Page 46 of Colton First Responder (Coltons of Mustang Valley)

But the only thing Savannah could be sure of was that she hadn’t been the one to kill Ian.

* * *

Damn.

He had just stopped making calls and turned on the car radio, driving along one of the nicer, four-lane downtown streets in Mountain Valley, from a discount store to a more posh one a couple of blocks away. Grayson had earlier bought some of the disguise makeup that Savannah had asked for, as well as a few other supplies like batteries. When he heard about Ian Wright on the radio, he nearly drove into a car parked along the curb.

Which was when Savannah had called. He pulled over and answered immediately, wishing he was with her to comfort her.

What the hell had happened? When he had left Ian, the attorney looked nervous yet had definitely been in lawyer mode. He’d done whatever he had to do to get Grayson out of his presence.

But he had definitely been breathing. And Grayson might have been the last person to see Ian alive. Except for his murderer.

Apparently the SOB had been shot—but who had done it?

Savannah had sounded scared on the phone, and no wonder. The media probably didn’t know all the details yet but the reports indicated that Wright’s cause of death was gunshot wounds. Whether or not the cops had suspects in mind, the media had taken no time to latch onto Savannah as their prime suspect. Even though she presumably had an alibi—being at the cabin—for this period of time, which they wouldn’t know.

That was logical. Grayson admitted it to himself. Savannah theoretically could be mad at her lawyer for not getting her out on bail or clearing her name.

Grayson had wanted to keep talking with Savannah now but knew that wasn’t a good idea. Instead, after ending their call, he continued to listen to the news as he drove toward the fishing cabin.

Even though no one was likely to be aware he had any connection to Savannah or Ian other than having found the van and visited Ian, Grayson recognized he could be under some kind of official surveillance regardless, as a result of those events. Or unofficial surveillance by Zane or his cronies attempting to frame Savannah.

And so, again he took a circuitous route to the cabin, keeping an eye out for anyone behind him. He even looked up to see if someone might be overhead in a helicopter or following him with a drone, since the authorities might be even more inclined now to be conducting a search for Savannah.

It might make them look bad if they didn’t.

But Grayson had to continue to act normal, or at least appear that way.

Through the city streets he drove, going the speed limit while wanting to race. Into the suburbs, then along a road circling the town and back toward Mustang Valley. But instead of heading into town he aimed his car to the back roads that had been affected by the quake—out toward the fishing area and the cabins abutting parts of it.

All the time watching out for anyone following.

He shut off the news and called Chad, again congratulating Winch and him. Then he called Pedro to hear about the vehicle fire he had helped to put out, the drivers and passengers he had helped to save, along with the town firefighters and EMTs.

Finally he called Norah at the office and calmly discussed with her the successes of the others that day—and thanked her for being the backup in charge.

“I guess no one’s in big trouble today,” she said, “or I’d have been called out as an EMT, too, to help save a life or two.”

He heard the humor in her voice and said, “Or three or four. Well, wait for it. You’re always on call, you know, like the rest of us. And you always do your job well.”

“Like you, boss,” she countered.

He hoped so. But if the world knew what he was up to right now, who he was trying to help—well, his company would be in big trouble

He soon hung up from that call, too, and continued driving slowly, carefully, along the narrow and uneven road into the wilderness that had come to mean a lot more to him these days than it had when it simply contained old fishing cabins, trees and wildlife.

Now, it contained a woman on whom he had bet his life, his ongoing existence, in a way. And despite how absurd, how dangerous, it might be, he was glad.

He had come to really believe in Savannah. To care for her. To cherish those kisses they’d shared and hope for more. A lot more.

Well, hell. All he had to do was figure out the best way to exonerate her from all accusations against her. Clear her of two murders—one of which might not even have occurred, according to her.

And the other?

The sky was growing darker along this remote road; he occasionally saw another car going the other direction. He was nearing the cabin. He would soon see Savannah—and prove to himself that she was indeed there and could not have buzzed, carless, into town, murdered her attorney and returned to eventually cry on his shoulder.

Right?

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