Grayson wanted yet again to take Savannah into his arms, to hold her tightly against him as she cried.
Too bad the cops didn’t see this. Surely she wouldn’t be crying that way if she’d killed the SOB.
On the other hand, she’d probably told this story before, and might have cried then, too. They hadn’t released her.
And they could interpret this as her being sorry about getting caught, not about her ex’s apparent murder.
Instead of hugging Savannah, Grayson took her hand, pulling her closer on the dirt beneath them. “Let’s go back inside,” he said, attempting to keep his tone light. “Did you notice? I brought you some wine, and I think this would be a good time for a sip or two.”
Savannah, now facing him, swallowed and appeared to attempt a smile. “I saw that. A nice, not-too-expensive brand that no one would particularly notice when you bought it.”
“Exactly.” He held onto her hand as she started leading them back to the cabin.
Once they got inside, Grayson made sure the door was locked as Savannah picked up the wine from the back of the counter beside the refrigerator. And yes, it wasn’t especially expensive or high quality. It came in a screw-top bottle, since he’d doubted there was an opener here in the cabin and didn’t want to search for one to buy when he was on that outing. There were a few glasses without stems that the owner of the cabin had left in a cupboard, so they didn’t need to drink out of the bottle.
Grayson offered a toast. “Here’s to getting all of this resolved quickly and well.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Savannah said solemnly, clinking his glass with her own.
Grayson gestured toward the table. “Let’s sit down and—”
“And talk about you for a change,” Savannah asserted. “I’m sure I’ll be the topic again soon, but I’d like to hear about you, Grayson. How did you happen to become a first responder in the first place, then start your own company?”
The explanation had its good and bad points. In any case, Grayson didn’t want to talk about it now.
But sitting across the table from Savannah as she sipped her wine and regarded him with an expectant expression on her face that was beautiful despite the redness around her eyes from crying, he didn’t want to tell her to mind her own business. She deserved answers, too. And he could keep things as light as possible.
“Well,” he began, “I started out after high school in the military—the army. Did my duty but decided I didn’t want to make it my long-term career.” But it had been a good way to get out of town briefly and begin his own life, away from his clinging Colton family.
“Wow,” Savannah said, taking another sip. Her short blond hair fell forward as she tipped her head to drink, and he resisted the urge to reach across the table and push it back. “I’m impressed. A Colton soldier.”
“Exactly. Did my stint as a private in basic training and a bit more. I left, though, as soon as my enlistment ended and came back here. Then I became a wilderness guide, but only for a short while.” Though he had stayed in close touch with some fellow soldiers with whom he’d become good friends.
One such pal had been Philip Prokol, formerly of Tucson, who’d been sent overseas to Iraq, where he was wounded in the military and had come back with PTSD. That hadn’t killed him directly, but his attempt to flee everything he had known before, including his hometown and family, had caused him to be out in the wilderness in northern Arizona in a major rainstorm. He’d died from being washed away in a flood.
Could he have been saved? Apparently there hadn’t been enough first responders to deal with that disaster and the many people swept into the water.
Hearing about it, first on the news and then from Phil’s family, had almost destroyed Grayson inside. He should have done more to help his friend. He’d already ended his own brief career as a wilderness guider and started college. He should have been with Phil when he’d run off to try to find himself again.
Saved him.
And remembering Phil’s fate in the wilderness during a disaster was one reason Grayson had headed out of town after the quake...to save people who might be in similar situations.
“Are you okay, Grayson?” Savannah interrupted his thoughts, a good thing. It was probably better that he not dwell on why and how he had decided to become a first responder.
“Sure,” he responded brightly. “Just thinking of what I did when I returned to the States. I’d decided first to become a wilderness guide, then ended that to go to college and major in business.”
And when he’d dropped out, his family, especially his father, hadn’t been happy, and Payne had made that very clear. But Grayson had done what he wanted.
“Sounds good. So did you get a corporate job when you got your degree?”
He laughed. “What degree? I dumped it all when I decided to become a first responder. I left the university for a smaller school where I could learn what I needed to get my emergency medical technician credentials, and I learned more than enough to get my official certification, and there I was.”
Savannah’s wine glass was nearly empty, and so was Grayson’s. He picked up the bottle from the table and poured them each a little more.
“Thanks,” Savannah said. She’d furrowed her brow, which didn’t detract in the least from how pretty she was. “But why did you want to become an EMT? A first responder?”
“I just did.” He had no desire to talk any more about it. “And you? Did you get a college degree?” From what he knew about Savannah, she didn’t have an official job, although her charitable efforts were admirable.
“Yes, I had the fun of moving to Los Angeles for a few years to major in English at UCLA. I loved to read then, and still do, so that worked out well.”
He wanted to ask her how she used her degree now, if she did, without a job. But before he decided how to phrase it, she said, “And in case you’re wondering, I never really got a job where I could use my degree, but I do go to the elementary schools in and around Mustang Valley a lot to work with kids who are reading challenged. It’s really a kick to see them improve and know I at least had a little to do with it.”
So the wealthy socialite who was Savannah might not earn money to cover her own expenses now, but she certainly earned kudos by helping others.
“That sounds great.” And it did, to Grayson. This woman had made good use of her time and family’s money—and her ex’s—to help other people.
Not a first responder, but definitely someone who gave a damn and attempted to do something about it.
To prevent her from asking more about him and why he was who he was, he decided to press her some more and get her to describe some of the kids she’d helped with their reading. Then he urged her to talk more about her favorite charities that she helped now, like the hospital children’s ward.
She apparently liked kids. Maybe she’d intended to have some with Zane. Well, that clearly wasn’t going to happen now, nor would it even if Zane wasn’t ostensibly dead, since they’d already divorced. That could have been a motive for her to kill him, Grayson supposed, or the district attorney might approach it that way: anger that he hadn’t given her kids.
Nah, too ridiculous.
Grayson didn’t know what the terms of the divorce settlement were. Had it been fair, or had Zane’s lawyers cut her out of everything?
He had a thought then. “Any idea what your lawyer might be thinking now that you’ve disappeared?”
Like was he—or she—now upset because Savannah wasn’t currently racking up any fees? Or was he looking bad because his client had flown? Grayson assumed that, married or not, the socialite in front of him had money of her own to pay her counsel before and after her arrest.
“Who? Ian? I don’t know. He’d warned me that the evidence against me looked grim, but he’d seemed to be completely on my side, eager to at least try to get me off.”
“But he didn’t think you were innocent?” Grayson shook his head, eyeing the bottle of wine again but deciding he’d had enough for now.
“I thought he did, although he kept enumerating all the evidence that could keep me from even having any bail set for me, let alone getting off at trial. He reassured me a lot, though, that he would do everything in his power to get me cleared.”
Yeah, like spend a lot of time—and her money—to try to prove her innocent. Well, Grayson didn’t know any attorneys named Ian, but he did know others, and even the good ones appeared to be money-grubbing. “What’s his name?” he asked. “Ian what?”
“Ian Wright,” Savannah said, “but please don’t contact him.” She sounded alarmed. “He’s an officer of the court, like all lawyers, he told me, which means he might have to turn me in if he found out where I was. He asked me if I’d killed Zane, said it was okay for me to admit it to him. Because of attorney-client privilege, he wouldn’t reveal it to anyone else. But of course I didn’t admit anything, since I’m innocent. I trust him. I like him as a lawyer. But I don’t want anyone, even him, to know where I am. Not now, at least. Or that you’ve seen me.”
Grayson didn’t like the sound of that. Not that he’d tell that Ian Wright anything. But even though Savannah trusted him, Grayson trusted no one on her behalf. Not now. Not until he’d learned a lot more about her situation.
“Got it,” he said. “With your phone now, you can contact him if you decide to and not give your location away”
Savannah nodded and smiled at him, her expression more relaxed—and trusting. Damn. She shouldn’t trust anyone right now, even him.
Still... Evening was approaching now. He needed to leave, get back to the office for a while before going home.
“Sorry,” he told Savannah, drinking his last few drops of wine. “I’d better get on my way.”
He was about to tell her he’d be back again soon, though he didn’t think it would be tomorrow. He’d brought her enough sustenance for a few days, anyway. And wine.
“I understand,” she said, nodding slightly. If he read her expression correctly, she probably understood but felt bad about his leaving. “That’s fine. I appreciate our discussions today and think I might have an idea of what to do next, but I want to think about it more, so being here on my own will be fine. Only—”
“Only what?” he asked when she hesitated.
“I don’t suppose you have a pen and paper in your car that you could give me so I can make some notes, do you?”
He laughed. He’d expected something a lot more significant than that, given the change in her expression to uncertainty, maybe fear—or worse.
She needed to jot something down, apparently. And he always kept a notebook or two in his SUV in case he got a call and needed to jot down quickly where to go and why.
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll bring them in right now—before I leave.”
Grayson had left an hour or more ago, but Savannah had tried not to think about him as she sat at the same old table once more, making notes.
And realizing she needed to get out of there soon. In some ways, the cabin was as much a prison as her cell.
Not just because she felt lonely with her only current contact, Grayson, gone. She recognized that she missed him not only because he was attempting to help her but because...well, she liked the guy. Felt attracted to him, despite herself.
But she also recognized that was a mistake. He was a good man, dedicating his life to helping people, and at the moment that included her.
It didn’t mean he liked her as anything more than someone who needed him.
Despite the hugs and the kiss they’d shared, which to Savannah had suggested more. A lot more.
But that wouldn’t happen.
Savannah rose again to turn on the lanterns to avoid being left in the dark. She checked to make sure the door was locked and the windows fully closed. She had no intention of going outside again that night.
And tomorrow? Maybe. Hanging out inside here alone could drive her nuts—even nuttier than she already felt. But what else could she do?
She would ponder that tonight where she could go, what she could do, to locate Zane and show the world what a horrible person he was. A living person. But how?
And what would she do if she didn’t ever see Grayson again? After handing her the notebook and pen, he had said he might not be back tomorrow but promised she would see him again soon.
But soon could mean anything from another day to a week or more. And his saying he’d return didn’t mean it would come about. Even when the food he so kindly supplied her with was gone.
So...now what?
She was a murder suspect who’d fled and was most likely being chased, or would be once the authorities finished with disaster relief.
If she left here, she would have to walk through these woods and beyond, in an area she didn’t know at all—unless she found her way back to town, a horrible idea if she couldn’t remain hidden somehow. She’d be recognized and arrested again, probably immediately.
But what was the alternative?
She had an idea, but it depended on Grayson’s returning. More than once.
Which meant, yes, she relied on him. A lot.
She trusted him, sure. Because she had to. She needed him to help her hang on to the last shred of sanity she still had.
And if he didn’t come back here even once?
Well, she could stay here until her remaining food ran out and then see what happened.
And in the meantime?
She decided to try to keep her sanity a bit by working out details for that idea she had.
She placed the notebook Grayson had given her on the table in front of her. Then she hurried into the bathroom and examined herself again in the mirror. At least she liked her new hairstyle—sort of.
Returning to the main room, she set a water bottle on the table and poured herself a small amount of wine before opening the notebook.
She began sketching on the first page.