When disaster strikes

A Colton comes to the rescue

When an earthquake hits Mustang Valley, first responder Grayson Colton finds an abandoned truck—and a fugitive in need of help. Savannah Oliver claims she’s been falsely accused of her husband’s murder. Grayson’s protective instincts come out in full force as he helps Savannah prove her innocence. But as Savannah’s past comes back to haunt her, Grayson must use every survival tactic he knows to keep them both alive.

LINDA O. JOHNSTON loves to write. While honing her writing skills, she worked in advertising and public relations, then became a lawyer…and enjoyed writing contracts. Linda’s irst published iction appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and won a Robert L. Fish Memorial Award for Best First Mystery Short Story of the Year. Linda now spends most of her time creating memorable tales of paranormal romance, romantic suspense and mystery. Visit her on the web at www.lindaojohnston.com

Also by Linda O. Johnston

Colton 911: Caught in the Crossfire

Second Chance Soldier

Trained to Protect

Undercover Soldier

Covert Attraction

Alpha Wolf

Alaskan Wolf

Guardian Wolf

Undercover Wolf

Loyal Wolf

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Colton First Responder

Linda O. Johnston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90496-8

COLTON FIRST RESPONDER

© 2020 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2020

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.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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And yes, again and as always, this story is dedicated to

my dear husband, Fred. I also want to thank all the

other authors in this enjoyable series, as well as Carly

Silver, our wonderful editor for the Colton books.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

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

Chapter 22

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

No.

The word kept reverberating through Savannah Oliver’s mind, and not only now. It had done so for days. Even longer.

That wasn’t surprising. This couldn’t be happening.

But of course she knew it was.

She looked around the bland—yet terrifying—enclosed back area of the ugly transport van that was returning her to the Arizona Prison Complex in Phoenix. From where she sat strapped onto a bench—not particularly for her safety—with her back against the partition leading to the driver’s area, she glanced up toward the high, wire-meshed rear windows of the van. No way could she get out of the vehicle through those and onto the rural road, in the middle of nowhere, that they now traversed. The windows were too small—and besides, cuffs kept her hands shackled together behind her.

She couldn’t brush any of her hair away from her face. It was shoulder length and blond—and disheveled, she assumed, as it so often was these days. She couldn’t even secure it with one of the pretty hair clips she loved.

She couldn’t brush away any tears, either, but fortunately those had nearly stopped—though they threatened to begin again any moment.

Without meaning to, she looked down at her legs as she sat there—and nearly smiled in irony. At least she had been allowed to dress in brown slacks and a beige shirt for this outing, instead of the bright orange prison jumpsuit that was her usual attire these days. Her shoes were the same ones she wore every day now—casual black slip-ons.

She had just been in court. Not only had she been arraigned, but she had been denied bail. She would remain in prison—and not just the local jail because of the severity of her alleged crime—until her trial, and who knew when that would be?

But did it matter? Her lawyer, Ian Wright, had promised he’d try for bail, but he had warned her in advance that it was unlikely. She had already been labeled a flight risk, and the charges against her were serious. Very serious.

He had also told her that, notwithstanding the solid defense he would mount for her, she was likely to be convicted.

Now she sat on one of the few seats in this area of the van as it continued forward, attempting futilely once more to pull her hands out of the cuffs.

Wishing she had some way to get out of there, even if it involved somehow shoving open one of those windows and squeezing through. Better yet, if she could open one of the doors where the windows were located, and leap down onto the road.

Of course, she’d get badly injured, or worse.

But what could be worse than being incarcerated, possibly forever, for a crime she didn’t commit?

A crime that might not have been committed at all, since no body had been found.

She was accused of murdering her ex-husband, Zane Oliver. Good old Zane.

Horrible, disgusting, appalling Zane.

His body hadn’t been found, and she felt certain he wasn’t really dead.

No, more likely he was hanging out somewhere, laughing at setting her up this way. He’d learn about this hearing, confirm that she wasn’t permitted bail. And he’d smile and smile...

She needed to get her mind off this somehow. She needed a shoulder to cry on, but for the moment, at least, she was all alone.

Except for the driver in the cab of the van. He’d been the same one who’d driven her to court.

His name was Ari. They’d been introduced as she was led into the van at the prison and strapped in before heading to the courthouse. Not that he’d said a word to her then. He was young and skinny, with dark hair and a constant frown, dressed in a police uniform.

Of course they’d send a cop to ensure that vicious, murderous Savannah wouldn’t harm anyone else.

She cringed at the irony her own mind presented.

Outside the courthouse, all Ari had done was to open the back door and unhook her when they’d arrived. Then he’d handed her over to another uniformed cop, who had led her inside to the courtroom where her attorney waited, as did the District Attorney, Karly Fitzpatrick. She’d been shown where to sit—as if that was a surprise. Right up front, facing the judge. The procedure had gone forward, with its terrible result, not even any bail, and she had been led back outside, handcuffed again and strapped once more into this van.

Ari had acknowledged her only with a nod of his head.

But now—well, she could at least try to get his attention. She turned as much as she could to face the closed window that led into the van’s cab.

“Ari?” she called. “Ari, I know we’re still a distance from the prison, and...well, I have a bit of an emergency back here.”

She had many emergencies, but she was making up the one she would tell him about.

He didn’t respond, or at least she didn’t hear him.

“Ari, could we please stop at a gas station or something? I really need to use the restroom.”

She concentrated to hear beyond the vehicle’s rumble and the road noise beneath it in case Ari was mumbling, but she heard nothing.

Not that she was surprised. Even if she did have that kind of emergency, he probably wouldn’t care. She’d either have to tough it out or just go—

Bam!

The van shook horribly at the same time Savannah experienced a shocking, deafening sound that lasted several seconds, maybe the loudest noise she had ever heard. She screamed, wishing yet again that her hands were free, this time so she could cover her ears.

Better yet, she wished she could use them to brace herself, since the van was careening from side to side. She hurtled back and forth despite being strapped in. She had to protect herself.

What had happened? What was that noise? Why hadn’t the van stopped? Had it hit something? Had something hit it?

But no. The vehicle skidded and finally stopped with Savannah still attached to the seat, and even then the ground continued to shake beneath it.

Noises of other kinds abounded, too—as if trees were thudding to the ground. Savannah added to the noise, calling for help, unsure what to do.

She hadn’t wanted to return to prison—but was she instead going to die?

She finally realized the likely source of the shaking, the bumping and the sounds.

An earthquake.

No time to think about it—though she’d been in a few smaller quakes and tremors here in Arizona. She hadn’t had her life endangered then.

And now—what could she do?

Before any ideas came to her, the worst noise and movement of all occurred—a smashing metallic sound, abrupt. The van had hit something...hard. Or been hit. Something must have crashed down onto the front of the stopped van, behind where Savannah now lay sideways on the bench, her back sore from where it had hit the partition.

She screamed for help again. But she realized in a moment that one good thing—maybe—had come out of it. Her seat belt had loosened.

The van finally stopped moving. Whatever had happened, it remained upright. And Savannah tried to stand, wondering if the vehicle would begin shifting again.

Slowly, crouching, ignoring her soreness, which was fortunately not too bad, she made her way to the door. She had to go backward. The only way she had a chance of opening that door would be to use her hands, and they remained cuffed behind her.

At least the van wasn’t moving any longer. She thought about calling out to Ari again but decided to wait, to try to get outside and find him, and maybe they could get to safety together.

Better yet, maybe she could somehow sneak away.

She wished she could see better. But the fact that the evening was already growing darker didn’t help. Even so, she managed to find the door with her bound hands behind her, as well as the handle on one side that opened it. Was it locked from the outside? She hoped not.

She pushed down the handle—and the door opened! She felt like shouting in triumph, but this was only a small step in the right direction.

Speaking of steps, could she find the ones at the back of the van and get down without falling? She wouldn’t be able to hold on with her hands behind her.

She shoved the door open as well as she could, still moving backward, then very slowly lowered her right leg till her foot touched a step. She glanced down but could see very little in the darkness. She carefully allowed her left foot to join the right one, and then remained on that step for a few seconds, half expecting the ground to roll again beneath her—or for Ari to show up and shove her back inside.

Neither happened. And after a short while she went down to the next step. The one below that was the ground, and she soon stood there, outside the van, breathing fast and allowing herself to smile, if only a little.

She had beaten one hurdle but there could be plenty more to follow.

She turned and looked at the road behind her. It was narrow, and there was some light shining on it from a few dim electric streetlights spaced long distances apart, probably put there for safety since the road was so rural.

Yikes. It seemed amazing that any of the light poles had survived. Most of the trees around there hadn’t. Uprooted, they splayed onto the concrete, and one even blocked part of the road.

Had it been one of them that hit the van? Savannah assumed so, so she started walking carefully around the vehicle on the driver’s side.

Sure enough, a large tree had obliterated that part of the cab, crushing the car from the hood all the way to the passenger area. Savannah swallowed hard as she drew closer, looking at the smashed area where Ari had sat to drive.

How amazing that the tree had only crushed the front of the van, and not where she had been sitting. Despite all that had been happening to her, she had actually experienced a little bit of luck.

But what about Ari? Had he been hit by the tree?

She hoped he’d had time to slide over to the other side, assuming it was less destroyed.

As she got closer, she even called out his name. “Ari? Ari, are you okay?”

She heard nothing—and as she got to the huge tree branch that stuck out past the crumpled van door, she managed to look inside.

And backed up fast.

Ari was there...what was left of him. She couldn’t see everything with those branches there, but she did see part of his body. What she could make out was covered with blood.

She gasped. “Ari?” she said again. No response. No movement. Since the window was broken, she made herself turn and carefully reach inside, her hands still behind her, and managed to touch Ari’s neck. No indication of a pulse—and considering what he looked like, she knew he was dead.

She felt tears stream down her face. Okay, she hadn’t liked the guy, and he clearly had felt no compassion toward her. It wasn’t his job to give a damn about her. But no matter who he was, she didn’t wish this on anyone.

She moved away—but what could she do now? She had only the slightest idea where they were, since she really didn’t know the route from the courthouse to the prison, and this was way off in the middle of nowhere.

And even if she wasn’t hit by a falling tree, how long could she survive out here in the elements, after an awful earthquake—and unable to free or use her hands?

Ari had secured her in the back of the van, remembering to check her handcuffs before they’d left. Was there any possibility he’d kept the keys?

Surely so. He’d need to unlock the cuffs when they reached the prison. Of course there might be a separate set there, but just in case he had one, she moved toward the passenger side of the van’s front cab, going around the back of the truck since the tree blocked her from the front.

As she walked, she listened. No more loud sounds like those caused by the quake but there were plenty of calls of animals and birds in the surrounding area. No sound of other vehicles—or people—that she could hear.

Nothing else suggesting further tremors—or worse. At least not at the moment.

Reaching the passenger door, she turned around and used her bound hands to try to open it.

Success!

And amazingly, there was a key ring attached to the console between the two seats. Not only that, but there was a small leather suitcase on the floor—and it had her name on it. She’d seen it before. It contained some of her personal possessions that the cops had seized upon her arrest and kept at the prison—and would have been given back to her in the event she was released from court that day.

Well, that hadn’t happened, but those were still her things.

She tried not to look at Ari any more than she had to as she entered the van—although she did see his bleeding arm and grasped his wrist, again hoping for some sign of life, but there was none. She then turned so she could grab the keys. She got out and laid the keys on the seat. Contorting with a lot of effort, she tried to unlock the cuffs.

No luck, damn it. Not at first, at least. But somehow she managed to succeed after five minutes of trying over and over.

There! She shook her hands free and dropped the cuffs on the ground. She wouldn’t need them and didn’t want to see them ever again. Next, she grabbed her bag from the floor.

She couldn’t help glancing once more at Ari. He hadn’t moved. No surprise.

“I’m so sorry, Ari,” she said, meaning it. He’d just been doing his job—and that probably included ignoring requests and pleas from suspects he was transporting.

She looked around at what she could see of the road, the surrounding forest, the downed trees and more. She still had no idea where she was—but she nevertheless got moving, running for her life.

She was free! At least for now. And somehow, she needed to use this opportunity to clear her name, though she’d no idea how yet.

She only knew she had to find her rat of an ex. Unless he’d actually stayed around this area and had been killed in the quake.

Under other circumstances, she would cheer at that idea—but she had to find him, to make him confess to his lies, so she would be able to show the world that she was no murderer, no matter how much she detested the creep.

So now she ran into the vaguely illuminated night, carrying her bag, having no idea where she was going—but hoping she would find some kind of shelter...and somehow survive.

After the initial earthquake more than an hour ago, Grayson Colton had foreseen that the drive along this rural yet usually well-traveled road leading out of Mustang Valley, Arizona, would be a battle against nature. But after his initial assistance and communications, he had chosen this part of town and beyond to search for people who needed help after the highly disturbing tremors the area had experienced.

And was still experiencing to some extent, since the ground continued to rock now and then with aftershocks.

Grayson slowly drove his specially equipped company SUV along what was left of the road as well as he could, avoiding, where possible, the cracks and cavities in the formerly well-paved surface—as well as some downed trees. It was dark out, so his headlights helped him see what he was coming up against. So did the few but helpful lights on remaining poles along the roadside.

That moderate quake, reported so far as 5.9 in magnitude, had been centered around here, so he had taken it upon himself to head this way. He knew what he was doing—although his staff members did, too, or they wouldn’t be working for him.

Right now, he had to traverse what was left of this minor highway as best he could. It was who he was, his responsibility, his calling.

And more. He had founded, and continued to run, First Hand First Responders. His small but significant agency employed dedicated first responders who assisted official responders in the police and fire departments, hospitals and other formal emergency organizations in Mustang Valley. And FHFR members helped out often, since the authorized organizations were understaffed in this area.

Grayson had been at his company headquarters when the quake struck that evening. Not much damage had been done to the three-story building he owned in town, fortunately, although the walls had swayed around him and some items on top of desks and shelves had been thrown to the floor.

Calls and police radio communications had immediately started coming in to the office from the Mustang Valley Police Department, including its primary 911 dispatcher and other agencies.

Apparently the structures housing the police and fire departments and even the local hospital hadn’t been damaged significantly, a good thing. Same thing with local schools, from what he’d heard. But quite a few buildings in town had suffered damage, sometimes significant, particularly in older areas. As had a bunch of homes,

And who knew what people were out and about and might be in danger?

That took first responders to find out. And the authorities who called had requested their help—extensively and immediately.

Grayson’s staff included an emergency medical technician, EMT—Norah Fellini—as well as Pedro Perez, a former firefighter, and Chad Eilbert, a former K-9 cop. Eilbert also had an emergency responder background, and just happened to still have his well-trained search and rescue dog Winchell as his partner.

They’d all been in the FHFR offices, too, when the help requests had started coming in. He’d given them their assignments based on what he’d heard from the official departments’ representatives regarding suspicions of where injuries, missing persons and fires were most threatening, primarily in city areas that were not close to downtown, and therefore most in need of attention from extra first responders.

They had all driven off in their vehicles similar to his, containing special equipment such as defibrillators to help to save people’s lives. Pedro had a portable fire hose with a pump system in his vehicle. And Chad also had special safety equipment for Winchell.

Then Grayson had made some calls himself. Fortunately, the exclusive, upscale Colton property, Rattlesnake Ridge Ranch—where he still lived most of the time with his large family, including parents and siblings—had been spared any damage.

He’d thrown on his bright neon green first responder vest over his long-sleeved T-shirt and heavily pocketed black pants.

Then he had dashed out, entered his vehicle and spent some time checking on some of the hardest hit areas outside downtown, where he had helped several people out of buildings destroyed by the quake. Fortunately, other firefighters had also shown up there.

That allowed him to head briefly toward one of his favorite spots, an abandoned bunker he had adopted as his own when he was a kid trying to find some privacy from his family. It wasn’t far from the family ranch, and like many similar places in this area, it was also an abandoned mineshaft. No one else seemed to know about it, and he’d been able to fix it up over time to be less of a mine and more of a livable hideout. He had headed there now because it was important to him and he wanted to check on its condition. And fortunately, it had completely survived the quake.

Next, he had chosen to head to this area far out of town. He’d begun his career as a wilderness guide. He would be much more skilled in locating and helping people injured out here by the quake than the rest of his staff.

So here he was in his vehicle, glad he’d continued throughout his life to work out intensely and often. With all the potential for disasters way out here, he might need even more strength today to follow his chosen path.

Leaving town along the main streets of Mustang Valley had been interesting. Lots of people out on the sidewalks. Lots of damage visible to some downtown buildings, though, fortunately, none seemed to have been destroyed. The pavement there appeared more wrecked than anything else. No deaths around there, fortunately, and no fires in this area, either.

Grayson had stopped once to help a mother holding her young child cross a damaged street to EMTs and an ambulance. He stopped another time to help a teen catch his fleeing dog.

After that, Grayson kept going out of town, avoiding cracks in the road as best he could.

So far, on this rural road, he hadn’t seen much of interest except many downed trees, which sometimes meant he had to ignore what was left of the pavement and drive on the leaf-strewn ground as well as he could. He had seen no recent indication of anyone, either on the road or the roadside, requiring a first responder’s assistance.

He decided to proceed for another ten minutes, and if no situation he needed to deal with materialized, he’d check in then with his employees to determine where he should go next to be of the most help.

The road turned to the right a bit, so he did, too. And then he saw what he’d been after but had hoped not to see: a van crushed by a large tree that had fallen on its front. At least that was what it appeared to be as he approached it from behind. In fact, the road was effectively blocked by the black van and the felled tree.

“Okay, what’s happened here?” Grayson said out loud, pulling his SUV to the side and parking. He got out quickly, grabbing the medical bag he kept on the floor. He had earned his EMT certification, so he knew how to conduct more than the basics of on-site medical care that could be necessary to save a life.

He also grabbed his large flashlight and used it first to check the ground as he approached the driver’s door of the van. He saw, as he got close, that the vehicle’s markings labeled it as belonging to the Arizona State Department of Corrections, the kind of van used to transport prisoners from one place to another.

If so—well, first things first. He needed to make sure everyone had gotten out of the vehicle’s cab safely.

Only...that wasn’t the case. In the bright glow of his flashlight, he immediately saw a man in what was left of the driver’s seat, covered in blood.

Grayson’s EMT training immediately kicked into gear. He opened the door carefully and checked to see if he could remove the injured person from where he lay after disconnecting his seat belt, without having to get the tree off the van.

Fortunately, he was able to.

Unfortunately, after he gently laid the victim on the ground and began checking for vital signs, he found none. He nevertheless ran into his van and got the defibrillator, but still no response.

Even so, he yanked his phone from his pocket.

“911,” said a female voice nearly immediately. “What’s your emergency?”

Grayson identified himself and quickly explained the situation, including the fact that he believed the person he’d found to be dead.

“But in case I’m wrong—”

“We’ll get someone there as fast as we can under the circumstances, Grayson,” the operator, Betty, said. “I promise.”

“Fast” turned out to be about half an hour. Grayson couldn’t complain, particularly given the fact that there were likely to be a huge number of 911 calls that evening. Meanwhile, he attempted further CPR on the van driver—to no avail.

An ambulance eventually appeared. The EMTs in it—two guys he’d met before—took over for Grayson, but their conclusion was the same as his.

“We’ll take him to Mustang Valley General,” Sid said, while the other guy, Kurt, hooked the victim up to an IV. Necessary? Grayson doubted it, but hoped the man really was still alive.

“Thanks,” Grayson said. “Keep me informed about how things go.” Or not. Did he really want to hear that he was right, that the falling tree had killed the man?

Might as well, he figured.

He took a few photos on his phone of the fallen tree and ruined van. And as the ambulance took off, he looked around further.

He had already checked out the back of the van earlier, as he waited. The door was open, and there was no one inside.

Did the open door mean someone had been incarcerated inside? Maybe.

He’d walked around before the ambulance arrived and hadn’t seen any sign of someone else injured—or worse. But he felt obligated to check a bit farther now, just in case.

At least he knew that ambulances were currently available, if necessary. But had there been someone inside the van’s rear area? Someone this now-deceased driver had been transporting? If so, was he or she okay?

Grayson was not a cop. If whoever it was needed to be captured again, that wasn’t his job, although he could notify the Mustang Valley PD if he found him or her—most likely his sort-of best buddy there, Detective PJ Doherty; his brother Rafe’s fiancée, Detective Kerry Wilder; or even his cousin, Sergeant Spencer Colton. Though all were undoubtedly swamped right now.

But if anyone had been inside the van and was now hurt and out there somewhere in the forest, injured and needing help—well, that was something Grayson intended to find out. He would remain careful, though. Anyone who had been in the back of that van was most likely a criminal and could be dangerous.

Chapter 2

Sitting on a wooden kitchen chair in the remote and damaged cabin she had somehow found here in the middle of nowhere, Savannah breathed slowly, carefully—pensively, for that was what she was doing: thinking, while staring at her hands clasped in her lap.

Her unshackled hands.

Where was she? She didn’t know. For the moment, at least, it didn’t matter.

So far, the earthquake had somehow brought her good luck. There’d been a couple of aftershocks from the quake, but they’d been mild.

Oh, she certainly hadn’t wished Ari the kind of harm he had suffered, notwithstanding the way he’d essentially ignored her. But at least she was free, for now and hopefully forever.

Especially if she could find her louse of an ex and prove she hadn’t murdered him.

But first things first. Tonight, she had at least located someplace to sleep, to bide her time till she decided what to do next. To ponder how to fulfill her promise to herself: find Zane, reveal his lies and treachery to the world, and return to as normal a life as she could.

A cabin. She’d never have imagined there could be one way out here in the woods. She had hardly been able to see anything once she’d left the place where the van had been smashed. Frightened, yet determined to survive, she’d needed to figure out what came next.

She’d heard a lot of animal noises around her and had nearly stumbled into a nearby lake before she’d found the cabin.

Eventually, the moon—only a half moon—had appeared overhead and provided at least a small amount of light.

And somehow, miraculously, it had helped her find this cabin. Lots of miracles, in fact, despite the fact that a portion of the cabin had crumbled because of the earthquake. But what was left seemed at least somewhat habitable.

In the undamaged area, the door was locked, but she had pushed open a window and climbed inside. None of the switches turned on any light, so she found herself in near total darkness, with no electricity, evidently. That was thanks to the quake, or thanks to the owner’s turning it off before leaving. But she had nevertheless located a flashlight someone had left on one of the counters.

Who and where was the owner? Were they coming back soon? That appeared unlikely, considering the location and the earthquake, but who knew?

Fortunately, she had at least found no indication that anyone was living here now. Looking around with the flashlight’s illumination, she had seen some dust here and there, but some of it could have been caused by the quake.

However, it seemed a nice enough cabin. There was even some furniture—a kitchen table surrounded by other chairs like the one she now sat on. A bed at the far side of the room with sheets on it. If she removed the sheets and turned them over, they should be clean enough for her to sleep on.

Assuming she found herself eventually calm enough to fall sleep. Exhaustion wouldn’t help her accomplish what she needed to do tomorrow.

But she also couldn’t forget that she was a fugitive. Once the van was found without her, she had no doubt that the authorities would be searching for her. She would have to remain careful.

For a better idea of her current environment, she unlocked the door and walked outside, using the flashlight to look around. She aimed it carefully, mostly toward the ground, although she had no reason to believe any other people were close enough to see the light. A narrow dirt road that ended at this house hadn’t been affected by the caving in of part of the cabin.

Where did it lead? Maybe she would find out tomorrow.

She also looked at the area at the back of the house that was crumbled. Fortunately, it still provided a wall of sorts, a barrier, so no person or wild animal would be able to enter that way.

For now, she went back inside. One thing she had to do was to find some water and food. Was there anything like that in this deserted cabin? If she found anything, would she dare to eat or drink it, or might it make her sick?

Well, first things first. She would at least look around a bit more. She stood up again and, using the flashlight, walked along the wooden floor, making as little noise as possible—not that she anticipated anyone was close enough to hear her footsteps. She first looked at the inside of the partially caved-in wall and the part of the cabin that had suffered some damage. She wasn’t certain what had been there—a storage area, maybe. But the rest of the place seemed fairly livable.

Next, she headed toward a kitchen with a sink and cabinets.

The door of the first cabinet creaked a bit as she opened it. All that was inside were some light green plastic plates and bowls.

She closed that door and tried another. A little better. There were some cans in it, of soup and corn and black beans. Yeah! Assuming she could find a can opener, she might be able to get both sustenance and a bit of liquid in her from one of those. She pulled out the vegetable soup, figuring it would potentially be the most nutritious. Since beggars couldn’t be choosers, she considered not even checking the expiration date stamped on the bottom of the can—but it probably would be better for her to know, if it was out of date, by how much.

Making herself ill after her escape wouldn’t be a good idea.

Still standing there by the cabinet above the sink, she moved the flashlight to examine the bottom of the can more closely.

And smiled. It had plenty of time left before its expiration date. That suggested people had used this cabin recently, but she remained glad they weren’t there now.

Okay. Now she needed to find that can opener, plus a spoon. She aimed the flashlight toward the areas on both sides of the sink, seeing drawers there.

The first drawer she opened had some gadgets in it, including a spatula, whisk—and, yes, a can opener and scissors.

Scissors. One of the things she could do to change her appearance was to cut her hair, make it a lot shorter than its current shoulder length. People who didn’t know her might not recognize her—since she was now on the run.

She had already gone inside the bathroom after her arrival and had noticed a mirror over the sink there. Now, scissors in hand, she hurried back across the wooden floor in that direction.

Was this too impulsive, especially in the darkness? The flashlight helped, but it wasn’t very bright. Sure, it might be a dumb thing to do, but achieving anything to alter her appearance even a little couldn’t hurt.

And so, after regarding herself and her current hairstyle in the mirror, she started snipping. Then snipped some more, creating short bangs, cutting her hair everywhere she could see, everywhere she could reach.

When she was done a few minutes later, she shook her head and laughed, just a little. Who was that waif with a chin-length haircut staring at her in the mirror?

Surely that couldn’t be Savannah Oliver, right?

And actually, she wasn’t an Oliver anymore. Zane and she were recently divorced, but, partly thanks to his disappearance and its consequences, she hadn’t yet legally returned to using her maiden name, Murphy. First on her list of places to go would be the DMV, where she could get a new driver’s license.

Someday.

For now, she used her hands to gather as much of her hair from the sink and floor as she could and placed it in a small pile on the floor near the wall. Once it was light out again, she would need to find a plastic bag or wastebasket to dump it in and hide it. No need to leave evidence of her changed looks if anyone searching for her found this place.

Okay, now she was finally ready to eat, and to drink what she could from the can she chose. She exited the bathroom and returned to the kitchen.

Before opening the soup, though, she went looking for bottled water. The refrigerator was turned off, but she found a few bottles of water inside.

Yes! Savannah took one out and closed the door.

She opened the can of soup while standing near the sink, pulled a spoon out of another drawer after looking around again and sat down at the kitchen table.

Even cold, the vegetable soup tasted good. She ate it slowly, savoring it, continuing to see in the near darkness thanks to the glow of the flashlight, and keeping the scissors with her, too, in case she felt compelled to cut even more hair off. She’d check in the mirror again once daylight arrived, to see if additional trimming was necessary to even it out.

And as much as she hated to think about it, the scissors could also become a weapon if she was attacked by anyone looking for her, or even a looter or wild animal, out here in the middle of nowhere.

As she ate, she felt exhaustion closing in. And no wonder. It had been one heck of a difficult yet promising day. She’d go to sleep after this. What would tomorrow bring?

She finished soon and stood, waving the flashlight again toward where she presumed the garbage can would be. And—

What was that? A sound from outside—a scraping, maybe, from the front yard.

Had she imagined it? It could just be something moving after the quake....

She moved slightly to face a window near the front door—and saw light. Not moonlight, but a glow that could have come from a flashlight, only more heavy-duty than hers, since the light was really bright.

Had the cabin owners come back here now, in the middle of the night after an earthquake?

Or—might the van have been found, and any authorities sent out to find her?

Savannah looked hurriedly around, attempting to find something to use as cover but wound up staying where she was.

Had she locked the door behind her when she had ventured outside? Damn. She didn’t believe she had, since she had intended to peek out again.

She clasped the handle of the scissors tightly. If necessary, she could—and would—defend herself.

His search had actually led to someone.

Grayson hadn’t really believed he would find anyone out here in the middle of the night and this far out from town. It was his mission to continue to seek people in trouble after the earthquake, including whoever had left the back of the van, if anyone. Whether or not a criminal, any person in that position could have been injured.

Still, if someone had been inside that vehicle and gotten out—well, it was a van from the prison department, so Grayson did not forget his promise to himself to be careful. He didn’t want to lose his own life attempting to save someone else, especially someone who was dangerous and didn’t want to be found.

After the EMTs had taken away the deceased driver, he’d continued to look, finding no one else on the road or in the woods on his way here. He had reached a cabin, one of his last potential locations to scout before heading home. He had figured this cabin or another one nearby would be a logical place for anyone in trouble to seek out. It was a fishing cabin owned by one of the families in Mustang Valley. There was a small lake nearby, fed by a stream.

At first glance there seemed to be no one present, but he’d stopped to check. Especially when he thought he had seen a moving light through a window.

Using his own bright light to look around, he noticed that one side of the cabin, maybe a quarter of the whole structure, looked nearly destroyed. Would anyone really have gone inside?

Maybe, if they were injured or desperate. He had to find out.

Slowly, carefully, still using his own light to be sure he saw anything, he approached.

First, though, he knocked on the front door before testing to see if it was unlocked. It was. He pushed it and called as he walked inside, “Hello, anyone here?”

“Yes, I’m here.” He heard the voice at the same time he saw a woman standing there, facing the door he had just entered, holding a pair of scissors threateningly. “But you can go now.”

He aimed the light toward her eyes, hoping to blind her enough to stop menacing him. And then he blinked at the same time she did—but for a different reason.

He recognized her.

At least he thought he did. She was Savannah Oliver—but if so, this Savannah didn’t look exactly like the woman he’d seen at the various parties and fund-raisers he’d been dragged to by his Colton siblings, silently kicking and screaming, though he’d gone along anyway because...well, they were his brothers and sisters.

And now he had a good idea who had disappeared from the back of the prison van: she stood before him, still aiming scissor blades toward him.

Her hair was a lot shorter than he’d seen it before. Even so, or maybe even because of it, she was one beautiful, sexy woman.

A woman he’d avoided feeling attracted to. After all, she was married—no, she had been married—to one of the biggest investment bankers in Arizona, Zane Oliver.

The husband she’d recently been accused of murdering.

“Hello, Savannah,” he said calmly. He wasn’t armed, had no weapon with him—and wouldn’t have used it on her even if he had.

For one thing, he had heard about her arrest, the charges against her, in the news. But he hadn’t believed them.

“Hello, Grayson,” she said without moving the scissors—except that her slender arm, in its long-sleeved beige shirt, was trembling a bit. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, although I can guess. You’re running away, right?”

She didn’t answer directly but said, “And I assume you’re doing your first responder thing out here after the quake. Well, if you’re looking for people to help, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“That’s good, but—”

“But what? Should I make you stay here?” She waved the scissors toward him, but the expression on her face appeared more desperate than threatening.

Under other circumstances, he might have liked the idea of staying overnight in a deserted cabin with a woman as lovely as Savannah. But she was a fugitive, accused of murdering her ex-husband. And at the moment, another earthquake could hit at any time.

“No thanks,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did he?

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

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

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

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

But what?

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 3

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

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

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

But even then, when he was ready to go—well, would she be able to trust him not to turn her in, no matter what he said?

She would just have to see how things went.

Not that she could control them anyway. At least not entirely.

“So tell me what happened,” Grayson said as she sat down facing him, gently placing the scissors on the table before her but within reach. “Tell me how the van was struck and how you got out of it. I assume you’re aware the driver was killed.”

Savannah nodded solemnly. “Yes. His name was Ari. I... I didn’t know him well, but I did check on him when I finally got out of the van and...and...well, I’m not an expert like a first responder, but I tried to help him and didn’t see any sign of life.” She felt herself tear up. Well, she truly was sad about the situation.

Grayson. She had seen him at parties and social events now and then. They were from similar backgrounds, since their families were both among the Mustang Valley elite. She had enjoyed those kinds of festivities, even after she married Zane.

But Savannah hadn’t paid much attention to Grayson—except to notice his good looks. His body tall and slim, yet muscular, beneath the high-end clothing he generally wore at parties, his well-styled dark brown hair and gorgeous blue eyes. He wore his current outfit well, too—a long-sleeved black T-shirt with a neon emergency vest over it. His stubble was trimmed short and added to his sexiness. Of course, she hadn’t been interested in how attractive a man he might have been when she believed she had most recently seen him, although she couldn’t recall exactly when it had been. But she believed now that she had still been married, and though her marriage was ending she certainly wasn’t interested in flirting with someone else. And with Grayson—well, she had gotten the impression he wasn’t thrilled about being at most of those parties, that his family had twisted his arm to come. She knew he wasn’t part of the family business, Colton Oil.

“I assume you found Ari’s... Ari,” she continued, choosing not to use the term “body.”

He nodded. “I wasn’t able to get a response, though, and neither did the EMTs that Mustang Valley General Hospital sent after my 911 call.”

“I’m sorry,” Savannah said.

“You were in the back of his van, right? Was he moving you from the state prison somewhere?”

She felt her eyes grow huge as she reached slowly for her bottle of water and stared at it—but she shouldn’t have been surprised at Grayson’s spot-on guess. She’d been in the news, as much as she hated that. As much as she hated all of this.

“Yes,” she said quietly. That was close enough. Ari had been moving her from court back to prison, but she didn’t choose to elaborate.

“So you were able to escape unharmed,” Grayson stated. He took a swig from his bottle, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. “That’s a good thing, especially since you already told me you didn’t kill your husband. And I assume that’s the truth.”

“It is.” She kept her voice low but wanted to scream it out—the truth. Instead, she glanced toward the door. Should she run now?

Would Grayson grab her?

But when she looked back toward him, he hadn’t moved. He was watching her, though, with an expression on that handsome face of his that suggested amusement.

Amusement? When her entire life had been turned upside down, and he now was in a position to possibly ruin her tiny, precarious opportunity for freedom that resulted from an unpredicted earthquake?

“Got it,” he said. “Now, want to tell me about it?”

Grayson was used to finding people in difficult positions and not only helping them physically but mentally, too. To doing all he could to assure their survival in all ways.

This beautiful woman he had met several times before appeared totally fragile now—and frightened. Of him.

Which he understood. But he didn’t like it. And he wanted to help her in all ways.

And there was something he’d recalled about her, how well she had treated someone at one of the parties they’d both attended, that told him she was the kind of person who helped people, too—and didn’t kill them. In fact, she had helped to save the life of a woman who had just been extremely nasty to her.

“I really don’t like talking about the situation with Zane,” she said now. “And there’s really not much to tell. What’s out there is all lies.”

Well, she could be lying, too, of course. But he wanted to hear her side of it, since the media often liked to take things out of context and exaggerate them, even stress the nastiest facts—anything for a good story, although they also did base it on truth most of the time. Or so he believed.

So even though Grayson could in fact bring Savannah back to the appropriate authorities, no matter what he’d told her, or could just leave her here to do whatever she wanted, he still would rather hear her side of the story before deciding.

“Convince me,” he said with a smile he hoped she would interpret as friendly.

For now, at least, it was.

“Okay. Let’s start with the fact I don’t believe Zane is dead.”

That startled him a bit. With all the news and hype, he’d considered that a given. “Really?”

“Really,” she replied. “My ex is missing. I’ll admit that’s true. But I didn’t kill him and hide his body somewhere, and don’t believe anyone else did, either. We’d stopped caring about each other quite a while ago but our divorce was only final about a month ago. He blamed it on me, made some pretty nasty allegations that were totally untrue, that I’d been unfaithful when he was the one having affairs...and he was furious with me for wanting a divorce. And—well, I can’t prove it yet, but I believe he even got one of his friends to help him and frame me, while he’s off somewhere, maybe even someplace as remote as Bali. He used to talk about going there someday. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s checking what’s going on from his computer and otherwise—and laughing his head off. He’s undoubtedly considering his revenge against me sweet. And this way, he might even be able to keep my part of the divorce settlement.”

She really appeared steamed now, looking down toward the table and shaking her head so her short hair rubbed at her shirt collar.

He couldn’t help it. He needed to know more about this allegation that her ex wasn’t even dead, let alone murdered—and Zane might have plotted the entire thing. He put his elbows on the table and leaned toward her.

“So Zane is really alive? Do you have any proof?”

“No, but there’s no real proof he’s dead, either. He’s missing, yes. He and I argued, privately and in public. And when he went missing, the cops found a knife in the guesthouse on his property, where I was living temporarily till I decided where to move. They found it in my closet, of all places. There was blood on it—Zane’s, according to the official analysis. There were no fingerprints on the knife, though, and his body wasn’t found.”

“But—”

“Sure, that doesn’t look good for me. The district attorney apparently took it seriously, though my lawyer assured me all the evidence was circumstantial, clearly not proof that I did anything.” She was clutching her water bottle as if it was the DA’s throat and she wanted to strangle her. Or maybe Grayson was just imagining that from the anger and frustration on her face. “I admit it looks pretty bad that the bloody knife was in my closet. But someone clearly sneaked in and hid it there—Zane himself, probably.”

“I understand,” Grayson said. “Not sure if I know all the claims or evidence supposedly against you, but I did hear a lot a week or so ago, when they said you’d just been arrested.”

He’d been surprised to learn that this woman he knew remotely and met occasionally, a mere acquaintance who’d seemed nice enough, was a murder suspect. But what had been blared out on TV, newspapers, online and radio news was that Zane Oliver had disappeared and was believed dead, partly thanks to that bloody knife.

Suspicions had immediately landed on his ex-wife. They’d divorced not long ago, and the media more than hinted that the reason for it was that Zane’s wife, Savannah, had been having a torrid affair with a local real estate developer.

“I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to be the main, maybe only, suspect when Zane disappeared that way,” Savannah went on, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, and you want to hear more of that circumstantial evidence that’s all false?” She didn’t wait for his reply before continuing. “There were—are—some horrible false rumors about me. It seems I was having a hot and heavy romance during the end of my marriage to Zane with Schuyler Wells, of all people.” She glared at Grayson as if daring him to say something.

Which he did, though nothing accusatory. “Right. I read about that.”

“Didn’t you hear his interviews in the media? Zane must have paid him well, since he claimed we had something and planned to run away together as soon as my divorce from Zane was final. Not!” She practically screamed the last word and stood, grabbing the scissors as if she was going to use them on him—or someone. Fortunately, she quickly realized what she was doing and, tears running down her lovely cheeks, collapsed back into the chair, gently pushing the scissors, handle first, toward him. “Here.”

He pulled them closer on the table but didn’t hide them, as if showing he believed her.

“And,” she continued, her voice rasping, “what a surprise. Schuyler has a solid, impeccable alibi, on a business trip during the crucial time of the supposed murder, with people who don’t even work for him vouching for him. But, gee, he does admit to having had a really steamy affair with me.” Her head shook back and forth in utter denial. “No way. I’ve met the guy, even got some real estate advice from him, but I never liked him. And as I said, one of the reasons Zane and I got divorced was because he was having affairs. I wasn’t.”

“I get it.” Grayson reached across the table and grasped Savannah’s hand, where it now rested beside her water bottle. And he did get it. He didn’t believe she’d made her side of it up.

Besides, what he’d recalled before gave him a clue as to Savannah’s underlying personality, someone who helped to save lives rather than taking them. That situation had occurred at a fund-raiser his siblings had thrown for First Hand First Responders when he was just starting up the business. As he recalled, Savannah was not only there, but she was arguing with another socialite type who seemed very malicious. As a few other attendees started hollering at them to be quiet, they’d gone out onto the balcony of the two-story, swanky restaurant in downtown Mustang Valley.

Grayson, somewhat amused at the time, had watched through a window near one of his family’s tables as they continued to argue. He’d been shocked when the other woman took a swing at Savannah and missed her—but the woman had been close enough to the railing that the movement made her nearly fall over it.

And Savannah, acting fast, had leaned over the balcony to grab that woman’s wrists, hanging partly over the side herself for a while till a couple of guys ran out and pulled them both safely and completely onto the balcony.

Though he barely knew her then, Grayson had been impressed that Savannah had immediately endangered her own life to help someone who’d just been mean to her. That was distinctly not the behavior of a cold-blooded killer.

And no matter how difficult her relationship with her ex had turned out, he just couldn’t see her as a murderer.

He didn’t mention that to Savannah. But he did say, “I assume you won’t be going back to town tonight, maybe not for a long time. In case you’re wondering, this place is a fishing cabin, and the owners never come here until late in the spring—and this is only April. You can hang out here for now, if you’d like.”

“Oh yes, I’d like that.” She sounded relieved and her expression as she looked at him across the table seemed—well, grateful.

There was nothing she needed to be grateful to him for. Not yet, at least, if ever. Did he really want to put his own freedom into jeopardy by helping her? Maybe. He would have to think about it.

What about bringing her back to town, then attempting to help her by finding her ex?

He doubted she would go along with that, and he wasn’t about to take any steps to get her back into custody. Not now, at least.

Well, he figured this place was a good potential hideout for her, at least temporarily. Despite being a walkable distance from the destroyed van, it wasn’t that close to where she had escaped from it, although the cops might wind up looking around here.

In any case, he wasn’t about to help her find someplace else. But he figured he would help her a bit by bringing her some supplies, since he doubted this place held much in the way of food and other necessities at this time of the year.

He would have to be careful, though. He was buying into her story, but was it true? Was she innocent?

He would assume so...for now. But he would also stay alert for anything that told him otherwise.

“Let’s take a look at the damaged part of the cabin, though,” he said, waving toward the far side where the wooden walls were somewhat smashed.

They both stood and walked in that direction. Grayson had an urge to take Savannah’s hand and hold it encouragingly, but he decided that would be a bad idea.

They stopped beside each other and looked at the damaged wall from this angle. Some panels had even fallen down and left gaps, and the windows at that part of the room no longer existed.

But fortunately, most of the broken glass and wooden boards, insulation, shelves and other building materials must have landed outside, and somehow the remaining walls had fallen into a sideways slant so there wasn’t even much in the way of an opening.

The rest of the place certainly looked habitable.

“It’s not so bad,” Savannah, at his side, whispered.

“I agree,” Grayson said more loudly. “I’ve got a couple of phone calls to make now to ensure that my team doesn’t head this way looking for me or for any injured people, then I’ll head downtown. I’ll bring you some supplies tomorrow, okay?”

“Definitely okay,” she said, smiling at him. He couldn’t help smiling back. “And—”

She stopped, so he prodded, “And what?”

“Well, I no longer have my phone, as you can imagine. Is there some way you could get one for me? I’ll be glad to repay you for all this whenever...whenever it’s all over and I get my life and my money back.”

He laughed. “Sure thing,” he said. “I know where I can get you a burner phone with internet access, so you’ll be able to stay in touch with what’s going on.”

“Thanks.”

He moved away then and called Norah Fellini, the EMT on his team.

“Hi, Grayson,” she said immediately. “Where are you? Is everything okay? Do you need help with any other victims?” Of course she knew about his finding the van driver who didn’t make it, since he kept his team apprised.

“No, I don’t need any help now, thanks. That deceased driver was picked up by an ambulance, and then I headed toward some of the fishing cabins just to make sure no one was hurt or trapped inside. So far, I’ve checked the cabin on Rural Route 2 and haven’t found anything I need to deal with, so I’m going to the next one that’s about five miles away before driving back to town. I’d appreciate it if you’d let the rest of our team know, okay?”

“Sure,” she said. She filled him in on what she and the other two team members had been up to. They’d had to find a couple of missing kids and give medical attention to them and a few other people, but they hadn’t dealt with any major emergencies. “We did report in to our local PD and other contacts and all, so we should get paid—although that’s not the main thing, of course.”

“Of course. Just glad no one appeared badly hurt. See you tomorrow.” He said good-night and hung up.

He walked to the table once more since Savannah sat there, looking exhausted. Well, he was, too, but he’d do as he had told Norah, then head back to town. At least he should be able to drive there, although it would take a while since he had left his vehicle near the crushed van.

“I’ll be back tomorrow with some supplies,” he told Savannah as he got ready to go.

“That’s so nice of you.” She stood up again. “Oh—and, well, maybe I shouldn’t mention it, but I wanted to let you know I’d heard that someone shot your dad. I’m so sorry. How is he?”

Grayson’s father was Payne Colton, chairman of the board of Colton Oil and owner of Rattlesnake Ridge Ranch—where Grayson lived with his siblings.

He felt himself cringe at Savannah’s question. His dad wasn’t doing well at all. Recently shot by an unknown person, Payne had gone into a coma—and hadn’t come out of it yet.

There were more family things going on, too. They had just recently learned, thanks to a strange email, that his oldest brother, Ace, might have been switched at birth with another baby.

But to Savannah he simply said, “We think he’s improving. Thanks for asking.” He reached out to take Savannah’s hand, but she pulled him closer, giving him a brief hug.

A hug that somehow made him want to get even closer, though he didn’t. “Glad to hear that. So—see you tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

He hoped. Oh, yes, he would return. But would she still be here? Would she be okay?

He would find out when he got here.

Chapter 4

Savannah held open the cabin’s door and watched Grayson walk away along the uneven ground and through the trees in the glow of his large flashlight, heading essentially the direction from which she had come. Soon, she didn’t see any more signs of him.

She had a sudden urge to dive back inside, grab the small flashlight she’d found and leave this cabin, too.

To dash after Grayson? Only if she could feel certain he was genuine, that he was as nice as he’d seemed—and that he really believed in her innocence.

She had no reason to doubt him, except that this situation was so horrendous that she simply couldn’t—and didn’t—trust anyone.

Sure, he could have dragged her along with him now, called authorities who could take her into custody and been done with the situation, but he hadn’t.

That didn’t mean she didn’t need to worry about what came next. Would he really just turn up here tomorrow with supplies and a phone for her? Allow her to remain loose while the cops looked for her, potentially gathering more false evidence of her guilt? Assuming, of course, that an escaped fugitive remained high on their radar at the moment, despite the earthquake.

In any case, would Grayson help her as he’d promised?

She wasn’t stupid, though her marriage to Zane didn’t exactly show her to be a good judge of character—notwithstanding the fact that she’d had impetus from her dad, who had been impressed with Zane’s wealth, to be in that relationship. Partly thanks to him, she had convinced herself that she loved Zane, but in retrospect she wasn’t sure how much she had really cared.

But what was her best alternative for staying here? Running from the cabin and going the opposite direction to Grayson? With that small flashlight being nearly her only illumination, and damage to the ground and any other buildings she might come across, plus the possibility of more aftershocks? There’d be a lot of potential danger in that, at least if she didn’t wait till daylight.

“Okay,” she finally whispered to herself, backing into the cabin once more and closing the door. Locking it this time, at least—so maybe she would hear if someone showed up and attempted to get inside.

Meanwhile, she felt exhausted. She decided to go lie down on that inviting bed, allow herself to sleep—and hope that her subconscious would awaken her if anything happened or someone else showed up.

And tomorrow? Well, she really wanted to believe in Grayson and his honesty. He was one heck of a guy, sure, but she’d had enough of men. She genuinely believed that Zane had set up his supposed murder to ruin the rest of her life.

But Grayson? He was a first responder, so he at least cared about people, even strangers, on some level.

Turning, she picked up the flashlight, walked to the bed and sat down.

Grayson. Would she decide in the morning to wait here for him, see if he was as kind as he appeared to be? Whether he responded to her needs rather than the reality of who and what she currently was—an escaped prison inmate?

She would see how she felt. She hadn’t harmed anyone to allow herself to escape, though she was certainly happy for her freedom.

But what would she do next? How could she possibly look for Zane or any clues that would prove she was right, that he’d framed her and that he was still alive?

It might help if she had that burner phone Grayson and she had discussed.

And if he did turn up here tomorrow with the supplies he’d promised, including that phone, she would feel a lot more comfortable trusting him.

For now? She didn’t want to wear out the flashlight batteries, so after she turned the sheets over and lay down on the bed—not particularly comfortable, but at least it had a pillow with a case she turned inside out—she shut the light off, then closed her eyes.

“Good night, Grayson,” she whispered with a small smile, recognizing the irony in her words and current attitude. “I’ll see you tomorrow, when all my worrying about your truthfulness will be over.”

She hoped.

The next morning, Grayson awoke at the family ranch.

Now he sat at his wing’s kitchen table, more decorative and undoubtedly more expensive than the plain wood one at the cabin last night. He grabbed toast and coffee for breakfast, getting ready to meet the new day and learn more about how his employees had done yesterday. From what he’d grasped when he spoke with Norah, everyone had been out there helping people successfully. But he hadn’t spoken with any of them again afterward. He wanted confirmation today, as well as more details.

He also planned to check out what downtown Mustang Valley looked like after the quake, and do a shopping expedition there, as well.

Then—well, then, he would have the pleasure of going to see Savannah again. Lovely Savannah, who claimed she had been set up by her ex and falsely accused of murder. Very falsely.

He had thought about Savannah a lot last night after leaving her. Maybe he should just stay out of the whole thing, neither help her nor rat on her to the authorities. But—well, he liked her.

And he hated the idea that she was being framed by her ex, if that was true.

He’d gotten out of a bad relationship recently, too. But they’d both just walked away. His ex hadn’t plotted any revenge against him, and he hadn’t against her, either. That sounded so absurd in Savannah’s situation. But it could of course, be true.

Hell, he was a first responder. He helped people who needed it. Who deserved it. And he truly believed, at least for now, that included Savannah.

He would find out soon, he figured, if he had been duped by her, and she actually was a killer.

He took a sip of coffee from his mug with the FHFR logo and phone number on it.

That mind of his unsurprisingly kept going back to yesterday and the quake and its aftermath.

Once he’d left Savannah the previous night, he had returned to the place where he’d earlier found the damaged van and its dead occupant. All was gone now—except his own useful SUV.

Then he carefully drove along a couple of the mangled dirt roads to check out other fishing cabins besides the one Savannah was occupying, but they were empty, a good thing. And he’d seen no other evidence of people needing help, though quake damage was still evident.

He had considered stopping again on his way home to check on Savannah but had decided against it, since he was sure she was asleep by then. He doubted anyone else knew she was out here, and he intended to see her tomorrow anyway, while bringing the supplies he had promised her.

And tomorrow had arrived. Now that he was awake and preparing to start his day, he kept thinking about her. A fugitive. One he couldn’t get out of his mind. Was he nuts?

Maybe.

“Okay,” he muttered. Today was going to be undoubtedly interesting. He stood and put his empty plate in the metal kitchen sink but carried his remaining half mug of coffee.

He headed down the stairs after closing the door of his bedroom behind him and locking it.

He drove to the First Hand office.

When he arrived in the greeting area, he rapped once on each of their doors in order from the bottom of the steps—Pedro’s first, then Norah’s and Chad’s. He heard a low woof after that last knock and just smiled. Winchell, Chad’s K-9 companion, knew better than to bark here, even when on duty, but he was always alert.

In moments, the gang had joined him in the reception area. They were all present here at the office, so apparently no additional calls had come in after the ones he had heard about last night, and they’d already accomplished the searches they had needed to do immediately after the earthquake, depending on their individual expertise.

His employees greeted him with handshakes and pats on his back, as he did with them. “Good to see you all,” he said. “And I’m looking forward to your reports.”

“We want to hear yours, too, boss,” Pedro said.

There was a reception desk for greeting people who walked in off the street seeking help, against the far wall from the entry door. Plate glass windows circled the room—all intact, fortunately, after the quake, Grayson had noticed last night. The floor was laminate, and the walls beige drywall decorated with photos of successful rescue operations and waving people they had saved. Half a dozen blue upholstered Parsons chairs were arranged with their backs toward the windows, so the room’s occupants, if they spent any time there, could see one another.

And there were a couple of extra doors to offices that could be allocated to additional staff.

Grayson waved his bunch to the chairs so they could start their discussion. Once they were seated, he glanced beyond them to his view of the street. All seemed fine outside.

His mind returned to the damaged cabin where he had left Savannah. Hopefully she remained okay—and there.

“Okay, who’s first?” Grayson asked, putting that behind him for now and looking at Norah.

“You, chief,” she said.

“Nope. I’m last. So tell me your experiences with the quake and after.”

Norah didn’t argue but leaned forward in her chair. Before joining First Hand, she had worked for the City of Phoenix as an EMT but always crowed about how she’d run right to Mustang Valley when she heard of Grayson’s start-up of a private first responder company a while back. She was well trained and a certified expert in emergency medical techniques, and was doing a great job with FH. She was thin yet very strong, and she kept her light brown hair in a style that framed her face.

Most important? With her ongoing and always increasing EMT skills, she was excellent at helping to save lives.

“I was right here when the quake hit.” She motioned toward her office door.

Since not too much around there was damaged, she had hurriedly driven to Mustang Valley General Hospital. The staff there had immediately assigned her to ride in one of the ambulances, to assist the drivers and hospital EMTs.

“Six different locations, and we helped over a dozen people, although their injuries were of different severities. Some weren’t too bad off, but there were maybe four that probably wouldn’t have survived if we weren’t there.” Her grin totally lighted up her slender face, and Grayson smiled back.

“Great job,” he said, then turned toward Pedro. “Any fires?”

Pedro Perez had been a firefighter in Las Vegas—but he’d informed Grayson when he’d hired him that he was excited about the opportunity to come to Mustang Valley and be the premier firefighter for FHFR. Pedro was dark-haired, large and muscular.

“About five, across town. Only one was really bad, though. I heard about it in the news before heading there and helped the local fire department get it under control. They know me, of course, so they asked me to help with the rest. And after we got those out, I hung out with the gang at the station for a couple more hours just in case. I gathered that all the fires were electrical fires because the wiring in those buildings was badly damaged by the quake and aftershocks. And I remain on call now, too, with the department in case they learn of any other blazes.”

“Excellent,” Grayson said. They all then turned toward Chad and Winchell, his German shepherd. “So—what’s your story, both of you?”

Chad had been a K-9 cop with Tucson PD before coming to work for First Hand. He’d brought along his assistant Winchell, who was a certified search and rescue dog as well as a police K-9. He was moderate height and wore glasses, and always asked if Winch and he could do more.

“There were a few reports of break-ins across town in the area where the quake hit worst—you know, the shopping area where stores are plentiful but not especially elite. I got a call from one of the dispatchers at the police department, and Winch and I headed there. We actually nabbed a couple of guys who dared to try to loot some damaged stores—those SOBs. Fortunately, they were scared of Winch, so we were able to turn them over to the PD.”

Grayson intended to visit just such a shopping center soon, where he wouldn’t be recognized as a Colton by store owners and other shoppers. There he could hopefully find all the supplies and the cell phone he had promised Savannah.

For now, he stood and approached each of his employees, reaching out his hand to shake theirs. “You know, when I went into this, opening a private first responders’ outfit, I wondered not only if I could succeed, but if I would be able to find assistants who were okay working in the private sector but do as well, or better than, first responders working for the official departments. Well, damn it, I did great in choosing every one of you.”

“And we did great choosing you as our boss,” Norah responded.

Both of the guys vocally agreed.

“But we’re not done here,” Norah continued. “What did you find, Grayson?”

Grayson trusted these people with his life. And with other lives, those they worked so hard to save.

But did he dare mention he’d found Savannah?

Maybe eventually, especially if he wound up needing their help. Plus, if he was found out and there were any legal ramifications against him, his staff could be affected, too.

For now, he decided to be cautious. He sat back down and described finding the van and its deceased driver.

“Was there anyone in the back?” Chad asked—not surprising from a former cop.

“Apparently there had been at least one person there,” Grayson said, looking Chad in the other man’s dark brown eyes, which kind of resembled his dog’s. “But no one was in it when I got there, and though I looked around for a while to make sure no one was injured or otherwise needed my help, I didn’t discover anything or anyone that had to be taken care of or reported.” He’d phrased that in a way that remained sort of true, at least.

“Sad,” Pedro said, “but I gather there weren’t a whole lot of injuries or deaths due to the quake. A lot of property damage in some locations, though.”

“Like the older parts of town,” Grayson said, nodding. “I’m going to go take a walk around there soon and size up the damage—assuming no new information comes in requiring us to do any first responding right now. Meantime, I’d like each of you to contact the officials in your areas of expertise again just to confirm that all’s well for now, and to offer your services if needed, of course.”

FHFR received most of its funding from the public departments they assisted, being paid a general retainer and getting more each time they helped out.

And when needed, Grayson supplemented his company’s finances with his own money received as a Colton.

He always made sure to pay his excellent employees well.

“Yes, sir,” Chad said, rising and saluting as if Grayson was his superior officer—which he was, in a way. Grayson, grinning, saluted back, and his smile grew even wider as Winchell held out his paw for a shake.

Grayson wanted to make a couple of calls, too, to his major local contacts—in case he or his people were needed now, so he walked up the stairs to the second floor to where his own office was.

But he looked forward to heading soon to the other side of town.

First, though, he decided to check the news on his computer. He wanted to see what the local media said about the quake and the havoc it had caused.

And anything about the destroyed van and its driver...and the passenger who had disappeared.

Sure enough, although most of the news was about the quake itself, the crushed van and the death of Ari, its driver, was out there, too.

Grayson turned on the sound on his computer and listened to a couple of those reports.

They all ended with the fact that the female prisoner being transported from court back to the local prison had apparently escaped.

The authorities suspected that the passenger, Savannah Oliver, had killed the driver so she could flee. Her handcuffs had been found beside the destroyed van, after all.

Oh boy, Grayson thought. The idea hadn’t crossed his mind, since he had seen Ari and the van and the tree that had caused the driver’s death. But not everyone had. And the photos on his phone wouldn’t necessarily do away with the suspicion.

What would Savannah think of these additional accusations against her?

He felt certain he would soon find out.

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