Page 13 of Colton First Responder (Coltons of Mustang Valley)

He had thought about Savannah a lot last night after leaving her. Maybe he should just stay out of the whole thing, neither help her nor rat on her to the authorities. But—well, he liked her.

And he hated the idea that she was being framed by her ex, if that was true.

He’d gotten out of a bad relationship recently, too. But they’d both just walked away. His ex hadn’t plotted any revenge against him, and he hadn’t against her, either. That sounded so absurd in Savannah’s situation. But it could of course, be true.

Hell, he was a first responder. He helped people who needed it. Who deserved it. And he truly believed, at least for now, that included Savannah.

He would find out soon, he figured, if he had been duped by her, and she actually was a killer.

He took a sip of coffee from his mug with the FHFR logo and phone number on it.

That mind of his unsurprisingly kept going back to yesterday and the quake and its aftermath.

Once he’d left Savannah the previous night, he had returned to the place where he’d earlier found the damaged van and its dead occupant. All was gone now—except his own useful SUV.

Then he carefully drove along a couple of the mangled dirt roads to check out other fishing cabins besides the one Savannah was occupying, but they were empty, a good thing. And he’d seen no other evidence of people needing help, though quake damage was still evident.

He had considered stopping again on his way home to check on Savannah but had decided against it, since he was sure she was asleep by then. He doubted anyone else knew she was out here, and he intended to see her tomorrow anyway, while bringing the supplies he had promised her.

And tomorrow had arrived. Now that he was awake and preparing to start his day, he kept thinking about her. A fugitive. One he couldn’t get out of his mind. Was he nuts?

Maybe.

“Okay,” he muttered. Today was going to be undoubtedly interesting. He stood and put his empty plate in the metal kitchen sink but carried his remaining half mug of coffee.

He headed down the stairs after closing the door of his bedroom behind him and locking it.

He drove to the First Hand office.

When he arrived in the greeting area, he rapped once on each of their doors in order from the bottom of the steps—Pedro’s first, then Norah’s and Chad’s. He heard a low woof after that last knock and just smiled. Winchell, Chad’s K-9 companion, knew better than to bark here, even when on duty, but he was always alert.

In moments, the gang had joined him in the reception area. They were all present here at the office, so apparently no additional calls had come in after the ones he had heard about last night, and they’d already accomplished the searches they had needed to do immediately after the earthquake, depending on their individual expertise.

His employees greeted him with handshakes and pats on his back, as he did with them. “Good to see you all,” he said. “And I’m looking forward to your reports.”

“We want to hear yours, too, boss,” Pedro said.

There was a reception desk for greeting people who walked in off the street seeking help, against the far wall from the entry door. Plate glass windows circled the room—all intact, fortunately, after the quake, Grayson had noticed last night. The floor was laminate, and the walls beige drywall decorated with photos of successful rescue operations and waving people they had saved. Half a dozen blue upholstered Parsons chairs were arranged with their backs toward the windows, so the room’s occupants, if they spent any time there, could see one another.

And there were a couple of extra doors to offices that could be allocated to additional staff.

Grayson waved his bunch to the chairs so they could start their discussion. Once they were seated, he glanced beyond them to his view of the street. All seemed fine outside.

His mind returned to the damaged cabin where he had left Savannah. Hopefully she remained okay—and there.

“Okay, who’s first?” Grayson asked, putting that behind him for now and looking at Norah.

“You, chief,” she said.

“Nope. I’m last. So tell me your experiences with the quake and after.”

Norah didn’t argue but leaned forward in her chair. Before joining First Hand, she had worked for the City of Phoenix as an EMT but always crowed about how she’d run right to Mustang Valley when she heard of Grayson’s start-up of a private first responder company a while back. She was well trained and a certified expert in emergency medical techniques, and was doing a great job with FH. She was thin yet very strong, and she kept her light brown hair in a style that framed her face.

Most important? With her ongoing and always increasing EMT skills, she was excellent at helping to save lives.

“I was right here when the quake hit.” She motioned toward her office door.

Since not too much around there was damaged, she had hurriedly driven to Mustang Valley General Hospital. The staff there had immediately assigned her to ride in one of the ambulances, to assist the drivers and hospital EMTs.

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