Page 38 of Colton First Responder (Coltons of Mustang Valley)

“About his knowing Schuyler, the liar who convinced the cops I killed my ex? Good old Schuyler—and good old Ian. I’ll definitely be eager to hear what Ian says. But—well, I have something to ask you before you go.”

Her expression after she said that appeared both eager and apprehensive. What was she going to ask?

“I appreciate all you’ve been doing for me, Grayson,” she began, picking up the pad of paper he had given her previously and fiddling with it somewhat nervously. He could tell that she had written notes on it. “And that you’re continuing to help me. But I’m sure you can imagine that I’m going nuts hanging out alone here, knowing that if I go anywhere else I’m likely to be spotted and taken back into custody.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s difficult,” he said, wondering where she was heading with this. And he did sympathize with her. Even with her ability now to look things up on the phone he’d brought her, watch videos on it, read free magazines on it and whatever, she remained alone out here in the middle of nowhere.

“And I hate to ask you to spend more money on me now.”

He began to react, since that wasn’t a concern to him and she knew it.

“But,” she continued, “as I said before I’ll repay you when I’m able to. The thing is, I don’t want to be me any longer. Or at least I don’t want to be recognizable in any way.”

“What do you mean?”

She immediately jumped in to explain, showing him the list of items she wanted him to purchase for her—and suggesting he not shop anywhere near Mustang Valley, where he could be seen, and where people would know he didn’t have a significant other to buy all of this for.

And those people could become suspicious.

She jumped up from her seat then and motioned for him to follow her into the bathroom, where she looked in the mirror and gave a better explanation of what she intended to do with the makeup and all, pointing out what changes she would make.

He had to hand it to Savannah. Of course, as a former debutante and someone who had apparently been featured in a few high school acting roles, she’d come up with a lot of good ideas for disguising herself.

“So, if I’m able to find all this stuff, I gather that your nose will look longer.” He reached over and touched her nose softly with his index finger. “Your hair will be deep brown instead of blond—and in this style that no one but me has seen you in anyway.” He gently touched the side of her hair. “Your eyes will appear larger, with dark lashes and brows over them that match your hair.” He touched those brows, too.

As he was doing this, he realized how ridiculous it was—and yet how sexually stimulated he was becoming. And Savannah’s eyes widened as she met his gaze in that mirror.

It was as if he was getting emotionally attached to her. In some ways, maybe he was. But he knew only too well that he didn’t want to get involved with any woman.

This one had particularly gotten under his skin with her sad situation. Well, he didn’t need any kind of relationship with her except as her helper. Anything else would be way out of bounds.

He still believed she was innocent, believed it enough to continue to help her.

Bu what if he was wrong? What if she actually was guilty of killing her husband?

Nah...although he hoped that confronting her attorney and learning more about her that way would convince him even more of her innocence.

It had better. He didn’t want to get caught abetting a genuine murderer.

And touching her here and now? He had to stop. And so he did. He took a step back though he continued to look at her in the mirror.

“Sounds like a good idea,” he said. “But once you look that different, what do you intend to do about it? Run away? Unless you have someplace specific in mind and means to get there, it’s a bad idea.”

“Even so, I really can’t just stay here forever.” Her usually sweet voice had turned into a bit of a wail, and he couldn’t help putting an arm around her.

But she wasn’t having any of that, at least not now. She pulled away and returned to the table, where she sat back down and put her hand on that notepad.

“So what do you suggest?” she demanded, her tone harsher.

“Well, here’s what I think we should do.” He purposely emphasized the “we.” He had already dived into this situation on her side, and she certainly should recognize that—and listen to him.

But would she?

“What’s that?” she prompted.

“I’m going to go see your buddy Ian first, assuming he’ll grant me an audience. I’ll go get the things you’ve asked for, but only after that discussion and some business I need to conduct, when I have some time to get away from the office without anyone questioning where I am. That means I’ll have to get a few things done first. Until then, you need to stay here. Okay?” That, of course, was important.

“Sure, as long as you call me when you can to let me know what Ian says, or tell me if you didn’t get to see him.”

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