Colton First Responder. Linda O. Johnston

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      Surely that couldn’t be Savannah Oliver, right?

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

      Someday.

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

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

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

      Yes! Savannah took one out and closed the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      His search had actually led to someone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      He recognized her.

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

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

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

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

      The husband she’d recently been accused of murdering.

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

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

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

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

      She didn’t answer directly but said, “And I assume you’re doing your first responder thing out here after СКАЧАТЬ