Page 25 of Colton First Responder (Coltons of Mustang Valley)

Or hundreds, Savannah thought, since it might take that many to clear her. But she appreciated this man’s concept.

She appreciated him.

And if—when—she did get out of this, she would do what she could to repay him.

At the moment, though, as they exited the path to walk farther into the woods, onto hard ground covered with clumps of leaves—and fortunately no visibly big cracks after the earthquake—she again tamped down any idea she still retained about having sex with him.

That could lead to...well, caring.

And she didn’t intend to care for any man again for a long time, if ever. Not even one as kind as this guy.

“Okay,” she said. “Although if I get choked up—well, it’s a pretty emotional tale for me. And it’s one I’ve had to repeat multiple times after I was arrested. I told it to the cops, to my attorney and to nearly anyone who asked, but if anyone believed me it still didn’t help me get released.”

“I get it.” And damned if, as they continued forward, Grayson didn’t reach over and take her hand—possibly for stability in their walking and possibly for emotional support.

Tightening her grip slightly, Savannah forced herself not to let her eyes tear up—at least not much.

“It was like this,” she said. She explained that the night Zane had disappeared, she had been out in the evening at a friend’s place near the Rattlesnake Ridge Ranch to talk about a fund-raiser for the Mustang Valley General Hospital’s children’s wing. “Nothing was decided that night, but the group I get together with for that kind of thing has put together that scale of an event before, so we were just touching base and getting the idea started for a new bash.”

“Yeah, I think a couple of my sisters get involved now and then.”

Savannah saw a thick tree limb lying on the ground in front of them, as did Grayson, who still held her hand. “Let’s go this way, rather than climbing over,” he said, and they turned to their right. “Okay,” Grayson said in a minute. “Please continue.”

And Savannah did, hating to relive that night and the next day as she yet again described what had happened.

“We had just finalized our divorce,” she told Grayson. “I didn’t want to move back in with my family, nor did I want to stay anywhere near Zane, but I hadn’t yet figured out where to move. So I was living in a separate guesthouse on the grounds at the back of his house—our house—though he got it back as part of our divorce settlement. I avoided Zane for the most part, and he kept encouraging me to move out as soon as pos

sible, which was fine with me. In fact, I already had someone helping me to look for a new place. Only in retrospect that turned out to be a mistake.”

Savannah almost stumbled as she thought about that particular mistake, and what it had added to the horror of her situation.

“Why was that a mistake?” Grayson prompted beside her.

“The real estate guy’s name is Schuyler Wells,” she said. She tried to concentrate on the crunchy sounds of leaves beneath their shoes to distance herself from the anger and frustration of what came next.

“I’ve heard of him,” said Grayson. “He’s a big-deal developer around here, right?”

“Right. He had ideas and connections and—well, as things went south I was accused of having a long-term affair with him. He even hinted to the cops that we had planned to run away together once my divorce was final, that we’d decided to even before...before Zane disappeared.”

“And you weren’t?” Grayson asked.

Again Savannah stopped, this time just long enough to stomp her foot on the ground. “No way.” She remained quiet until they continued forward again. She hated the way this aspect of the horror etched its way through her mind.

“Go on, please,” Grayson finally said.

Savannah explained how, living in that small back house, she hadn’t kept track of Zane’s comings and goings, so of course she wasn’t aware of whether he’d been home at all the night he supposedly disappeared.

Not that his absence would be a surprise. Even when they were married, he often wouldn’t come home at night, and Savannah assumed he was having an affair or several, although he’d always explained his absence the next day as somehow related to his business. Savannah had never bought that. Why would the owner of a highly successful investment bank need to conduct an all-night meeting? No, she’d heard rumors of his affairs and even caught him once, just before she filed for divorce, with another woman.

Still, as their relationship had deteriorated, Savannah didn’t mind his absences. She’d been irritated, though, when he’d claimed she had been going out, as well—which she recognized afterward was probably his way of boosting the allegations of her affair with Schuyler. And of course Schuyler later claimed they spent a lot of time together looking for someplace for Savannah to move, but he implied there were other, sexier, reasons, too.

“But then—well, that night was one Zane didn’t come home. The next day, late in the morning, I got a call from his office. He hadn’t shown up there, either—and that was unusual. Nor did he show up later that night or the next day. Not that I cared about him that way anymore, but I became concerned, and apparently his staff did, too. Someone called the cops, who showed up and began questioning me about what I knew about Zane and his disappearance, and why was I still living there, and what had our relationship been like recently. And then—and then—”

She had to continue. She recognized that. And if Grayson was aware at all about Zane’s alleged murder, he’d probably heard it.

“And then what?” he said.

“And then—the cops found a knife in my closet, hidden under a box. It was bloody. Of course they grabbed it and took it in and had it tested.”

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