Page 22 of Colton's Secret Weapon
A good man didn’t just sit with his wealth. He gave back. And as Kansas told him she’d head out and see what she could find on Whaler, Mitchell hung up the phone and turned to Dove. “This is going to sound like overkill, but my family and I…we don’t ever take chances when it comes to someone’s safety…” He paused as she turned and looked into his eyes. Tried to read what her gaze was telling him. And got nothing but openness.
“Every Colton home has top-notch security,” he said, speaking without carefully choosing his words. And stopped himself as he was about to further expostulate. She didn’t need to know why his family lived as they did. Eli and Kansas in law enforcement were reason enough.
He was going to help Dove. He wasn’t there to bond with her. To tell her he knew about tragedy. About living with those who’d experienced inexplicable loss.
Eli might be the only one of the siblings and cousins who remembered their aunt Caroline, having been five when he and their father had found Will Colton’s seventeen-year-old sister murdered, but every single one of the Coltons lived with the devastating grief that day had wrought.
Will’s parents, Mitchell’s grandparents, had been found that day as well. Slain in their bed. Years before Mitchell had beenborn. He’d never had the chance to know them, but the shadow of their deaths had shaped every day of his life.
None of which mattered to Dove or the current situation. It just served as information Mitchell could use to understand and predict his client’s current needs.
Pseudo client. There’d been no official business arrangement made as of yet. And wouldn’t be until the owner of the company was found.
But he’d said he’d help her. Which, by his own moral code, obligated him to do so.
“I don’t think it sounds like overkill to call in your cousin,” Dove’s words pulled his head out of his ass and back to the car where he’d started to make an offer and had then just stopped.
“She’s in search and rescue, right?” Dove continued, her pinched face in contrast with the calm tone. The fact that she was repeating something they’d already discussed was telling.
She had to be worried sick. And there he sat, thinking about himself.
“She is,” he confirmed, to give her the moment she’d obviously been seeking. And then said, “I have a guest suite in my home. I want you to move into it until this is resolved.”
She sat back, her body rigid, a clear indication of rejection. Reading the response, he didn’t give her a chance to express it. Just kept right on talking. “Free of charge,” he said, trying to hit every one of her upcoming arguments before they became such. “I’m on the outskirts of town, but just. It’ll only be another few minutes’ commute to work. A little farther to the marina, maybe. The place is big enough that you wouldn’t be encroaching on my space. And most importantly, you’ll be safe while we get this thing figured out.”
The tension in her face, her shoulders, hadn’t eased a bit. “The suite is there for just this purpose,” he said then came upwith his closing argument. “Several of my clients have used it over the years.”
Truth… Barely. Clients who’d also been friends. Having moved away and come back to visit. Or needed a place to stay while damage to a business had been repaired. Once when a house didn’t close as soon as expected and the rooms at the Shelby Inn had been sold out.
None of which mattered. He’d inferred that she was a client. Her shoulders should be relaxing. They were not.
How long could Whaler’s truck sit on the street, awaiting his arrival? Weeks? Months? Should he see about having it towed back to the sea captain’s home? The marina?
“Of course I’ll stay in the suite,” Dove said then, her gaze flecked with gratitude but filled with unrest. “Gratefully. And I’ll do whatever housework or anything else you need done, I’ll cook your meals, whatever to show my gratitude. I just… The fact that you called your cousin, and thinking I might be in danger…you really think something’s happened to my dad, don’t you?”
Right. He’d hoped they were going to let that lie for a bit. Until Kansas had a chance to do her thing. “I think it’s possible,” he told Dove.
She nodded then said, “It’s more than that. He’s in trouble. I can feel it.”
And for a second there, until he came to his senses, Mitchell was certain he felt it, too.
Dove had no idea what kind of a bill she was racking up with her and Whaler’s new attorney, but didn’t care. Fate had driven her to his door on the longest shot she’d ever taken. Every good thing that had happened since was because she’d let hope guide her.
While she hadn’t even dreamed that her circumstances had been about to turn so horrible so quickly, she’d been fully aware that she’d been in need of pursuing her last-ditch effort.
Just as she knew that, until she heard news of her father, she had to stay busy. If one of the boats had been missing, she’d have taken another and sped to all her father’s favorite coves. She knew every one of them. Or if his truck hadn’t been found, she might have driven every road out of town, for as many miles as it took to find the old vehicle.
As it was, she wanted to knock on the doors of all seventeen hundred homes in Shelby. Instead, she told Mitchell that she had to get back to her studio, finish removing all signs of vandalism, and then give the space a thorough spiritual cleanse. She accepted his offer to help make the studio appear normal for her classes in the morning.
When it became clear that he had no intention of leaving her alone, she opted to forgo the most important work until morning. And even agreed to him waiting outside her small house by the marina as she packed a bag for the next day or so. But when he went to load her things into his car, she finally spoke up, insisting that she take her own car to his place. She might be in need of assistance, but she would not become dependent. No way her spirits would be leading her tothat.
Though she’d only had oatmeal and fruit for breakfast at six that morning, she wasn’t hungry when Mitchell suggested that, before leaving town, they get something for lunch. But because the chance to sit and watch for her father, or anyone she knew who might have seen him, was too good to pass up, she agreed to lunching at The Cove—a place right on the water, not far from the marina or her house—and ordered the fresh salmon salad she always got.
When her mother had been alive, their small family had dined at the somewhat dimly lit, quaint restaurant at least oncea week. The water called to all three of them—though in different ways. To her mother, it brought a sense of peace and wellness, of enough space to store all of life’s answers. To her father, the sense of adventure that he’d always craved.
Before all he’d craved was the contents of a liquor bottle.
For Dove, it was a combination of the first two. And a reminder of a third. The danger that lurked and could take a life with little warning. As disease had taken her mother.
