The Missing Colton Page 15

  Jagger quickly shot out the truck’s left front tire, then the rear right. One bullet left.

  The man peered up from behind his rock, this time firing in Mia’s direction.

  Jagger put his last bullet into the bottom of the truck’s gas tank. Fuel began to leak out, darkening the sand and gleaming on blades of dry grass.

  The driver spun, fired at Jagger. He ducked, the bullet striking off a piece of rock above his head. His heart hammered and adrenaline rushed hot and fast through his blood. His mind felt clear as glass.

  He was staying in the present. Afghanistan was not here to haunt him right now.

  Another explosion from Mia forced the man to hurl himself back to the ground.

  The puddle of gas beneath the truck was widening. This time Jagger cocked back the trigger on the pen launcher and he fired an emergency flare—right at the leaking gas tank.

  The flare ignited fuel instantly. Fire licked up the side of the gas tank. A few seconds later pressure inside the tank blasted it apart, throwing up a ball of flame. Acrid black smoke billowed into the air as fire crackled and whooshed through the truck.

  Using the smoke as cover, Jagger scrambled down the rock and across the track.

  He reached Mia—her face was white, her eyes huge.

  “Give me that last banger,” he said. “Get in the car!”

  She handed him her loaded device, clambered down the rocks and raced for the vehicle. Jagger peered up over the edge of the rocky outcrop and fired the last banger directly in front of the rocks where the man was hiding.

  The explosion echoed against the rocks and up into the hills. Another ball of fire whooshed out of the truck as the flames flared and spread to light the surrounding grass on fire, quickly engulfing a stand of dry scrub.

  Jagger scrambled back down and sprinted for the Escalade. The driver’s door was open, engine running.

  He jumped inside, slamming the door shut as he hit the gas. They fishtailed wildly back onto the dirt track. Once he hit it, Jagger floored the gas. Tires spinning, they bounced and rocked up the steep and twisting switchback trail.

  Mia was dead quiet, knuckles white as she braced against the dash. Far below them smoke billowed black and high into the air.

  They reached the wider decommissioned road and Jagger inhaled deeply, turning in the direction of the highway. He glanced at Mia. Her features were pinched.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded but said nothing.

  “We’ll head back down to the highway the way we came,” Jagger said, voice rough, adrenaline still hammering through him. “He’s not going to come after us, not now. We’ll have a clean run.”

  She looked at his face, reading something in his eyes. But still she didn’t speak. She turned in her seat and faced the front. Jagger noticed her hands were clutched tightly in her lap.

  After about a mile along the decommissioned road, Mia said quietly, “It did look like Dylan’s truck.”

  “I couldn’t get a read on the plate. It was obscured by dust. When we get back, we’ll see if anyone’s truck is missing from the ranch.”

  She was a silent for a while longer, tension rolling off her in waves. They rounded a bend and Jagger saw the ribbon of highway below, twisting into the mountains.

  “Are we going to call the police?” she said quietly.

  He shot her a glance. “We’re not in Dead P.D.’s jurisdiction, are we?

  “Does it matter whose jurisdiction we’re in?”

  Jagger blew out a slow breath of air. This was another complication. With only Drucker and his officers on his case, Jagger still had a little bit of time left to get what he came for. And he needed this time to find a way to tell Mia the truth about his identity before someone else did. Involving state or Laramie police would change things.

  “You’re leery of police in general, aren’t you?” She was watching him intently. “Why?”

  “I’m just thinking how it’ll start all over with them asking for my ID.”

  She closed her eyes. Trying to calm her breathing. “I get a feeling,” she said very quietly. “You want to delay the DNA test, too.”

  He shot her a glance.

  “We can’t just not report it, Cole. Someone tried to kill us. My gun was used to shoot out his tires. My explosives blew up his vehicles. He could be the same guy who killed Jenny. This could be a lead the police could use.”

  Jagger steered down a steep incline, feeling the vehicle slipping slightly on soft sand. “We’ll report it to Drucker,” he said. “He can take it from there, include whatever law enforcement agencies he wants.”

  She didn’t reply. They neared the turnoff onto the highway.

  “Stop the car, Cole.”

  “What?”

  “Just stop, dammit!”

  Frowning, Jagger slowed and brought the Escalade to a halt. Dust settled in a cloud around them.

  She turned in her seat to face him, eyes burning suddenly with tears. “What in hell is going on here, Cole!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You got off on that, didn’t you?” She flung her arm in the direction from where they’d come. “You were cool as a damn cucumber even while you had fire in your eyes. And look at you now—you’re exhilarated. You enjoyed that. I can see it in your face, in your eyes.”

  “Mia—”

  “Where did you learn to be like that, Cole? Are you military? Who in hell are you!”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. She tried to swipe them away with a shaking hand. “Who wants you dead, Cole?”

  “Mia.” He reached for her hands, taking them in his. What he wanted to tell her was, yes, he did enjoy that—because it was the first time he’d experienced stress without being plunged straight back into pure mental anguish. He hadn’t blacked out, or lost time, or seen dead boys walking toward him, or experienced flashbacks as vivid and terrifying as the real deal.

  “I don’t know why someone is trying to kill me.”

  “I...I’m sorry.” She swiped at another tear. “It’s...it’s just the shock.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “I’ve been in some bad situations, Cole, but usually I’m trying to help people live. I’ve never done anything like that...we could have killed him.”

  “It was either him or us, Mia.”

  “Us.” She repeated the word slowly as the notion seemed to sink in that she was also in some villain’s crosshairs now that she’d witnessed him trying to run them off the road, seen his truck.

  “Whoever tried to kill me out on that field the other night clearly wants to finish the job, Mia. And I don’t know why. If I am Cole, then it’s Cole they want dead. If I’m not Cole, they want me dead before anyone finds out I’m not him. Which means, either way, they want people to believe that Cole Colton is dead and gone.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. If you’re not Cole, and you’re murdered, forensics will show it.”

  “I know. I don’t get it, either, unless they have a plan to dispose of the body before it can be checked.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  He glanced away, watching the black smoke recede up the valley, then he turned back to her. “Think about this Mia, why take all my ID yet leave me with that blanket and photo?”

  “So people would assume you might be Cole,” she said quietly.

  “Yes. A dead Cole.”

  She stared at him.

  “And if I’m not Cole, that blanket might even have been planted on me. Someone might have tried to frame me as him. And because I didn’t die, they’re worried my memory will return so they want to finish the job before it does.”

  “But you did have the photo on you when you came through Dead River,” she countered. “That wasn’t planted on you.”

  Jagger’s pulse
kicked. “How do you know this?”

  Something changed in her eyes. “Staff gossip,” she said quietly, lowering her gaze to stare at her hands. “Tanner, one of the ranch employees, told the others that he’d seen the photo fall out of your wallet in the Dead River Diner.”

  Jagger watched her face carefully. He knew this, of course, but he wouldn’t if he had amnesia—he needed to act surprised. He was going to trip himself up any minute with what he should or shouldn’t know.

  “The staff also say that Chief Drucker confronted you in the diner.” She paused, then slowly her gaze lifted to meet his. “And that he saw your ID.”

  A hot beat of silence.

  “So why the hell didn’t Drucker tell me that in the infirmary?” His voice was clipped. “Why didn’t he tell me who I was?”

  “I don’t know,” Mia said. “He might be holding back that information for some reason pending his fingerprint checks. Or he might believe your ID is fake, Cole.”

  “It might well be fake—it’s hardly going to say Cole Colton.”

  “We’ll ask him when we go through Dead and report the truck incident,” she said. “If he has your name—even if it’s a fake you’ve been living under for the past thirty years—he’s got no right to withhold it.”

  “Mia,” he said, leaning forward and taking her hands in his. “Will you help me? I need to get to the bottom of this. I need to know what happened all those years ago. Can I use your computer to look some things up?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like information on employees, on anyone who might have been on the ranch thirty years ago when the kidnapping took place. Someone in Dead River knows something and wants the past to stay buried, and the police are not making a whole lot of headway in finding that person.”

  She went quiet, her gaze locking with his for several long, simmering beats, as if she was weighing him up again, reevaluating.

  “Of course I’ll help,” she said quietly. Then she gave a soft snort. “I’m sure you’ve deduced by now that I’m wired to help. I find it a little easier than trying to kill people. My laptop in the suite—it’s yours when you need it.”

  A smile curved over Jagger’s mouth.

  She returned the smile, and it lit her eyes. His chest squeezed with affection.

  “Come here.” He drew her against his body and held on. She was trembling in his arms, the aftereffects of shock, adrenaline.

  He stroked her hair. “I won’t let them hurt you, Mia,” Jagger said as he lowered his head, resting his nose against her soft hair, inhaling her scent. “God, I will not let them hurt you,” he murmured.

  Mia closed her eyes, allowing herself to just fold into him. He was warm, hard, strong, and he smelled of dust and gunpowder. Yet she could also feel his tenderness. She loved that—male strength, tenderness. She loved his calm under fire as much as it unsettled her. It was an aphrodisiac to Mia. More than anything. And as the adrenaline in her system subsided, she felt the warmth of affection blossoming through her chest. She felt safe—Mia hadn’t been held like this in a long while.

  “I think we made good team back there,” she murmured against his chest.

  “Hell, yes.” He paused, the tension in his body changing, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick.

  “Mia, look at me.”

  She did. He tilted her chin higher. His mouth was so close. His eyes—a darkness had filled them with dangerous, edgy gleam. His energy had shifted.

  Mia’s heart began to pound.

  He lowered his mouth and soft warning bells clanged in the back of her mind as something whispered...you don’t even know who he is.

  But the thought shattered into a million little sparks as he brought his mouth down on hers. Crushing. Fierce. She melted under him, into him, opening her mouth to his. He slid his hand up her back, up her neck, and his tongue entered her mouth, slick, hot, aggressive.

  Mia’s world spiraled violently as heat arrowed straight down her belly. Her heart was slamming, furious, fast.

  Danger...stop. While you still can...

  But Mia couldn’t stop.

  She slid her hand up into his hair, curling her fingers tightly through the thick, dark strands as she drew him down farther, closer, her tongue tangling aggressively with his. He cupped her breast and fire fanned through her. Mia could barely breathe. Couldn’t think.

  She was blinded by lust, incapable of forming a rational thought.

  Fire spiked through Jagger, white hot and ragged, like nothing he’d felt in years. Her soft, hungry, angry mouth tasted sweet. It tasted of sin. He wanted more, all of her, couldn’t get enough. Her hand fisted painfully in his hair as she moved her mouth over his. Her breast was full, soft, the nipple a tight nub under his palm. He moved his hand down her waist and she moaned softly under him as heat began to dissolve his thoughts, sweeping rationality along with it.

  Jagger struggled to pull back. To focus. This was wrong. Not now...not yet. Not when she didn’t know the truth...

  He pulled back suddenly, his heart racing, his groin hard, throbbing.

  Her eyes were gleaming, cheeks pink, lips swollen. The top button of her shirt had popped open, exposing white lace.

  Focus.

  “Mia...”

  She cleared her throat and a look of panic flashed across her features as her gaze shot to the clock on the dash. “Oh, God, I almost forgot—the appointment! We...we should get to that appointment,” she said, flustered, smoothing down her shirt. “We can make it in time—just.” She straightened herself in the seat and brushed back her hair. Her hands were still shaking as she tried to rebutton her shirt, but the buttonhole had ripped. Finally she got it to hold.

  “Cole—drive, will you?”

  Jagger put the vehicle in gear. They began to bounce down the last leg of dirt road toward the highway.

  She turned to watch the smoke billowing up from the gorge behind them. “I hope it doesn’t turn into another wildfire,” she whispered.

  Jagger turned onto the highway and pressed down on the accelerator.

  He could feel Mia watching him as he drove.

  * * *

  Nerves, irrational, difficult to control, rustled through Jagger as he got out of the car in the Cheyenne Memorial parking lot. He’d had his fill of hospitals, head scans, shrinks. Therapy sessions. Poking, prodding. This was not going to be fun.

  “You okay?” she asked coming around to his side.

  He nodded. But as Jagger looked up at hospital building, an unspeakable cold speared down his chest and a sharp memory exploded through his brain. The boy. His liquid eyes.

  Jagger felt sick.

  “You sure?” she said, touching his arm.

  He glanced down into her clear blue eyes. Once again, she had his back. She was at his side. He could do this.

  “Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I’m good.”

  Mia hooked her arm through his and together they began to walk toward the building.

  Jagger felt uneasy about how much he liked Mia at his side, and how he was beginning to want to keep her there. It was not right. He couldn’t continue down this road in this fashion.

  “We can do this, Cole,” she said, reading something in him. “No matter how hard it gets down the road.”

  “I sure as hell hope so,” he answered.

  Once inside, the smell of the hospital almost stopped Jagger dead in his tracks.

  “You’re nervous.” A bemused smile curved Mia’s lips. “You’re as cool as a cucumber while ambushing people and blowing up trucks, but a hospital scares you?”

  He smiled. “Maybe.”

  She looked up at him, compassion and warmth entering her eyes. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see”

  And somehow she made him feel as though it would
—that he would get well.

  Underlying his goal in coming to Dead River had been a desire to heal, to find a way to start living again. Jagger had thought the Cole Colton story would be his ticket. But he hadn’t expected it would be a woman like Mia Sanders who would reawaken him, filling him with a desire to build a life in all sorts of deeper, different ways. And as Jagger looked into her eyes he realized his goal had split into two streams.

  One was to honor his contracts with the television station and his publisher in getting, and airing, the Cole Colton story. The other was Mia—finding a way to get to know her better over the long term. And as this dawned on him, a sick feeling sank through Jagger, because these two streams might be mutually exclusive.

  If he had to choose one over the other, which would it be—his contract, a job, survival, justice for baby Cole? Or risking it all for a faint chance at love?

  The image of that tumbleweed outside the diner entered his mind. The same wind that had propelled the tangled ball through the dust had been blowing at his back as he walked the road to the Colton ranch that dark, cold night. Jagger had an absurd feeling that early autumn wind—or a bigger driving force behind it—had blown him across Mia’s path.

  Or was he truly losing his mind?

  “Hey,” he whispered, lowering his head. “Your button is undone.”

  She glanced down, saw her exposed bra and quickly rebuttoned her shirt, cheeks flushing. “Thanks.”

  She squeezed his hand and led him down the sterile hospital corridor.

  * * *

  Outside Dr. Ranjit Singh’s office, Mia paced up and down the shiny passageway, the antiseptic scents of the hospital familiar to her and grounding. She was unable to sit quietly in the chairs provided in the waiting area. Mia preferred to be out here, moving.

  She’d watched through the glass window as they’d slid a hospital-gowned Cole into the CT machine. A doctor on the outside had charted areas of his brain activity on a computer as he gave instruction to the radiologist inside.

  After that, they’d taken him and the brain charts through to see Dr. Singh.