Her Colton P.i.. Amelia Autin

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      “I know.”

      The two women embraced once more, and Peg whispered in her ear, “Chris needs to do this, Holly. I can’t explain, but he needs to do this. So just let him take care of you and your boys.”

      * * *

      Chris drove at a sedate pace—unlike his usual hell-bent-for-leather style—watching Holly’s SUV in his rearview mirror, making sure he didn’t lose her. And as he drove he wondered about her. Not the facts and figures he’d uncovered in his investigation—he already knew far too much about her past, much more than most people would find out in a year of knowing her.

      He knew where she’d grown up, what had happened to her parents, where she’d gone to college and where she’d worked after graduation. He knew she’d been a stay-at-home mom when her husband had been sideswiped on the I-45 in Houston, triggering a massive pileup that had killed three people...but not the drunk who’d instigated the accident—a driver who’d been using a revoked license, and who now resided in the state prison. He knew how much Holly had received from her husband’s insurance, and he knew how much her twins had inherited from their father in the trust the McCays had told him about—just about the only truth in their pack of lies.

      But he didn’t care about all that. What he wanted to know was what made her tick. She obviously loved her sons. Had she loved their father? His investigation hadn’t uncovered any men in her life other than her now-deceased husband, which put her head and shoulders above most of the women he’d been hired to investigate. While the bulk of his work was doing background checks for a couple of major defense contractors in the Dallas–Fort Worth area, as well as extensive white-collar-crime investigation, no PI could completely avoid divorce work. Infidelities were profitable.

      But the cases that eviscerated him were the noncustodial kidnappings. He’d had half a dozen of those cases in his career, three of which he’d taken pro bono, the same way he’d taken the McCays’ case. What he wouldn’t accept—could never accept—were people who deliberately separated children from the rest of their family for no real reason except selfishness. Not just parent and child, but also brothers and sisters.

      His foster parents had done that. They’d deliberately isolated him from most of his siblings growing up. They hadn’t been able to keep Chris away from his twin sister, Annabel—Granite Gulch had only one high school, and they’d had classes together from day one.

      But his foster parents had done their best to keep them apart anyway—even grounding him on the slightest of pretexts and piling him with a heap of after-school chores in addition to his homework—but Annabel had needed him. And beneath his laid-back exterior, Chris had always been something of a white knight. His twin had come first...even if it meant being perpetually grounded.

      Chris had managed to reconnect with the rest of his siblings once he was an adult—all except his baby sister, Josie—but he could never get back those growing-up years he’d spent without his four brothers. Without those close familial bonds brothers often formed. That could have made a difference in all their lives, especially given their tragic family history.

      That was why he’d taken those pro bono cases in the first place, one of which had come early in his career, when he’d been struggling to make ends meet. But he couldn’t turn down a case involving children. Which was why he’d almost fallen for the McCays’ sob story. Which was also why he was taking on the toughest case of his career to date—protecting Holly, Ian and Jamie McCay.

      * * *

      “Four bedrooms, Holly,” Chris said as he shifted Ian into his left arm and unlocked the front door, then keyed in the code to disengage the alarm system. “Take your pick. Let me know which one you want for the twins, and I’ll set up their fold-a-cribs. One of the bedrooms is—”

      He broke off for a heartbeat, then attempted to finish his sentence, but Holly said quickly, “I want them with me.” She cuddled Jamie, who was starting to fret. “I know all the baby books say it’s a bad idea, but ever since...well, ever since we left Clear Lake City, Ian and Jamie have stayed in the same room with me. First in the motels and then in the Rosewood Rooming House. I’m afraid they’ll be scared if I try to change that tonight, especially since this is a new place to them and all.” She smiled down at the toddler in her arms. “Yes, Jamie, I know you’re hungry. Give Mommy a few minutes, please. Okay, sweetie?”

      “If that’s what works,” Chris said, “then it’d probably be best if you took the master bedroom. It’s a lot bigger than the others, more room for both cribs.”

      “But that’s your bedroom,” she protested. “I don’t want to put you out of—”

      Chris shook his head. “I’ve never lived here. Never slept a night in that room. So you wouldn’t be putting me out.”

      I did it again, Holly thought as that closed expression replaced Chris’s smiling demeanor. She put Jamie down, and he clung to her leg. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was quiet. “You’re going out of your way to help us, and I...I keep saying the wrong thing.”

      Chris lowered Ian to the floor but kept a wary eye on him so the toddler didn’t wander off. “Not your fault,” he said gruffly. He herded Ian toward Holly with a gentle foot. “Why don’t you give these two some lunch while I get everything unloaded? I’ll bring in the groceries and the high chairs first.”

      * * *

      Chris set up the fold-a-cribs in the master bedroom while Holly fed the twins. As he’d told Holly, the master bedroom held no memories for him, except...Laura had picked out the furniture. She’d picked out everything in the house...without him. Her dream house, she’d laughingly called it. But he’d been too busy to go with her, so she’d gone without him. She’d driven into Fort Worth with her sister, armed with the platinum credit card Chris had given her, and she’d furnished the house, room by room.

      That was where she’d been exposed to viral meningitis. Somewhere in Fort Worth she’d come into contact with a carrier of the disease. Much later the Center for Disease Control had reported a mini outbreak of viral meningitis in Fort Worth—too late. Laura had never mentioned the subsequent symptoms she’d experienced to Chris—the severe headache, fever and neck stiffness—and he hadn’t noticed. He’d been too busy to—

      His cell phone rang abruptly, startling him out of his sad reverie. “Chris Colton,” he answered, recognizing the phone number.

      The voice of one of the administrative assistants in his Fort Worth office sounded in his ear. “Chris? It’s Teri. Angus McCay just called. He wants to know the status on his case. I told him you’d call him. Do you need the number?”

      “No, I’ve got it, thanks. Oh, and, Teri, I’ll send an email, but can you let everyone in all three offices know I won’t be in for the next few days? Something personal has come up I need to take care of. They can reach me by phone or email if it’s urgent. And if any other client calls come in, have Zach or Jimmy deal with them.”

      “Sure thing, Chris.”

      He sensed the question Teri wanted to ask but wouldn’t. His staff knew not to ask because that’s the kind of manager he was—he kept his personal life and his business life completely separate. Chris disconnected, then thumbed through his phone book until he found the listing for Angus McCay and picked the office number. The phone rang only twice before it was answered.

      “Angus McCay.”

      “Chris СКАЧАТЬ