Page 3 of Colton First Responder (Coltons of Mustang Valley)

Success!

And amazingly, there was a key ring attached to the console between the two seats. Not only that, but there was a small leather suitcase on the floor—and it had her name on it. She’d seen it before. It contained some of her personal possessions that the cops had seized upon her arrest and kept at the prison—and would have been given back to her in the event she was released from court that day.

Well, that hadn’t happened, but those were still her things.

She tried not to look at Ari any more than she had to as she entered the van—although she did see his bleeding arm and grasped his wrist, again hoping for some sign of life, but there was none. She then turned so she could grab the keys. She got out and laid the keys on the seat. Contorting with a lot of effort, she tried to unlock the cuffs.

No luck, damn it. Not at first, at least. But somehow she managed to succeed after five minutes of trying over and over.

There! She shook her hands free and dropped the cuffs on the ground. She wouldn’t need them and didn’t want to see them ever again. Next, she grabbed her bag from the floor.

She couldn’t help glancing once more at Ari. He hadn’t moved. No surprise.

“I’m so sorry, Ari,” she said, meaning it. He’d just been doing his job—and that probably included ignoring requests and pleas from suspects he was transporting.

She looked around at what she could see of the road, the surrounding forest, the downed trees and more. She still had no idea where she was—but she nevertheless got moving, running for her life.

She was free! At least for now. And somehow, she needed to use this opportunity to clear her name, though she’d no idea how yet.

She only knew she had to find her rat of an ex. Unless he’d actually stayed around this area and had been killed in the quake.

Under other circumstances, she would cheer at that idea—but she had to find him, to make him confess to his lies, so she would be able to show the world that she was no murderer, no matter how much she detested the creep.

So now she ran into the vaguely illuminated night, carrying her bag, having no idea where she was going—but hoping she would find some kind of shelter...and somehow survive.

* * *

After the initial earthquake more than an hour ago, Grayson Colton had foreseen that the drive along this rural yet usually well-traveled road leading out of Mustang Valley, Arizona, would be a battle against nature. But after his initial assistance and communications, he had chosen this part of town and beyond to search for people who needed help after the highly disturbing tremors the area had experienced.

And was still experiencing to some extent, since the ground continued to rock now and then with aftershocks.

Grayson slowly drove his specially equipped company SUV along what was left of the road as well as he could, avoiding, where possible, the cracks and cavities in the formerly well-paved surface—as well as some downed trees. It was dark out, so his headlights helped him see what he was coming up against. So did the few but helpful lights on remaining poles along the roadside.

That moderate quake, reported so far as 5.9 in magnitude, had been centered around here, so he had taken it upon himself to head this way. He knew what he was doing—although his staff members did, too, or they wouldn’t be working for him.

Right now, he had to traverse what was left of this minor highway as best he could. It was who he was, his responsibility, his calling.

And more. He had founded, and continued to run, First Hand First Responders. His small but significant agency employed dedicated first responders who assisted official responders in the police and fire departments, hospitals and other formal emergency organizations in Mustang Valley. And FHFR members helped out often, since the authorized organizations were understaffed in this area.

Grayson had been at his company headquarters when the quake struck that evening. Not much damage had been done to the three-story building he owned in town, fortunately, although the walls had swayed around him and some items on top of desks and shelves had been thrown to the floor.

Calls and police radio communications had immediately started coming in to the office from the Mustang Valley Police Department, including its primary 911 dispatcher and other agencies.

Apparently the structures housing the police and fire departments and even the local hospital hadn’t been damaged significantly, a good thing. Same thing with local schools, from what he’d heard. But quite a few buildings in town had suffered damage, sometimes significant, particularly in older areas. As had a bunch of homes,

And who knew what people were out and about and might be in danger?

That took first responders to find out. And the authorities who called had requested their help—extensively and immediately.

Grayson’s staff included an emergency medical technician, EMT—Norah Fellini—as well as Pedro Perez, a former firefighter, and Chad Eilbert, a former K-9 cop. Eilbert also had an emergency responder background, and just happened to still have his well-trained search and rescue dog Winchell as his partner.

They’d all been in the FHFR offices, too, when the help requests had started coming in. He’d given them their assignments based on what he’d heard from the official departments’ representatives regarding suspicions of where injuries, missing persons and fires were most threatening, primarily in city areas that were not close to downtown, and therefore most in need of attention from extra first responders.

They had all driven off in their vehicles similar to his, containing special equipment such as defibrillators to help to save people’s lives. Pedro had a portable fire hose with a pump system in his vehicle. And Chad also had special safety equipment for Winchell.

Then Grayson had made some calls himself. Fortunately, the exclusive, upscale Colton property, Rattlesnake Ridge Ranch—where he still lived most of the time with his large family, including parents and siblings—had been spared any damage.

He’d thrown on his bright neon green first responder vest over his long-sleeved T-shirt and heavily pocketed black pants.

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