“I’m engaged to you?”

A Coltons of Red Ridge story

When Quinn Colton is injured in an explosion, undercover FBI agent West Brand is devastated. Not only is she unable to recognize him, her secret fiancé, but everything the two of them hold dear is in danger. Together, they investigate the incident that caused her amnesia and track a killer. But can West convince Quinn that their happily-ever-after is still on the horizon?

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author BONNIE VANAK is passionate about romance novels and telling stories. A former newspaper reporter, she worked as a journalist for a large international charity for several years, traveling to countries such as Haiti to report on the sufferings of the poor. Bonnie lives in Florida with her husband, Frank, and is a member of Romance Writers of America. She loves to hear from readers. She can be reached through her website, bonnievanak.com.

Also by Bonnie Vanak

Navy SEAL Seduction

Shielded by the Cowboy SEAL

Navy SEAL Protector

The Shadow Wolf

The Covert Wolf

Phantom Wolf

Demon Wolf

The Empath

Enemy Lover

Immortal Wolf

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

His Forgotten Colton Fianceé

Bonnie Vanak

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07920-4

HIS FORGOTTEN COLTON FIANCEÉ

© 2018 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

In memory of Sissy. Love you.

Miss you and your smile and your laughter.

Sissy’s Creole Chicken

Recipe by Glenna “Sissy” Fischer

3 ½ pounds of chicken

1 clove garlic

6 slices bacon

½ pound of ham, diced

2 small onions, chopped

2 cups drained canned tomatoes

1 tablespoon chopped parsley

1/8 teaspoon Tabasco sauce

½ teaspoon thyme

2 teaspoons salt

2 cups boiling water

2 cups cooked sliced okra

Directions

Wash, clean chicken and cut into serving pieces. Rub skin side of each chicken piece with cut side of garlic clove. Place bacon in cold Dutch oven or a heavy frying pan and cook until crisp. Remove and crumble. Add the chicken to the Dutch oven or the pan, brown on all sides and then remove.

Add ham, onions, brown lightly. Then add the bacon, chicken, tomatoes, parsley, Tabasco sauce, thyme, salt and water.

Cover, reduce heat to low. Cook 30–60 minutes or until chicken is tender. Add the cooked okra the last ten minutes. Serves eight.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Wedding cake and bombs.

Two thoughts sped through FBI agent West Brand’s mind as he jogged along the main street leading out of Red Ridge. Chocolate rum cake with vanilla frosting and swirls of delicate pink flowers. And bombs made out of materials as easy to find as cake.

The cake, he didn’t care about, but he wanted to make Quinn Colton happy. She was a real foodie and, as a caterer, weddings were her specialty. He’d be happy to eat a cake made from sprouts when they got married.

When they could risk a wedding. Red Ridge had a serial killer lurking, a psycho killing grooms right before their weddings. The MO was always the same: bullet through the heart, black cummerbund stuffed in the victim’s mouth. Several men had been murdered. And with the Groom Killer still out there, he and Quinn had decided to keep their newly engaged status quiet, along with their relationship.

For now, he had to focus on bombs. His cop instinct tingled, warning things were too damn quiet and the tension in the city was about to explode.

High-powered explosives were West’s specialty. He preferred to work alone and being on loan to the Red Ridge Police Department’s K-9 unit hadn’t changed his mind. West’s partner of choice ran on four legs.

Cool air washed over him as he ran, the darkness pierced by the green glow of his sport-utility watch. Rex, his black Labrador retriever, kept pace alongside him. West always took him on his daily jogs.

Breath fogging the air, he let his thoughts drift to the missing fifty-five-gallon drum of highly concentrated hydrogen peroxide from a chemical warehouse in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The owner had reported it missing two days ago.

Even though there had been no other bombings reported in the area, all West’s instincts had gone full red flag.

Peroxide-based explosives presented a deadlier threat than ordinary C-4, which was much harder to obtain. Unstable chemical compounds brought the risk of blowing yourself up as you mixed and packed the ingredients, and quite possibly blowing up your unsuspecting neighbors, as well. Terrorists preferred the risk because they could easily purchase the ingredients without raising eyebrows or alerting the feds. Gone were the days when materials had to be smuggled past the eyes of authorities. These days, a kid could waltz into a grocery store and make a bomb with soda pop and nail polish remover.

The bad guys made it harder to do his job and keep people safe. So he kept learning and listening and reading, because long ago, he determined no one would ever die on his watch.

Not again, like when he was seventeen...

Don’t go there. Focus. Did a daydreaming clerk misplace the drum or did someone steal it to make a bomb?

Red Ridge wasn’t the type of town that saw the same kind of terrorist bombings as big cities. He’d bet that Dean Landon, the canine explosives specialist who was out on medical leave, had seldom seen many bombings in town. He was replacing Landon until the officer recovered from an injury and then it would be back to the city for him.

Maybe. Something else he had to discuss with his future wife.

He and Rex turned a corner down a dirt road toward the boarded-up building that once served as a hardware store. The store marked his three-mile turning point. As West started past the building and prepared to turn, Rex stopped.

The dog stared at the building.

“Whoa.” He jogged in place, frowning as he squinted at the building in the inky darkness. Dim light from the nearly full moon showed ghostly shadows, thick weeds and brush, and a rotting wood storefront with a few two-by-fours hammered over the windows.

The abandoned building sat on the edge of town, a scrubby cousin to the sleeker Main Street buildings with their shiny windows, trim doors and flower boxes. It fitted in with Rusty Colton’s nearby dive bar that reeked of stale beer, tobacco and dark thoughts.

He glanced down at Rex, the Labrador’s nose pointing at the storefront, his body tense and alert. Then the dog sat down.

West clenched his gut. Rex had found something. Specially trained to sniff out bombs, the dog sat when he smelled suspicious odors.

Though he’d worked with Rex for three months and spent each day training with him, he still remained wary. Maybe Rex saw something interesting. Or he smelled something fascinating, like a dead rodent.

“What is it?” he asked Rex.

The dog kept staring at the building.

Could be anything. Hell, even a ghost. Sure was eerie enough on this end of town, the sad, lonely building desolate and abandoned. Maybe a homeless person decided to camp there for the night and Rex sensed that.

The watch he wore on his right wrist insisted he had to get his butt back now into town in order to leave Quinn’s place before the nosy townspeople started opening their shops. Last thing he needed was a gossip prattling on about how the FBI canine agent on loan to the RRPD was seen sneaking out of Good Eats, Quinn Colton’s catering shop.

If he investigated, he’d be late. West swept his gaze over the building’s exterior as he squinted in the dark. Heart racing from the run, he looked again at Rex.

Still sitting. Still alert.

That was it. West reached for his gun tucked into a leather holster at his side and prepared to go closer.

A flash of movement in the darkness. He tensed as something rattled inside the building.

A scrawny black-and-white tabby cat squeezed underneath one of the boards on the window, looked at them. It hissed at Rex, and then sped off in the direction of town.

Still, it was best to check it out. West did a quick patrol around the building, saw and heard nothing. He glanced down at Rex, who whined, his tail beating the dirt.

“A cat.” West shook his head. “All that drama for a stray feline? C’mon, buddy. You disappoint me.”

Tongue lolling out, Rex grinned at him.

Sighing, West patted his head. “Let’s go.”

They jogged back to the main road as a cool wind blew, rattling the shutters of the abandoned building.

When he reached Quinn’s apartment above her store, he let himself in with his key. West poured Rex a bowl of fresh water and grabbed a bottle from the fridge, drinking deeply. The clock on the range read 5 a.m. If he hurried and showered here, he could make it to his truck, parked discreetly down the street, and drive out of town before Quinn’s assistant showed up to open shop.

Leaving Rex in the kitchen on the pillow Quinn placed there for him, West headed into the bathroom.

Steam misted the air as he emerged minutes later, a white towel wrapped around his waist. He padded to the bedside and stared down at a slumbering Quinn.

He was one lucky bastard. After thirty years, thinking he’d remain a bachelor for the rest of his life, he’d found the woman of his dreams. Last night he’d asked her to marry him, and she’d readily accepted.

West removed a single red rose from the crystal vase by the bedside. Last night he’d given her two dozen red roses to proclaim his feelings.

It was all so new and marvelous. And uncertain and out of character. He wasn’t impulsive. All he knew was that he adored Quinn, wanted to make her happy for the rest of her life and needed her like he’d never admit to needing anyone.

Not since his entire family had been killed had he allowed himself to be this open, this intimate with another person. He’d proposed because he was getting older and so was Quinn. He couldn’t bear for her to get snatched up by another man. He’d already lost too much in life, and wanted to spend each precious moment with her.

He only wished she didn’t want children so badly. Getting married to the woman of his dreams was one thing. Having kids was another. Being responsible to protect one life—Quinn’s—yeah, he could handle that. But making sure nothing bad would ever happen to children? After what had happened to his sisters, he had quietly vowed to avoid having children and risking that kind of heartache ever again.

He sat on the bed’s edge, gazing at his new fiancée, his heart racing with anticipation. Damn, she was so pretty when she slept. Even prettier when she awakened and gave him that sexy smile filled with promise, her brown eyes smudged with sleep and hard loving. West bent over and inhaled the smell of her: apple shampoo, delicate jasmine and the musk of sex.

Life was filled with the ugliness and violence of his job. Quinn made the brutality bearable, and eased the stress he bore. Coming home to her each day was definitely something he anticipated. Quinn made him laugh, lit up his life with her cheerful smile and saucy attitude. She was an eternal optimist who didn’t let anything get her down.

Not even me.

West stroked the rose petals over her freckled cheek and she stirred. He set the rose upon the pillow next to her.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he whispered as she slowly opened her eyes and smiled up at him. She ran a hand through her rumpled curls.

Quinn took the rose and inhaled the delicate fragrance. “A flower on my pillow. What a lovely way to wake up. But not as nice as waking up to see my handsome man.”

“You deserve a dozen fresh roses every day.” He took the flower and tapped her forehead with it. And more. Everything I could give you. I only wish I could give you the one thing we can’t have now—no more secrets.

As he replaced the rose in the vase, she sat up.

“You up to kissing speed yet?” he teased.

Quinn smiled. “Anytime with you, I am.”

She cupped his face, her fingers stroking his cheek. “You shaved off your beard.”

West rubbed his cheek against her playful caresses. “Makes it easier to get close to you, in all the right places.”

A delicate flush ignited her round cheeks at the intimate hint in his voice. “I like it. Did you have a good run?”

“Not as good as staying here. But I had to get away from you and think. When I’m here—” he traced the edges of her lush lower lip “—I tend to get distracted from my work.”

“What were you thinking about?” She yawned and stretched.

He admired how the motion lifted her breasts beneath the flannel T-shirt. “You.” West reached out and tugged one of her corkscrew curls. It bounced back. “And triacetone triperoxide.”

Quinn’s forehead wrinkled. “What? It sounds like something my father would take for a hangover.”

He laughed. “It’s a bomb, sweetheart. TATP. Favored by terrorists. They call it Mother of Satan because it’s so volatile to make and you risk blowing yourself up.”

“I can give you something much nicer to think about.” Her smile widened as she crooked a finger at him.

Forget the Mother of Satan. Here was pure heaven. Guilt flickered through him. Quinn didn’t know his real purpose in coming to Red Ridge—to find Demi Colton, the main suspect in the Groom Killer case, who’d fled town months ago right after being initially questioned. Or that he’d been assigned to investigate Quinn and her half brothers to see if they knew where their half sister, Demi, was hiding.

I’ll tell her. Soon.

And then her mouth met his and he forgot about all else.

* * *

Food costs and sex.

Quinn Colton tried hard, and failed, to keep the smile off her face as she bounced down the stairs leading to Good Eats, her catering shop. Sex with West was always fantastic, but this morning added a special, delicious urgency to their lovemaking. Certainly the sex was better than the inventory waiting for her downstairs, along with the stacks of bills for the latest restaurant order.

Thirty years old and in love. Never thought this would happen. Certainly not a whirlwind romance and a lifelong pledge in only three weeks. But her heart knew that West was the one meant for her. They were made for each other.

Quiet and strong, and handsome and rugged as a movie star. Her heart thumped a little bit harder each time he was around.

It hadn’t been love at first sight. More like love at first fight, she thought as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Quinn unlocked the door—her private entrance into the shop—and then locked it behind her. The door opened to her storage area. She skirted two heavy sacks of whole-grain flour and frowned at the mess on the floor. Last week she’d reluctantly laid off Jeb Plimpton, the teenager who swept up and kept her store tidy. More things on her to-do list, when right now all she could think about was adding West to the list, permanently.

West was a muscular, intimidating guy who scowled. Except around her. From the moment the tall, black-haired man with the chocolate-brown eyes had first walked into her shop, sparks had jumped between them. In his low, gravelly voice West had told her he wanted to order a meal to go. Something resembling red meat that isn’t that green sprouts froufrou food I heard you’re known for. Fresh roadkill will suffice. Don’t take it personally, sweetheart.

She’d set a kale smoothie in front of him and told him he needed “foo foo” in his tank because he looked like fresh roadkill. Run over twice. With a backhoe. And he should not “take it personally.”

Instead of sneering, West had laughed.

Her smile grew broader as she recalled that deep, grudging laugh. It had sent a tingle down her spine and a curious desire to coax more from him. She headed into the shop.

Austin Jones was already in the kitchen, lighting the gas range. Tall and wiry, he had been her best friend for ten years, ever since they met while taking cooking classes at the local college. They’d partnered in business together when she’d opened Good Eats, but Quinn remained the principal owner.

“Morning, sunshine,” he greeted her as he straightened and headed over to the counter, where a batch of fresh arugula waited. Austin began chopping and dicing, and snapped his chewing gum.

Quinn wrinkled her nose. “How can you chew that obnoxious stuff? If you’re craving apple pie, bake one.”

Austin patted his flat stomach. “Have to watch the waistline. This may not be dessert, but tastes as good. Apple gum. Besides, I need the wrappers.”

Right. Quinn picked up the foil swan her friend had made. “Future Christmas gift?”

“Don’t knock it. If business keeps going downhill like this, you’ll be lucky to get one.”

As she scanned the kitchen, her smile wilted like the greens she’d had to toss yesterday. “What happened to the Bernstein order? Shouldn’t you get that ready?”

“Canceled. They called this morning and said they were headed home early.”

Oh dear. The Bernsteins, summer visitors to Red Ridge, always hosted a huge end-of-summer bash for one hundred and fifty guests. For the past five summers, Good Eats had been their caterer.

“There will be other summer parties.” Quinn hoped she sounded more buoyant than she felt.

Yesterday they’d had to throw out nearly a case of fruit that had spoiled. Their main business came from healthy fruit and veggie smoothies, but she couldn’t keep paying bills for long on over-the-counter items. The catering end of her business had slid into the red with the Groom Killer on the loose. The news that someone was still murdering grooms before their weddings hadn’t been good for her wedding catering business, either.

Bracing her hands on the counter, she stared at the slim list of catered orders for the week. Quinn had counted on the Bernstein order to make payroll and pay for next week’s wholesale shipment of vegetables.

“How are we going to survive like this?” Austin gave a deep sigh, putting his hand to his chest.

Quinn gave him a playful poke. “If you want dramatics, try out for summer stock. We’ll get by.”

“Such an optimist. Did you pay the rent yet?”

Although the apartment rent was due later than the store rent, Quinn got a discount paying both all at once. “I will.”

If necessary, she’d dip into her savings account.

Austin set down the knife. “Quinn, do you want me to take care of it? I’d hate to see Larson start eviction procedures.”

Noel Larson wouldn’t evict. Not right away. He’d gloat over the fact she owed him, and then squeeze harder, putting pressure on her and humiliating her. Noel and his twin brother were real estate tycoons in Red Ridge. Their reach and their power made them nearly invincible. You didn’t want to mess with them.

“No. Stay away from him. I have the money, Austin, and I don’t want Larson thinking I’m dead broke.” She softened her tone. “I appreciate your offer of help, but you know me. I refuse to hand Larson that kind of power.”

“Pride goeth before homelessness,” he quipped.

She smiled. “Don’t worry. I’d never let that happen.”

Quinn felt warm inside as her thoughts drifted to West. By winter, perhaps she’d be married. Maybe even on her way to starting a family. Humming, she bustled around the kitchen.

Austin’s blue eyes twinkled behind the thick glasses. “You look so...glowing this morning. New boyfriend?”

She wished she could scream about her romance with West from the rooftops, but she couldn’t. For his safety. “I had a love affair with a nuclear reactor,” she teased back. “And a good night’s sleep.”

“I’m glad someone’s happy,” he muttered morosely as he set down the knife and scooped the greens into a bowl. “I can’t seem to get a date with everything going on in this town. At this rate, I’ll be more celibate than a monk on Mars.”

She laughed, and the laugh cut short as she suddenly remembered. West hadn’t used a condom this morning...

They’d been so eager, so tired from their jobs and so careful to make sure no one saw them together, they’d forgotten to be careful that way.

Anxiety arrowed through her. She checked the calendar on her Android phone. Too close to call. Pregnancy wasn’t on her to-do list. No Bullet Journal for that, she thought as she tucked her phone back into the pocket of her apron. Never mind the fact that West stated he didn’t want children, and she did. She longed to have two children, a real family with a mother and father who stuck around, unlike her shiftless dad, Rusty.

Maybe she could change West’s mind about having a family.

I need breakfast if I’m going to deal with this. Quinn opened the stainless steel refrigerator and gathered the ingredients for a blueberry-peach smoothie. When it was finished, she took it outside in the cool morning air.

Up and down Main Street, shopkeepers were opening their stores and starting business for the day. Summer business bustled in August with tourists who wanted some late-season fishing or hiking, taking kids to see Mount Rushmore and the Black Hills before shuttling them off to school. But not this year. Maybe the visitors heard about the Groom Killer and decided to stay elsewhere.

The brick facade of her little shop was aged, and gave Good Eats a small-town charm, along with the flower boxes lining the big windows overlooking Main Street. Her store, at the very edge of town, backed onto a wide-open field where there had been talk of developing a shopping center.

Those plans had been abandoned by the developer after business started going south in town.

Quinn had dug into her slim savings and purchased wrought iron bistro tables and chairs where customers could sit outside and enjoy a hot cappuccino or a cold smoothie in the warm weather. Once, the drinks were icing on her store’s financial cake; now they were the entire cake and frosting.

If she didn’t get a big order soon, she and Austin would be in financial trouble.

Never. Austin was her bestie. She needed him in her life as much as she needed West. And her brothers and sister.

Where was Demi?

She had constantly wrestled with worry over her kid sister. A bounty hunter, Demi was tough as nails, fierce, and Quinn couldn’t help wondering if her half sister really had snapped and killed her ex-fiancé and the other grooms. Her ex had been the first victim. There had since been many more. According to the RRPD—many of whom were related to Demi and Quinn in some way—Demi was guilty. Others said she was being framed. All Quinn knew was that Demi was alone out there, supposedly trying to prove her innocence. At least, she’d texted as much to their brother Shane a couple months back.

Since then: radio silence.

What Quinn couldn’t stop thinking about was that when Demi had fled town, she’d been pregnant. She must have had the baby already. Or was about to.

Quinn sipped the shake and set it down on the table. Her phone buzzed and she reached into her apron to pull it out when a tremendous KA-POW split the air, startling her into dropping the cell phone and spilling her drink.

Shaken, she stood up, staring in the direction of the explosion. Her father’s bar was down that way...

In the direction West had taken when he’d kissed her goodbye and then headed for work.

Chapter 2

The abandoned hardware store had been totally flattened. West thought it looked as if a giant stomped on it, squashing the roof, toppling the walls and shattering what was left of the broken windows.

West was so focused on solving the Groom Killer case, on finding Demi Colton, that he figured her into every crime that affected Red Ridge. Blowing up a building to take the focus off the murders would allow her to sneak around the city more easily, hunt down the grooms who’d refused to hide their love and relationships.

But Demi hadn’t done this, unless she graduated to high-tech explosives.

Then again, Demi Colton was a smart woman, a clever bounty hunter, and anything was possible.

Lights flashed from RRPD patrol cars and fire trucks lining the dirt road in front of the abandoned hardware store. Nearby, several tent canopies sat over tables for collection of evidence—the command post—along with an industrial generator. Yellow crime scene tape had already been strung up along the perimeter, where a crowd of curious bystanders started to gather. He recognized some of the hard-core patrons from Rusty Colton’s bar and gritted his teeth. Drunk civilians were a pain to deal with, and worse at a crime scene.

His pulse raced as he parked his black Ford truck. West grabbed his kit, climbed out and then skirted around the side to let out Rex. The Lab jumped out and stood close to his side as West surveyed the detectives and cops already milling around the scene—the abandoned building he and Rex had jogged by earlier this morning. He raked a hand through his hair and sighed.

At his side, the dog gave him a reproachful look as if to say, I told you so.

“Hey, I checked it out,” he told Rex.

He took a deep, calming breath. Steady now.

Every time he investigated an explosion, he remembered that day when he was seventeen, and his entire family had been killed by a bomb. He had been the sole survivor.

Surviving only because he’d been out with his girlfriend, parked at the local lovers’ lane. The sex had been good, and quick and forgettable.

What he saw when he arrived home had not been forgettable.

Focus. Priorities. Safety first. West took another deep breath and glanced at Rex.

“Let’s do this.”

Every inch of the scene had to be processed, numbered and documented. His dog would alert him where the most evidence of the bomb was, while other investigators would sort out the scene for shrapnel embedded in the building and dirt.

But not until he and Rex checked out the scene for unexploded devices.

Ducking under the tape, he headed for the staging tent and grabbed a white hazmat suit and put it on, along with booties. Then he took the specially made booties he’d ordered for Rex and attached them to the dog’s paws, fastening them with Velcro. The booties would not only protect Rex’s paws from broken glass and debris, but helped preserve the integrity of the crime scene, as well.

Chief Finn Colton saw him and headed to the tent. He glanced at Rex.

“We’ve divided the building into four quadrants. Need you and Rex to search for secondary devices. When you give the all clear, I want you to search for evidence in the fourth quadrant—the southwest corner.”

“No prob.” West motioned to Rex and they entered the blown-out building.

The bomb had been a big one. Glass windows had been shattered from more than two hundred feet away and the boards that blocked the windows were now shards.

Any hopes this was a prank pulled by kids were immediately dashed. Kids who liked to blow things up wouldn’t cause this kind of destruction.

No, they’d take a pipe bomb into the woods and then explode it, watching the destruction from afar.

He recognized Cal Flinders from the district Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms office. Cal was one of the few he trusted.

West nodded at Cal and gripped Rex’s leash. Safety first. If there were any unexploded devices on scene, his dog would detect them.

“Find,” he ordered Rex, still gripping the leash.

Rex combed through all the sectors, searching for secondary devices. When he finished, he remained standing. West stared at the wreckage. No bodies today.

Not like at his family’s house, where he’d screamed and tried to break past the barricades, get to his father, mother, two little sisters...

Focus. Rex looked up at him expectantly. All clear, we okay? the dog seemed to ask.

“Quadrants one, two, three and four all clear,” West called out.

Next, he began scouring the area of the building assigned to him. Rex sniffed through the debris. The bomb had detonated in the building’s center, where the worst damage was, but shrapnel traveled far. Patterns of the damage indicated how powerful the explosion was. Fortunately, no one had been injured.

Rex nosed beneath a piece of wood and sat. West hunkered down and examined the evidence.

Caked with dust and soot, it was heart shaped and partly bent. A woman’s gold compact, with a butterfly design. West photographed the item and then studied it. It was covered with a film of white powder.

Bomb residue.

A woman had been here. Possibly slept here, or at the very least, stayed here for longer than a few minutes. He started to put a marker by the place where it had been, and hesitated.

Maybe Demi Colton hadn’t planted this bomb, but this suggested she might have worked with the unknown suspect, the unsub. Or another woman had.

His cop instincts tingled. The RRPD assumed he was simply an FBI canine officer temporarily assigned to Red Ridge while one of their officers recovered from an injury.

No one on the force knew he was secretly investigating to see if the RRPD and Chief Finn and the other Coltons were deliberately dragging their heels on the Groom Killer investigation. If this compact belonged to Demi Colton, it might vanish before it could even be processed as evidence. Were the Coltons protecting their own? He didn’t know. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if his own secret fiancée was keeping her half sister’s whereabouts to herself. Better to be safe and bring the compact back to the district office to test it.

Looking around to make sure no one saw, West bagged the evidence and carried it separately instead of dumping it into the official evidence collection bag he carried.

Why blow up an abandoned building? What was the deal with the overkill? Was someone testing out how to cause as much destruction as possible?

Was it Demi Colton trying to diffuse attention so she could target her next victim without the cops on red alert for her?

He couldn’t remain there staring at the debris. He had to do his job. An RRPD cop in a hazmat suit came over as West removed an item from his kit.

“Nice.” The officer whistled. “You feds have the funding for the latest equipment.”

West looked at him. “You’re contaminating my crime scene.”

“Chief sent me over to see if you need help.”

“I don’t.”

Grunting, the cop left. West switched on the ion mobility detector and swept his assigned quadrant. The machine could pick up trace amounts of chemicals, helping him determine what kind of bomb had exploded.

The unit sucked in air to test for traces of chemicals. It didn’t take long.

Swearing under his breath, he switched off the machine. Just as he’d suspected, but the job required details, more details and more details.

Returning to the command post, he told Finn Colton what he’d found. Then West glanced at the man standing just outside the crime scene tape, staring with avid interest at the bombed building.

He jerked a thumb at the man. “Curious bystander?”

Finn shook his head. “Witness. He’s already been interviewed. Drove right past before the bomb exploded.”

After the chief summarized what the man had said, West decided to talk to the witness himself. Experience taught him it was best to get firsthand information himself, before memories grew dim. People’s detailed memories got muzzy real quick. Besides, if someone saw something linking Demi Colton to this explosion, and that interview got buried...

West peeled off his gloves and chucked them into a biohazard container, heading for the middle-aged man.

Slightly chunky, with quick, eager green eyes, the man looked around as if this were entertainment arranged just for him. West knew the type—self-important, glad to help, wanted to get his name in the paper. Still, he took a moment to study the witness. Though West had been in town less than a month, he didn’t recognize him.

West introduced himself and scribbled the man’s name—Santo Nestor. A cigarette dangled out of the corner of his mouth. He puffed constantly.

Nicotine addict.

“What were you doing at this end of town?”

Keeping his voice mild, he studied the witness’s eye movement. The man stared earnestly back at him.

“I was headed into the city to grab a bite,” Nestor said in a thick Hispanic accent. “I’m a salesman. Thought maybe I could scope the place out at the local eatery, make a few contacts. I sell aluminum siding for houses.”

Better than bridal supplies in this town. West made a few notes. “What did you see?”

Nestor prattled on the same thing he’d told detectives.

“Black smoke after the explosion?” West asked.

The man shook his head. “White smoke. I was so afraid, I almost wet my pants. Oh, Dios mío, I was damn lucky, I was right in front when it blew. I’ve been all over the country, never seen anything like this. What kind of place is Red Ridge, anyway, with terrorists bombing buildings?”

West took a long, thorough look at the man. Puffy cheeks, thick, dark brows, and a bulbous nose.

Drinker, as well as smoker.

White shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. Black hair slicked back with too much gel. Slight paunch oozing over his cheap leather belt. No tie. Black trousers, cotton, a bit casual for a salesman, but it was August in South Dakota and warm. His gaze scanned the trousers. Rumpled, maybe from driving a long distance.

“Longtime smoker?” West pointed to the cigarette.

Nestor shrugged, tossed the butt and ground it out with his leather shoe heel. “Si. Road trips get long. My ex tried to get me to quit. No luck. Did get me to give up the Cubans. I love a good Cuban. You smoke?”

West shook his head. “Where is your next client?” he asked.

The salesman flicked a hand toward the west. “I don’t have an appointment until next week in Cheyenne. I was checking out the town for prospects. Going to stay a couple of days. You know any places in town that are good?”

You mean ones that don’t blow up? West shook his head.

After taking the man’s cell phone and home address, plus the name of his company, West closed his notebook. Santo Nestor returned to his car, tossed the cigarette butt out the window and drove off.

Litterbug. He loathed civilians contaminating the area anywhere near his crime scene.

Glancing with disgust at the cigarette, he bagged it and put it in his pocket as evidence just in case.

Then West returned to the rubble, again, picking his way through it carefully. White smoke suggested black powder, as in TATP, not TNT or C-4.

Don’t jump to conclusions. But his instincts tingled. TATP was a low-heat bomb and it took more than five hundred grams to do this kind of destruction.

The distinctive bleach-like odor told him his gut was right. TATP didn’t contain nitrogen and made the explosives easier to avoid detection by scanners.

When they found it, the packaging containing the bomb might reveal hard evidence. Tape or wires could also contain scraps of skin cells, sweat or even hairs. If they were lucky, the unsub left some kind of DNA on the fragments.

Was the unsub Demi Colton?

Who did this? Does it have anything to do with the Groom Killer? Upcoming wedding site? Maybe the killer wants to blow up wedding party members in the future?

As he continued to gather evidence, his thoughts flashed back to his family, the ruins of their home, the ruins of his former life. West deliberately thought of Quinn, her sweet smile, saucy attitude. It soothed him as he worked.

Relationships were all about power. He knew this even with Quinn. In bed, he dominated, but out of it, she ran the show. She held his heart and, man, he enjoyed every single moment of it.

Even though they were private about their relationship for now, he preferred to keep it that way. The less interference from her family, the better.

But he couldn’t help but wonder if her half sister was behind this explosion, as preparation for something more deadly to come.

* * *

Working a crime scene was an arduous, grueling task. Shortly before one o’clock, the chief ordered takeout for everyone.

Takeout from Good Eats.

His heart raced as he glanced up and saw Quinn’s white delivery van pull up in front of the tent. She jumped out and opened the back door. Someone hastened to set up another long folding table for the food. As she picked out the aluminum containers, her brother Brayden ran to help.

ATF agent Cal tracked her moves and whistled, making the outline of an hourglass with his hands. “Nice dish.”

West wanted to smack him. Hands off. She’s mine. He only grunted, and at the low sound, Rex growled.

Cal glanced down at the canine. “Easy, boy. I’m not going to take your chow.”

But I’ll take your head if you even try to touch her. West gripped Rex’s leash harder. Hell, it was tough enough concealing the fact he was secretly investigating the RRPD’s efforts to find the Groom Killer. Hiding his relationship with Quinn was agonizing. His instincts were to draw her away from the admiring glances, put an arm around her waist to signal that she was taken. Exclusively. By him.

And he didn’t even dare do more than nod at her when he helped carry a warm container of something that smelled like roasted lamb. Their fingers touched as she handed it to him, and familiar sparks jumped between them. West sucked in a low breath.

Damn, he could smell her amid the chemicals and the dust and the delicious odor of grilled meat. Real meat, too, not that tofu she also served.

His fiancée smelled like apples and spice, everything delicious.

Quinn finished setting up the containers and unpacked the paper plates and plastic silverware.

“All set, Chief,” she told her cousin. “There’s grilled lamb and rice, salad and butternut squash linguine with fried sage.” Quinn tossed West a saucy, knowing look. “For those who prefer froufrou food.”

Damn if it took every inch of his control not to laugh. Not to toss aside his plate of grilled lamb and stride over to her, pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Letting everyone know she was his and they belonged to each other. He didn’t need healthy food for fortification. He needed only Quinn, and her vivacious spirit and wholesome smile.

Cal drifted over and thanked her. The ATF agent jerked a thumb at West.

“Don’t mind Grumpy, Miss Colton. West doesn’t like healthy food,” Cal jested. “He’s a red meat man.”

“Takes all types,” Quinn’s brother Brayden remarked.

Ignoring them, West took his plate and a bottle of water to his car and sat on the hood of his truck to eat. He watched Quinn talk with Brayden at the table where most of the others ate. West noted that Finn Colton and Brayden worked closely with the Gages on the squad, despite the famous feud between the Colton and Gage families.

Did Quinn know where her sister was? What if she was hiding Demi? When he’d asked her about how close they’d been, Quinn had only shrugged and said she loved her sister, but they weren’t close and barely knew each other. Demi concentrated on her job as a bounty hunter and Quinn was invested in establishing Good Eats and trying to make a good rep for herself in town.

His radar went on full alert as a sleek, expensive car pulled up to the perimeter. Out from the driver’s seat climbed Devlin Harrington. West looked down at the excellent meal Quinn had prepared. It turned to cardboard in his stomach.

Harrington was a wealthy, entitled lawyer who worked in his father’s energy firm. The man oozed money. Probably used one-hundred-dollar bills as kindling in his fireplace each winter.

His father, billionaire Hamlin Harrington, was equally money hungry. He offered to save Colton Energy from bankruptcy, but only if Layla Colton, a bigwig at Colton Energy and the owner’s daughter, married him. Layla’s father, Fenwick, desperately needed the cash.

And the Red Ridge Police Department needed Fenwick to continue funding the large K-9 unit and training center. But Hamlin had called off the wedding to Layla until the Groom Killer was caught. Fenwick, who doubled as mayor of Red Ridge, was beside himself and breathed down the chief’s neck on a daily basis to solve the case. It didn’t matter that Fenwick was related to Chief Finn Colton. Fenwick needed money.

West understood Hamlin being nervous, canceling the wedding and calling off the engagement to Layla Colton. With a killer out to slay grooms, who would dare host a public wedding in town?

What he didn’t get was marrying for money, not love. He didn’t understand it. His own mother and father had been happily married for more than twenty-four years before a killer snuffed out their lives. He and Quinn wanted to marry because they loved each other, crazy as it seemed after barely meeting a month ago. But he knew Quinn was the right woman for him. She was intelligent and witty and caring, and he’d do anything for her.

Layla, Quinn’s cousin, seemed like a smart, kind woman, concerned about her family and savvy about business when he’d interviewed her about Demi Colton. Was she that dedicated to her family and saving her father’s company that she’d sacrifice her own personal happiness?

Life was short. He’d learned that at seventeen when his world blew apart. And marriage lasted a long time, or at least, it should.

West’s scarred hand felt tight today, as it did each time he worked a crime scene, reminding him of the night his family died in the bomb blast. He flexed it as he watched Harrington approach Chief Colton, wondering what the man wanted.

Wealthy lawyers usually didn’t visit crime scenes. Not unless they were ambulance chasers. He’d bet a case of hundred-year-old brandy that Devlin Harrington had never chased an ambulance in his life. Not with that cash cow of a rich daddy, who probably paid him a salary that made West’s modest income look laughable.

Wearing an expensive gray silk business suit, with a red power tie and starched shirt, and expensive leather footwear, Harrington looked out of place with the cops in their bunny suits, tactical vests and grubby, scuffed shoes.

The lawyer stood by the table where Finn Colton ate. He scrutinized the scene, shook his head. “Chief, this is most upsetting. Now we have a bomber in Red Ridge? I’m sure this is related to the groom killings. If there is anything I can do, any help I can offer, please let me know. I want to help. If you need assistance, I’m here.”

To his credit, Finn didn’t take the bait. “It’s too early in the investigation to tell anything. We’re doing all we can. Every man on this force is dedicated to catching the killer.”

“But you must admit this is terribly suspicious timing.” Harrington swept a hand over the crime scene tape. “If the killer is graduating to bombings, she must be caught. I wanted to let you know I’m offering a $100,000 reward for the capture of Demi Colton.”

West nearly choked on his forkful of rice.

Finn didn’t even blink. “Oh?”

“She must be found and brought in for questioning. If she’s innocent, she’s innocent. But if she’s guilty...” Again with the hand gesture. “Then the killings, and this kind of violence will end.”

Was the guy running for office? West snorted as a newspaper photographer snapped Harrington’s photo. He could envision the headline now: Billionaire Lawyer Offers Six Figures of Own Money for Capture of Suspect Demi Colton.

He hated it when civilians messed with an official investigation. Offering that much money for Demi’s capture would send everyone eager for the reward out searching, giving the department more headaches and more false leads to chase.

And make a desperate Demi harder to catch. Hell, half the town would be searching for her now, eager to claim even a share of the reward.

West knew he had to question Quinn further on her sister. If Quinn even had a remote inkling of where Demi was, he had to know immediately.

“I’d like to see the official ad you’re running in the newspaper,” Finn told him, giving him a level look. “For the record.”

“I’m very busy this afternoon.” Harrington took out his cell phone, texted something. “But I’ll send an Uber to drop off the notice at the station.”

Sending an Uber to deliver a damn paper? Typical Harrington. You can’t take five minutes to stop by on your way? No, that’s too much trouble.

West knew some attorneys back East, hardworking, congenial men and women who dedicated themselves to the law and society. Harrington was not one. He did it for the money.

Harrington flashed those pearly whites at everyone and glad-handed the officers sitting at the table.

“Thank you for all you are doing to catch the Groom Killer. If you need anything, anything at all, my office is at your disposal. We all want Demi Colton caught so life can return to normal. My father will be most grateful when Demi is found and arrested and weddings can resume in Red Ridge. He’s most eager to marry Layla.”

He spotted West sitting by his lonesome, walked over and stuck out a palm. “Agent Brand, so glad to see the FBI is working with our fine force. We certainly can use your services.”

Giving him a cool glance, West nodded and ignored the hand. He picked up his fork and continued eating. Harrington’s smile only got wider.

“Have a good day,” the lawyer told him.

He strode off toward his car. West caught Quinn’s worried gaze. If she was concerned about her sister before, she must be worried sick now. West made a small gesture at Harrington’s car speeding off, then did an eye roll. She flashed a brief smile.

West ate quickly, tossed away the plate and plastic silverware, and then returned to the crime scene. The sooner he finished, the faster they could find who did this, and clues to where the bomber would strike next.

Whether or not it was Demi Colton.

* * *

Two hours later, Quinn unloaded all the catering dishes and brought them inside to her store, placing them on the counter near the sink. With a rueful smile, she noticed her hands were trembling.

West did that to her. Even being within one hundred feet of him set off her female parts. They tingled with anticipation, and her nerves jumped as if the annual Fourth of July fireworks exploded inside her.

Her smile fled as she recalled the extensive damage to the building, and the sneers of her father as he swigged back a bottle of beer and watched the cops work the scene.

Rusty had a habit of making the worst things worse. He liked his beer and criticizing other people and bragged about both.

Like her brothers and Demi, Quinn worked hard to overcome the reputation of being offspring of the town’s notorious bar owner and womanizer. It was why she elected to serve wholesome food at Good Eats, to differentiate from the greasy bar food her father dished out.

She picked up the mail the carrier had dropped through the slot in her front door. As she walked to the counter, Quinn sorted through the stack. Bills. More bills. And a white card-size envelope that resembled an invitation. The envelope had a cute red heart stamped on it.

A wedding invitation?

Maybe an engagement announcement? Who would be crazy enough for that?

Taking the mail into the kitchen, she found a knife and went to open it. Hesitated. It looked innocent. Pretty stationery. What if it wasn’t?

There was no return address. Quinn felt the envelope. She had never been the suspicious type, but dating West turned on all her precaution sensors. No return address could mean something dangerous inside, intended to harm.

Quinn studied the postmark. Red Ridge. From here in town. What if the Groom Killer had decided to reach out to new targets?

What if it was Demi, and she was sending a secret message?

Thoughts tumbled through her head. The possibilities were endless. So was the worry. She set the envelope down. Maybe it was better to wait for West. He had experience, perhaps there was some fancy instrument in his bag of tools he could use to scan the contents.

West had been working too hard lately on this Groom Killer case. Late nights, early mornings. A couple of days off in the mountains sounded perfect.

She went into the tiny cubicle kept as an office and opened the desk drawer to find the key Tia had given her. As a favor for delivering her meals on time every day, Tia Linwicki gave her the code to unlock the front gate and a key to one of the cabins in Pine Paradise, a property she owned. As long as no one rented the cabin, it was Quinn’s to use.

She’d told West about her privileges with the cabin and how Tia entrusted her with the key. It would make a terrific weekend retreat with West. Quinn hunted for the key, but couldn’t find it. Maybe she’d left it upstairs in her apartment. With all the confusion lately, the scrambling to find clients, she felt slightly scatterbrained.

She left the office and went into the store’s front just as her brother Shane entered.

Smiling, she gestured to the counter. “Need an afternoon pick-me-up?”

His nose wrinkled. “Kale shakes and fruit smoothies? No thanks.”

“I can make you a late lunch.” Quinn’s smile widened. “Something that will put hair on your chest. Make you attractive to the ladies.”

He laughed. As if he needed that. With his sandy-blond hair, blue eyes and tall, muscular body, Shane was drop-dead gorgeous. For a while Quinn had envied him. Surely he didn’t get those good looks from their father.

No, Shane had inherited their father’s tough streak, though.

And besides, Shane was hot and heavy with someone, a dog trainer at the K-9 center. It was easy to forget because Shane, like everyone in town, kept their relationships on the down-low.

“Came to see how you are. And maybe if you baked some of those blueberry muffins.”

Food costs had soared, but for her brother, she’d bake another dozen. “Go outside and sit. I’ll get everything ready.”

Humming as she buzzed around the kitchen, Quinn realized how much she enjoyed her job. Working for someone else might pay the bills, but she loved being her own boss. Books rested on a shelf above the stainless steel table where she did food prep. One was only a notebook with her handwriting. Those recipes she’d invented on her own, adding this and mixing that.

She’d hate to have to follow orders from an employer. Red Ridge was a good place to live...well, until lately.

Good place to raise a family. Quinn ground to a halt before reaching for a bottle of water for Shane. She and West had briefly skirted the topic of children.

He didn’t want kids.

She wanted two.

Impasse, for now. Quinn kept reasoning with herself that they could compromise. Maybe he’d change his mind.

She brought a tray with the treats outside and joined her brother. Shane munched on a blueberry muffin made from coconut flour, while she drank her strawberry smoothie. Sunshine still peeked through the puffy white clouds, but indigo dotted the horizon, indicating a summer storm approached. Quinn didn’t mind the rain on hot days like this, except the rain drove away the customers who made impulse purchases of organic snacks and shakes.

“That explosion.” Shane shook his head and took a swig of bottled water. “Damn scary.”

“Do they have any clues?” Despite being on the crime scene and serving lunch, Quinn couldn’t discern any information. But Shane worked as a private investigator and informant for the RRPD, and he was savvy at picking up information on the street.

“Not yet. Everyone’s speculating.”

“Maybe it was some local kids, fooling around.”

“I doubt it.” Shane’s gaze looked troubled. “There’s buzz it might be a test run of something bigger to come.”

“Terrific. I hate this.” She toyed with the straw, glanced up and down the street. “Some days it feels like we’re living in a war zone, not knowing what will happen next, who’s doing all this. My business is going from bad to worse. Summer’s nearly over and what am I going to do when winter comes? This is my busy season.”

Quinn leaned back, trying not to fret. The rent was overdue and she didn’t know how to make her budget. “Maybe I should move to Sioux Falls.”

Shane’s eyes widened. “You? The girl who vowed to stay in Red Ridge, no matter what?”

West’s home was near Sioux Falls. It might be a good place to settle after they married. Or get married there, far away from the dangers of the Groom Killer. Maybe West would change his mind about children if they lived away from Red Ridge.

“Everyone changes. I’m getting older, I could find a good job with another catering company.”

“You can’t. Where would I get my blueberry muffins?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head as he grinned at her. They’d never been close, barely knew each other growing up, but lately she’d drawn close to her brothers. She wanted to have relationships with them, and since Demi’s disappearance, Quinn realized how precarious and unpredictable life could become.

Her thoughts went to the mysterious envelope in her kitchen. “Have you heard anything more from Demi?”

Shane coughed on his bite of muffin. He swigged more water, avoided her gaze. “Why would I?”

Leveling with him might be best. “I’m really worried about her. She’s all by herself, with a baby...and since she’s on the run, she could be staying in places that aren’t safe.”

“I’m sure she’s fine.” He ate the last of the muffin and wiped his mouth with the linen napkin she’d given him.

Quinn wished she’d been closer with her younger sister. Maybe then Demi would have contacted her, asked for help. And now that she and West were engaged, she wanted to tell someone. Anyone. A sister, who could keep a secret, a sister who would laugh and roll her eyes as Quinn went into poetic professions of how she adored West, what a wonderful, generous man he was, what a cute butt he had...

Speaking of the devil. West’s familiar pickup pulled up on Main Street, parked. He got out, let out Rex and then locked the door.

Shane sniffed. Quinn didn’t care for the sound. It indicated her brother didn’t have a high opinion of the new guy in town.

The new guy who happened to be secretly engaged. To me.

“Nice dog,” she murmured.

“I like dogs.” Shane’s voice remained level. “Better than cops and better than FBI agents.”

West did a fine job of ignoring them both sitting across the street and staring at him.

“What do you think of him? I mean, he’s an FBI agent, but he seems okay.” She tried to keep the question casual, but couldn’t help peeking at West as he stopped to enter the small boutique where she knew he liked to buy Rex treats.

Shane shrugged. “I try not to think. He’s FBI, and feds aren’t any better than cops.”

“Our brother,” she began.

“Wasn’t talking about family.” Shane’s too-observant gaze sharpened. “You certainly seem interested in Agent Brand.”

Uh-oh. Quinn gave a little laugh. “It’s a small town. New people are always fascinating. And these days, I can’t afford to alienate potential customers.”

“He doesn’t seem like the organic type.”

Oh, I don’t know. He sure did like that farm-raised honey he put on me two nights ago when we...

“You okay? You’re blushing.” Shane finished his water.

Quickly she fanned herself. “Fine. Just hot.”

“It’ll rain soon. Cool things off.”

“I hope it doesn’t destroy the crime scene and the evidence.”

Her brother cocked his head. “Now you’re sounding like a cop. What gives?”

Quinn busied herself with cleaning the table. West’s lingo had filtered into her life. Soon she’d be talking in acronyms like he did. She needed to be more careful.

“Just a concerned citizen who wants things to return to normal, so I can stay in the town I love.”

Shane sighed. “Don’t go making any hasty decisions yet. You need money?”

Deeply touched, she shook her head. “The Larsons gave me an extension.”

Now her brother looked mighty angry. “Those rip-off artists are cons, Quinn. Don’t trust them. Extension today on the rent, double the price tomorrow.”

“I’m fine.” She waved him off. “Go investigate someone else.”

To her surprise, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks. See you.”

Inside the kitchen, she looked at the clean counter, the neatly stacked bowls. A kitchen shouldn’t be this tidy. It meant no business. The lunch for the RRPD would help with the smaller bills. But the rent still remained the huge question mark.

I’ll think about that later.

She picked up the envelope she’d received in the mail today and held it to the light. Nothing. Shook it. No telltale sound of something floating. She wished she’d remembered to show it to Shane. She’d have West check it out tonight.

The back door opened and Austin walked through.

“Where have you been?” she demanded. “I had to set up everything myself at the crime scene for the cops.”

“I went fishing for business. Great news. I found us a gig for tonight. Yoga studio is hosting an open house and they need gluten-free hors d’oeuvres and fruit smoothies for two hundred potential clients. We need to be in Sullivan Falls by nine tonight.”

Delight turned into dismay. “That’s forty miles away!”

“And they promised cash on delivery. So let’s hustle.” He pushed his glasses up his thin nose. “Plus some free lessons. You could use a little flexibility to loosen up.”

Quinn set down the envelope for later, along with the pile of bills. They had work to do, and money was tight.

* * *

It had been a hell of a day and he was exhausted.

Shortly after midnight, West parked his truck in the usual spot, the parking garage one street over from Main, and ducked down a back alley leading to Quinn’s shop. He went through the service entrance, skirting the green Dumpster. Rex, who normally stopped to sniff around the garbage, loped eagerly alongside him and darted inside as he opened the door with his key.

“Yeah, you’re as beat as I am,” West murmured to his dog, bending down and scratching behind his ears after he locked the door. “How about some treats?”

Part of Rex’s training involved food. Rex never ate from a bowl because each time he found explosives while training, West fed him. But he also gave him treats after a long day.

Upstairs, he found the dog biscuits Quinn had hidden in her pantry just for Rex. Leaving Rex to happily munch, he headed into the bedroom.

Sitting at her antique dressing table, Quinn brushed her curls. West felt a tug inside as he watched. He adored the way her mouth softened as she gazed into the mirror, and how it sparked when she caught sight of him.

As if he were the only one in her world who could light her up inside.

Leaning against the doorjamb, he watched her, all the day’s tension sliding off him. “You didn’t have to wait up for me, sweetheart.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Grabbed a sandwich in town.”

Her gaze twinkled. “I like waiting up for you. I like watching you, too. Saw you on Main when I was sitting outside with my brother.”

“You were eyeballing my very fine ass,” he teased.

The ensuing blush assured him she did the very thing. “It’s quite nice to watch. Long day?”

“The worst. But it’s better now that I’m here with you.” His voice went husky. “You make all my troubles go away.”

Except the biggest trouble, and that was finding Demi Colton. Finding the truth about her. Today’s explosion deeply worried him, and not simply because he’d ignored the warning sign this morning.

Explosions like that from TATP bombs indicated professionals. Someone intended to do much, much worse. And there was no way to predict where, and when. If Demi Colton did have a hand in it, he needed to know ASAP if Quinn and her brothers were hiding intel on their runaway sister.

“Can you believe Devlin Harrington is offering a hundred thousand to capture my sister?” she asked.

Careful now. West considered. “He seems all about the money. What’s he really like?”

“Rich. Powerful. Very nice when you meet him. He started dating my cousin Gemma a few months ago. That’s what the gossips say.” Quinn sighed. “I’m not close to Gemma. Unlike me, she’s from the right side of the tracks.”

“And you think you’re from the wrong side? I don’t think so.”

Quinn gave him a wry smile. “Being the daughter of Rusty Colton carries a certain stigma in this town, West. Especially with the rich branches of the Colton family like Gemma’s.”

“Maybe, but not from what I’ve seen. People respect you for who you are, honey. And your excellent cooking, even if you make tofu,” he teased back.

He strode behind her and gently took the brush from her hands. West began to brush her hair as she smiled at him in the mirror.

West scanned the items on the table’s polished surface, fishing for an opening to bring up her sister.

“Did Demi ever brush your hair when you were kids?”

Ever so slightly, she stiffened. “We didn’t live together. And my mom and hers didn’t exactly get along.”

He kept brushing, while racking his brain for a way to bring up her sister again. But for now, it felt wonderful to be with her, to ease the pressure of the job with the simple enjoyment of Quinn’s company.

West wished the job and his personal life didn’t have to collide.

Her eyes closed and she made a sound of pure pleasure. “That feels so good. You’re a good man with your hands, West Brand.”

A faint memory tugged at him. Once the grief had been a sharp blade, but now it had eased into a painful ache. “My sisters used to beg me to brush their hair at night. It was one of my chores. I’d sit down with them, listen to their day, brush their hair and then our parents would tuck them into bed.”

Quinn’s eyes met his in the mirror. “You don’t talk much about your family, honey. All I know is that they were killed in an accident. I don’t want to pressure you, but I’d like to know more about your childhood.”

“I’ll tell you. Some day.” A vague promise. He would. It was still too raw, even after all these years, because the sting of guilt was a constant barb, waiting to rip open old wounds once more.

But he’d give her an opening, because maybe in talking about his sisters, she would open up about Demi. And the sooner they found Demi and the Groom Killer, the sooner he could really open up to Quinn.

“We used to go camping in the Black Hills. Dad didn’t have much of a chance to take us, because he was always working, but when he did, it was wonderful. Sometimes we’d stay at cabins in the canyon instead of tent camping, when Mom decided camping was a little too rustic and she needed a real vacation from roughing it. She wanted us to experience nature and the great outdoors, but working plumbing was a terrific invention.”

Quinn smiled softly. “Your mother sounds like she was a special lady.”

The ache in his chest flowered, hit like a hammer. West took a deep breath. Focus on the job and Quinn. “Did you ever go camping with your family?”

“There was a cabin I rented in Spearfish Canyon last year when I needed to get away from work.” Quinn frowned, as if trying to remember. “Lovely place. It was called Pine Paradise. It was the most peaceful, serene spot I’d ever visited.”

She turned her head and he stopped brushing. “You know that feeling, where you’re outside in nature, the birds chirping, the wind blowing through the trees and you feel like you’re the only soul in the world?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I know it.”

Places like that kept him sane when the job grew too intense and the evil he’d witnessed threatened to erode his soul.

“It was a good place to get away from the pressures of the city. I invited Demi to stay with me. I was trying to get to know her better. She always loved the outdoors and I thought it was a good place to bond with her.”

“Do you think she would ever return there? Did she enjoy it?”

“I have no clue,” she muttered. “She didn’t stay long.”

“That’s too bad.”

Quinn sighed. “She was in a hurry to leave, as usual. Loaned me her leather motorcycle jacket. It’s still in the closet. I keep meaning to return it, but hoped she would stop by. That was long before everything went down with the Groom Killer.”

He stopped brushing her hair, took a curl between his fingers and pulled it down slightly. West watched it uncoil and spring back up. Then he went into her closet, sorted through the clothing and found the jacket. Leather motorcycle jacket, with a broken zipper. He whistled.

“Nice.” West replaced it in the closet, returned to her. “I have a much better way of keeping you warm. You and me at Pine Paradise. A few days hiking, trout fishing.”

Quinn smiled, her earlier displeasure gone. “Fishing? And I’d cook the fish.”

“All organic,” he teased.

She caught his right hand, kissed his palm, her mouth moving over the old scar tissue. Quinn rubbed her cheek against it. “You never did tell me about how you got this. Was it on a field assignment?”

“It was a long time ago. I’ll tell you, someday.”

West thought about her sister. Relationships that failed, bonds never formed. At least he’d shared that with his sisters, much as he missed them.

Memories helped ease the grief on days when it hurt.

“I always longed for a brother. Do guy stuff with, like camping, football, basketball, but my sisters were...special to me. I never regretted any of the time I spent with them. They could be pests, like little sisters are, but they were great kids.”

He paused in brushing her hair, the acid creeping up his throat. His sisters deserved a chance to live, a chance to have boyfriends, share a first kiss, marriage, babies. They never had it.

“I love children.” Her gaze met his in the mirror. “I want a family, West.”

Damn. Let’s not go there tonight. West’s circle was tight and small. He thought of it as he thought of investigating crime scenes. Work it from the perimeter out. On the outer fringes were coworkers and casual acquaintances. On the inside were those close to him.

There weren’t many of those relationships. He kept it that way.

Once, it had been expanded to include his family, a flock of friends and relatives. After the bomb, he shut down most of those relationships.

Kids meant having innocent, fragile babies who couldn’t defend themselves. What if he failed to keep them safe, the way his own father had failed his daughters?

Including Quinn in his circle? Yeah. Kids? No.

“I don’t want children.” There. He stated it. Would this provoke a fight? But Quinn only looked away, her mouth tight.

“It’s late. Let’s discuss this later,” he told her. As in ten years. Or twenty.

“I would have loved having a little sister when I grew up. I always wanted to have a close relationship with Demi.” Quinn sighed.

Okay, let’s try for subtle. He placed the brush on the table.

“When you last saw your sister, did she have a gold compact? Heart-shaped?”

Yeah, subtle, alight, Brand. Subtle as a locomotive.

Quinn picked up the brush he’d set down and began to toy with it. “Funny you should mention it. A few years ago, when I met her for lunch, I brought her a gift like that. I saw them in a store in Sioux Falls and bought two.”

West’s heart skipped a beat. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his Dockers.

“Does she still have it?”

She leaned her elbows on the table and looked at him in the mirror. “Why are you asking about the compact? And Demi? Does this have to do with her disappearance?”

West knew he had to tread lightly. Offer information, but no details. “Maybe. It could be a clue to where she went.”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t in the habit of checking her purse.” Quinn’s voice was sharp.

He pressed on, because he suspected the gold compact now was definitely a sign that Demi had been in the abandoned building. Maybe she’d dropped it while mixing the chemicals to blow up the place, cover her tracks before she went to her next destination.

“What does your compact look like? Was it like hers?”

Her full mouth flattened. “West, why all these questions?”

He squatted down by the table and took her hand into his, brushing a kiss against her knuckles. “We need to find her, Quinn. But I promise you this, when we find her, I will let you know.”

She blinked rapidly, moisture filling her lovely brown eyes. “I wish we had been closer. I really do. I’m so worried about her.”

He held her tight, stroking her back in circles. West hated seeing her this upset. Hated that he was the one making her cry, because he had to ask all these questions. It was his job, and he had no choice.

Not that he could tell her that.

“What does your compact look like? If it’s like hers, I might be able to track her down.” He wiped away a stray tear. “Don’t tell your brothers. This is something I’m working on my own.”

“To find Demi?”

At his nod, she swiped a hand over her eyes. He didn’t like the frown denting her brows, and the suspicious look she gave him. “Not because she’s my sister and you know how worried I am about her. Because she’s a suspect.”

He blew out a breath. “She is a suspect, Quinn. The sooner we can find, and question her...”

“The sooner you can arrest her.”

West clenched his hands. “The sooner she’ll be safe. Now, will you help me?”

Quinn bit her lower lip. “All right. I’ll tell you whatever you need to know, as long as it will help Demi.”

“Is your gold compact like hers?”

“Not exactly.” She frowned, and toyed with the brush again. “Actually, now I remember. Hers wasn’t gold. It was silver, with her initials on it. And round. I got a round one for her to engrave her initials on it.”

Damn.

“Mine was heart shaped.”

West went still. A chill raced down his spine. “What exactly does it look like?”

His heart dropped to his already-churning stomach at her next words.

“It’s gold. With a butterfly emblem on the front.”

Chapter 3

How the hell had his fiancée’s compact ended up in a blown-up building? Quinn acted as surprised as everyone else to learn about the explosion. And worried, too. Could she possibly have been in the building—helping her sister set up explosives? Come on.

He couldn’t risk sharing details with the RRPD just yet. The following morning, he drove east to meet with his supervisor. Special Agent in Charge Mikayla “Mike” Ryan ran the satellite office near Sioux Falls. She had worked with him in the field for the three years since West had moved to South Dakota.

Before meeting Quinn, he’d had the itch to move again.

The diner where he’d chosen to meet Mike was off the main grid, a small, but clean greasy spoon between Sioux Falls and Red Ridge. With her mousy brown hair, glasses, petite and trim figure clad in a blue pantsuit, Mike looked more like an accountant than a woman who knew how to take down bad guys. She was already there in a quiet back booth by the large picture window, sipping coffee and digging into a big plate of fried eggs and crispy bacon. His nostrils twitched with appreciation. Since dating Quinn, he hadn’t eaten anything “unhealthy,” but his taste buds sure did remember those days.

West slid into the booth across from her.

Mike glanced up from her forkful of eggs. “You look like hell, West.”

“Nice to see you, too.”

Beneath the table, he handed off the brown paper bag containing the bagged evidence of the gold compact, along with a plastic bag with a few strands of Quinn’s hair taken from her brush last night. Mike tucked it into the tote bag sitting on the seat beside her.

He signaled for the waitress and ordered black coffee. Stomach too tense to even try food, he watched his boss eat as if it were her last meal. Mike amused the hell out of him. How she stayed so thin while eating artery-hardening grease was a mystery. She was sometimes too sarcastic and loud, but a hell of a good field agent and manager.

West sipped his coffee and waited. Mike wasn’t the type to rush headfirst into conversation. She liked to give the agents a chance to collect their thoughts, assess the situation.

And then hammer them. He’d already filled her in on the explosion and the investigation.

“Anything on the RRPD?” she asked, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin.

Same question she asked yesterday. Mike was like a dog, worrying the same topic to death.

“Nothing so far.” West stared out the window of the diner. “I can’t get a bead on the Coltons. They’re good at their jobs, and keep to themselves.”

“Like you.” Mike stirred more cream into her coffee. “Anything else I should know?”

Guilt flickered through him. Yeah, I’m engaged and in love with the sister of the suspect. But you don’t need to nose around my personal life.

He clenched and unclenched his fists. “I need you to run the evidence for DNA and match against the hair sample I’ve provided.”

Mike didn’t even blink. “Victim of the blast?” She leaned forward, her green eyes sharp behind the glasses. “Or personal acquaintance, of the female variety?”

West cringed inside. “What makes you say that?”

“You look like you haven’t slept all night, and what sleep you did get was in your clothing. You want me to process this separately from the routine investigation the RRPD is already conducting, so it’s got to be connected to the Coltons or a Colton, and...”

He waited.

“You have a love bite on the right side of your neck.”

Inwardly, West cursed, and slapped a hand over the telltale mark. Knew he should have worn a collared shirt, but he’d been in a rush.

“And you shaved off your beard. You never shave your beard. So it has to be a woman.”

West rubbed a knuckle against his cheek. “My personal life is none of your damn business.”

Mike’s gaze narrowed. “It is if your personal life interferes with the job, West. You’re a good operator. I asked for you on my team because that’s how good you are. You’re focused and private and that’s fine. But don’t let a woman get in the way of finding Demi Colton. I’d hate to see you trash your career over good sex.”

“Great sex.” He locked gazes with her, and flattened his palms on the table.

Her mouth curled into a smile, and then she gave a short, grudging laugh. “I’m glad someone’s getting something. Fine. Do whatever you must do. But do your job, as well. And don’t hold anything back from me.”

Mike was not his father confessor. “You’re on a need-to-know basis. That’s how we set up this op. So when you need to know, I’ll tell you. For now, know this. Whoever blew up that hardware store probably is the same person who stole the fifty-five-gallon drum of peroxide from the chemical warehouse in Sioux Falls. This could have been a test for something bigger, with massive human casualties.”

Now he’d succeeded in diverting her attention away from his face and neck. Mike glanced at the bag in her tote. “Another TATP bomb? Demi Colton trying to create a distraction, or blow up a whole damn wedding, groom and bride this time?”

“I don’t know. My gut says whoever did this, the hardware store was a test run, to see how volatile the explosives were and how much was needed for the real thing. If it was Demi Colton, she’s gone beyond shooting grooms.” He took his notepad out of his back pocket where he’d scribbled details about Quinn’s sister and what he had learned about her.

Quinn hadn’t been close to her half sister. She’d told him as much. But that had been growing up. Giving Demi the gift of the mirrored compact told him Quinn reached out, tried to forge a bond with her sibling.

“Have you gotten anything out of the Colton brothers?”

“Not yet. They’re closemouthed and haven’t said much to me.”

“What about Quinn Colton? Has she said anything at all about her sister?”

He hadn’t been a smooth operator all these years to give away answers with his facial expression. West thumbed through the notebook. “She’s worried sick about her sister and the baby. She also thinks it’s possible that Demi could be the Groom Killer. If Quinn was in touch with her sister, she would coax her into surrendering to authorities.”

I hope.

Had Quinn helped Demi hide in the abandoned building, giving her food and water, and then they’d blown up the building to hide evidence? Too far-fetched, but why the hell was his fiancée’s compact in the rubble? He had no answers, only questions.

West shoved his notebook back into his pocket and glanced at his watch. He had enough time to grab lunch, and a few necessities, before arriving for the afternoon shift. The chief had granted him a half day after he’d worked the crime scene a full fourteen hours yesterday.

“Got to go. Call me as soon as you get a hit on that evidence.” West slid out of the booth.

Mike nodded. “And you check in every other day now instead of once a week. I don’t like this development, West. Or being left in the dark. You know what I do when I’m in the dark.”

“No worries. Will do.”

As he headed out of the diner, he knew the intent behind his boss’s words. Mike wouldn’t be satisfied with the meager information he’d given her. If she felt he was holding out, she would yank him off the case and replace his sorry ass. Or worse, go undercover herself to team up with him. In working close with him, she’d be certain to find out about his relationship with Quinn.

He could only hope he had answers to give her soon, before that happened.

* * *

Vegan meals were easy for Quinn to make. The hard part was the delivery, and the finicky client—Tia Linwicki.

Tia, who owned her own real estate agency on the edge of downtown, was very fussy about her meals. She had sent Quinn a specific list of foods to prepare. If the food was too hot, she complained. If it was too cold, she complained.

But she paid cash each day and didn’t mind the surcharge Quinn put on there for the special delivery fee.

Or, as Quinn privately put it, “The Bitch Fee.”

This morning she’d made Tia a special vegan garlic pasta with roasted tomatoes. The smells had been so enticing, they even made Quinn’s mouth water.

Then she slid the pasta into a special heated dish, covered it with the insulated food carrier and left her store.

Tia worked a good distance from her, but it was such a nice day, Quinn decided to walk. The insulated container would keep the pasta at the proper temperature and cool it slightly by the time she reached Tia’s office. If she drove, her client would complain the food was too hot to eat right away.

Humming, she walked past the stores, her practiced eye noting the lack of customers out on such a pretty, sunny day. Normally downtown was bustling with tourists. Not now.

Her business wasn’t the only one suffering.

The heels of her flat-soled shoes clicked on the pavement as she walked. At the corner drugstore, she saw West coming out, a paper bag in hand. Her heart beat faster.

Quinn nodded at him. “Afternoon, Agent Brand.”

“Miss Colton, a pleasure to see you,” he murmured, tapping his index finger to his lips. His eyes sparkled as he held up the bag.

Oh yeah, she knew why he had been in there. Condoms.

She continued walking, unable to keep the silly smile from her face. The finger-to-the-lips gesture was their secret code for he planned to spend the night with her. Oh yeah, great sex on the horizon always chased away gloomy thoughts.

Her smile fled. Condoms for tonight, but they’d been reckless recently. She might even be pregnant now. If so, West’s choice about kids would be removed. Well, that was a worry for later.

The early-pregnancy test kit she’d bought still sat in the bathroom. Soon as she returned home, she’d screw up the nerve to take it.

Later, she’d also worry about all the questions West had peppered her with over Demi. She was happy he’d finally opened up about his family, and sensed it was a deeply sore subject, but she wanted him to share with her about his childhood. Surely there were good memories, as he’d indicated last night. Quinn couldn’t imagine losing her entire family all at once. West had only told her it was an accident. Probably a car wreck.

Quinn wished she had shared a closer bond with Demi. Maybe her sister would have turned to her for help instead of running off. Pregnant, alone and probably scared.

Her thoughts drifted back to the cabin at Pine Paradise Tia had given her the key to. It would make a perfect place for her and West to honeymoon before Tia sold the property. Or share a day or two alone, away from the prying eyes of her neighbors. This business of him sneaking in and out of her apartment was taxing.

Shifting the covered dish in her hands, she saw Tia’s office. Tia had a small storefront at the edge of downtown, next to Lulu’s Boutique, a small shop offering imported Italian clothing and accessories. The closed sign hung on the boutique. Lulu usually closed shop at noon and drove home to feed and walk her two dogs.

No such lunch break for Tia. Tia never stopped hustling. Like the Larson twins, Tia liked money. Once or twice she’d seen the twins in Tia’s office. Not surprising. Tia had a harsh personality, as pushy as the Larson brothers.

Perhaps they talked shop, or looking for bigger and better deals. Yesterday she’d overheard Tia on the phone talking about Pine Paradise. Tia was not a happy person during that convo.

She peered through the front window of Tia’s office. The vertical blinds were drawn almost all the way across. Odd. Tia loved to leave them open, wave to pedestrians. Look important, doing deals, making money.

Making money for her clients.

Quinn shaded her eyes. The office was dark inside, but she could barely make out Tia’s desk. The woman wasn’t there. But a man dressed in a suit stood by the big mahogany desk Tia had bragged cost her a small fortune. The overhead fluorescent lights picked up the shining gleam of his black hair, worn long, down to his collar.

He turned, showing his profile, his expression slightly cruel, cold. A shiver raced down Quinn’s spine. She looked at the unruly cowlick sticking up from his hair. A cigar stump dangled from his mouth.

He didn’t look friendly, or welcoming. More like the type who threatened. Then he ran out the back door, fleeing as if the hounds of hell were chasing him.

Quinn hesitated. Wasn’t she being judgmental? The lighting inside could have made him look mean. Maybe Tia wasn’t working as hard as she claimed and she had a new love. Perhaps he didn’t want anyone knowing they indulged in a session of afternoon delight.

Tia, you could have picked a better lover. This guy looks like he gets off on playing it rough. Gooseflesh sprang out on her arms.

I’ve seen him before. But where? She frowned. Maybe at Tia’s office?

None of her business. Only delivering the meal was.

And getting paid.

Quinn set down the food carrier to fumble with the doorknob. She opened the door and grimaced as the stench of cigar smoke wafted outside. As she went to pick up the casserole, she saw a flash of white as an enormous KA-POW slammed the air. A giant hand punched her with a hammering fist, hurling her through the air back into the street. And then the world went dark and she felt no more.

Chapter 4

The shift in air pressure and the tremendous explosion rattled windows and made the ground shake. West instinctively dropped to the sidewalk, spilling the paper bag, and covered his head.

Screams filled the air. He waited for a few seconds, but it felt like minutes, before rising and looking at the edge of town.

In the direction Quinn had strolled. His heart dropped to his stomach and he raced to his truck, where Rex sat in the front seat, the air-conditioning running. West opened the truck, grabbed Rex’s leash, but the dog needed no coaxing.

They both ran in the direction of the explosion. Locals stared at the building, now engulfed in flames. West was already running, phoning for backup. No need, for the whole damn county must have heard the blast.

Not Quinn. Please, not Quinn. Let her be far away, hell, in the next town. Not Quinn. Not when he’d finally found her, allowed himself to feel again after all these years...

The real estate office was leveled, white smoke pouring from it. Safety first. It had been drilled into him, but that was for cases. Not for the love of his life.

Boards and rubble lay everywhere, shards of glass sharp enough to slice through skin. Flames licked at the back of the building. Ordering Rex to stay back, he picked his way through the rubble.

Quinn always delivered Tia’s meals in person...putting them on her desk. He had been there once, knew the agent worked at an expansive desk in the back. Everything in the back was splintered, fragments of a profession...of a life. Smoke billowed through the air.

Where the hell was Quinn? He’d seen her head in this direction, knew she was delivering Tia’s lunch. Maybe she hadn’t entered. Please, he prayed. Let her be okay. He whistled for the dog.

“Rex, find Quinn,” he yelled out.

Rex nosed through the rubble toward the front of the shop, clambering over boards and debris.

Rubble was everywhere. Rex barked, the signal for finding a human. Boards and a chair covered a petite figure sprawled on the ground. West lifted the board and tossed it aside to find a woman lying on her back. A shattered food container, and mangled bits of pasta, was nearby.

Quinn. She couldn’t be dead. His breath hitched, and then he saw her chest rise and fall. Relief made him weak, but he got a grip.

Alive, but unconscious, bleeding heavily from a laceration to her head. Blood streamed down the side of her face. West shrugged out of his jacket, tore off his white T-shirt and held it to her head to stanch the bleeding.

Not daring to move her further, in case of a neck injury and shattered vertebrae, he held his shirt against her head, his hand trembling.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he whispered, everything inside him bunched up in knots. Rex licked her face.

People were running toward him. The whine of sirens grew louder. Help was arriving. Hurry. In his mind’s eye, he flashed back to that terrible night when he was a teenager. House burning, broken glass littering the front yard, his screams echoing through the night as the sirens wailed a mocking song... Too late, too late, too late...

Not too late. Quinn was breathing. Alive.

EMTs rushed forward. One medical professional squatted by him, opened a kit. West was dully aware of the man trying to shoulder him aside.

“We’ve got this,” the paramedic assured him. “Let us treat her.”

Let her go. They’re professionals. But everything inside him screamed to hold on and not let go of Quinn because if he did, he could lose her.

She might die, just like his mother, father and little sisters.

She will die if you don’t move it, Brand.

Dragging in a deep breath, he stood and stepped aside.

With quiet, swift professionalism, the paramedics went to work, swapping out his soaked shirt for real bandages, putting a neck brace on her to prevent her head from moving, starting an IV, taking her pressure. He heard a buzz of words, saw them slide Quinn onto a backboard and then lift her onto a gurney.

She’s going to be okay. Has to be okay. I can’t lose her.

Everything inside him fought to run back to his truck, race after the screaming ambulance. Follow her to the hospital, make sure she got treated, hover until she opened her eyes and looked at him.

West clenched his hands and unclenched them. Using a breathing technique he’d learned from a therapist who’d treated him for PTSD, he centered himself and his thoughts.

The best way he could help Quinn was by doing his job. The sooner he helped catch the bastard doing this, the safer she and the town would be.

“Brand!”

He turned at the sound of Finn Colton’s voice. The chief looked at the departing ambulance, his expression grim. “What happened?”

West told him about finding Quinn, as others arrived and began to work the scene.

He knew cops, knew the tight brotherhood. Quinn had been injured—one of their own, family—and they were going to work this case hard.

West didn’t need to get insider information on the local cops to ascertain this. He knew human nature.

Finn gave him a hard look. “Brayden and Shane are on their way to the hospital, and they’ll question Quinn if she wakes up. I need you to stay here, work the scene.”

West nodded, though he fought the instinctive need to rush to the hospital with the chief. He turned back to his truck to fetch his equipment.

No one knew what Quinn meant to him. They had kept their relationship secret on purpose. But right now, as he jogged back to his truck, Rex at his side, he was the one who could openly claim her and join her brothers at the hospital.

* * *

Firefighters had quickly doused the flames and now the cops were working the scene. Someone had marked Tia’s body.

What was left of it.

He saw a high-heeled red shoe attached to a section of bloodied leg sticking out from beneath half a large-screen television. High heels. Quinn had not worn high heels. Not during the day. At night she liked wearing them when they met in secret outside town. Dinner, a show, good times.

He liked her in high heels, and when she wore them to bed last week...

Was she okay?

Focus, Brand. Focus.

West dragged in a breath and studied the body with cool, professional detachment. Tia lay on her side. One of her arms had been torn off in the blast, and her torso was horribly mangled.

Burns covered her body and part of her head...

He looked at Tia’s head, noting the head injury and exposed brain matter with analytical coolness. If she had died before the explosion, the autopsy would confirm it.

“Find,” he ordered Rex, his death grip on the leash making his palm sweat through the latex gloves.

Rex combed through the building’s rubble to search for secondary devices. Nothing found. But near what had been Tia’s desk, West found pieces of the bomb, including the detonator.

Cell phone. Same kind of burner phone used in the first bombing.

Until the pieces were tested, he couldn’t be certain, but he suspected it was the same type of bomb that had gone off earlier in the abandoned building. The first bomb was a trial run, probably to see how much damage the unsub could inflict.

But something had gone wrong. The killer hadn’t known that Quinn delivered lunch here every day around noon. Nor had he anticipated the device wouldn’t totally destroy evidence.

Or had he? Quinn had told him that everyone knew her schedule—that every day she hand delivered lunch to Tia, one of her best clients. Tia always ate at twelve thirty sharp. The woman ran a tight schedule.

He returned to his truck, fetched his equipment. With methodical care, he combed through the scene. Gray file cabinets were dented, some of their contents blown out. The computer was in shards, but if Tia backed her files up to a cloud, they could access them.

Maybe one of her clients had a grudge. Damn, it was better than thinking someone had it in for Quinn, or wanted to cause more than one injury.

In the rubble, he found the thin stump of a cigar. West bagged and tagged the evidence. Tia smoked. A fact Quinn relayed to him previously, her pert nose wrinkling in disgust. Tia even liked to light up Cubans after hours. But everything had to be looked over.

Something glinted among the rubble in a shaft of late-afternoon sunshine.

West crouched down and studied the fragment. The edge of a key chain, rounded, with the etching of a pine cone. He could just make out part of an address.

#5 Pine P.

Pine Paradise? Acid crept into his throat. Too much of a coincidence.

He knew this.

Pine Paradise specialized in cabins in the thickly wooded canyon south of Red Ridge.

After Quinn had told him she had a key to a cabin there, he planned to take her for a weekend. Maybe taking Quinn with him for hikes in the woods, long bouts of lovemaking into the night. He liked that area of South Dakota; it was quiet, peaceful, and enabled him to think and find peace. Get away from all the people in town and the nosy neighbors. He could use his gray matter to fit together pieces of a complex puzzle called the Coltons, figure out if they were covering up evidence of Demi Colton’s whereabouts.

Question her further.

Pine Paradise offered quiet, small cabins near a creek reputed to have excellent trout fishing. Each cabin was set back from the road, nestled in the thick woods. Isolated and accessed only by a dirt road, they were far apart from each neighboring cabin to offer seclusion and privacy.

When he’d first arrived in town, he’d asked Tia, Red Ridge’s reigning queen of real estate, about renting a Pine Paradise cabin. She’d haughtily informed him that the cabins were occupied. The property is unavailable, Mr. Brand. Got it?

The woman was just...nasty. He could understand why she mistrusted him for being an outsider and FBI, to boot. Some locals had looked at him with suspicion. Small town, strangers. But Quinn had told him the real estate agent was one of her best clients and a cold, demanding person. It wasn’t him. It was Tia’s personality.

Did that personality get her into trouble? Had the real estate agent gotten into a squabble with someone who decided on permanent payback by killing her?

Until the autopsy was performed, they could not confirm his suspicion that Tia had been killed prior to the explosion, and the killer had used the bomb to cover his or her tracks.

There was another troubling idea in his mind. Maybe Quinn had been the real target.

In his gloved hands, West fingered the evidence, his mind clicking over the facts like a computer.

What if there was a connection between the killer and this property? He needed to find out exactly what other properties Tia owned.

But Pine Paradise was a good, isolated place to hide while experimenting with making bombs, far away from the inquisitive locals. Someone who wouldn’t hesitate to blow up buildings and kill innocents like Quinn to cover a larger crime.

But what if this bombing was connected to the Groom Killer? There was no evidence yet to link the two crimes, but as an investigator trained to be thorough, he couldn’t rule it out. He had to look at all angles.

Maybe the bomber wanted to kill Quinn because she was related to Demi Colton.

Even without the autopsy report on Tia, West’s instinct warned whoever had planted the bomb didn’t do it to kill the real estate agent. Bombs were tricky. Sometimes they didn’t detonate, so as a means of killing someone, they were unpredictable.

The killer hadn’t used enough explosives to totally destroy Tia’s body. He’d planted the bomb in the wrong place. Maybe he—or she—had been in a hurry. Or perhaps the bomber’s intention had been to destroy evidence.

Or unfamiliar with exactly where to plant a bomb in order to do the most damage, and destroy the evidence one wanted to cover up.

And then Quinn had interrupted the crime. That meant she was a witness, and whoever did this would want to erase any evidence.

Eradicate any witnesses, especially one Quinn Colton.

Later, he and Rex would take a road trip to Pine Paradise. But not for trout fishing.

Fishing of a different sort—searching for Tia’s killer.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.