Page 8 of Colton First Responder (Coltons of Mustang Valley)

“But—I don’t think I’d better let you leave. I mean, well—you own that first responder company, right?”

“First Hand First Responders,” he said. “That’s right.”

“So if I let you leave here—you’ll just go tell your cop friends or associates that you found me. Or—you’re not going to try to bring me with you now, are you?” She suddenly appeared panicked.

And why not? She didn’t know, no matter what he’d said, that he wasn’t carrying a gun or other weapon.

He glanced around what he could see of the cabin in the light he carried. It looked like—well, a regular fishing cabin, except for the area destroyed by the earthquake.

And Savannah? She wasn’t in any kind of jail garb, but everyday clothes of a light-colored shirt over darker slacks. Maybe he was wrong about her.

And maybe not.

“Look, Savannah,” he said. “If what I’ve heard about you is true, then I can understand why you feel threatened by my being here.”

“I assume you heard the worst about me,” she said. “And—well, I didn’t kill my ex-husband.” Looking at him for a reaction, she raised her hand with the scissors even more. He just stayed calm, nodding his head. “I can’t let you arrest me.”

Grayson shook his head. “Let me tell you right now that I’m only the kind of first responder who tries to help people in trouble, both medically and otherwise. I don’t attempt to arrest anyone, or anything like that.”

“But you can get in touch with those who do,” she retorted.

“But I won’t,” he said. “Look, why don’t we sit down over there.” He gestured toward the kitchen table across the room where she had apparently been sitting and eating. “I’ll tell you what I’ve heard about you—and how much of it I believe. Which isn’t much.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened. And even in the light he carried, he could see their lovely greenness glowing, even as her blond eyebrows narrowed in apparent disbelief.

Yeah, she was definitely good-looking—and he’d better be careful. He didn’t want to get too interested in her.

He might not intend to turn her in, but neither did he intend to try helping an accused murderer escape justice.

Did he?

“Really,” he said. But she still didn’t appear convinced. And why should she? “Hey, I see you have a bottle of water over there. I assume a place like this doesn’t have anything stronger, so is there any more?”

“Yes, in the refrigerator, though it’s not cold.” She still looked and sounded wary.

“That’s fine. I’ll go get a bottle for me, then sit down over there.” He gestured toward the table. “Then we’ll talk, okay?”

“Do I have a choice?” Her voice sounded hoarse and he wished he could say something more to reassure her.

But what?

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Only, I’m really not such a bad guy. Honest.”

“Honest?” she repeated. “Hah.” But when he looked at her, still standing not far from him, her posture seemed at least a little more relaxed. “Okay, let’s give this a try,” she said.

“Great. I’ll go get my water.” And Grayson headed to the refrigerator.

Oh, yes, he intended to talk with her. Maybe get her side of the story, since she had asserted her innocence.

And he didn’t think it was just their unusual circumstances at the moment that made him want to believe in her.

Chapter 3

Savannah lowered the scissors as she watched Grayson get water from the refrigerator, then sit down. He placed the bottle in front of him beside his large flashlight.

What should she do? What could she do? She hoped he was telling the truth, that even as a first responder he wasn’t here to arrest her again, or call those in authority at the police station who’d bring her in. But even if he lied, she wasn’t really going to stab him. The best she could do would be to run out the door when he wasn’t looking, then continue running—in the near darkness. But where?

For now she would just remain alert and wary and hold a conversation. If he’d been telling the truth before, maybe it would be okay to talk with him.

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