The Missing Colton Page 9

  Locke moistened her lips, glanced at Deluca. “Yes, sir.” She cleared her throat. “I also asked the early morning shift if they’d come across any of the victim’s belongings, or if anyone heard anything during the night. So far, nothing.”

  “Keep talking to them. Deluca, you go back to the diner, speak to Grace again. Find out from Maggie who the rest of the patrons were yesterday, round them up and see if you can get any more information from them. And locate those two truck drivers, find out if they saw our victim on the road that night. Or anything suspicions. Anything at all. And while you’re at it, look for possible links to Duke Johnson, our kidnapper in custody.”

  “Do you want me to run these prints when I get back, sir?” Deluca said, holding up the kit.

  “I’ll do that,” Drucker said, taking the kit from Deluca’s hand.

  Surprise rippled across Deluca’s face.

  “You’ve got your plate full, Deluca. We’re a small P.D. up against a big ranch, large staff—many of them drifters who are not inclined to be open with law enforcement. This is a major case and I need you out there. I’ll handle the prints.”

  “Are we going to bring in outside help?”

  “No reason to at this point. I’ll see you both back at the detachment.” Drucker headed back to his cruiser, fingerprint case in hand. He could feel Deluca’s and Locke’s eyes on him.

  But there was no way in hell he was calling in reinforcements. And if there was a hit with these prints—he wanted to be the one to find it.

  Chapter 5

  Mia walked a little too fast, hands clenched tightly at her sides as she led their John Doe to the elevator that would take them up to Jethro’s room on the third floor of the family wing. She hated that he’d noticed her fiddling with her ring finger. She hadn’t even realized she’d been doing it. She also detested Drucker for managing to get a rise out of her, for exposing her deep and personal sense of failure, shame, inadequacy.

  Reaching the landing, she pressed a button in a brass plate set into the paneled wall.

  Dark, wooden doors slid open quietly, exposing a mirrored gilt interior. Hesitancy rippled suddenly through Mia, her fears of intimacy rearing up at the prospect of stepping into the confined space with this particular man, as if this elevator represented a threshold and once she crossed it with “Cole,” there’d be no turning back. It was an irrational thought, but it curled through her mind nevertheless.

  “Are you sure you’re up to doing this now?” she asked. “You could rest first, then—”

  “I’d like to get it over with, Mia. Meeting Jethro Colton might shake something loose in my memory.”

  Mia inhaled deeply, nodded and stepped inside. Cole followed her.

  As she pressed the button for the third floor she caught sight of her own reflection. She looked drained. Her thoughts went to her fishing gear that was still in the stables from this morning. Her first day off in weeks had been snatched away by yet another turn of weird happenings on this cursed ranch. The events of the past few weeks had exhausted her.

  It was no wonder that the emotional wall she’d so carefully built up around her heart had been fractured. It was fatigue, she told herself as the elevator doors slid shut. Nothing a good night’s sleep and a few proper days off wouldn’t solve.

  But as the elevator began to rise, the surrounding mirrors confronted them both. He was watching her with his dark, smoky-blue eyes, as if dissecting, weighing her up, seeing right into her heart and mind. Mia swallowed. She felt hot. The space felt tight, and a feral tension radiated from him. He was tense, she thought, possibly afraid of his memory loss. Compassion sliced through her tension.

  And that was exactly what had gotten Mia into trouble in the past—that kind of feral intensity in a man, the way he looked at her, and knowing he was hurting inside, damaged. It spoke to her on every level, powerful. Consuming.

  It’s how it had unfolded with Brad, from the first instant she’d laid eyes on him. The desire in her gut had been jagged and white-hot. Knowing he was grieving the loss of two good men from a recent fire just fed her desire to touch, hold, comfort. Mia couldn’t explain why these things coupled inside her the way they did. All she knew for certain was that she was wired this way.

  And that she needed to stay away from men like that. Broken heroes who could break her, too—or so her therapist had said.

  Mia looked at her feet. Her hands felt clammy, a soft panic rose in her stomach.

  And she knew, suddenly, with certainty, that while she’d thought she’d gotten over it—Brad, her rejection, being left at the altar with her stupid dreams of home and children shattered—she hadn’t.

  She still wasn’t healed. Maybe she’d never be.

  And for all those reasons she was angry with the man in front of her.

  Good grief, Mia—he’s a John Doe with a head injury. Get over yourself.

  “Who’s Jenny Burke?” he said, his gaze still intense on her. “What happened to her in the pantry?”

  Mia exhaled, relieved for the distraction. “She was one of the maids. Pretty, long brown hair, brown eyes, in her midtwenties. She was briefly engaged to Trip Colton—Jethro’s former stepson who lives in one wing of the house with his mother and sister.”

  Cole raised a dark brow. “Interesting.”

  Mia gave a half shrug. “Yeah—the lives of the rich and famous. Jenny was found shot dead in the pantry shortly after Trip broke off their engagement and took his ring back. When the ring was found in Trip’s room people thought maybe he’d done it.”

  “Did he?”

  “God knows—right now nothing would surprise me about this place.”

  He studied her in silence. She could feel him thinking, weighing it all up.

  “And she was killed with 9 mm pistol?”

  “I can’t believe Drucker even suggested you could have done it.”

  “Why not? You said you’d believe anything right now.”

  She looked at him anew, a tiny thread of doubt curling through her mind. “You...weren’t even here.”

  He smiled darkly. It put a dimple in his cheek and fanned lines out from his blue eyes. Mia wanted to look away, stop the increasing rate of her pulse, the attraction she knew she must be showing in her face.

  “Who knows,” he said quietly, his eyes holding hers. “I could be a nefarious felon, tattoos and all. Could have been hiding out in the woods—sneaking into the house—at least, that’s what Drucker might like to think.”

  A smile teased her mouth in spite of herself. Yet that whisper of caution ribboned a little deeper through her.

  The doors opened. With relief she stepped out, but Cole caught her arm, hooking it through his. Mia glanced up at him in surprise.

  “I might collapse, feel dizzy again.” He smiled that devilish smile of his.

  “Yeah. Right,” Mia said. “This way.”

  But as they walked, Mia couldn’t deny that the solid, warm sensation of him moving beside her, the energy from his touch, felt damn good. It made her realize how much was missing from her life. She’d spent the past twenty-eight months rebuffing any of the ranch hands’ attempts to get to know her better—she’d truly isolated herself.

  “You’re toying with me, Cole,” she said softly.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I suppose it would make sense that it runs in the family—Jethro is an incorrigible womanizer.”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing? Flirting?”

  She looked up and met his eyes. Mistake. Her chest clutched and heat fanned down through her stomach.

  “It’s the door near the end,” she said, quickly looking away as they rounded a corner.

  Cole gave a soft whistle as he took in the opulence down this section of the passageway—the oil paintings,
the plush Persian rugs underfoot, carved statues on pedestals spaced at intervals along the walls. “Fancy.”

  “Yup.”

  “Do you have an opinion on why anyone would murder Jenny Burke?”

  Mia sucked in a deep breath of air, calming herself. “Jenny had been snooping around in people’s rooms while cleaning, and one of the rumors is that she found something.”

  “Something that someone wanted kept secret.”

  “Well, that’s what they’re intimating.”

  “The staff are intimating this?”

  She nodded. “And from Drucker’s questions, that was also the angle of his investigation.”

  “And Drucker has made no headway in her murder case?”

  “No arrests, if that’s what you mean. Jenny was shot in the face, on the evening just before the wildfire cut the ranch completely off from town, so it made initial investigation difficult, and it compromised the scene.”

  “Good timing on the part of the bad guy, huh—using the fire as a smokescreen. How long did it take before the cops could actually get in?”

  She stopped in her tracks and shot another glance up at him. Again, those smoky blues were fixed on her. She cleared her throat, but her voice came out thick. “You’re asking an awful lot of questions specific to Jenny Burke.”

  As she spoke Drucker’s similar words sifted into her mind... You were asking a lot of pointed questions about the Coltons and the kidnappings...

  A dark look crossed his face and Mia could suddenly hear Mrs. Black’s voice in her head.

  Be careful, Nurse Sanders...things—people here—are not what they seem. Veils and mirrors and tricks of smoke.

  Mia repressed a shiver.

  “I think you would ask pointed questions, too, Mia,” he replied quietly, “if a police chief was asking where your missing pistol was, and whether it took the same caliber bullets that killed a staff member here. And if you knew that this chief was also going to run your prints for a possible criminal history, and meanwhile you have no idea who you are or what you might have done.”

  She swallowed. “Touché,” she said quietly and resumed walking. “I’m sorry.”

  “You said Jenny was snooping. What for?”

  “I don’t know.” She stopped in front of a door. “This is Jethro’s suite.”

  Mia rapped on the door. Again there was no answer. She quietly opened it and led Cole inside.

  * * *

  Jagger followed Mia into the sitting room. It was decorated in tones of green offset with dark wood. A door leading off the room was ajar. Jagger stalled as he caught sight of the portrait hanging over the fireplace.

  “That’s Jethro Colton,” Mia said, watching him closely. “You look like he did when he was younger.”

  “God, yes, I can see that,” Jagger said quietly, a strange feeling in his chest. “I can see why everyone thinks I’m Cole—it’s not just the blanket or the photo found on me.”

  He could also see why someone might have thought to frame him as Cole. The resemblance was uncanny.

  Voices—both female and male—rose suddenly in strident argument from inside Jethro’s bedroom.

  “I know you recognize the blanket, Dad,” a woman was saying. “But Chief Drucker said he could be a con artist! He could be on the make—this could all be a ruse!”

  “Just let Drucker do his investigation, shall we?” another woman’s voice countered. “He said he’s got some leads. A DNA test will tell in the end.”

  A baby cried.

  Mia pulled a face. “You ready?”

  Jagger sucked in a deep breath of air and squared his shoulders. “As I’ll ever be. Let’s do it.”

  Mia rapped sharply on the bedroom door.

  All went dead quiet inside. Then footsteps could be heard hurrying across the wooden floor. The door opened wide, exposing a young woman with long red hair and big green eyes. Shock rippled visibly through her body as she laid eyes on Jagger. Her mouth dropped open and she stared.

  It was Gabriella, the youngest Colton daughter—Jagger recognized her from the extensive research he’d done on the family.

  Her hand went slowly to her mouth. “Cole,” she whispered. Then she appeared to gather herself. “ I... You look just like my father did when he was young.”

  She came forward as if to hug him, then stopped, uncertain. Then she hugged him, anyway. Fast. She stepped back just as quickly. “I...I don’t know what to say in a situation like this.” The gleam of emotion filled her eyes. Her hands, Jagger noticed, trembled slightly, her paleness replaced by a soft flush of excitement.

  “I’m Gabriella Colton. Everyone calls me Gabby. Please, come in,” she said, reaching for his hand. “He’s waiting.”

  Jagger stepped into the bedroom but Mia held back, uncertain. Jagger turned to her. “Please, Mia, come with,” he said quietly. “I might need my nurse.”

  She hesitated, looked at Gabby.

  “He’s right, Mia—you’re his nurse,” Gabby said. “And Lord knows, father should be allowing you to nurse him properly, too. You’d better come in.”

  Mia entered at Jagger’s side and he felt quietly bolstered by this intriguing woman’s presence, her quiet strength coupled with a rare warmth and gentleness. He sensed her separateness from all that was going on, and he felt, subtly, that they had beginnings of an alliance. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to get to know her on a more personal level, too.

  But his mission was this family. The secrets of the past. And he needed to learn them fast. That police chief had started the clock ticking.

  Gathered around a dark, looming antique four-poster bed were Jethro’s other two daughters. Jagger recognized them as Catherine and Amanda.

  Amanda was holding her baby on her hip, obscuring Jagger’s view of Jethro Colton himself.

  Dr. Levi Colton stood at the far side of the bed.

  They all stared in quiet awe as Jagger approached.

  “This is Amanda and Catherine,” Gabby was saying. “And Cheyenne, Amanda’s daughter. And you’ve met Levi.”

  Amanda reached forward to shake his hand, exposing a clear line of sight to the man in the giant bed, propped up by pillows. Jethro Colton. He had tubes in his nostrils leading into an oxygen machine next to his bed. A drip fed into a tube taped to his hand.

  Even in his pale, weakened state, the man had presence. Intrigued, Jagger came forward.

  Jethro stared at him, his complexion draining to sheet white—as if he’d seen a ghost of the past, a ghost of himself.

  He raised his hand, trembling as he sucked a wheezy breath through the tubing.

  “Cole?” he whispered, extending his veined hand slowly toward Jagger. “My son—is that you?”

  Everything seemed to shift in the room as daughters and son stared first at Jagger, then their father. The weight of the moment—the love in this family, the bond—was tangible, however it had been forged.

  Jagger swallowed, caught by the throat.

  He’d always wished for that feeling, that family bond. But by the time his real family had found him it had been too late. He’d become someone else already. He’d bonded with a lie, a mother who was a kidnapper, a criminal—a woman who’d known all along that his biological parents had been seeking him. This revelation had shattered his young heart. Quite irreparably, it seemed. Because Jagger was left empty after that, incapable of bonding again with his blood brother and sisters, his real mom and dad.

  The old man’s eyes glazed over with emotion. “Please, come closer. Let me get a good look at you.”

  Jagger went up to the bed. He reminded himself this man was a petty ex-con who suspiciously turned himself into a notorious billionaire. He was a man with possible organized crime connections. A man who long ago seemed to have given u
p searching for his kidnapped son.

  A man whom Jagger felt in his gut knew something about what had happened that dark day thirty years ago and was hiding the fact.

  Jethro took Jagger’s hand in his. The sick man’s skin felt thin and cold.

  “By the love of God,” Jethro whispered. He drew in another machine-aided breath, closing his mouth as he inhaled deeply through the tubes in his nostrils. “It’s how I imagined...you would be, if—” he sucked in another breath through his nose “—you ever came back.”

  Came back. Jethro didn’t seem shocked by the fact “Cole” was alive, but that he’d come back.

  Jagger noticed the framed photograph beside Jethro’s bed—the same image he’d printed out and carried in his wallet. The copy of which Chief Drucker now had in evidence.

  Would Drucker be astute enough to notice Jagger’s image had been re-printed from digital newspaper archives on recently-purchased photographic paper?

  Ticktock.

  The Colton daughters glanced at each other, an unspoken exchange and fresh hope gleaming in their eyes.

  “All these years I’ve wondered where you might be...” Another pause as Jethro closed his mouth to draw in another breath through the cannula. “Where have you been? How did you come to—” He was besieged by a sudden coughing fit.

  Levi quickly brought a glass of water to his father, but Jethro waved him away.

  “Mr. Colton,” Jagger said carefully, “I received a bad blow to the head. I don’t remember anything about my past, not even my name.”

  Levi set the glass of water on the bedside table, “I told Jethro about the amnesia. I explained that your memory loss could be short term—that it could return once swelling goes down. Or it could be long term, compounded by an earlier head injury. It could also have been induced by the shock of the attack.” He hesitated. “Or possibly even from something that happened before. We’ll know more once you’ve seen a specialist.”

  Yeah, Jagger knew all about specialists and psychological trauma versus physical brain damage—he knew how to pull that one off because he’d been there.