Colton 911: Deadly Texas Reunion

Discarding her purse and notepad on her passenger seat, Summer headed toward them to see if she could lend a hand.

“Need any help?” she called, and Bellamy flashed her a broad grin of greeting.

“Thanks, Summer, but I think Nolan’s got it.”

Summer rushed forward as the top item slid from its perch. She caught the tumbling package and grabbed the next box from the teetering stack, as well. “Are you sure about that?”

Nolan shot her an embarrassed grin. “Thanks. That was close.”

Summer read the label on the pillow-like gift zipped in clear plastic packaging. “Boppy?”

Bellamy’s face glowed. “I know! I’m so excited. I hear they’re a must, and I hadn’t gotten one before now.”

Summer exchanged a curious look with Nolan as he loaded the gifts into Bellamy’s trunk, and she mouthed, What’s a Boppy?

He shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I’m just the pack mule.”

Bellamy swatted at his arm. “Oh, hush. It’s not as bad as that. One more trip to get the swing, and we’ll be done.”

Summer added the packages she’d caught to the nooks in Bellamy’s car and faced Nolan as he closed the trunk. “I was just finishing up my business here and thought I could buy you that cup of coffee I owe you now.”

“Now?” He dusted grime from the car off his hands and arched one eyebrow.

“I didn’t want to give you the chance to slip out of town and disappear before I could grill you about your mysterious absence from our lives.”

He scoffed and gaped at her. “I disappeared? You’re one to talk, Ms. No Social Media Presence.”

She cocked her head, blinking. “Huh? I have social media accounts. What are you—”

Bellamy cleared her throat. “Um, I hate to interrupt this lovers’ quarrel, but—”

Both Summer and Nolan jerked their heads toward Bellamy, chiming together, “We’re not—!” and “What! No!”

Bellamy’s grin reflected her skepticism. “Whatever…but my feet are killing me. If you don’t mind grabbing that swing, Nolan? My lunch break is almost over, and I need to prop my feet up.”

“Right.” Nolan aimed a finger at Bellamy. “Lead the way. I’m right behind you.” Then pointing at Summer, he added, “Yes. Now’s good. But let’s make it lunch at the Bluebell Diner. This pack mule is getting hungry.”

Summer’s mood lifted, and butterfly wings flapped in her chest. “Deal.”

As he followed the waddling Bellamy back inside, Nolan motioned to the place Summer was standing. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

With a smirk, she saluted him. “Aye, aye, captain. I’ll be right here.”

Nolan returned five minutes later, lugging a large cardboard box. Summer eyed the box then the back seat of Bellamy’s car. “Um, captain? I don’t think there’s room in the hold for that cargo.”

“Not in that ship,” he said, nodding to Bellamy’s sedan. “I told her I’d put it in my car. This way. I’ll drive to lunch.”

Summer pursed her lips, and memories of days spent rambling and relaxing on the Colton Ranch came back to her. Specifically how bossy Nolan could be. Apparently, that hadn’t changed. But she had. She was her own boss now, and she’d learned the hard way not to give any man control of her life.

Nolan started across the pavement, and when she didn’t follow, he glanced back. “Coming?”

“Yeah.” She fell in step next to him and dug her keys out of her pocket. “But I’ll drive my own car to lunch. That way we don’t have to double back here to pick it up.”

He stopped at a dark blue Jeep Cherokee, where he opened the tailgate and slid the baby swing box in the back. “Suit yourself. If you beat me there, go ahead and get us a table.”

She chuckled lightly. “Bossy as ever, I see.”

He frowned. “Bossy? I only said—” He growled under his breath. “Whatever. Can I walk you to your car?”

“Thanks, but I’m just there.” She pointed three spaces over to her yellow VW Beetle. “Meet ya in five.”

Nolan gave her a wink and a nod that stirred a fresh wave of giddy bubbles in her veins. She trotted to her car, energized and more optimistic than she’d been in months. But as she backed her Beetle out of her parking spot, a niggling warning tickled her brain. As kids, she’d blown off Nolan’s autocratic dictates or complied happily enough. He was a year older, a boy, and usually had good ideas that she accepted at face value. Good enough reasons for a nine-or ten-year-old kid to be a follower. No big deal. But eight years later, going along, appeasement and blind acceptance with Robby had gotten her tangled in a dangerous and detrimental relationship that she still had nightmares about.

A cloud of doubt drifted in to cast her good mood in shadow. Summer squeezed the steering wheel and pulled onto the state road leading toward downtown Whisperwood. Nolan might be handsome as the devil and someone who’d graced her childhood with adventure and laughter, but she needed to proceed with caution. Clearly he was still a take-charge kind of guy. She couldn’t let her golden memories of Nolan, her fondness for their old friendship color this new iteration of their relationship. She needed to stand firm and set the parameters, or she could too easily repeat mistakes she had yet to live down.

When she arrived at the Bluebell Diner, a popular place for locals to eat their fill of home-style Southern cooking and Tex-Mex favorites, Nolan was already ensconced in a booth at the back of the restaurant near the door to the kitchen. He sat with his back to the wall, watching the door, and lifted his chin in acknowledgment as she entered the bustling diner.

She greeted the older couple that ran the mercantile across the street from her office and Madeline Klein, for whom she’d handled a case last month, as she wended her way through the tables toward Nolan. The first thing she noticed as she reached their table was that he’d changed T-shirts. He’d replaced the coffee-soiled one with a simple heather-gray one that read FBI over the breast.

He stood as she approached, waiting for her to sit before resuming his seat. He still has cowboy manners, she thought, smiling, flattered, while another part of her brain chafed. Did his old-fashioned manners translate to old-fashioned opinions about women?

Shoving aside the itchy question, she slid into the booth and nodded toward his chest. “Where’d you get an FBI shirt?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “My gym bag was in the back seat.”

She snorted. “I mean, how’d you come to own it?” She raised the ice water already at her spot for a sip.

He waved his fingers in casual dismissal. “Standard issue in the Bureau.”

Summer choked on the water and set it down, sputtering, “Wait, wh-what?”

He handed her a napkin as she coughed. “Standard issue. They may have given it to me for a Bureau event. I don’t remember for sure.”

She clutched the paper napkin in her hand and gaped at him. “You’re in the FBI?”

He scowled and grumbled, “A little louder, huh? I don’t think they heard out on the street.”

Nolan cut a glance to the table next to them, where a middle-aged woman with two small children sat. The woman gave him a curious glance, and Nolan flashed an awkward smile and smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from the blue gingham tablecloth.

“Yes,” he said in a hushed tone as he handed her a plastic-protected menu from the stack behind the napkin holder. “I am.”

Summer flopped back against the booth and stared at him, her mouth gaping. “Get. Out. Of. Town! Nolan!”

He shifted on his bench, and his hand fisted on the table. “Well, technically I still am, but…” He exhaled heavily and sent her a dark look. “The real reason I’m in town is I’ve been put on administrative leave.”

Their waitress arrived, placing napkin-wrapped cutlery at each of their places. “Y’all had a chance to look at the menu?”

Nolan picked up a menu. “Sorry, no. We need another minute.”

“Take your time, but the pumpkin spice cake is going fast. If you want any, you better order it now.”

“Hmm, that does sound good. Save us two slices,” Nolan said, giving the woman a lopsided grin.

Pumpkin spice cake did sound great, but Nolan’s high-handedness in ordering for her irked her. “Two slices? You are hungry, aren’t you, G-man?”

He peered over the top of his menu. “You don’t want cake? You used to love dessert.”

“What kid doesn’t? What I want is to order for myself.” She softened the scolding with a playful scowl. Leaning forward, she flattened her hands on the tabletop. “Now tell me about this FBI thing. How did that happen? When? What department are you in? Jeez, the FB freaking I?”

He cleared his throat, dropped his gaze to the menu again and said, “I was training for the Fort Worth Police Department when I saw an article that said the FBI was recruiting. So I applied, got accepted and have been in the Bureau for the last six years.”

A look of consternation crossed his face, and she recalled his comment about administrative leave. “And you’re here in Whisperwood rather than on the job because…”

He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, tapped the menu on the table, then met her eyes. “I’m being investigated for sexual assault against a fellow agent.”

As casually as if he’d just told her the sky was blue, he put his menu back behind the napkin holder. “I think I’ll have the chili with jalapeño cornbread. What looks good to you?”

Summer’s heart rose to her throat, and she squeaked, “What!”

“Chili and cornbread. I’ve missed Texas-style chili up in Chi-town.”

She reached for his arm and squeezed. His muscles in his forearm were rock hard, and despite the serious topic of their conversation, her belly twitched in recognition of the skin-to-skin contact. “Don’t pretend you didn’t just drop a bomb. Explain that—” she stopped, giving the woman with the young kids a side glance and lowering her volume to a whisper “—sexual assault comment.”

He firmed his mouth and withdrew his arm from her grip. “I’ll fill you in on the specifics later, somewhere less public. Leave it at this—I didn’t do what Charlotte’s contending.”

“Charlotte, huh?” She folded her arms over her chest and furrowed her brow. “I used to like that name. Not so much now.”

“Why don’t you tell me how you got started as a PI? And how long have you been back in Whisperwood? I tried to track you down in recent years and got nowhere. Where’ve you been?” He sipped his water, and his expression indicated he was closing the door on discussing his life.

“I’ve been a lot of places in the last seventeen or so years. You remember my dad reupped with the Army?”

He nodded.

“So we moved every couple of years. I started college in Georgia before…circumstances led me to change my major and transfer to Colorado State. Then after graduating with a degree in marketing, I decided I liked being my own boss. I’d gained a little experience and interest in private investigating thanks to those, uh, circumstances I mentioned…” She raised an eyebrow letting him know she’d be leaving that story untold for the moment.

“Mm-hmm, now who’s being mysterious and coy?” he asked.

“Not coy. Just saving the details for our private heart-to-heart when you tell all.”

The waitress returned and took their order. When they had semiprivacy again, she said, “I’d say the fact you couldn’t find me on social media indicates you aren’t a very good G-man, but, in truth, I tried to make myself hard to find.”

Nolan’s brow dipped. “Why would you do that?”

“A troublesome ex. That, and I’ve gone by different names over the years. The thing about moving to new schools every couple years is, you can reinvent yourself, be Victoria instead of Summer. Then I tried out Vee and by college I was going by Vicki. After Robby started hounding me, I switched to Tori.”

“What was wrong with Summer?” His gaze narrowed, and his hazel eyes darkened. “I liked Summer. Not just the name, but the girl I knew. Why reinvent yourself?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Boredom. Youthful experimenting. Because I could. New place, new name. It was a game.”

The noise that issued from his throat said he was skeptical. “And now you’re back in Whisperwood. Why?”

“That one’s easy. I love it here. Of all the places we moved over the years, all the zip codes where I lived since I was a kid, nowhere ever felt like home the way Whisperwood did. Maybe it was nostalgia, maybe it was because we lived here longer than anywhere else, but Whisperwood has always represented home and roots. It’s where I wanted to settle down and raise my family.” She spread her hands. “So a few months ago, I made it happen. I packed up my cat and headed down here. I found office space on Main Street and opened my own PI biz.”

“And got hired for a case that involves the crime scene at Lone Star Pharma.” His arched eyebrow asked for her to supply details.

“My first big case here. I helped with criminal cases at my old firm, but since I opened my own business, I’ve mostly been following cheating husbands, looking for lost relatives and finding missing dogs.”

He pulled an amused face. “Dogs?”

She chuckled. “Yeah. A little girl came in a couple weeks ago asking for help finding her dog. She had two dollars. I had a little time.” She shrugged. “We found the dog a couple doors down from her house twenty minutes later. I didn’t charge her. But word got around at the elementary school, and I’ve been hired twice more since then. Found both dogs at the same house as the first. It seems Mrs. Nesbit’s poodle was in heat, and every male dog in the neighborhood was visiting Fluffy. Case closed.”

He laughed, and the rich sound sent a quiver to her core.

Their food arrived, and she tucked in, more to occupy her restless hands and distract her mind from the odd hum that had vibrated in her veins since sitting down with Nolan fifteen minutes earlier than from hunger.

“And the case you have now? It’s the real thing?”

“I’ll say. A twenty-year-old woman was strangled and buried in the parking lot where you saw me earlier. Her family isn’t happy with the way the police are handling the case, the slow trickle of information from the Whisperwood PD, so they’ve hired me to find the person responsible for killing her.”

With his gaze fixed on her, Nolan set his cornbread down so hard, it broke in half. “You’re investigating a murder? An open case with the local PD?”

She wiped condensation from her water glass with her thumb. Did she detect a note of disbelief or judgment in his tone? She prayed not. She’d come to expect a bit of sexism from the population as a whole, but she wanted to believe Nolan was above it. She bobbed a nod. “I am.”

He said nothing as he popped another bite of cornbread in his mouth and chewed, watching her. She held his stare, wondering what was going on behind his mercurial hazel eyes. Where moments ago they’d been the gray-green color of a Texas river, now flecks of gold sparked in their depths, a sure sign his mind was churning. Once he’d swallowed the bite of cornbread, he said, “You’re talking about Patrice Eccleston?”

“Yeah. You heard about her?”

“My family was discussing the case last night at dinner.” He paused briefly before adding, “I’m staying on my cousins’ ranch. Same room I used all those summers as a kid.”

She smiled. “I’m guessing Josephine hasn’t changed a thing in that room since the last time you stayed there.”

“You’d be right.” He stirred his chili, blew on a spoonful and said, “I want in.”

She paused with a French fry halfway to her mouth. “Pardon?”

“Your murder investigation. I’m sitting on my butt out at the ranch doing nothing except mucking stalls in the morning and watching Jeopardy! in the afternoons with Josephine. I’m an FBI special agent, Summer. I can help you, and I want in.”

Chapter 3

Summer dropped her French fry in a puddle of ketchup and frowned at him. “Who said I need help? I can handle the case by myself.”

He raised a palm. “I’m sure you can, but I have time on my hands and investigative experience. Why not use me?”

Why not, indeed? She wiped her fingers on her napkin and considered his offer. “I can’t pay you. I’m barely making my office rent each month as it is.”

“I didn’t ask you to. I’m volunteering.” He crumbled a bit of his cornbread into his chili and stirred it up. “Come on, Summer. Think how great it would be for us to team up. Bullfrog and Tadpole, together again.”

She sputtered a laugh. “Oh my goodness! We haven’t used those nicknames in years!”

Teaming up with him, spending time with him would be great, if…

If he didn’t prove a distraction. And if he didn’t try to take over the investigation and push her aside. And if he could satisfy her questions about these sexual assault charges against him.

Dear God, sexual assault? He claimed he was innocent, and at face value, she believed him, but…it had been seventeen years since they’d spent any significant, quality time together. He could have changed. Knowing that the Nolan she’d known could be gone made her chest hurt.

But she wouldn’t get the measure of him without spending time with him. A tingle of anticipation spun through her at the idea of having a legitimate reason to spend time with her old best friend. “I have conditions.”

His head angled in surprise. “Name them.”

“It’s my case, so I’m in charge. Remember that.”

“So noted.”

“No calling me Tadpole in front of the client or anyone we’re interviewing for the case.”

“Of course. That wouldn’t be professional. Understood. What else?”

She tore off a piece of her sandwich and nibbled it as she thought. “I…guess that’s all. The first one is the main thing.” She aimed a finger at him. “Don’t be bossy.”

He blinked. “Who me? I’m not—”

“You are, Mr. Two Pieces of Cake!” she said, laughing. “And you always have been!”

“Oh, see, now the cake thing…that’s wasn’t being bossy,” he said, his expression the image of innocence. “That was foresight, thoughtfulness and practicality.”

She tipped her head back as she laughed.

“I have conditions, too.” His serious tone caught her off guard and quelled her chuckles.

“You do?”

He set his spoon in his empty chili bowl and pushed the dirty dish aside. “If we work together, we keep our relationship completely platonic and professional.”

She snorted. “Naturally. That kinda goes without saying.”

So why did the term “platonic” cause the odd stab of disappointment? Summer could understand his caution since apparently someone was accusing him of untoward advances, but why had he felt it necessary to spell that out with her?

Okay, she had admired his fitness and the way his face had developed more chiseled and manly lines. Had he seen something in her face that he’d taken the wrong way? How embarrassing! Just in case, she added another eye roll and dismissive sniff. “No problem there.”

“Good.” He gave a satisfied nod. “Then we’re in agreement? We’ll work together on your murder case?”

“Uh…yeah.” She blinked, letting the arrangement sink in. She would be teaming up with Nolan. Who was an FBI agent. To solve a murder. Holy crap! She released her breath, and an excited smile stole onto her face. “Okay. Let’s do this!”

The cake Nolan had ordered earlier arrived, and she slid the biggest piece in front of her and dug in. It was divine.

Thirty minutes later, Summer unlocked her office and led Nolan inside. A dark gray cat met them at the door.

Nolan paused, staring at the feline. “Summer, there’s a cat in here.”

“Uh-huh. That’s Yossi.” She slung her jacket across the back of her desk chair and squatted to pat the feline. “Say hello. He’s very friendly.”

Nolan held his fingers out for the cat to sniff, and Yossi rubbed his head on the offered hand instead. Giving the cat’s cheek a little scratch, Nolan stepped deeper into the small office and surveyed the spare decor. The walls were bare, and her furnishings consisted of one wooden bookcase that was overloaded with books and stacks of magazines, two ladder-backed chairs facing a dented metal and faux-wood desk, a lamp and a metal file cabinet. In the corner was what he assumed was the cat’s litter box.

Nolan rubbed his chin as he took a seat in one of the chairs. “Love what you’ve done with the place. If I move back to town permanently, you’ll have to give me the name of your decorator.”

Summer gave him a withering glance. “It’s Sally Bite Me.”

He chuckled and propped an ankle on his opposite knee as he watched her opening file folders and paging through the notebook he’d seen her scribbling in at the crime scene. “So where are you in your investigation? Lay it out for me.”

She clicked open her pen and leaned back in her chair. “All right. So the victim is twenty-year-old Patrice Eccleston. Her family hired me first thing this morning, because they weren’t getting answers from the cops.”

“Not uncommon. The police often can’t share details of an open investigation. What if it turns out a family member was responsible for the murder?”

She arched one blond eyebrow. “Preaching to the choir, Nolan.”

He held up a hand. “Of course. Sorry.”

“The autopsy shows she was strangled. Her hands were bound by the time she was buried. No sign of sexual assault. Thank God. Broken fingernails indicate she struggled, but they found no traces of skin cells.”

“Whoever strangled her was covered up, then? Long sleeves, gloves…and she didn’t get his face, so maybe a mask. Or she was attacked from behind?”

She nodded and consulted her notes again. “She was last seen leaving Bailey’s Bar and Grill the night she disappeared. She was alone at the time, according to surveillance camera footage.” She tapped her pen against the notepad and looked up at Nolan. “I had her father and brother give me a list of her friends and hobbies, favorite hangouts and so forth—” She paused when Yossi jumped into Nolan’s lap, curled up and lay down. She covered a smile with her hand. “I hope you like cats. Yossi is not much for personal boundaries.”

He slanted a look at her gray feline, then rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s fine.” He scratched Yossi’s cheek and nodded to her. “You were saying?”

“Right.” She pulled out the forms that the Ecclestons had filled out and slid them across her desk to him. “Here’s what they’ve given me so far. I went out to the crime scene this morning, as you know, to see if anything unusual or telling jumped out at me.”

“And did anything?”

She twisted her mouth. “No.”

Nolan leaned forward to take the papers from her desk, and Yossi dug his claws in to hold on as his lap bed shifted. Leaning back, Nolan began scanning the information and asked, “Who found the body?”

“Construction workers dug her up while renovating the parking lot. The storm that blew through here this summer caused a good bit of flooding, and the parking lot buckled and part of it washed out. It had to be completely redone. Originally they thought Patrice was another victim of a guy named Corgan, a serial killer who confessed on his deathbed to murdering several other women in the area. But Patrice wasn’t mummified, and Corgan denied killing her, so…”

“So her killer is still out there. Thus the family’s hiring you.”

“Exactly.”

He returned the pages of notes to her desk. “I think I mentioned that my cousins were talking a bit about the case at dinner. They’ve been pretty deeply involved with solving the Mummy Killer case and some other goings-on around town lately. I’ll talk to them this afternoon and see what insights they might have that would help us. Things the police may not have shared with the family yet.”