For an undercover duo,

investigating a beauty pageant turns ugly.

When Bella Colton undergoes a makeover to enter a beauty pageant, she’s on a mission. She’s determined to find out why her best friend died. Enter undercover FBI agent Holden St. Clair. Holden’s hot on the heels of a serial killer, who has Bella in his crosshairs. As the chemistry between Bella and Holden sparks, can they capture the murderer in their midst?

Former naval intelligence officer and US Naval Academy graduate GERI KROTOW draws inspiration from the global situations she’s experienced. Geri loves to hear from her readers. You can email her via her website and blog, gerikrotow.com

Also by Geri Krotow

Colton’s Mistaken Identity

Her Christmas Protector

Wedding Takedown

Her Secret Christmas Agent

Secret Agent Under Fire

The Fugitive’s Secret Child

Reunion Under Fire

Snowbound with the Secret Agent

The Pregnant Colton Witness

The Billionaire’s Colton Threat

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Colton’s Deadly Disguise

Geri Krotow

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90514-9

COLTON’S DEADLY DISGUISE

© 2020 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 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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To Alex

It’s such a joy to see the thoughtful,

compassionate man you’ve become.

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

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Isabella Colton pulled up to Mustang Valley High School fighting a sense of urgency that wasn’t usually her gig. Normally she absorbed every mile of scenery as she drove between her home nestled on the outskirts of Mustang Valley and into the town proper. Saguaro cacti sprinkled spots of green across the southeastern Arizona desert; many of the desert flowers were abloom, their hues of fuchsia, crimson and cream a stark contrast to the constant cactus green. But she’d noticed none of them today, and barely even registered the way the deep blue sky contrasted with the pale coral, violets and browns that made up the sandstone horizon.

Why, when she’d finally settled into her career as a journalist, was she all of a sudden feeling so stressed? Was it because she knew so much was riding on this assignment? Or the fact that she’d deliberately lied to her triplet brothers—Spencer, a Mustang Valley PD sergeant, and Jarvis, a businessman currently working as a ranch hand—when they’d asked why she couldn’t meet them today for lunch.

Could it be because you’re going against every principle you hold closest to your heart?

Maybe. Choosing to sign up as a contestant in the Ms. Mustang Valley Pageant was certainly out of her wheelhouse. As in, out in space from her true beliefs. But she was willing to do whatever it took to get the story, this story, right.

She’d been a reporter for the Lifestyle section of the Mustang Valley Gabber for over three years. It was time to break out, to write about subjects she was passionate about. More than anything, Bella longed to get to the truth of life, subject by subject. This was who she was, and she’d known it ever since she’d lost her parents when she was ten years old. There were a lot of things she couldn’t control in life, but when she could, she wanted to get to the bare facts.

Since she’d accepted that reporting was her talent, she didn’t want to waste another minute on articles that no longer interested her. It wasn’t fair to her readers or to her. She’d written enough lifestyle and fashion pieces for the Gabber to last her lifetime.

It was time to make a change. Bella wanted to make a difference.

For years, she’d had to watch her best friend, Gio, do everything to fit what she believed to be the pageant lifestyle; from starving herself to paying thousands of dollars she didn’t have for unnecessary collagen and Botox injections that began in her early twenties. Last year, Gio paid the final, irrevocable price when she died due to malnutrition and other effects of her eating disorders. At first glance, deciding to enter the exact culture that had killed Gio seemed counterintuitive. But not when she reminded herself why she was doing this—to out the people who had killed her best friend.

Bella needed the inside dirt on this pageant, and the only way to catch this fly would be with a generous dollop of honey, according to what Gio had told her over the six months before her death, just under a year ago.

Heartache mingled with grief at the reminder of Gio’s death and Bella’s irretrievable loss. Tears swelled and blurred the view of where the Arizona horizon and blue sky met in Mustang High School’s parking lot. Bella’s heart constricted at the natural beauty she and Gio had often shared on long hikes through the desert, or to the local lake, next to an abandoned silver mine that they both loved so much. Until Gio’s disease weakened her too much to make the treks. Gio’s precipitous demise had been a shock, the years of illness finally ending her too-short life.

Bella owed it to Gio and every woman. Too many, including Gio, had suffered from the constant dieting and negative body image that pageants—and society as a whole—had so vilely infected them with. Bella owed it to them to expose the people and institutions that perpetuated their suffering. While she couldn’t go after the entire pageant industry, she was able to delve into Ms. Mustang Valley, where Gio’s problems, according to her friend, had all began. If she could keep this in mind, instead of her constant grief for her bestie, she’d get this assignment right.

What hurt the most right now was that all Gio had wanted from this particular pageant was the scholarship prize to Mustang Valley Community College. Gio would never go to school again, ever.

“Stop this right now. Pull it together, Colton.” She flipped the decrepit old station wagon’s visor down to use the mirror and dabbed at her tears, grateful she’d chosen the makeup with a waterproof label on it. She bolstered her spirits by sniffing the inside of her wrist, where she’d applied her favorite perfume. The soothing floral scent was a signature Parisian brand she’d noted on Kristi Sparkle, the supermodel who’d passed through Mustang Valley just a few weeks ago. It had been a fun gala at Mustang Valley town hall, where Bella had been able to interview the not-yet-thirty-year-old woman for a good fifteen minutes. It had made Bella grateful that in all of her thirty-one years she’d never held a job that required her to be anyone but herself. And while she’d maintained her weight she worked hard to do it. Healthy eating and lots of physical activity. Except when she had a pressing deadline, when Bella’s coworkers knew to stay out of the line between her and the chocolate-chip cookies at the local bakery.

Bella’s job as a journalist for the paper and blogger for its website afforded her an inside glimpse into the lives of the more affluent citizens of Mustang Valley, Arizona. It often put her in the position of experiencing events she’d only ever seen on television as a child. The only girl of three siblings, her first two decades had been tumultuous with Mom’s and Dad’s deaths when she and her brothers were only ten. Then, Aunt Amelia had raised them, but she never let them forget that she’d sacrificed the best years of my life to do so.

It’d taken a while for Bella to let go of the guilt her relief at Aunt Amelia’s passing ten years ago had caused. At twenty-one, Bella hadn’t comprehended that her sense of relief was absolutely normal.

Her professors at Arizona State had expressed their sympathy and compassion for her loss, for not having a parental figure at her graduation the following May. But to Bella, Aunt Amelia’s death had been when her true life began. When she was able to make her own decisions without the looming negative comments Aunt Amelia doled out like thistles on a hiking trail. Those thorns were able to sneak into the oddest places such as the sole of a shoe or inside the back of a shirt; their sting was always guaranteed.

“Okay. You’ve got this.” She spoke to her reflection, popped the visor back up and got out of the car. It’d been thirteen years, but MVHS still had the aura of countless life lessons about it, including when she’d tried to sneak a cigarette in the girls’ restroom and skipped out on lunchtime. In both instances her nemesis Mrs. Maple had caught her and none-too-compassionately marched her down to Principal Kenner’s office. Bella grinned, remembering the expression on Aunt Amelia’s face when she’d been called in over Bella’s truancy. It’d only been over one lunch period, to get a tattoo with her best friend. Bella reached up to rub her shoulder for good luck, where the small angel rested, but stopped herself. She’d put professional concealer over the symbol of her friendship with Gio, as the Ms. Mustang Valley Pageant did not allow visible tattoos. Bella sniffed. Another good reason to eschew the event.

You’re doing this for Gio.

The building itself had undergone a recent facelift; bright teal roofing and matching painted trim stood out against the dark bricks and highlighted the elegance of the grand dame of Mustang Valley. Originally the town market during the mid-nineteenth century, the building had been expanded upon and modernized over the last century and a half. It truly was a beautiful piece of Mustang Valley charm. Had she really managed to avoid this place for the better part of ten years?

Bella teetered on the kind of espadrille wedges she probably hadn’t worn since high school, either. She bent down to tighten the ankle strap, not needing to make a fool of herself by twisting an ankle before she even submitted her application.

Today was the last day to enter the competition. A quick glance at her phone confirmed that she had a full fifteen minutes to turn in her application with attached résumé, photos and birth certificate. A certificate she’d thought long and hard about forging, but would it really gain her the edge she desired? She was well within the eighteen-to-thirty-five-year-old limit. She’d been working for the Mustang Valley Gabber long enough. It’d been Bella’s goal for the last couple of years to move out of the Gabber and get to a bigger news outlet. If she were ever to be the kind of reporter she believed she could be, this was her most realistic chance.

She had to convince the pageant board that she wanted to do this, for real.

The front entrance of the school was clean and bright, as she always remembered. The relentless Arizona sun beat on her shoulders, bared by the strapless red-and-white-striped top she’d chosen to go with the white capri pants. The outfit was totally out of character for Bella; she preferred simple lines, be it in jeans or a sundress. But she had to come across as a serious contestant, and that meant she had to scream “glamour.” She’d even had red highlights woven into her ash-blond locks, something she’d never considered previously. Tattoos, piercings, sure, but her hair was something she’d never dyed before. To her initial chagrin, the highlights had blended into her hair to make it all appear red, a strawberry blond shade. Gio had had red hair, and Bella decided her matching color was a good-luck charm from beyond. Tears again threatened and she sniffed them away, lifted her chin and straightened her spine.

Bella opened the school’s front door and walked into the lobby.

She gave herself a moment to take it all in. A lot had changed over the past several years. The first thing her gaze landed on was a metal detector, but before she could assess the rest of the entrance she was stopped by a police officer.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I need to see inside your bag.” The man was tall and fit, not unlike Spencer. Dark hair, and what looked like even darker eyes but she couldn’t be sure as they were downcast, his gaze following his hand as he moved a stick through her large white leather designer bag. As he searched, she checked his name badge to ask Spencer about him later. Or, maybe strike a conversation now. She was on the clock as far as her undercover report was concerned.

He didn’t have a name badge, and a closer look revealed he wasn’t MVPD at all but rather, private security. The dark blue uniform was so similar in appearance to Mustang Valley PD’s that it was an easy mistake to make.

“I thought MVPD had an officer here at all times.” As soon as she spoke her mind she wanted to bite her tongue. She was here on an undercover assignment. Not the time to reveal her knowledge of the local community. Be a pageant contestant, not a blogger.

“When the students are present, yes, they do. But not during weekends and spring break. I’m pageant security.”

“Oh.” She looked at him and wished she had some handy banter. He was undeniably attractive, but with an air of stiff reserve. She opened her mouth to start a friendly conversation but he wasn’t interested.

“Name?” Cold brown eyes assessed her and she stiffened, fighting the urge to take a step backward. An aura of authority exuded from this man and she couldn’t help but wonder if he did something else.

“There’s not a visitors’ list—no one knows I’m entering.” She wasn’t about to be intimidated.

He held up a handwritten logbook. “I’m required to enter each name, for the pageant authorities to verify that they have received every application.”

“Isabella Colton.” His heavy, albeit well-sculpted, brows didn’t budge from their place that reflected his intense focus as he wrote her name on what looked like maybe the twentieth line on the page.

Bella ignored her anxiety over how many contestants there might be. More would be better, as it would allow her to blend in more readily. If there were only twenty, she’d have to work at participation while gathering information for her report.

“ID?” He held out his hand without looking back up. She retrieved her Arizona driver’s license, placed it carefully on his palm.

“Is this a part-time thing for you?” She smiled as she imagined a beauty contestant would, fluttered her lashes, ignored the two that stuck together. This glamour gig was not as easy as it had looked in the several pageants she’d studied online during her preliminary research. Her research yielded enough ammunition to warrant her entering the pageant. Of all the Arizona pageants, the Ms. Mustang Valley competition reflected the highest number of winners who’d later admitted to having mental illness, an eating disorder, or both. Most had gone public with their struggles once their year’s reign was up, in order to both keep their scholarship intact, yet also provide public outreach to young women who found themselves in the grips of the same vicious diseases.

The security guard cleared his throat and she all but physically shook her head.

Worry about the research later. You’re a contestant right now.

She still wasn’t certain about which talent she’d choose. It was a sad competition between oratory skills, i.e. reading a Samuel Clemens Langhorne or Mark Twain poem, or performing a Hula hoop routine she’d choreographed in seventh grade with Gio to their favorite bubblegum pop hit.

He handed her ID and bag back, the tips of their fingers briefly making contact. “You can step through the metal detector now. The pageant committee is on the stage, in the theater, through the second doors on your right.” His deep voice revealed nothing but professionalism. The security dude wasn’t going to be an ally in her quest to uncover this pageant’s deepest secrets. At least she knew from the start. She wouldn’t waste any more energy on him. There were more important sources to mine.

Bella walked under the metal frame and when the detector didn’t sound, she didn’t look back. Forward was the only direction to achieve some kind of justice for Gio.

Wondering why the fleeting contact with this man moved her more than it should have wasn’t worth her time.

Except, if she found out what else he did for a living, other than work as a pageant security guard, it might make an interesting side item for her investigative piece. She chuckled under her breath as she headed for the auditorium.

FBI Agent Holden St. Clair took a swig of water as he took his post offstage in the high school theater. The area between the side curtains allowed him to watch each contestant as they were interviewed, observe the pageant board members and keep an eye on the contestants who’d already been interviewed but now were seated on the stage, waiting until the entire process was over. The early birds got to see all of the interviews, which he supposed was some kind of pageant advantage. Holden didn’t care. His job was to keep the building secure. He’d gone back and forth between here and the school entrance for the last eight hours.

It had been a long day.

After all contestants had finished today they’d be asked to leave and then only the ones who received a callback would return tomorrow for the start of the pageant preparation.

He’d had to stifle a laugh when his supervisor had told him he was assigned to work undercover at the Ms. Mustang Valley Pageant. His life experience to date included serving overseas while still in the army, and several different investigations as an FBI agent, including a few serial killer cases, not working as a security guard—even though he was hunting a murderer now.

Something about Mustang Valley was bothering him, ever since he’d driven into the modest-size town. His assignment was straightforward: observe and protect the pageant from the possibility of a serial killer who’d struck at two previous pageants earlier this year in Arizona. He was doing this undercover, with minimal other Law Enforcement Agency, LEA, involvement for now. Besides the director of Arizona pageants, who’d hired him, Holden had an inside LEA connection in town: his army buddy Spencer Colton, who worked at Mustang Valley PD with his K-9 companion Boris. After he’d spoken to Spencer on the phone, they’d met up at a restaurant in Tucson, so that Holden’s cover as a security guard wouldn’t be compromised. Spencer had given him the scoop on Mustang Valley and in particular the high school’s blueprints, security footprint and the background on each of the Ms. Mustang Valley Pageant board members. The pageant board included Hannah Rosenstein, a MVHS Spanish teacher, Selina Barnes Colton—Colton Payne’s ex and a rabid socialite who frankly, from what he’d read, was going to be a real pain in the neck—and several local business owners. So far he’d not found any reason to suspect any of them of wrongdoing but it was his job to remain alert.

Spending time with Spencer had been great and he’d been delighted to find out Spencer had fallen for a woman he planned to spend the rest of his life with. Spencer teased him, said Holden’s turn was coming. Holden blew off Spencer’s sentiments. After being so badly burned by his ex he had no room for anything more than short-lived hookups. Working a serial killer case left no time for that, either.

As much as Spencer assured him that he’d be a perfect fit in Mustang Valley, and that the openness of the citizens would hopefully expose the killer sooner, Holden had been on edge ever since he’d driven into Mustang Valley’s historical downtown. Surrounded by so much Southwest American history, it was easy to forget he was here to investigate a serial killer who preyed upon beauty contestants, redheads in particular. So far all of the Ms. Mustang Valley contestants had been blonde or brunette, and he’d wondered if this pageant might escape the notice of the predator. Until Isabella Colton walked in with those red streaks in her hair. And green eyes, eyes he’d find attractive if he didn’t know they’d be like bull’s-eyes to the killer. Both of the previous victims had red hair, and green eyes.

He made a mental note to let Spencer know that Isabella was applying to compete in the pageant. He assumed it was Spencer’s sister, Bella, that he’d talked about. While the Colton name was huge throughout the country, and especially in Mustang Valley, where one part of the family had made itself a billion-dollar oil empire, he doubted there were many Bella Coltons in this two-horse town. The pageant director, also a Colton, was a typical rich socialite, and he didn’t think she was a close relation to Spencer or his probable sister. Like any other large, extended family, the Coltons had many branches. Spencer was from a modest background, and had been quick to let Holden know it when they were serving together.

“Thank you, Marcie.” The pageant committee chair dismissed the second-to-last contestant to make it in by the deadline. Isabella Colton was the only one who remained.

He’d locked the front doors after scanning Isabella through security. All he had left to do today was observe as the last contestant hopefuls submitted their applications, and survived the board’s initial interview.

It wasn’t an easy task to remain focused. Isabella Colton’s appearance made his gut tighten and put his instincts on high alert. Until the minute she walked through Mustang Valley High’s doors he’d been hopeful that he’d be able to move on to the next Arizona pageant, scheduled for Scottsdale next month. He knew the serial killer he was after had only ever murdered redheads.

All hope that this pageant might be spared what two smaller towns in Northern Arizona had experienced—the brutal deaths of redheaded contestants—evaporated with the swoosh of the school’s front doors behind Isabella Colton.

Holden wished for the first time in his career that he wasn’t undercover. That he could snap his fingers and be the real Holden, for just one conversation with the woman who’d just walked into Mustang Valley High School’s theater. To warn her away, to tell her that she should find another way to pay for her college or whatever she wanted to do with the winner’s prize. But he was undercover, and since his guise was a security guard, his job was to stay quiet and observe. Isabella Colton still had to pass the scrutiny of the pageant review board, so at least there was a chance she’d be turned away either for her age or an incomplete application. She didn’t look older than the thirty-five-year limit, but she wasn’t too young, either.

“Isabella Colton?” Mimi Kingston, the pageant director, called out for the redhead and Colton couldn’t help but do his job thoroughly and make sure he had a good description of Ms. Colton in his mind. At the security checkpoint he’d been focused on the possibility of any of the contestants bringing in a weapon, checking to make sure they weren’t a potential suspect. He’d never investigated a female serial killer but the bureau had several over the years. It happened.

“Bella?” Mimi squeaked out the second syllable, clearly surprised to see the other woman.

“Surprises never cease in Mustang Valley. You know that, Mimi.” Bella placed her application packet on the table that was center stage before returning to the single chair, and sat. He didn’t see her bag; she must have left it in the theater seats. Since no one was left other than those onstage, all part of the pageant, it’d be secure. He was impressed. Bella Colton looked more put-together than the majority of the other contestants.

Her golden-red hair was tied up behind her head in one of those fancy styles he’d only ever noticed in the movies. What caught his attention was the creamy pale skin of her nape, where a few wispy tendrils curled. Her top bared her shoulders, revealing a prominent but not unhealthy collarbone. His mouth moistened as his tongue practically experienced how smooth it’d feel under it.

Holden bit down on said tongue and reminded himself he was on duty, and Bella Colton was most likely Spencer’s sister. Holden’s job was to protect the pageant, and if Bella was indeed his buddy’s sibling, it raised the stakes on this operation. Since Payne Colton had been targeted, no Colton was safe.

He watched Bella cross her long legs at the ankles and rest her hands in her lap, her shapely knees fitting perfectly together. Her ankle-length pants were form-fitting and brokered no complaints from him. He liked that her nails were short, though painted bright red. Holden wasn’t a fan of those long, fake nails, and he wondered what Bella did when she wasn’t trying to rustle up a scholarship to Mustang Valley Community College.

“Thank you for your application, Bella. We’re taking turns reviewing it.” Derek McDougal spoke up, the only male on the board. He rustled the second page. “I see you’re a Mustang Valley High graduate. So you’ve known about the pageant, as this is its thirtieth year.” He passed the application packet to the next board member. “While we’re reviewing everything to make sure you qualify, please tell us why you’re here.” Derek looked at Bella as though she were the canary and he the poised house cat.

Holden’s sense went on high alert, as while McDougal didn’t appear to have any connection with the previous pageants and murders, he was an anomaly. Two of the committee members, the Spanish teacher and Selina Barnes Colton, had been involved with at least one if not both of the ill-fated pageants and while they were automatic suspects, the outliers had to be examined, too.

“Certainly.” Bella beamed. If she noticed Derek’s leer she didn’t show it. “As most of you know, I’m a lifelong Mustang Valley resident. I’ve been lucky enough to go to college, where I received my bachelor’s in journalism. It’s there on my résumé.” She nodded at her application packet, which was being passed down the row of seven pageant board members. “I’ve fallen on hard financial times lately. I’d use the scholarship to MVCC to begin a new career that would have a more reliable income than freelance writing.”

“But you’re employed by the Mustang Valley Gabber, aren’t you?” another board member called out. Holden made a mental note to check up on Bella’s supposed dire straits, but all thoughts screeched to a halt. Wait—Bella Colton was a reporter? His gut twisted and he knew his mouth probably did, too.

Holden had nothing more than disgust for reporters. Not for the usual reasons he knew other agents detested the media. Holden’s distrust of reporters was very personal in origin, thanks to his last girlfriend, someone he’d thought might be with him for the long haul. Nicole, his ex, turned out to be dating him because she’d hoped to glean confidential information about the Coltons from him. This was last summer, when he’d investigated a crime in Roaring Springs, Colorado during its annual film festival. By the time the last film premiered, Nicole admitted her motive for wanting to wait all day in the hotel room for Holden. They were through. In the two years since, he’d dated on and off, but never anyone serious. And the bad taste in his mouth from being duped by a reporter had never washed away.

“I still work at the Gabber, but it’s a modest wage, supplemented by freelance work that’s also been drying up. It’s time for me to face facts—I’ve got to find another type of job or starve.” Bella smiled as she continued the interview. Her entire face lit up and dang it, it ignited something deep inside his chest. Holden’s breath caught at the exquisite shade of peach on her cheekbones, the bright hue of her irises. But her green eyes didn’t sparkle to match the dazzling of her white smile. Instead, Holden had the oddest sensation that Bella Colton was in the midst of a huge act. And the board was her audience. But why?

“With the scholarship to MVCC, I’d be able to become a nurse.”

“The medical industry? A Colton?” Maeve Murphy, who’d worked as the school nurse for decades, spoke up.

Bella’s foot began to shake at the end of her long, shapely leg, but her smile never faded, her chin remained uplifted. Holden gave her ten points for composure and the pageant had yet to begin, her application yet to be accepted.

“I’m not clear on what being a Colton has to do with a career choice.” He heard the challenge in her tone even as she delivered her response so sweetly. It only served to make him admire her more. He really didn’t need to admire anyone right now, though, and definitely not a journalist. He was here to find a serial killer.

You still have to live.

Maeve’s plump face turned red. “It’s just that, you’re from a family of lucrative businesspeople. Why medicine, why now?”

Bella leaned forward, never breaking eye contact with Maeve. “I’m sorry—I think you’re mistaking me for one of the other line of Coltons, the ones who own Rattlesnake Ridge Ranch and run Colton Oil. My brothers and I are from a different part of the family. In fact, I don’t even know most of my Colton cousins very well.” Her voice had turned to ice and Holden watched both her and the pageant committee’s expressions. Most of the people on the board were career educators, including Maeve, an RN. If Bella was in her late twenties, maybe early thirties, she, Spencer and Jarvis must have gone to school here while Maeve and the others were on staff. They had to know her and her brothers. He’d read that Mustang Valley had a population of ten thousand. In short, Maeve knew Bella and her brothers.

And for some inexplicable reason, he was relieved to receive confirmation she wasn’t familiar with the larger branch of her family.

A woman with pouffed-out brunette hair and large dangling earrings raised her heavily braceleted arm, waving at Maeve. “I can personally vouch for Bella and her desire to make something of herself. She’s a lifelong resident, as she’s stated, and her aunt raised her and her brothers after her parents’ deaths in an auto accident. Tragic, I tell you. Yet you’ve survived the odds and are here to present yourself as a contestant. And, may I add, Bella was the brightest student of her class when I had her. Brava.” Hannah Rosenstein nodded in encouragement toward Bella. Hannah was the school Spanish teacher and Holden had witnessed her vouch for exactly one other contestant, also a former student. If she said Bella was solid, he suspected the board would accept her application.

“Muchas gracias, Señora Rosenstein.” Bella responded in a decent accent.

Senora Rosenstein grinned. “De nada. It’s heartwarming to see you’ve remembered your Spanish.”

Holden sat still until Bella’s interview was finished and she was released to leave the building. Only after she exited the auditorium’s back door did he stand and head for the back of the stage to begin his last inspection of the building before he locked it up for the night. Until next week, when the contestants would be called in to start the pageant prep.

A movement on the other side of the stage caught his attention. A tall figure in dark clothing, his face covered with the shadow from the brim of a baseball cap, the man wasn’t anyone Holden had allowed in the building. Holden had memorized the exact number of people who should be here—board members, contestants, plus Bella, who had left the building by now—in the high school. This was a stranger, an interloper.

Holden drew his weapon from its hidden place in an ankle holster and deliberately made his way to the back passage behind the stage, to avoid detection by the suspect. No one was going to be hurt—not on his watch.

Chapter 2

Offstage, Bella quickly slipped out of the espadrilles and shoved them into her oversize tote. Her feet made no sound on the old, highly waxed corridor floor that had borne thousands of teenaged feet through the years.

Looking over her shoulder, she made sure that the way-too-intense security guard hadn’t followed her, but he’d been pretty settled in his chair on the stage, observing the pageant committee’s discussion. The members had been deep in conversation as she and the other contestants exited. Bella had made to leave with the group, then peeled off as the last of the women exited through the main door.

The memory of his gaze on her made her skin heat and her anger rise. Did he think she couldn’t see him as the pageant committee grilled her? And what was his job here, exactly? She thought security guards just manned doors and entrances.

Memories swiped at her focus as she ran to the teachers’ conference room. She’d been in several musicals during middle and high school, all performed in this very building, on the same stage where she was going to have to pretend to compete for Ms. Mustang Valley. Bella knew these corridors and rooms as well as the house she’d grown up in until their parents had died. Some buildings were imprinted on a heart as firmly as the memories that were created in them. She sighed. Even the not-so-great memories—the ones of Aunt Amelia, who had single-handedly raised Bella and her brothers after the accident—were here. Bella recalled Aunt Amelia at back-to-school nights, frazzled as she found getting to three different class sessions impossible. She’d taken it out on the triplets later, complaining about how her life could have been so much easier if Bella’s parents had lived.

Bella hoped that tomorrow she’d be asked to report back to participate in the pageant. She knew it depended on the interview, the personal essays, answers to a total of five written questions that covered her views on charity, community and personal excellence, and her “contestant resume.” The resume had to include current contributions to Mustang Valley, her service hours outside of work, and her place of employment. She’d cringed at the glamour portion of the submission package, which required a headshot as well as an “athletic pose.” Bella used her tripod to take the photo of herself in yoga pants and workout bra. But it’d all be worth it if she made the cut. She’d learn more about the selection process and any “advice” doled out by the committee that might include starving oneself. She was looking for this kind of evidence against the pageant, but Bella needed more proof that this pageant in particular encouraged the women to be as thin as possible, or any other trigger that would have set off Gio’s issues. Gio had mentioned Señora Rosenstein as being particularly snide in her comments about any plus-size contestants, forcing them to weigh in each day, sometimes twice per day. As the pageant’s self-appointed volunteer choreographer, Selina had made nasty, derogatory comments to Gio and other contestants more than once, and Gio told her there were transcripts of the actual pageants where Selina cut contestants for such subjective transgressions as not being “dancer-like.” Gio’s claims weren’t enough to write an investigative report with, however. Bella needed to establish a pattern of wrongdoing for as far back as it existed, if possible.

The records of the previous pageants were reportedly stored in a single, locked file cabinet in the corner of the teaching-staff room which doubled as a group dressing room. Gio had gone over all of it with her as she lay dying, her spent body nearing its end on the hospital bed.

Gio’s last smile to her had belied her wasted state, and Gio’s spirit buoyed her with each step closer to the staff room. Reaching the steel door, she peered through the small, high window, but it had been papered over from the inside. Probably a security move due to the ever-present threat of school shootings. It was a harsh reality Bella’s generation had only begun to come to grips with. She sucked in air as quietly as she could, listening for anyone else in the area. It was impossible to tell if someone was in the room until she entered, and she had no idea how much time she had to find what she wanted.

Holding her breath, Bella opened the door and pasted a smile on her face. If anyone was here, she’d make up a stupid excuse and skedaddle.

No one was in the room and she scanned it with her reporter’s-eye view. The worn furniture and wood-paneled walls had been replaced with contemporary ergonometric chairs, sofas and laptop desks. The walls were a pale shade of lime, the white trim of the huge picture windows creating a crisp, clean, calming effect. If she weren’t a Mustang Valley native, she’d be stunned by the unparalleled view of the Mustang Valley Mountains.

Bella would have plenty of time to appreciate aesthetics later, while running through the pageant. Right now she needed the files Gio had told her about. The files held the transcripts of previous pageants, priceless evidence. Her chest felt heavy as she remembered Gio’s insistence that the Ms. Mustang Valley pageant was the most tortuous, demeaning experience of all the pageants she regularly competed in. Sure, Ms. Mustang Valley held the highest prize—a full, four-year ride to the local college. But it came at such a high price. As part of her prep for going undercover, Bella had interviewed a couple dozen Ms. Mustang Valley pageant entrants from the past decade. She’d found their names in the archives of the local newspapers, as all contestants were announced before the final night.

While all described the competitive environment she’d expected, with the stakes so high, none gave her the specific details Gio had in those last months before she died. Bella needed the pageant’s written history, and if she was lucky, she’d find out what Selina Barnes Colton and Hannah Rosenstein had really said to Gio.

Acutely aware that she could be interrupted at any second, Bella searched the room for the file cabinet. Nothing resembling Gio’s description or her memory existed in the staff room. Tears of frustration and rage threatened and she blinked. She refused to have her attempt to find justice for Gio stymied this early into her efforts.

Calm down. Think.

Hands on hips, she took one more look around the room, beginning and ending with the stage door. Her mind’s eye saw the stage beyond the double doors, the dressing area to the left—

The dressing room! The space beyond the room divider where the cabinets had been placed. She recalled Gio’s offhand comment about how crowded it was in there, with twenty-four women changing for swimsuit and evening-gown competitions.

She slowly opened the double doors to the stage, aware of each tiny creak and squeak. The voices of the pageant board floated through along with the unmistakable scent of the stage. Pinewood, varnish, decades of sweat and joy that had been expended through performance after performance, tryouts and auditions. To her left the sun’s rays filtered through dust from the dressing room. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and trickled down her spine, even made her palms wet. Apparently air-conditioning wasn’t in the school’s weekend and evening budget.

As soon as she could close the doors without a sound, she made haste toward the side room. Before she reached the threshold, her gaze landed on her prize: the old, battered metal file cabinet sat in the far corner of the room, laden with props resting atop its rusty finish.

Yes.

She reached into her pocket for the key that she’d found in the box of treasures Gio had left for her. A favorite pair of earrings Bella had always admired, photographs going back to elementary school, the tickets from a summer concert series they’d scrimped and saved to afford. And a small, sealed envelope.

Gio’s mother brought the box over to Bella’s home two weeks after her daughter had passed. She expressed again how much Bella had meant to Gio and how much Bella’s support helped her during the awful grieving process.

Bella wasn’t surprised to find a small note in Gio’s unmistakable neat print addressed to her. Her bestie liked to have closure and loved writing letters. The surprise had been the file cabinet key tucked inside the exquisite stationery.

Bella had expected that she’d have to do a lot of digging and research before getting enough evidence to take to the police in the hopes of obtaining a search warrant, to get official access into the files. Gio’s claim that certain pageant officials had caused her eating and mental disorders needed to be substantiated.

The pageant files from years past would tell Bella not only who the judges had been, but bear witness to their thought processes and training methods. Methods that Gio thought still existed even today, with all the knowledge about eating disorders and mental illness.

Bella looked at her watch. She figured her time was running short, as the security guard was bound to get up and check the backstage area. Did she have enough time to finish her theft?

No time to worry about it.

The key was in her pocket and she wrestled it out, jiggled it into the lock. For one heart-stopping moment she feared the key might break before she was able to turn the lock as both were practically ancient, the metal spotted with rust.

Finally the lock turned and she grasped the handle, used her thumb to slide the drawer stop to the right.

The sound of fabric against fabric was her only warning before a strong hand clamped over her nose and mouth. She was pulled up against a person behind her. She fought to turn but her attacker was stronger and yanked her hair, hard.

“Don’t move or I’ll snap your neck.” The low, taut voice vibrated with menace and sounded like a horror-film villain’s. Spots started to float in front of her vision and she kicked backward with her heel, hoping that the blows against this maniac’s shins and feet would make him loosen his hold on her.

He tugged harder on her hair and she cried out in pain but with her air supply cut and in such agony it came out as a whimper.

“You’re not being very smart. You’ll never win this pageant. If you want to live, you’ll quit before you start.”

Focus. Observe. She tried every tool she’d ever read about to capture a solid description for the police. And most of all, she fought for her consciousness. Victims who passed out didn’t always fare well.

“Stop!” A loud, booming voice echoed through her rapidly fading awareness. Bella tried to hold on to that voice, its strength, its promise of safety.

But her world crashed into nothingness.

“Stop or I’ll shoot.” Holden had his weapon aimed on the man in black, whom he’d gone after when he saw him in the shadows. The creep held an unconscious, drooping Bella Colton with one arm, her head up next to his as protection from Holden’s bullets. At least, Holden hoped she was unconscious and not dead.

“Never.” The assailant turned and faced him. He wore a ski mask and sunglasses under the black ball cap. A mouthpiece revealed how he disguised his voice. “I will crush her throat if you don’t back off.”

Holden stood his ground, praying for extra time. For this suspect to make a mistake, to move enough so that he could get a clear shot without risking Bella’s life.

Unless the killer had already claimed his next victim. He risked a quick look at her face and its pink tinge assured him her heart was at least still pumping.

Moving his gaze back on the enemy, he slowly lowered his weapon. The other man had no visible weapon. But the serial killer had poisoned or shot each of the other two victims, so his comment about crushing her throat didn’t match. But it might be part of his thrill—using different MOs.

“You’ll never get out of here alive. Turn yourself in now and you live.” Holden had to be careful to not betray his real identity to this lowlife. The less the killer knew, the better. It wouldn’t matter if he could apprehend him right here, right now, but Holden had been in this situation before. Bella’s safety came first. He watched the man’s hands for any sign of movement toward Bella’s throat. Right now his arm held her neck up against him.

“You don’t own me, you pathetic excuse for security.” The killer’s voice sounded like a space alien and that added an extra creepiness to his words. Holden itched to cuff him, to get him to confess to what he’d done.

“What do you have against this woman? Drop her.”

“Everyone is not what they seem.” He was backing toward the exit, dragging the still unresponsive Bella with him. “If you were doing your job, I wouldn’t have been able to get to her. She’s mine.”

Not on Holden’s life.

Holden took one step toward the assailant and allowed himself to fall forward, as if he’d tripped. The man jerked, saw the clear line Holden had to shoot him and let go of Bella, then ran out the exit. Holden took off after the man, but when he entered the large corridor he was gone. Holden pulled out his cell and called 9-1-1, identifying himself as pageant security to keep his cover. He requested police backup, informed them of Bella’s unconscious state and asked for EMT support ASAP. He continued to run through the school in all directions the man could have gone but it was fruitless. And he had to turn back to protect Bella until the other LEA arrived on scene.

The man behind the stage, who’d rendered Bella Colton unconscious, had disappeared as if a stage trapdoor had opened and swallowed him whole.

Sirens sounded and he rounded back to the staff room, to check on Bella. As he neared, he saw EMTs rush in and decided to stay back until they’d treated her. If she regained consciousness here, he didn’t want to be the first person she saw. Better to stay in the background of all that had happened. His cover was vital to keeping the pageant contestants safe, especially the single redhead with green eyes, Bella Colton.

He slipped into an empty classroom and called Bud Langston, the Arizona State pageant director, one of the few people who knew about Holden’s undercover role besides Holden’s handler at the FBI office in Phoenix. Bud had contacted Holden, who got permission from his supervisor to work the case that the FBI began investigating after the second pageant murder. Bud’s son had been Holden’s college roommate and Bud had jumped at the chance to have Holden work undercover during the Ms. Mustang Valley Pageant. Anything to keep the participants safe.

“Bud.”

“Talk to me, Holden.”

“It’s a rough start to Ms. Mustang Valley, Bud.” Holden recapped what had happened.

“Thank God that Bella Colton wasn’t harmed—or was she, besides being knocked out?”

“I don’t know for certain, but I’ll find out and get back to you. She was out the entire time I was there, so there’s slim to no chance she knows of my involvement.”

“That’s something, at least.” Bud swore and Holden bit back a grin—Bud was a navy veteran and salty came to mind. “I wish you’d caught him.”

“I do, too. But, Bud, we can’t be certain this is the same man we’re looking for. Beauty pageants attract all kinds, and are the perfect target for anyone who’s off-balance and looking for a sick thrill.” Criminals had all kinds of motives.

“I get that, and I’m glad you’re on the case. What will it take to call in more federal agents?”

“That’s above my pay grade, but to be honest, we’re stretched thin at the moment. Plus, the risk of anyone figuring out we’re here will prevent us from operating with the freedom we need to apprehend the suspect.” Holden was fairly certain the criminal only saw him as a bumbling security guard, which was how he wanted it. It might make Holden the man’s first target, if and when he came back. Holden would be ready for him.

“Thanks for what you did today, and please keep me informed.” Bud’s sincerity was tangible in his voice.

“Will do.” When Holden disconnected, he put in a call to his FBI supervisor, who expressed the same disappointment that Holden hadn’t apprehended the criminal, and added an additional task that Holden had already figured into his work in Mustang Valley. He’d call Spencer later, after he got out of here. Spencer and he had agreed to not communicate unless absolutely necessary while Holden was on this case, undercover. And now his buddy’s sister was smack dab in the middle of the case. She’d been hurt on his watch, not something he relished telling Spencer.

He had to keep tabs on Bella Colton at all costs, without her figuring out he was FBI. Holden had trailed suspects and victims alike, all in the line of duty as an agent.

So why did the prospect of keeping her safe fill him both with anticipation and dread?

Chapter 3

Bella squinted against the bright light the ER doctor shone to measure her pupils’ responses. “I’m fine, really. I think he knocked me out with one of those pinches, you know, to my jugular.” She felt silly, especially after she’d realized the ER doc was none other than Shawn Trembly, a boy she’d briefly dated in high school. They parted ways after school and ended up being friends. “It’s great that you were able to fulfill your dream, Shawn. You know, to be a doctor.”

“You mean a sleeper hold, a choke hold.” Shawn nodded as he kept to business, evidently not as ready to dismiss Bella’s attack and loss of consciousness as anything near normal. “That could be true, and the bruises at the base of your neck support it, but I want an MRI to confirm. You hit your head when he dropped you, and there isn’t a lot of swelling at the contact spot. We need to rule out a concussion. And yes, I got to follow my dream. But I’m not a doctor, I’m a physician’s assistant with a specialty in trauma.”

“That’s still great.” Could he talk about anything other than how she’d been knocked out? Bella didn’t want to dwell on her attack. She had a case to investigate.

“Let’s keep the focus on your treatment, Bella. You’ve been through a traumatic event.” He tapped into a laptop, his expression grave. Shawn was classically handsome, with deep blue eyes and dark hair she remembered being curly, but was now in a tight crew cut. But she felt zero chemistry between them now. And for reasons unknown to her, the mental image of the security guard at MVHS popped into her brain. The man had been so intense. She stiffened. Could he have been the person who attacked her?

In truth, it could be anybody. It gave powerlessness a whole new dimension, and she’d thought she’d already been through it after watching her best friend die.

Anxiety rushed over her, and she knew one thing. She had to get the heck out of this hospital. Researching the guard was her first priority. Maybe he wasn’t on the payroll for the protection of the contestants but to keep the pageant’s legacy intact by guarding that file cabinet.

“I’m not nauseous, or dizzy, and I don’t remember seeing stars.”

“But you were unconscious. Give me the benefit of the doubt, Bella.” Shawn wasn’t going to budge and she let out a long sigh.

“Fine.” Sometimes giving in was the quickest way to a vital goal. Bella had to get to the bottom of this pageant’s history and apparently continued abhorrent ways, and she was running out of time. She had the length of the pageant to bring this investigation to fruition. And Bella had to get back to those files before they disappeared. Her gut sank at the thought. By getting caught trying to open them, she may have alerted the bad guys that they needed to destroy them, or at least hide them elsewhere. And who used paper files anymore these days, anyway?

She needed to get back to the school and into the staff room when the rehearsals weren’t in session, and when no security was on premises. It was the school’s break, but certainly the principal and senior staff had to come in to take care of administrative duties? She could pose as herself, doing an article on MVHS and how it had changed over the years. A profile on Shawn, from being her high school physics lab partner to becoming a trauma/ER physician’s assistant, would be a great cover.

The sense of dread in her stomach lessened, but not when she thought of walking back into MVHS.

Bella wasn’t a gambler, but she’d bet that the mysterious security guard was definitely a key to finding answers.

Two hours later and with assurances that she didn’t have a concussion, Bella pushed through the hospital exit doors and ran smack into a tall, hard mass of man in a blue uniform.

“Spencer!”

Her brother was almost a foot taller than her and kept himself in top shape as a sergeant for MVPD. In uniform, he usually exuded authority, a no-nonsense countenance. Since he was her triplet and she knew him better than most anyone, save their brother Jarvis, Bella could tell Spencer had more on his mind than police business.

“What the heck, Bella?” His blue eyes sparked with concern and not a small dose of frustration. He looked at her, then pulled her to him in a big-brother-style hug. Which technically was correct as he’d been born two minutes ahead of her. “I about flipped when I found out you’d been brought in.”

Bella soaked up the love, as her brothers were her closest friends and only immediate family. Despite the Colton name and the hundreds of distant relatives who shared it, Bella and her brothers had only ever been able to rely on one another, as had their parents before they died over twenty years ago.

“I’m fine.” She pushed back and looked into Spencer’s eyes. “Seriously. I had a scare, by some jerk who’s probably involved with the Ms. Mustang Valley Pageant. He knocked me out with one of those Vulcan-grip maneuvers.”

“Do you mean a choke hold?” His worry was evident. “What were you doing at the high school, Bella?”

“Where’s Boris?” She sought to distract her brother as she looked around for his K-9 partner, a beautiful chocolate lab they all considered part of the family.

“With Katrina. They’re working on some more in-depth maneuvers. And stop trying to avoid my question.” Spencer might be in overprotective-big-brother mode, but it didn’t stop the warmth in his eyes from blossoming at the mention of his love and local dog trainer, Katrina. They’d recently fallen in love and gotten engaged.

“Let’s talk while you drive me home.”

“You don’t have another ride arranged?”

She shrugged as they headed for the police K-9 SUV parked in front of the entrance. “I was going to call for a ride with my app.” Actually, she’d planned to walk back to the high school to retrieve her vehicle and maybe manage to sneak back inside. Nothing she’d willingly share with her cop brother.

“Why wouldn’t you call me or Jarvis? We’re your family, Bella.”

“I know, but you’re also both a bit controlling about what you think I should be doing with my life.”

“It’s no secret that something’s afoot in Mustang Valley.” He got behind the wheel and moved a laptop out of the passenger side. She slid onto the leather seat and realized how hot it was.

“Air, please.”

“Sure thing.” He flicked on the engine and put the SUV in Drive. “Where to? The high school?”

“Yes. I left my car there earlier.”

“And why exactly were you there?” Spencer’s attitude was all casual but she knew it was from years of experience interviewing victims and criminals. Her brother could be as patient as needed when he wanted information.

Bella sucked in a breath, held it and slowly released it. The technique was part of her daily meditation to keep her tendency toward anxiety at bay. If the day’s events hadn’t triggered her, she’d bet Spencer’s reaction was about to.

“Don’t get mad. The last thing I need right now, after such a, a traumatic experience,” she silently thanked Shawn for the description, “is you coming down hard on me. I’m doing an undercover exposé of the local beauty-pageant circuit and I need to participate to get my story. But no one can know about this, Spencer. You can’t tell anyone at work. Promise me.”

“Of course I won’t.” She knew he would though, if he thought her safety or anyone else’s depended on the information. “Why would you do this, Bella? Is it about Gio?”

Her throat tightened and she squeezed her eyes shut. This was going to be more difficult than she foresaw, the constant reminder that her best friend and confidante of twenty-five years, ever since first grade, was gone.

“Partly, yes. Mostly I want to dig deep and find out who’s really in charge of these things, why they still have categories like evening gown and talent competition. I mean, it’s the twenty-first century. What gives, you know?”

“Save the flip tone for your readers. I’m your brother and I’m telling you, this is a bad idea. You’ve heard about the other two pageants in other Arizona counties, right?” He took the slow way to the high school, through the back part of Mustang Valley that cut through pastures and gave the best views of the mountains in whose shadows they’d grown up.

“I have heard. But the murders are unrelated. One was poison and the other a gunshot. Probably disgruntled boyfriends or overzealous competitors.”

“They haven’t found the killer in either instance. You need to be very, very careful, Bella.”

“There’s a security guard employed by the pageant. He’ll keep it safe. According to the EMTs who took care of me, he’s the one who called it in.”

She wondered if he’d found her on the floor, unconscious, or if he’d gone after her attacker—or both. As fit and strong as the mysterious guard appeared, bottom line was that he was a civilian, nothing more. He hadn’t prevented her attack.

“There is, and he’s got a superb résumé from what Chief tells me, but it’s not good enough for me at this point. Since you won’t carry your own protection, Bella, you need to consider dropping out of the competition. Can’t you get the information you need by interviewing the contestants?”

“No. Not the same. Look, I don’t tell you how to police. I appreciate your input, but don’t tell me how to do investigative reporting. I promise I’ll let you know the minute anything fishy turns up. But I have to be able to do my job, Spencer.”

“I hear you’re in financial trouble.”

“What? From the interview the board did?” Anger spun in her stomach like a heavy rug in her dryer. “Is nothing confidential in this tiny town?”

Spencer laughed and she wondered what amused her brother. Of course, he’d been a lot happier lately, and smiled more than she’d ever remembered. “Not a whole lot, I’ll give you that.” He pulled into the high school parking lot and up to her car. “Just do me a favor and be extra careful.”

“I will. I promise.” She said goodbye and got into her vehicle. There was no chance of Spencer departing before she pulled out, and he’d no doubt follow her for a bit to make sure she not only drove capably but got home safe and sound.

Sometimes having a big brother put a big, wet damper on her investigative reporting.

Holden carefully followed the K-9 SUV through Mustang Valley back roads, promising himself he’d take a bike ride out here when the case wrapped up. Not if, but when, because he had to catch the Pageant Killer before anyone else got hurt.

He’d pulled up Bella’s bio, then her blog, then had his colleague back at the Phoenix field office do a background search on Bella. She was smart about her security protocol, but his agency had ways of ferreting information. Holden already knew that Spencer was a highly decorated police officer, but he hadn’t heard that Spencer had recntly saved his fiancée from certain death with the help of his K-9, a chocolate lab named Boris. Boris, along with the other MVPD K-9s, had his own Facebook fan page. As an FBI agent Holden stayed off social media, but he knew it was an important way that the local LEA could communicate with their community.

Holden suspected that Spencer had no idea that his sister had entered the pageant. Finding her in the staff room after she’d made it look like she’d left the building raised all kinds of red flags.

As the car dipped around a bend, he realized they were heading back to the school. As he’d predicted, Spencer was taking Bella to get her vehicle. Was he really going to allow his sister to drive after such a traumatic event?

Not that it was his problem. Keeping Bella safe from the killer was all he was tasked to do. Besides finding and arresting the murderer.

Holden continued to follow Spencer but couldn’t help the flashback images that he associated with the words traumatic event. He’d worked a case in which a serial killer that the agency had tracked for nearly a year had taken him hostage. In what he’d expected to be his first successful apprehension, he’d miscalculated and the killer had trapped him in an abandoned silver mine in southeastern Arizona, not far from Mustang Valley. He’d still caught the killer, but it had taken its toll. The experience had been harrowing and life changing. Instead of deterring his desire to do investigative work, fortified it.

Spencer signaled a left turn into the school drive and Holden quickly turned right, down a side street where he wouldn’t be detected by either Colton. He’d taken the time to change out of his security-guard uniform and into plain street clothes—cargo shorts, dark T-shirt, running shoes and ball cap—as soon as Bella had been taken away by the EMTs. He hated not being completely open with Spencer about this, but he had to figure out what Bella Colton was about.

He’d also had to accept that the attacker had gotten away. For now. If indeed Bella’s attacker was the killer.

Holden knew that since he traded his security uniform for street clothes right after he left MVHS, he wouldn’t be readily recognizable by most people he’d worked with earlier today. He didn’t want to have to explain why the pageant security guard was hanging out around the school after hours.

He parked his car on a quiet street and got out, hoping to appear as much a part of the scenery as possible. Lucky for him there was a walking path that ran past the subdivision, the school and out to the desert beyond. Mustang Valley gave every appearance of being a beautiful place to live, to settle, to raise a family.

Except for the possible serial killer who stalked the pageant.

Holden walked until he was close enough to make out Spencer’s SUV cruiser, which was parked next to the most beat-up, ugly station wagon he’d ever seen.

Bella Colton must not have been telling a total lie when she’d informed the pageant committee about her dire financial situation. No one with a decent paycheck would drive such a jalopy. He wondered how it passed inspection, then remembered her brother was a cop. His handler in Phoenix had filled him in on Bella sporadically over the last couple of hours. The psychological profile he was steadily building of her didn’t fit a person who’d cheat on her auto inspection, though.

Bella had a decent blogging career in hand, but much of her freelance work reflected the expertise of someone with a lot more talent than just writing for the local, small-town blog. Holden’s colleague was female and apparently Bella’s articles were receiving a lot of play on social media and had even found their way into print here and there.

From all indications, Isabella Colton was a woman on the verge of a career breakout. Holden knew the feeling. If he nailed this case, he’d be that much closer to his next rank. Not only would it be a pay raise, but he’d be achieving the goal he’d set out for right after graduating from the academy in Quantico, Virginia. Holden wanted to be career FBI.

The white stripes on Bella’s top reflected the lowering sun, and turned her hair a golden shade of copper that reminded him of the pots and pans his grandmother polished and hung over her wide farm stove in Kansas. Grandma St. Clair had served as a WASP—a Woman Airforce Service Pilot—in World War II and she was his most ardent supporter when he’d been selected for Army ROTC at Kansas State. Grandma had sent him letters the entire time in the army, and had attended his promotion to captain two years before he resigned his commission to become an FBI agent. Sadly she’d passed before he’d left Quantico but she’d known the path he’d chosen. Like Grandma St. Clair, Holden wanted to make a difference in the world. Protect it at all costs from the most evil acts.

Bella walked the short distance to her car, and gave her brother a quick wave before getting behind the wheel.

Please don’t follow her home.

If Spencer trailed Bella, Holden would be unable to tag along at all this evening. He couldn’t risk Spencer spotting him, as his army best friend would recognize him immediately. Bella shouldn’t see him either, to be on the safe side. He had no reason to think Bella had the military background Spencer did but in truth had no idea if Bella had ever served or engaged in any kind of LEA training. The background information he had wasn’t complete.

You could confront them both, let Bella know who you really are.

He wasn’t ready to. Not yet. His gut was telling him to lay low. Besides, Spencer was going to be angry when he found out that Bella had been attacked on Holden’s watch. Holden deserved the rancor but wasn’t going to let it be a distraction. Not until he figured out what Bella Colton was up to. She wasn’t just a regular pageant contestant. She’d better hope the committee didn’t read too many of her articles or they’d question her motives for competing, too.

Holden turned and walked the short distance back to his car. As he did, he heard a siren. By the time he was in his car and at the corner of the side street, he saw Spencer’s unit fly around onto the main street and head away from the school, siren flashing. Counting to five, Holden pulled out and slowly drove by the school. He expected to see Bella’s car heading out of the parking lot but instead saw the back end of her vehicle as she drove toward the school, then turned left onto the inside perimeter road.

Bella Colton chose to come back onto school property after surviving a close call with a possible serial killer. Not that she knew about the serial killer, but she’d been attacked. Why would she do that?

Holden knew only one way to find out.

Chapter 4

Bella’s head pounded and she grabbed her water bottle from the worn adjustable holder she’d found at the dollar store.

“Yuck,” she spoke to herself at how warm the liquid was, but at least it was some kind of hydration. Thank goodness the hospital had told her she didn’t have a concussion, or she wouldn’t be able to return so soon. If she was accepted into the pageant, she’d get an email or phone call tonight and have to report again tomorrow morning for the indoctrination process. It’d be too late to search the file cabinet by then, with so many people around.

As she drove past the main building and then around to the backstage parking lot entrance, she let out a huge breath of relief. Yes! The first responders had all left, so she didn’t have to either lie or sneak her way back in. The stage entrance loading dock stood out, the massive concrete block reminding her of the piers she’d once seen when she and her brothers went to the Pacific Ocean with their aunt. Aunt Amelia hadn’t been a very loving or demonstrative woman, and in fact had made it clear that she’d been saddled with raising Bella and the boys at the most inconvenient time of her life. Bella had wanted to tell her aunt, even when she was only ten, that there probably wasn’t ever a good time to have your sibling up and die and leave you with triplets, but she’d thought better of it. Aunt Amelia had a short fuse and Bella never liked to be on the receiving end of her verbal lashes. And at least Aunt Amelia did love travel and they made yearly pilgrimages to places she had visited as a young woman, fresh out of college.

Since the school’s rear lot was completely empty, she turned her car around and backed in, butt against the loading dock, to facilitate a quick exit if necessary.

Please let me get in and out of here okay.

She was prepared this time, as she shoved her cell phone in a back pocket with one hand and held her pepper spray in the other. No one would sneak up on her again if she had anything to do with it.

The pavement under her wedge heels had cooled and a soft breeze came in from the mountains, a gift. When she looked north she saw why—a cloud bank held tight over the range, promising rain in the next day or so.

She smiled and despite the attack, made a conscious decision to stay positive. This was all about exposing a vast, far-reaching, decades-deep pageant practice that had left too many young women with very adult mental and physical illnesses, from body dysmorphia to eating disorders. A sliver of doubt niggled at her premise and she tried to brush it away. In her research she’d discovered that it was widely believed that eating disorders, like addictions, occurred in people predisposed to such diseases. That might mean that Bella wouldn’t be able to definitively blame a particular pageant board member or group. Gio’s mother had admitted their family members suffered from mental illness for as long as she could remember. But the pageant board had planted the seeds for Gio’s disorder to sink its claws in deep, hadn’t they? Would she be able to definitively state that the pageant triggered Gio’s genetic tendencies? She decided to not worry about it in this moment, and focus on getting back inside the building. More information could clarify Gio’s nightmare.

Bella hadn’t thought about the prospect of climbing atop the loading dock. The back garage-type door was her only way in, from what her reporter’s group informed her. Her editor-in-chief and supervising editor knew what she was up to, as did her closest reporter friend, Fred Jameson. Fred had never let her down, was always there for her and didn’t hesitate to speak up if Bella was crossing a boundary. Like the time she’d tried to stake out the local drugstore to catch underage teens purchasing vaping paraphernalia. She’d nearly been arrested as the shop owner wasn’t impressed with her credentials and positive motives. Fred had given her the passcode for the loading dock’s security pad, procured from “a friend of a friend.” Bella suspected Fred had paid someone off for the information but didn’t ask for details.

She silently thanked the years of video workouts she’d done as she climbed atop her car and then leaped up to the loading dock, no small feat in capris and sandals. Euphoria began to sing in her veins until she eyed the keypad lock next to the sliding door. Her colleagues had failed to mention this. It must be a new addition.

Still, she was this far. Bella decided to go for it and pressed the main button, hoping that maybe she’d luck out and the door would rise at once. All she got was a “please enter the passcode now” message, given in a disembodied female voice.

“Drat. Drat. Drat.” She muttered as she looked over her notes and emails from her trusted reporter circle. There, in bold letters, was the password that Fred had insisted she write down.

MUSTANG#1

Without hesitation she punched in the code. Hitting Enter, she held her breath. Until the grinding gears engaged and the door rolled up.

Bella hunched to get inside as quickly as possible, and once past the entrance hit the close button, ensuring no one would see the open door and call the police. That’s all she needed, to be caught breaking into the very school she’d been attacked in mere hours earlier.

Darkness immediately surrounded her so she pulled out her Mag-Lite and made her way through to the staff room, behind the stage. There hadn’t been any cars in the front lot where Spencer dropped her, and none back here, so she was comfortable in the thought of being alone. For now.

She still had to be careful. Not that being a journalist didn’t involve a modicum of wariness each day, but this time it felt different. Not only because she was attacked. She was getting herself more embedded than she ever had before, and the stakes were higher, now that she knew Spencer suspected the two pageant murders were related. His belief had been written all over his face.

No one would blame her if she decided to quit.

Never. This was for Gio’s sake.

Light still came through the staff-room windows and allowed her to see what she’d tried to breach before—the antiquated file cabinet. Except something was off. She squinted, tried to deny what she saw. Each and every drawer was open. Rushing to the cabinet, she couldn’t keep her groan from morphing into a cry as she saw all of the drawers had been emptied. If anything had ever been in there at all. Grasping the corners of the rusty metal cabinet, she bowed her head and for the first time since Gio’s funeral allowed herself to weep.

After a good cry, she’d be ready to make an even better plan. No one or nothing was going to keep her from justice for Gio.

Holden gave Bella Colton credit. The woman was as intrepid as any agent he’d ever met. As much as he wanted to discredit her motives due to her job description, he couldn’t. She wanted something in the school, most likely the staff room, and wasn’t going to let a mere attack get in her way.

He waited to see her disappear through the cargo entrance before he used his fob to enter the building. It’d show up on the security system as him, as the guard, and he’d explain it as having seen the cargo door being opened after hours. If Bella had a key code she might have some kind of legit reason for entering. But if she were entering the school again for a valid reason, why wouldn’t she use the front entrance? His internal radar wasn’t happy with what he’d witnessed. It was time for Bella Colton to answer some questions.

It took him a few minutes to get to the stage, as he had to move quietly. He drew his weapon as a precaution against the attacker returning, not to protect himself from Bella. She was an aggressive reporter but had no criminal record. Once again he thanked his lucky stars for his investigative team at the Bureau and the training he’d received. This case was growing more complicated by the second, as if the evil surrounding it was molten lava seeping into every crack and crevice of Mustang Valley.

An odd sound made him halt backstage, behind the curtain that allowed for undetected passage from stage left to stage right. The sound was from the staff room, he was certain. But he had to get closer, to make sure it was only Bella in there. As he crept along the cinderblock wall, the black curtain to his left, he heard his breathing, his heartbeat. But no more sound from offstage. Had Bella already left?

He cleared the curtain and saw the light pour out of the staff room a.k.a. stage dressing area. A few more steps and he’d put Bella’s journalistic snooping to a quick end.

But when he looked into the room, cleared left and right, it was empty. He stepped inside the open door and saw that the LEAs had done their job—swept for fingerprints, opened all drawers and file systems to rule out explosives, left everything as they’d had to.

The attacker had held an unconscious Bella near the old file cabinet, before he’d dragged her to the side exit and made his escape. Holden holstered his weapon and walked to the cabinet, the dusty behemoth’s four deep drawers wide open.

“Stay right where you are or I’ll spray!”

Female voice, to his rear, dead center. Voice—Bella Colton.

Crap.

Holding up his arms, he spoke. “You’re safe. I’m the security guard.”

“Don’t turn around or reach for your gun. I will take you down. You’re not in uniform.” She paused and he wondered if she was calling the police.

“This is Bella Colton. I want to speak to my bro—”

“Heck no!” He turned and faced her, ready to explain why he was here and find out why the hell she was. “You’re okay, I’m—”

Wet liquid heat hit his face, his eyes, his nostrils and then his mouth. And oh, by the love of heaven, it burned. As if microscopic shards of glass were cutting his face wide open.

Bella Colton had just pepper sprayed him. He, an FBI agent, had been bested by a reporter.

Again.

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