Page 42 of Colton First Responder (Coltons of Mustang Valley)

Even if it wasn’t, Grayson intended to slip through the door behind the reception desk. And he didn’t have Wright’s direct line, but Connie didn’t need to know that.

“Well, yes, but he didn’t mention—”

“Oh, that’s okay. Thanks.” He figured he might as well be polite as he walked around the desk and behind Connie Glasser, even though there wasn’t anything to thank her for.

Fortunately, the large, paneled wooden door with Ian Wright’s name on it wasn’t locked, and Grayson slipped right in.

There sat Wright behind a large and angled mahogany desk. He had a phone pressed to his ear and held a file that matched the many piled on the desk.

Of course Grayson recognized the man from his website—sort of. Sure, he looked like the same handsome, professional older man depicted online. But this version looked even older, his face lined and pale, the divots in his cheeks deeper, his blue eyes narrowed and dipping down at the corners.

“Hi,” Grayson called to get his attention.

That happened immediately. Wright looked up, straight toward Grayson, and appeared to blanch even more as he hung up his phone. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”

“Just walked in,” Grayson said, answering the second question first. “I’m Grayson Colton. Did your secretary let you know I called earlier? I need to talk to you about your client, Savannah Oliver.”

“If you know anything about the legal system, you know I can’t talk to you. Attorney-client privilege applies, and—”

“I haven’t said what I want to discuss with you. It won’t involve anything covered by attorney-client privilege.” With no invitation, Grayson walked farther into the room and planted himself on one of the upholstered leather chairs facing Wright’s desk.

“But—”

“Here’s the thing. You might know that I’m the person who discovered the ruined transport that was supposed to be moving Ms. Oliver from the courthouse back to prison. It was way out on a road that was affected by the earthquake. I also found the driver dead, and no one in the back, where presumably Ms. Oliver had been secured. She’s apparently escaped, and—Well, you may not know but I’m the owner of First Hand First Responders, a private first response company, and the local authorities know it. They’ve hired me to try to find Ms. Oliver, since I also know that wilderness area pretty well.”

“I see. But I can’t help you.” Ian Wright stood and clearly glanced toward the door behind Grayson.

Interesting. Grayson figured that Wright would want Savannah found, or at least would give that impression in public. But, then, he already figured the lawyer was hiding things for Zane.

“Oh, I’m sure you can. You see, what I need you to tell me is the location of the rendezvous places where Savannah Oliver met up with her lover, Schuyler Wells—all the places you know about. She might have returned there because those spots were familiar. I at least need to check them out.”

Would Wright’s knowledge of any such place be privileged? Grayson didn’t know but he’d take the position they weren’t. And he hated suggesting Wells was Savannah’s lover, but taking any other angle now might affect this conversation.

Wright looked even more uneasy now, a nervous wreck, maybe. He was sweating. “I wouldn’t know the answer to that. Ms. Oliver and I talked a lot, of course, but not about where she might have seen Mr. Wells. And that assumes she did see him.”

“Ah, then you question that, too? I understand from what I saw in the media that Ms. Oliver denied the affair, denied anything unseemly with Mr. Wells.”

“Sorry, but we’re getting too close to attorney-client privilege with that.”

Which could give the impression that Savannah had admitted the supposed affair to her attorney. Clever guy for suggesting it. Grayson continued, “Oh, but I assumed you also spoke to Schuyler Wells for information that could help in her defense, right?”

Wright grew even paler, Grayson thought, if that was possible. “Well, I did talk to him a little, but he wasn’t much help. He admitted to knowing Savannah and—well, that th

ey’d had an affair and had even considered marrying after Savannah’s divorce became final. He also said he was acting as her real estate agent to help her find a new home. But he never mentioned when and where they might have met up, even at sites he was showing her, and neither did Savannah.”

Wright seemed to be bouncing back and forth regarding what could be privileged information. What was he trying to do—convince Grayson that Savannah was guilty without getting into anything she might have discussed directly with him?

“Then please tell me all you know about Schuyler Wells. Since you’ve spoken with him, maybe he told you, or hinted about, some of the places he and Savannah allegedly got together.”

“I don’t know anything!” Wright was standing now, and seemed to be shaking. He appeared more than nervous.

Was he hiding what he knew, not only about the nonexistence of Savannah’s affair with Wells—but also about whether Zane remained alive?

Was he representing his client adequately? Even if he was on Zane’s side, could Zane or Wells be blackmailing him into making things worse? Could Wright even be withholding evidence he knew that would get his client off? Failing to file motions that could help her? Anything else?

Hell, Grayson knew his imagination was running wild—maybe because he was searching for ways to get Savannah vindicated fast and completely.

But he doubted he would learn any more right now.

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