Page 41 of Colton First Responder (Coltons of Mustang Valley)

He raised one hand in a wave as he headed for the stairway.

Once inside his office, he closed the door. He got on the computer for a few minutes to look up where his staff members were assigned.

He then searched for news about the crushed transport vehicle. There didn’t appear to be any new information, at least not as reported by the local newspaper or other media—which of course didn’t mean things weren’t happening that were being kept confidential.

He also looked up the website of the office of Ian Wright. He studied the photo of the man before he prepared to call him.

Wright was an older fellow whose hairline had receded, but who still had enough graying hair to provide a nice frame to his face. He stood there in a suit, arms crossed, clean-shaven, staring with intense eyes beneath stern brows into the camera. Grayson continued to look at that picture as he pressed the law office number onto his phone.

As he anticipated, a receptionist answered. Grayson identified himself as the CEO of First Hand First Responders—and also the person who had located the destroyed vehicle that had apparently been transferring Mr. Wright’s client from the court back to prison. He wanted to speak with Mr. Wright about that and ask him some questions.

The woman got off the phone for a minute, then returned. “Mr. Wright is about to start a meeting here that will last for most of the afternoon. Can he call you back later?”

“Sure,” Grayson said, then left his number and said goodbye. And smiled. It appeared that Wright was in his office, after all.

Well, Grayson wouldn’t know for sure until he got there. Wright might call him back soon, if he thought the first responder who found Savannah missing could be of any help getting her back, assuming the lawyer was attempting to help Zane and Schuyler. In any case, Grayson prepared to go to Wright’s office as soon as he finished some other calls. First, he sent a few follow-up messages to professional contacts in nearby towns, reminding them that First Hand could help them if they needed any assistance now, particularly after the earthquake.

That was the kind of email message he sent often, though he’d never needed to mention something like a quake prior to the last couple of days. But he always remained in contact as closely as possible with the various local groups who might—and did—use their highly qualified and well-certified services.

In a little while, he closed down his computer and headed downstairs to the reception area.

“I’m about to leave for a meeting,” he told Norah, quickly averting any questions she might have about that meeting. “And—well, I’d love to check in with Chad and Winch later. Do you know where they are?”

“Kind of.” Norah described the desert area northwest of town where the young man was thought to have disappeared. She also showed Grayson a report she had found on her phone about the missing guy.

“Please text that link to me,” Grayson told her. “If I get a chance, I may even head there after my meeting.”

The area was on its way toward Mountain Valley, a nearby town whose police and fire departments sometimes requested their help.

It was also someplace Grayson wouldn’t be recognized, so he could at least start acquiring the disguise materials Savannah had requested.

But Wright’s office? It was right in downtown Mustang Valley, not far from Grayson’s own building. And as Grayson had already figured, Ian Wright was apparently in his office right now, unless he’d instructed his receptionist to lie.

Which was entirely possible.

Grayson decided to drive there anyway, despite its proximity.

He pulled his SUV out of the parking lot behind his building and drove the few blocks to the ornate yet professional-looking structure that housed the law firm of Wright & Jessup. It had a parking lot behind it, too, and Grayson easily found a spot there.

He went around to enter the front of the building, where he checked out the list of businesses it contained that was hung by the elevator. No receptionists here, just a few glass doors with signage beside them describing the offices they opened into.

He saw that the building housed a couple of other law firms, as well as a local office for a tech company based in Phoenix, and a few other groups Grayson didn’t recognize.

Ian Wright’s firm was listed as being on the top couple of floors.

Grayson pushed the button and the elevator door opened. He touched the number for the lowest floor of Wright’s offices. The elevator was slow but not especially noisy.

When it arrived and the door opened, Grayson got out and looked around. Sure enough, the door to the law firm’s offices was straight ahead, and that was where Grayson headed. He opened it and walked in.

A large black laminate desk took up most of the front room. Behind it sat a fiftyish lady with clearly bleached golden hair. She looked up, regarding Grayson from behind her blue-rimmed glasses. A sign on the top of the desk read Connie Glasser. She was probably the person he had talked to when he had called Ian Wright earlier.

“Hello,” she said, greeting Grayson. “May I help you?”

“I’m Grayson Colton. I assume you’re the person I spoke with before.”

“That’s right,” she said. “And—”

“Well, after we talked, I called Mr. Wright directly, and he told me to come right in. I assume his meeting is over, right?”

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