Page 58 of Colton's Last Resort

No sooner had he shut the door behind him than he heard, “Steele!”

Noah stopped, gritted his teeth, then turned to face his superior office. “Sir.”

Captain Jim Crabtree, a weathered barrel of a man with twenty-plus years on the force, bore down on him. “Aren’t you supposed to be on personal leave?” he asked. “Who is this woman?”

Fulton peered through the blinds of the interview room and cursed a stream. “That’s Glenna Bennett Colton. Wife to Clive Colton. His children own Mariposa Resort & Spa.”

Crabtree spoke in a steely, quiet manner that wasn’t any less threatening than the sound of his yelling. “We went over this. You asked if you could approach Mariposa. You asked me for my permission to investigate your sister’s death and I told you it’s against departmental procedure.”

“Yes, sir,” Noah said.

“You arenotabout to tell me you picked this woman up on the streets of Sedona,” Crabtree warned.

“No, sir.”

A knowing gleam entered Crabtree’s dark eyes. “How long have you been poking around the resort?”

Noah pressed his lips together. He respected the hell out of Crabtree and couldn’t lie. “Several days.”

Fulton let out a disgruntled noise. It was cut off by Crabtree. “You went against orders. That makes you eligible for administrative leave. I could send you before the review board.”

Hell.He couldn’t lose his badge. Not with Allison’s killer on the loose.

Not when being a homicide detective was the only job that had ever made sense to him. It was the only box he’d ever fit in. “Respectfully, sir, I’m asking you not to do that.”

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t.”

Noah caught Fulton’s fulminating stare and wasn’t cowed in the least. “I’ve been operating at Mariposa on and off for the last week without the primary investigator any the wiser.”

“Jesus, Steele,” Fulton tossed out. “You’re a son of a bitch. You know that?”

“Also,” Noah said, moving on, “with the help and permission of the Colton family, I’ve been operating undercover. People don’t see a cop walking around. They see the man staying in Bungalow Fifteen. Laura Colton’s boyfriend.”

“How the hell did he pull that off?” another detective, Ratliff, muttered behind him. General assent went up through the ranks of watching cops.

“I have a short list of suspects and inside access to guest quarters and staff buildings,” Noah continued. “I’ve built a rapport with regulars and employees alike, and I’m looking at a handful of people who were close to Allison while Fulton fights for crumbs from the table. If you pull me out now, we lose our best chance of tying up this case.”

“You expect me to believe you can think clearly—objectively—when your sister’s the victim?” Crabtree challenged.

“I know how to do my job,” Noah said. “I’ve got the best closure rate in my division.”

“Yes,” Crabtree granted. “But she was your family.”

“I’m going to close this case,” Noah informed him, “just as I’ve closed dozens of cases before hers.”

“I don’t need a loose cannon on my hands,” Crabtree warned. “If you find her killer, how do I know you won’t take matters into your own hands?”

It was a fair question, one Noah had asked himself a dozen times. When he found the man or woman who’d killed Allison...when he looked them in the eye at last...would he be able to follow procedure? Was his belief in due process strong enough when confronted with the person who’d squashed what was most precious to him?

Noah took a breath. “I won’t let you down, Captain.”

Crabtree stared him down. “When you’re ready to make an arrest, bring Fulton in and let him handle it. Do not approach the suspect. If you so much as touch them, Steele—”

A muscle in Noah’s jaw twitched in protest, but he made himself answer. “Yes, sir.”

“Now explain to me why the Coltons’ stepmother is in interrogation,” Crabtree demanded.

“I believe she’s responsible for the news leak at Mariposa,” Noah said. “When I approached her with evidence, she swung at me. I cuffed her and brought her in for booking.”

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