Grayson’s mind remained on Savannah and what to do next to help her, as he headed his SUV back toward his office. He knew where he’d start once he sat down at his computer.
He was worried about her, unsure what she’d do without him hanging around and encouraging her to stay put while they worked out a plan. But even if no one paid attention to where he was going and he therefore didn’t endanger Savannah further, he couldn’t keep visiting there as much as he had without his company suffering.
But he didn’t want her to suffer, either.
Would she run before he showed up again? It wasn’t really his business, yet he felt like it was. He’d promised to help her get through this. And as long as he believed she was innocent, he intended to assist her.
But did he fully trust her? Maybe not, but until he found some reason not to, he’d act as if he did.
And help her. After all, that was his calling in life: helping people.
Plus, something about Savannah Oliver made him want to pull out all stops to clear her name. Her resigned yet hopeful attitude and this miserable situation were what did it, he told himself.
He could handle the unwanted attraction he felt for her. He had to.
Still, better that he do things quickly to try to clear her—like what he intended to do that evening and tomorrow.
He answered a few phone calls as he drove, mostly business-related but also concerning his family—darn it. Of course he was worried about his father, but at least Ainsley let him know that Payne was holding his own at the moment. And then there was the Ace situation. No matter what, the guy was their brother, even though not by blood.
He drove even more slowly once he reached downtown Mustang Valley. The earthquake damage wasn’t what kept his speed low, or not entirely. The cracked streets he traversed had already been at least temporarily fixed, or detours designated. The sidewalks around them had been improved a bit, too. The buildings not so much, at least not yet.
But what particularly kept Grayson from driving at a normal speed was amazement at how many tables along those sidewalks he now saw that had Affirmation Alliance Group signs on them—even more than before. He still liked the idea that they were out there trying to help people who’d suffered damages from the quake. But though he couldn’t quite put a finger on why, he still didn’t trust them.
His curiosity about them inflated even more after he reached his office building—and saw one of those tables on the sidewalk on the next block. The sign there was even larger than the rest—and it invited people to come and meet the group’s founder, Micheline Anderson.
Grayson had heard of Micheline—all pretty good stuff. Maybe his opinion of the group going overboard would change if he actually met her.
And so, after parking his SUV behind his office building, he walked around to the front and crossed the street.
The table here was larger than the others he’d seen. There were lots of flyers on it, and several people sat or stood behind it.
One had an identification card folded in front of her: Micheline Anderson.
The woman behind it appeared to be a really attractive senior. She had long blond hair, dangling earrings with pearls at the ends and a face that resembled a movie star’s. She wore a blue shirtwaist dress and stood behind the table.
Beside her ID card was a larger sign. It said Be Your Best You! Grayson had heard that before. It was her organization’s slogan.
He approached her. Several other people dressed nicely, yet less formally than Micheline, stood around her, and a couple were talking to others lined up across the table, apparently handing out flyers and discussing the group with them.
“Hello,” Grayson said to Micheline. She’d watched him as he approached, a large smile on her face. Did she recognize him? If so, how and why?
“Hello,” she said, drawing out the word as if she was happy to see him. “Welcome to the Affirmation Alliance Group. I’m Micheline Anderson.” As if he couldn’t tell, despite the others hanging around the long table with her. “And you are...?”
“I’m Grayson Colton.” He watched both her eyes and smile widen even more as he said his last name. Evidently, whether or not she thought she knew him, she was aware of the prominence of the Colton family—as who wasn’t around here? But not many people actually knew him...and his not-so-thrilled attitude toward most of his relations.
Although, on his way here, one of the calls he’d received was from his half brother, Callum. And after a bunch of arm-twisting, not easy over the phone, Grayson had agreed to join his relatives for dinner at the ranch house that night. The others intended to discuss some family matters and really wanted him there.
Which had also added to his concern about when he’d next be able to visit Savannah and help keep her motivated to stay where she was.
“How do you do, Grayson Colton?” Micheline held her hand out for a shake. “Thanks for coming to say hi. I assume you don’t need a place to stay after the quake, since, from what I’ve heard, the Rattlesnake Ridge Ranch survived just fine. That’s one of the reasons we’re out here, you know—to let everyone know we have a place people can stay, if they need it. But can I convince you to come visit us anyway and participate in one of our seminars? We give them often, on a variety of subjects to help people achieve our goal to ‘be your best you.’ There’s a charge, of course, since we use the money to help others.”
She smiled as if expecting him to compliment her for that, but he just smiled slightly in return.
“And you—” she continued, “I know you’re a first responder and like to help people too, right?”
Grayson realized it had been a mistake to come to this table, despite how curious he was. The woman might have good intentions—or not. But what she definitely had was an open hand in which she wanted money deposited, no matter what she intended to use it for.
His passing thought earlier, that meeting her might help him accept her and her group more, had been only that—a passing thought that definitely wasn’t coming true.
He needed to leave here right now, but without causing any kind of scene. He assumed Micheline would stop at nothing to achieve one of her goals, so he figured he’d need to do this as politely as he could.
“That’s great that you know who I am,” he lied, looking into her blue eyes, which he’d have found attractive on a younger and more trustworthy woman. “And I appreciate your invitation. I’ll definitely consider it.” Like hell he would. “But for right now I’m still working hard on helping people affected by the quake, as you are, so I can’t commit to doing anything else.”
“I understand.” Micheline’s smile seemed to drop a bit and her eyes showed irritation. “But here.” She picked up a bunch of flyers from the table and handed them to him. “Call anytime you’re able to set something up. And I hope it’s soon.”
“Thanks.” He accepted the paperwork, figuring he’d dump it into a recycle bin in his office as soon as possible. “And good luck to you in helping as many folks in need as you can.”
He strode away, across the street and into his building. Only then did he feel as if he could breathe naturally again.
He stood in the large, empty lobby, not yet approaching any of his staff. Okay, Affirmation Alliance Group could be everything Micheline claimed. Maybe more. But it sounded too good to be true. Plus, he didn’t trust people easily, partly because of ways his own family had tried to guilt him into giving up his own company and join Colton Oil.
Anyway, he didn’t need to stay in touch with their leader or any of them. And he hadn’t lied to her. He and his gang were still working hard on helping people affected by the quake. For him, that included the fugitive Savannah, and after he caught up on what he needed to do that day, he’d take another approach to helping her—and proving her innocence.
He hadn’t thought in advance about which of his staff he’d drop in on first now that he was on the floor where their offices were, but as often happened, Winchell decided that for him. Winch was well enough trained that Chad didn’t generally keep him leashed in the office, although his door was often closed. As it had been—till now. It opened, and Winch ran out toward Grayson.
As Grayson bent to pat Winch, Chad joined them. “Hey,” he said. “Good timing. Winch and I just ended our assignment for the day from the MVPD. And guess what?”
Grayson had a pretty good idea, considering the big grin on the retired cop’s face that moved his glasses up a notch on his cheeks. But he let Chad inform him. “What?”
“This excellent K-9 of mine found a survivor who’d been buried in rubble from an apartment building just outside town.”
“Good boy!” Now Grayson knelt on the floor and gave the dog a big hug. “Tell me more.” He stood again and faced Chad, as Pedro came out of his office, too. “I assume you’ve already heard the story,” Grayson said to Pedro.
“Not all of it,” the former firefighter said. “I want to hear more. Fortunately, though I helped to get rid of several fires, there weren’t any casualties—survivors or otherwise.”
“Let’s sit down here, then.” Grayson gestured toward the seats in the reception area. “Is Norah here, too?”
“No, I gather she’s back at the hospital, since the EMTs needed more help today,” Chad said.
His hand still on Winch’s head, Grayson listened to the story of the old and not particularly well-maintained apartment building in the part of town worst hit by the quake. And yes, it had been a couple of days, but the authorities were aware, thanks to info from others in that building, that at least one resident had remained missing. A couple of others, too, though they likely were out of town.
“The victim was elderly,” Chad said, “but word was that she exercised a lot and was in fairly good shape for her age. And nearly as soon as the neighbors pointed us in the general direction of what was left of her unit, Winch began reacting—though a small distance away, which was probably why the woman hadn’t been located before. Some firefighters and city staff were there digging, and in a short while they located her. She’d fortunately had an air pocket and had been able to breathe.”
“So Winchell’s a search and rescue hero,” Grayson said with a grin, still petting the dog.
“You’ve got it,” said his owner and handler. “Media folks were there, too, so I made sure to let them know Winchell and I were part of First Hand First Responders.”
“Then you’re our hero, too.” Grayson stood again and held out his hand for Chad to shake it.
After making a fuss over Winch some more, Grayson excused himself, letting his staff know he’d be in his office for a while. He had a lot of work to do there.
First, he sat down at his desk and faced his computer. He researched the location of the buried senior and saw exactly what Chad had described, including some videos of Winchell at work—and Chad’s mention of First Hand. Grayson virtually applauded.
The woman they’d saved, Susan Black, had suffered some significant injuries and was still in the hospital, but she was expected to make a full recovery.
Good. Grayson was glad the woman would be okay. He was also glad to see positive publicity for First Hand.
He next plowed through his emails, answering a lot of questions in them about what his company of first responders had done during and after the quake.
He was also glad to see that a few were from contacts from police and fire departments they’d worked with outside but not far away from Mustang Valley. But some were strangers, inquiring into what his first responders could and couldn’t do in emergencies. Fortunately, Grayson kept his billing amounts within reason.
Finally, he got to what he had intended to do all along: research the people involved in the case against Savannah.
First, he searched Zane Oliver online. No surprises there. From all Grayson found, the guy had disappeared and was presumed dead, murdered by his ex-wife. A knife had been found in her home with his DNA on it.
Grayson tried a little further digging. It appeared that Zane’s investment bank was still alive and profitable even without his presence. If so, Zane probably hadn’t been trying to run from a career gone bad.
It was a shame, though, that Grayson couldn’t instantly find information about Zane’s personal finances.
Maybe Savannah’s ex had invested his money back into accounts in the company to keep incurring further profits, still growing on behalf of his heirs, whoever they were, now that he was divorced.
That was something Grayson would have to look into, too. But not right now.
Next he researched that real estate developer Schuyler Wells, with whom Savannah had been accused of having an affair during her marriage. The guy was featured on a lot of websites mentioning construction and property sales, primarily around Mustang Valley. His picture was included in several of them, as were videos in which he described what wonderful homes and apartments and office buildings he’d been involved with planning and constructing—and now selling, undoubtedly for a nice profit, Grayson assumed. From what Grayson could see in the photos the middle-aged guy looked earnest and dedicated, with eyes staring straight into the camera, a tenor voice, and a hint of a knowing smile on his long face. His hair appeared short and impeccably groomed. He appeared to be of moderate height and mostly wore suits. A real real estate agent.
But Grayson began getting bored with all the hype, finding nothing particularly exciting about Wells. Grayson figured it was nearly time to go on to his next subject—
Only, oddly, he found something on one of the sites he next checked. Or not so oddly. Real estate moguls, with lots of construction and sales to their names, undoubtedly needed good attorneys to handle issues with buyers who found flaws or were otherwise unhappy with their purchases.
Therefore it wasn’t a huge surprise to learn of a lawsuit that had been filed against Schuyler Wells Real Estate—or that his defense attorney in the tort action had been none other than Savannah’s criminal lawyer, Ian Wright.
So the two of them knew each other. That didn’t necessarily mean they discussed Savannah.
But of course they could have. And the impression Grayson had gathered was that Schuyler Wells had lied about an affair with Savannah to make her appear to have a stronger motive to kill her ex—although that didn’t make complete sense, since they were already divorced. Even if Zane had heard about a supposed affair and used that as a reason to divorce Savannah, once they were no longer a married couple, there’d be no reason for Savannah to murder Zane. He would have had more of a motive to murder her.
Although of course Grayson didn’t know what the settlement of their assets involved. Even so, it was unlikely Savannah would become better off with Zane dead. She wouldn’t inherit anything since they were divorced, and it might be even harder for her to obtain whatever their divorce settlement was, if she hadn’t received all of it yet.
Anyway, Grayson compiled the information that he had found on researching all three men. He’d show it to Savannah tomorrow.
And then? Well, Grayson thought he might pay a visit to at least the lawyer, Ian Wright. Maybe just indicate that, since he’d found the van that had been transporting Savannah, he’d become interested in the murder case against her—and where would Ian go with it now if and when Savannah was found. What were his thoughts about that bloody knife that had become so vital in the case against Savannah? What else would he do to prove her innocent?
Of course the guy would undoubtedly rant about attorney-client privilege. But even so...well, maybe he’d say something that would give Grayson a better idea of whether it would make sense for Savannah to turn herself in—or to run far, far away.
Only then would Grayson let her know what he’d found out from Ian.
And he wouldn’t be at all surprised if that lovely, determined woman who definitely thought for herself would listen to what he hoped would be his sound advice.
It was late afternoon. Savannah sat in her usual spot, reading an article on the Mustang Valley city government website about the history of the town. She already knew most of it, but at least it occupied a fragment of her mind. She’d used the battery-operated charger to make sure her new phone continued to have power.
So far, no new ideas about chasing down Zane. And she hadn’t admitted it to herself, but she’d hoped that Grayson would come visit her sometime that day.
That was just because she now had something else to ask him. Or so she told herself—even without believing it.
Added to that was that she was lonesome, of course, with no one else around to talk to, no one she could trust enough to call even just to say hi.
And—well, she refused to admit to herself that she really enjoyed Grayson and his company. His obvious determination to help her.
His appealing looks that she could speculate about for the future...
Not.
Okay. Enough of this. She exited the website and pushed the button to make the phone’s screen go black, saving at least a little power.
She glanced down at the notebook on the table beside her. Oh yes, she’d been making notes.
Notes about things she would ask Grayson to do to help prove her innocence, though those remained sparse, and she couldn’t be sure he would do them anyway. More of her notes contained items she would ask Grayson to purchase for her—and of course she would reimburse him. Eventually. As a Colton, he undoubtedly had enough money to buy it in the first place.
But he shouldn’t buy it anywhere in Mustang Valley or in a town near here, because she had listed a lot of things she needed to disguise herself so she could at least escape this cabin. Maybe go into town and eavesdrop or snoop around to find evidence against Zane. Even ask questions without being recognized. Or so she hoped.
She grabbed the notebook and returned to the bathroom, where she again looked in the mirror.
Good thing she’d been a thespian in a local high school, though she hadn’t followed up afterward. She’d acted in a couple of different plays, even starred in one during her senior year.
The English teachers had been in charge and they’d taught the actors—including Savannah—how to put on makeup that helped them resemble their characters.
Savannah’s favorite role had been as a grandmother to a bunch of kids in a comedy. That meant she’d learned how to apply makeup to look older, which she intended to take advantage of now.
She usually wore makeup to enhance her appearance, which she considered attractive enough.
Now she would only ask Grayson to buy certain shades of foundation, eye shadow and hair dye, of course, since she planned a new haircut that would help disguise her even more. And she would be less recognizable if she wasn’t a blonde.
She could always return to her original coloring in the future, when this was all behind her.
As she had before, she studied her face and imagined what it would be like once she added lines to make her appear older, though her eyes would remain green, which could be a problem. But she didn’t want to suddenly start wearing contact lenses and possibly damage her vision.
She looked at herself, then down at her list, and up into the mirror again.
Okay, the list seemed good enough. Particularly because it also included the kind of clothes she would generally only wear while cleaning or on a hike or something—ratty T-shirts and jeans that already had holes in them, or whatever else was available at a discount shop.
And as embarrassing as it was, she would also have to request more underwear. She hated to provide her size, but what else could she do? They should not be the luxury kind she usually wore, though no one but Grayson would know that.
And yes, a new pair of athletic shoes, again not expensive but different from what she had now, the ones she had worn leaving the prison.
Now all she had to do was wait until Grayson showed up again. Sometime.
Surely he would. He’d promised.
And she could request then that he leave town and go buy her all she needed.
She only hoped he didn’t get caught. For her sake, sure. But also for his well-being, which was becoming more and more important to her.