Page 75 of Colton's Last Resort

“Your stepmother made bail.”

Laura nodded slowly. “We knew she would.”

“You should prepare for whatever else she’s planning,” Noah cautioned. “I know her type. She’s a schemer—a wrench in the system. She’ll make trouble for Mariposa and your family again. I guarantee it.”

Laura’s brow furrowed. “I think you might be right.”

“Fulton believes he has enough to close Allison’s case by the end of the week.”

Laura frowned. “How can he? There’s not enough evidence to convict anyone. Is there?”

“No,” he said.

“Then why the urgency?” she asked.

Noah shifted uncomfortably as the laughter from the open doors of Annabeth spilled out into the afternoon air. “I told you he was looking hard at Roger Ferraday. While I was at the station, I looked closer at his background and his son’s.” He showed her the folder in his hand. “Roger Ferraday has one DWI on his record. There were others that’ve been expunged because he’s got money and power and he’s got a high-priced lawyer who plays racquetball with judges and prosecutors alike.” He opened the folder and angled it toward her. “This is his son’s rap sheet.”

Her hand touched her mouth as she read the felonies and misdemeanors. “How is he free to come and go as he pleases with a record like this?”

“Papa Ferraday flew his bouncing baby boy to Arizona on their private jet because whispers of date rape and drug abuse are getting the attention of people who don’t care who he or his lawyer are,” Noah revealed. “There’s talk of locking Dayton Ferraday up for good.”

“How does this tie back to Allison?” she asked.

Noah didn’t want to spell it out for her. “Dayton has used fentanyl at least once in a case of date rape. The victim was a minor and charges were dropped, thanks to Roger’s influence. But the connection’s there.”

She stared at him, distress painting her. “You think Allison’s death had something to do with...rape?”

“Fentanyl is a date rape drug,” he confirmed. “Come on, Laura. Think. For what other reason would her killer inject her?”

This time, both hands rose to cover her face. She stood still for a moment. Then her shoulders shuddered.

Noah wanted to take it all away. The likeliest truth was too ugly for him to process. He didn’t want her to have to do so as well. “Hey,” he said, sliding his palm over her shoulder. When she didn’t raise her head, he rubbed circles over her back. “Hey, it’s okay.”

He didn’t know why he said it. Nothing about this was okay. But he needed her to be. If she broke down, he didn’t know what he would do. The confluence of rage and violence he felt for whoever had hurt his sister didn’t mix well with a lack of self-control.

Laura had to know, he reminded himself. If there was a rapist at Mariposa, no one was safe. Not the maids. Not the concierges, front desk clerks, masseuses... Most especially not its queen bee, who drew playboys like flies and slept alone a heartbeat away from where Allison was killed.

The need to protect her whistled in his ears. He wanted to get her out of there, away from the resort. The danger was too close to her.

Sweeping the soft strands of her hair aside, he lowered his lips to the nape of her neck. His anger and torment over Allison lived shoulder to shoulder with his panic over what he felt for Laura, his need for her. He felt too small to contain everything inside him. Something was going to have to give soon or he would explode.

“I can’t believe...” She took several shallow breaths, trying to get the words out. “...someone would do that to her...take advantage of her like that... Did he mean to kill her or did he just...want to have his way with her?”

“Either way, the son of a bitch is going to spend a long time behind bars. Unless Fulton rushes it, screws it up, and the guy gets off on a technicality. I have to make this right.”

Even as her eyes flashed with tears, her voice was firm. “We both do.”

He’d denied it for the better part of the day. He’d held himself back from the truth of what he felt. But he felt himself fumbling over that blind, terrifying cliff again. He felt himself go over the edge. Fear chased him, but he couldn’t not see her. He couldn’t stop feeling what he felt. In what he hoped was a perfunctory motion, he lifted his hand to her face to wipe the tears with his thumb.

Her eyes went soft, and he knew he’d failed. “Thank you for the coffee and omelet this morning.”

“It was nothing,” he lied.

“You fed my cat.”

He had. “I didn’t want him to wake you.”

“You were trying to sneak out?”

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