Page 67 of Colton First Responder (Coltons of Mustang Valley)

But Savannah knew Zane and his voice well enough to be sure he wasn’t sorry at all, at least in most cases.

Plus, after some of those calls, the next conversations would be with one or another of his own employees at the bank, with Zane often making fun of those business associates he’d just spoken with.

At least none of them were with his lovers, thank heavens. Not then, at least.

Grayson and she listened for an hour without hearing anything that could be helpful to her.

No, what she wanted was to reach out and grab Zane by the throat—not to kill him as she allegedly had, but demand when he would actually say something helpful.

Assuming he ever would.

“Are you okay?” Grayson asked. She must have made some kind of movement or otherwise indicated her frustration, since he was looking directly at her.

“Fine,” she grumped, then repeated “Fine” in a tone that she hoped was closer to sounding fine.

“Hey, I’m going to bring our lunch over here,” Grayson said.

“Good idea.” But Savannah didn’t let him do it on his own. She rose and began helping him—and when their arms touched, she looked up at him...and she wanted so much to drag him over to that bed.

Not then, though. The recording was still droning on, and it was vital that they heard all of it as quickly as possible.

Surely sometime, it would contain the voices of at least Ian Wright and Schuyler Wells—along with Zane.

And when it did, would they be conspiring to frame her for Zane’s eventual imaginary death?

Now, though, Zane held a conversation with one of his employees. How did he ever decide which calls, or other work, to take care of at home rather than at his office? Savannah had no idea.

Grayson and she each chose a sandwich. They turned to sit back down and bumped into each other.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I’m not.” Still holding his own sandwich, roast beef, Grayson bent down to kiss Savannah right on the mouth. “Mmmm,” he said. “Potato chips and dip. I can’t wait to taste you again after you’ve eaten your sandwich.”

Savannah laughed, and the thought of dragging him over to the cot once more permeated her mind.

Not going to happen, but her windows of opportunity to get him to bed again were dwindling.

But after another hour of listening and nibbling on their sandwiches, they still had nothing useful.

Savannah was beginning to give up hope.

“What should we do if there’s nothing here?” she finally asked Grayson. At that moment, Zane was talking to someone whose name or voice Savannah didn’t recognize. From the conversation she had learned that the other speaker was apparently not only a female executive of a local consumer electronics company, but someone he’d slept with—or was trying to seduce.

Not a surprise, but Savannah was disgusted anyway. She was happy when that call ended.

And the next one? Hearing the second voice caused her to stand up in excitement.

Zane was talking to Ian Wright! So he had known the attorney, as she’d come to believe.

“Hey,” Grayson said softly. “That’s good news.” Then he put one long finger over his own mouth as if to shush himself and listen.

Savannah kind of wished it was her finger there—but instead concentrated on the conversation.

Ian was apparently returning a call from Zane about possible representation on a legal matter for the investment bank.

Nothing about Savannah. Nothing conspiratorial about framing her for Zane’s murder.

But at least this proved they’d known one another.

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