, his job was ripped away, too, though he’d done absolutely nothing wrong—known nothing of any scheme involving his being switched at birth.
He would never forget the searing pain of hearing his father, the man he loved and trusted, tell him that only a real Colton was fit to lead the company. Afterward, harsh words had flown between them, words Ace would regret forever. For as understandable as his hurt and fury might have been, he’d been overheard, making him the prime suspect later when his father had been found lying on his office floor, barely breathing, with two bullets in him.
Is he breathing still? When Ace had fled after a so-called witness had implicated him, and a gun linked to the shooting was found beneath a floorboard inside Ace’s own condo, the man he would always think of as his real father had still been in a coma, in critical condition. As badly as Payne had hurt Ace by acting as if, without a genetic link, none of his business acumen, hard work, or the relationships he’d spent a lifetime building made one damned bit of difference, he couldn’t hang around his condo waiting to be arrested, even though he knew he’d let down the people who cared for him by going into hiding.
But neither could he actually leave the area, not without doing whatever he could to track down the real shooter, protect his family from further harm, and find some way to get his life back on track, even if he had to do it using his laptop to connect to the untraceable virtual private network that was his sole link to the outside world. He thanked his lucky stars that he’d purchased this plot of land several years ago from the cash-strapped, out-of-state nieces of a former owner. Only after the property’s closing had Ace learned of the existence of a survival bunker from some old receipts and a set of long-forgotten plans found among a packet of yellowed paperwork he’d been given.
That long-ago investment, based on his vague instinct that the land, with its scenic views of the valley below, might someday prove a good place to build vacation rental cabins, had paid off in spades, a gift from his younger self to the desperate fugitive Ace had become. A gift he’d carefully retrofitted and provisioned as best he could in the weeks before it became apparent that he would soon be taken into custody.
Within the tomblike confines of the bunker, he searched his online sources for any relevant local updates from the Mustang Valley area, from the obituary he dreaded to the longed-for news that his name had been cleared. Finding neither, he began skimming other headlines, only to nearly jump out of his skin when an alarm wailed over speakers placed throughout the bunker.
Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!
The security cameras he had installed above-ground set off a siren that echoed throughout the confined space, alerting him to the presence of an intruder.
Heart thrashing against his rib cage, Ace leaped to his feet before typing in the code to access the hidden cameras. As his screen divided into six sections, a glimpse of swift movement and a clearly human outline on the lower right panel, near the entrance hatch, made his gut clench, though the lighting
was too dim to make out any details.
There was a bright flash of light and then a muffled boom. Carefully hung tools fell from the walls of the bunker as Ace’s panic spiraled.
Was it the police, detonating the hatch and coming to arrest him? Surely not, he thought, reasoning that law enforcement, if they found him, would arrive en masse rather than what had appeared to be a solitary presence. His instincts told him it was far more likely that this was the same person who’d made the attempt on his father’s life and set him up to take the fall. Had the perpetrator come to bring him in—or to shoot him down, too?
Sweating bullets, Ace went for the handgun he’d procured before going into hiding and wondered if he had it in him to pull the trigger. With only one way in and out of the bunker, there was no avenue to flee, and locking the inner submarine-style door would only give his unwanted guest time to gather reinforcements—or trigger yet another blast.
Something clattered from the hatchway. Ace tensed, his stomach going icy cold.
Reaching above his head, he flicked off the LED lights that would expose him when the interior door opened. After weeks of solitude in the confined space, he knew the bunker’s every twist and turn by heart—the only real advantage he had against a well-prepared intruder.
Pushing himself back into the alcove adjacent to the opening, he waited in pitch darkness, feeling more like a trapped feral animal, teeth bared and claws ready, than the polished, urbane and occasionally ruthless corporate warrior he’d been for so long.
Against the shallow scrape of his own breath, he heard the turning of the door’s mechanism, followed by the whoosh of its hydraulics. Dim light flickered; then came a shadow, followed by a puff of air cooler than the scrubbed bunker atmosphere he had been breathing. Smelling of leaves and needles, earth and fresh greenery, it spoke of the foothills, nighttime—and an imminent threat to his freedom or his life.
With a wordless shout that echoed through the bunker, he jumped out and wrapped his arms around what he swiftly realized was a smaller person, twisting his body to slam his unwelcome guest headfirst into the bulkhead. There was a thud and a cry of alarm—higher pitched than he expected. An instant later the intruder twisted free, the silky sweep of long hair brushing across his face and filling his nostrils with a clean, light scent that triggered a memory of one of his sisters’ shampoos.
“Ainsley?” He drew back reflexively, wonder vying with relief to imagine his attorney sibling tracking him here somehow. Guilt came next as he recalled how he’d thanked her for her efforts to help him by disappearing on her, and horror at how hard he’d slammed her into the bunker’s unyielding steel framing. “Ainsley, are you all right? I’m so sorry if I hurt—”
Out of the darkness, something came at him like a guided missile, a blow that struck his temple hard enough to knock him off his feet.
Head swirling on a raft of nausea, he found himself on his hands and knees a moment later, feeling for the pistol, which had gone flying from his hands. A second click preceded the flashlight’s beam, and the whole bunker was once more flooded with bright light.
Before his eyes could adjust, the intruder sent his gun spinning out of reach with a kick. A no-nonsense yet decidedly feminine voice ordered, “On your feet, right now. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
The speaker was not his little sister but a small and slender woman, maybe early thirties, whom he had never seen in his life. With her wavy, red-blond hair pushed back behind squared shoulders, she was aiming an intense green-eyed gaze, along with the business end of her 9mm automatic, directly at him.
“I said, on your feet—now,” she repeated, her face as softly feminine as her voice was firm. “That is, if you aren’t still seeing stars from that left cross.”
“That was you that hit me?” He staggered a little as dizziness washed over him when he rose. “With your actual fist?”
Sure, he’d dropped his guard when he’d mistakenly imagined he had body-slammed his little sister, but this woman, who couldn’t be more than five-four and maybe one-fifteen soaking wet, had damned near knocked him out with a single blow. “Tell me you clocked me with that gun or something. Leave a man a little pride, at least.”
“Come to think of it—” eyeing him critically, she waved the weapon to direct him farther inside the tube-shaped bunker “—maybe you ought to sit down. That punch to the head has you talking nonsense.”
As he moved in the direction she indicated, she bent to sweep up his pistol with her free hand before dropping it into a side pocket of her dark gray tactical pants, her movement so deft and assured that he knew immediately he was dealing with a well-trained professional.
There goes my last chance at freedom, he realized, his heart sinking. Unless he started talking fast.
“Who the hell are you,” he demanded, “and what do you want with me?”
“Relax and take a load off,” she suggested, gesturing toward a built-in leather sofa across the narrow corridor.
With little choice, he complied, while his captor stood across from him, her back pressed against the command center’s chair behind her.
“Nice little hideaway you’ve got down here,” she said, waving to indicate the pristine white walls and birch shelving, lined with boxed supplies that could easily stretch to last him for another six months. “Lucky thing for me your former real estate agent is the talkative sort. Very eager to chat about how understanding you were over the irregularities with the paperwork—including this little unpermitted building project that you could’ve thrown a fit over since it had never been inspected.”
“I couldn’t see much point of causing those two young women any grief over some old mothballed bunker I never had any intention of using,” Ace said, shaking his head. “And you actually looked up my real estate agent?”
She smiled. “In my experience, it’s a rare runner who strays too far from his home turf. Especially one with the kind of family ties that you have...and properties to spare.”
“In your experience as what?” he asked, more certain than ever than the armed intruder who’d packed such a wallop wasn’t law enforcement, since she hadn’t identified herself as such. “The woman who’s come here to kill me?”
She shook her head and made a scoffing sound. “I’m not here to kill you, Colton. I’ve come to escort you to the Mustang Valley PD so I can collect the bounty I’ve been promised.”
* * *
Sierra Madden tensed as Ace Colton leaned toward her, a lump rising where she’d slugged him and his dark brown eyes boring uncomfortably into hers.
“Start explaining, right now,” he ordered, looking better than he had any right to, considering his month-long confinement.
The neatly groomed light brown hair in his corporate headshots had given way to a somewhat longer, more unruly look. In place of the expensive suit and silk tie, he now wore a tight black T-shirt with worn jeans molded to a trim, athletic body. Though the bulge of his biceps made her suspect he’d been working off some of his frustrations with free weights, he was a good deal leaner than he’d been in photos from his CEO days. A spiky layer of stubble, frosted with a hint of silver at his jawline, gave him an edgy look of the sort that she’d always been drawn to...sometimes to her detriment.
Some men dressed up nicely, she knew, but leave it to her to come up with one whose appearance had been improved by life on the lam. Not that it matters. Ace Colton’s nothing to me but the fat paycheck I need to buy my way out of big trouble.
“First off, I need to know exactly who you are,” he added, “and who it was that put you on my trail.”
She chuffed a laugh. “You know, you’re awfully demanding for a guy with a goose egg on his head and a gun pointed at him. Or is arrogance just an occupational hazard for you CEO types?”
“Ex-CEO,” he said, sounding irritated, “as if you haven’t made it crystal clear already
you’ve done your homework on my background. Which gives you a distinct advantage over me.”
“I happen to like advantages. But then again, who doesn’t?”
“Come on. A name, at least? What’s that going to cost you?”
She shrugged. “Fine, then. I’m Sierra Madden.”
“And you must be a bounty hunter, right? But how can that be? I haven’t been arrested, so there’s no bail bond for me to have skipped out on. What authority do you even have to—”
“The way I figure it, I’m aiming all the authority I need at you right now.” She jerked her gun a smidgeon higher. “But you’re right. This isn’t usually the way I work. And in your case, there’s no need to think of me as the enemy. I’m here to help you, Asa.”
“It’s Ace,” he corrected—unnecessarily, since she knew full well from her research that no one ever called him by his given name. “And I don’t know which part of that story is the most convincing, the part where you break in here aiming a gun at me or maybe it’s when you said you were about to turn me in to the police to be arrested.”
Frowning, Sierra reminded herself that Ace Colton was, for her, a means to an end. She didn’t have to like him—plus, he was wanted for attempted murder. “I’ve been hired by a member of your family interested in bringing you home so the best possible defense can be arranged for the pending charges.”
“I’ve been through all that with my sister.” He grimaced as if the memory pained him. “I know Ainsley means well, but with someone intent on setting me up to take the fall for our father’s shooting—”
“Ainsley?” Sierra shook her head. “It wasn’t her who sent me, or any of your siblings. It was your stepmother.”
“My stepmother? You can’t mean Genevieve? Why would she, when she thinks I’ve shot her husband?”
“No, not your father’s current wife. The other one. Selina Barnes Colton was the woman who—”
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