Page 57 of Colton First Responder (Coltons of Mustang Valley)

Over time, he’d also brought in ornate draperies to hide the stone walls, and vinyl tiles resembling wood to cover most of the floor. He had walled off the end that led to the actual mineshaft. And he’d spent enough time here that he had brought in a tall bookcase that was now loaded with books he had read—even though now he used an e-reader more.

He had even worked out an area that could be used as an off-the-grid compost bathroom retreat, with another drape as a doorway.

It was his haven as a kid and occasionally now, too.

And it was about to become Savannah’s.

“What is this place?” she asked.

He explained his childhood retreat. Yes, he was a Colton and lived at the Triple R with the rest of his siblings and his father and stepmother, but he’d needed to get away, too.

“I was never particularly close to any of them,” he said. “I’m still not, though I can’t explain it entirely. I knew I didn’t like taking orders from them and would eventually have my own life, and so I did—but this former mineshaft became my refuge when I needed it as a kid. I call it my bunker.”

“It’s amazing,” Savannah said, looking around. She turned back to him. “And I appreciate your sharing such an important place in your life with me.”

“Any time,” he said, meaning it. He figured she might have wanted a refuge like this when her relationship with Zane began to deteriorate, but he didn’t ask.

“So now I want to hear what you learned in town that made you decide I couldn’t stay in the cabin anymore.”

“It may be fine,” he responded. “But...well, maybe we’ll go back there depending on how things work out over the next day or so. But here’s the thing.”

They sat in folding chairs across from each other, and Grayson told Savannah about his conversation with PJ—and the hair clip that had been found beside Ian Wright’s murdered body.

“Oh no!” Savannah looked frightened and reached for what was left of her hair. “That does sound like one of mine I had monogrammed. Obviously, it was planted there. I’m being framed again.”

“So I figured.” Grayson reached toward her and took her hands in his once more. “I was pondering that on my drive to the cabin. If you’re being framed, it has to be whoever framed you for the first murder—most likely your ex, if you’re correct about his still being alive. He’d have been recognized going into Wright’s law office, but then so might Schuyler”

“I agree,” Savannah said, nodding. “Do you think it could be both Zane and Schuyler working together?”

“Exactly,” Grayson agreed, “since it appears they were co-conspirators before and that relationship most likely continues. Now all we have to do is figure out a way to point the cops in that direction rather than at you. My suspicion is that it was Schuyler who murdered Ian since he’s more likely to be out in public than Zane, though it’s not clear how anyone sneaked into the law office and got past the receptionist without being seen. I guess that will come to light when the case is finally solved. I just wish we knew of a way to show the cops the way to go with some genuine evidence.”

Savannah sat back, letting go of his hands, her expression thoughtful. “You know, I may not have mentioned before, but dear old Zane liked to think of himself as a techie genius. He hid security devices on his computer and phones, mostly to protect the security of his investment banking interests, though he only used one main camera in the house since he didn’t want to be photographed. He recorded conversations on the phone and in various rooms and all, but I didn’t know what happened to it all after we divorced. I didn’t particularly like it when we were married, and as things went downhill I figured he was recording me. I confronted him to try to protect my privacy, but he mostly ignored me. I assumed the equipment was still there but once I wasn’t living in the house I didn’t care. But right now—well, it may be a stretch, but if my disguise is good enough I’d like to sneak into his place and find out if there’s anything there of his conversations with Ian and Schuyler about his disappearing or me or anything.”

“Didn’t the police check for stuff like that?”

“I don’t know. I heard in court that they did conduct some investigation at Zane’s house, but any particularly valuable stuff might have been well hidden. I got the impression from Ian that it wouldn’t be a good idea to mention it since Zane could have said things about me that would implicate me even more, so I kept quiet about it. And now that I know Ian wasn’t really on my side... Well, since I’ve been sitting around thinking so much, I’ve come up with some ideas where those kinds of things could be. They may lead to nothing, of course, but I’d feel so much better if I could at least try.” She looked at him with a hopeful grin on her face, which looked so different with the makeup. “Could you imagine that? Finding proof to exonerate me?”

“Sounds like a great idea.”

“So...later today or tomorrow, I want to go to town, disguised even more thoroughly than I am now. I need to figure out a fake name in case someone asks, but I want to go to a store or fast-food place or something near where I used to hang out and see if anyone recognizes me. I know it could be a mistake, but I don’t think so. Once I feel secure in my disguise, I can go places and do a whole lot more to try to locate Zane and find evidence that he and his friends framed me.”

Grayson stood as adrenaline spiked and mental alarms went off inside him. “I don’t know—”

“I do,” she said. “Just for a short while, and I don’t want you anywhere near me after you drop me off someplace secluded, so no one will know I was in your car. But now that I look at least a little different, I’m finally feeling some hope, despite all the awful things going on and what you told me about the cops... I need this, Grayson. To give it a try. Please.”

Her appeal was echoed in her pleading expression. “Well—” He felt himself giving in.

“Please, please,” she repeated. “Pretty please with lots of sugar on it, or first responder good stuff or whatever. I promise that, no matter what, I won’t mention you or how you’ve helped me if I do get caught. I need to take the chance. I just need to do something at last.”

He could understand what she was saying.

He also knew he wouldn’t just drop and desert her. He would act as the first responder he was: he would help her.

Because she would need help, he told himself. Not because there was anything other than friendship—and lust—between them.

“Well, okay,” he finally said. “But I’ll be there, too, in the background at least. We have to agree on when and how you should contact me so I can get you out of there if it becomes necessary. And—”

“Of course,” she interrupted. “Thank you, Grayson, for this and everything else.”

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