The Coltons of Red Ridge

“I don’t know. I wasn’t in the habit of checking her purse.” Quinn’s voice was sharp.

He pressed on, because he suspected the gold compact now was definitely a sign that Demi had been in the abandoned building. Maybe she’d dropped it while mixing the chemicals to blow up the place, cover her tracks before she went to her next destination.

“What does your compact look like? Was it like hers?”

Her full mouth flattened. “West, why all these questions?”

He squatted down by the table and took her hand into his, brushing a kiss against her knuckles. “We need to find her, Quinn. But I promise you this, when we find her, I will let you know.”

She blinked rapidly, moisture filling her lovely brown eyes. “I wish we had been closer. I really do. I’m so worried about her.”

He held her tight, stroking her back in circles. West hated seeing her this upset. Hated that he was the one making her cry, because he had to ask all these questions. It was his job, and he had no choice.

Not that he could tell her that.

“What does your compact look like? If it’s like hers, I might be able to track her down.” He wiped away a stray tear. “Don’t tell your brothers. This is something I’m working on my own.”

“To find Demi?”

At his nod, she swiped a hand over her eyes. He didn’t like the frown denting her brows, and the suspicious look she gave him. “Not because she’s my sister and you know how worried I am about her. Because she’s a suspect.”

He blew out a breath. “She is a suspect, Quinn. The sooner we can find, and question her...”

“The sooner you can arrest her.”

West clenched his hands. “The sooner she’ll be safe. Now, will you help me?”

Quinn bit her lower lip. “All right. I’ll tell you whatever you need to know, as long as it will help Demi.”

“Is your gold compact like hers?”

“Not exactly.” She frowned, and toyed with the brush again. “Actually, now I remember. Hers wasn’t gold. It was silver, with her initials on it. And round. I got a round one for her to engrave her initials on it.”

Damn.

“Mine was heart shaped.”

West went still. A chill raced down his spine. “What exactly does it look like?”

His heart dropped to his already-churning stomach at her next words.

“It’s gold. With a butterfly emblem on the front.”

Chapter 3

How the hell had his fiancée’s compact ended up in a blown-up building? Quinn acted as surprised as everyone else to learn about the explosion. And worried, too. Could she possibly have been in the building—helping her sister set up explosives? Come on.

He couldn’t risk sharing details with the RRPD just yet. The following morning, he drove east to meet with his supervisor. Special Agent in Charge Mikayla “Mike” Ryan ran the satellite office near Sioux Falls. She had worked with him in the field for the three years since West had moved to South Dakota.

Before meeting Quinn, he’d had the itch to move again.

The diner where he’d chosen to meet Mike was off the main grid, a small, but clean greasy spoon between Sioux Falls and Red Ridge. With her mousy brown hair, glasses, petite and trim figure clad in a blue pantsuit, Mike looked more like an accountant than a woman who knew how to take down bad guys. She was already there in a quiet back booth by the large picture window, sipping coffee and digging into a big plate of fried eggs and crispy bacon. His nostrils twitched with appreciation. Since dating Quinn, he hadn’t eaten anything “unhealthy,” but his taste buds sure did remember those days.

West slid into the booth across from her.

Mike glanced up from her forkful of eggs. “You look like hell, West.”

“Nice to see you, too.”

Beneath the table, he handed off the brown paper bag containing the bagged evidence of the gold compact, along with a plastic bag with a few strands of Quinn’s hair taken from her brush last night. Mike tucked it into the tote bag sitting on the seat beside her.

He signaled for the waitress and ordered black coffee. Stomach too tense to even try food, he watched his boss eat as if it were her last meal. Mike amused the hell out of him. How she stayed so thin while eating artery-hardening grease was a mystery. She was sometimes too sarcastic and loud, but a hell of a good field agent and manager.

West sipped his coffee and waited. Mike wasn’t the type to rush headfirst into conversation. She liked to give the agents a chance to collect their thoughts, assess the situation.

And then hammer them. He’d already filled her in on the explosion and the investigation.

“Anything on the RRPD?” she asked, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin.

Same question she asked yesterday. Mike was like a dog, worrying the same topic to death.

“Nothing so far.” West stared out the window of the diner. “I can’t get a bead on the Coltons. They’re good at their jobs, and keep to themselves.”

“Like you.” Mike stirred more cream into her coffee. “Anything else I should know?”

Guilt flickered through him. Yeah, I’m engaged and in love with the sister of the suspect. But you don’t need to nose around my personal life.

He clenched and unclenched his fists. “I need you to run the evidence for DNA and match against the hair sample I’ve provided.”

Mike didn’t even blink. “Victim of the blast?” She leaned forward, her green eyes sharp behind the glasses. “Or personal acquaintance, of the female variety?”

West cringed inside. “What makes you say that?”

“You look like you haven’t slept all night, and what sleep you did get was in your clothing. You want me to process this separately from the routine investigation the RRPD is already conducting, so it’s got to be connected to the Coltons or a Colton, and...”

He waited.

“You have a love bite on the right side of your neck.”

Inwardly, West cursed, and slapped a hand over the telltale mark. Knew he should have worn a collared shirt, but he’d been in a rush.

“And you shaved off your beard. You never shave your beard. So it has to be a woman.”

West rubbed a knuckle against his cheek. “My personal life is none of your damn business.”

Mike’s gaze narrowed. “It is if your personal life interferes with the job, West. You’re a good operator. I asked for you on my team because that’s how good you are. You’re focused and private and that’s fine. But don’t let a woman get in the way of finding Demi Colton. I’d hate to see you trash your career over good sex.”

“Great sex.” He locked gazes with her, and flattened his palms on the table.

Her mouth curled into a smile, and then she gave a short, grudging laugh. “I’m glad someone’s getting something. Fine. Do whatever you must do. But do your job, as well. And don’t hold anything back from me.”

Mike was not his father confessor. “You’re on a need-to-know basis. That’s how we set up this op. So when you need to know, I’ll tell you. For now, know this. Whoever blew up that hardware store probably is the same person who stole the fifty-five-gallon drum of peroxide from the chemical warehouse in Sioux Falls. This could have been a test for something bigger, with massive human casualties.”

Now he’d succeeded in diverting her attention away from his face and neck. Mike glanced at the bag in her tote. “Another TATP bomb? Demi Colton trying to create a distraction, or blow up a whole damn wedding, groom and bride this time?”

“I don’t know. My gut says whoever did this, the hardware store was a test run, to see how volatile the explosives were and how much was needed for the real thing. If it was Demi Colton, she’s gone beyond shooting grooms.” He took his notepad out of his back pocket where he’d scribbled details about Quinn’s sister and what he had learned about her.

Quinn hadn’t been close to her half sister. She’d told him as much. But that had been growing up. Giving Demi the gift of the mirrored compact told him Quinn reached out, tried to forge a bond with her sibling.

“Have you gotten anything out of the Colton brothers?”

“Not yet. They’re closemouthed and haven’t said much to me.”

“What about Quinn Colton? Has she said anything at all about her sister?”

He hadn’t been a smooth operator all these years to give away answers with his facial expression. West thumbed through the notebook. “She’s worried sick about her sister and the baby. She also thinks it’s possible that Demi could be the Groom Killer. If Quinn was in touch with her sister, she would coax her into surrendering to authorities.”

I hope.

Had Quinn helped Demi hide in the abandoned building, giving her food and water, and then they’d blown up the building to hide evidence? Too far-fetched, but why the hell was his fiancée’s compact in the rubble? He had no answers, only questions.

West shoved his notebook back into his pocket and glanced at his watch. He had enough time to grab lunch, and a few necessities, before arriving for the afternoon shift. The chief had granted him a half day after he’d worked the crime scene a full fourteen hours yesterday.

“Got to go. Call me as soon as you get a hit on that evidence.” West slid out of the booth.

Mike nodded. “And you check in every other day now instead of once a week. I don’t like this development, West. Or being left in the dark. You know what I do when I’m in the dark.”

“No worries. Will do.”

As he headed out of the diner, he knew the intent behind his boss’s words. Mike wouldn’t be satisfied with the meager information he’d given her. If she felt he was holding out, she would yank him off the case and replace his sorry ass. Or worse, go undercover herself to team up with him. In working close with him, she’d be certain to find out about his relationship with Quinn.

He could only hope he had answers to give her soon, before that happened.

* * *

Vegan meals were easy for Quinn to make. The hard part was the delivery, and the finicky client—Tia Linwicki.

Tia, who owned her own real estate agency on the edge of downtown, was very fussy about her meals. She had sent Quinn a specific list of foods to prepare. If the food was too hot, she complained. If it was too cold, she complained.

But she paid cash each day and didn’t mind the surcharge Quinn put on there for the special delivery fee.

Or, as Quinn privately put it, “The Bitch Fee.”

This morning she’d made Tia a special vegan garlic pasta with roasted tomatoes. The smells had been so enticing, they even made Quinn’s mouth water.

Then she slid the pasta into a special heated dish, covered it with the insulated food carrier and left her store.

Tia worked a good distance from her, but it was such a nice day, Quinn decided to walk. The insulated container would keep the pasta at the proper temperature and cool it slightly by the time she reached Tia’s office. If she drove, her client would complain the food was too hot to eat right away.

Humming, she walked past the stores, her practiced eye noting the lack of customers out on such a pretty, sunny day. Normally downtown was bustling with tourists. Not now.

Her business wasn’t the only one suffering.

The heels of her flat-soled shoes clicked on the pavement as she walked. At the corner drugstore, she saw West coming out, a paper bag in hand. Her heart beat faster.

Quinn nodded at him. “Afternoon, Agent Brand.”

“Miss Colton, a pleasure to see you,” he murmured, tapping his index finger to his lips. His eyes sparkled as he held up the bag.

Oh yeah, she knew why he had been in there. Condoms.

She continued walking, unable to keep the silly smile from her face. The finger-to-the-lips gesture was their secret code for he planned to spend the night with her. Oh yeah, great sex on the horizon always chased away gloomy thoughts.

Her smile fled. Condoms for tonight, but they’d been reckless recently. She might even be pregnant now. If so, West’s choice about kids would be removed. Well, that was a worry for later.

The early-pregnancy test kit she’d bought still sat in the bathroom. Soon as she returned home, she’d screw up the nerve to take it.

Later, she’d also worry about all the questions West had peppered her with over Demi. She was happy he’d finally opened up about his family, and sensed it was a deeply sore subject, but she wanted him to share with her about his childhood. Surely there were good memories, as he’d indicated last night. Quinn couldn’t imagine losing her entire family all at once. West had only told her it was an accident. Probably a car wreck.

Quinn wished she had shared a closer bond with Demi. Maybe her sister would have turned to her for help instead of running off. Pregnant, alone and probably scared.

Her thoughts drifted back to the cabin at Pine Paradise Tia had given her the key to. It would make a perfect place for her and West to honeymoon before Tia sold the property. Or share a day or two alone, away from the prying eyes of her neighbors. This business of him sneaking in and out of her apartment was taxing.

Shifting the covered dish in her hands, she saw Tia’s office. Tia had a small storefront at the edge of downtown, next to Lulu’s Boutique, a small shop offering imported Italian clothing and accessories. The closed sign hung on the boutique. Lulu usually closed shop at noon and drove home to feed and walk her two dogs.

No such lunch break for Tia. Tia never stopped hustling. Like the Larson twins, Tia liked money. Once or twice she’d seen the twins in Tia’s office. Not surprising. Tia had a harsh personality, as pushy as the Larson brothers.

Perhaps they talked shop, or looking for bigger and better deals. Yesterday she’d overheard Tia on the phone talking about Pine Paradise. Tia was not a happy person during that convo.

She peered through the front window of Tia’s office. The vertical blinds were drawn almost all the way across. Odd. Tia loved to leave them open, wave to pedestrians. Look important, doing deals, making money.

Making money for her clients.

Quinn shaded her eyes. The office was dark inside, but she could barely make out Tia’s desk. The woman wasn’t there. But a man dressed in a suit stood by the big mahogany desk Tia had bragged cost her a small fortune. The overhead fluorescent lights picked up the shining gleam of his black hair, worn long, down to his collar.

He turned, showing his profile, his expression slightly cruel, cold. A shiver raced down Quinn’s spine. She looked at the unruly cowlick sticking up from his hair. A cigar stump dangled from his mouth.

He didn’t look friendly, or welcoming. More like the type who threatened. Then he ran out the back door, fleeing as if the hounds of hell were chasing him.

Quinn hesitated. Wasn’t she being judgmental? The lighting inside could have made him look mean. Maybe Tia wasn’t working as hard as she claimed and she had a new love. Perhaps he didn’t want anyone knowing they indulged in a session of afternoon delight.

Tia, you could have picked a better lover. This guy looks like he gets off on playing it rough. Gooseflesh sprang out on her arms.

I’ve seen him before. But where? She frowned. Maybe at Tia’s office?

None of her business. Only delivering the meal was.

And getting paid.

Quinn set down the food carrier to fumble with the doorknob. She opened the door and grimaced as the stench of cigar smoke wafted outside. As she went to pick up the casserole, she saw a flash of white as an enormous KA-POW slammed the air. A giant hand punched her with a hammering fist, hurling her through the air back into the street. And then the world went dark and she felt no more.

Chapter 4

The shift in air pressure and the tremendous explosion rattled windows and made the ground shake. West instinctively dropped to the sidewalk, spilling the paper bag, and covered his head.

Screams filled the air. He waited for a few seconds, but it felt like minutes, before rising and looking at the edge of town.

In the direction Quinn had strolled. His heart dropped to his stomach and he raced to his truck, where Rex sat in the front seat, the air-conditioning running. West opened the truck, grabbed Rex’s leash, but the dog needed no coaxing.

They both ran in the direction of the explosion. Locals stared at the building, now engulfed in flames. West was already running, phoning for backup. No need, for the whole damn county must have heard the blast.

Not Quinn. Please, not Quinn. Let her be far away, hell, in the next town. Not Quinn. Not when he’d finally found her, allowed himself to feel again after all these years...

The real estate office was leveled, white smoke pouring from it. Safety first. It had been drilled into him, but that was for cases. Not for the love of his life.

Boards and rubble lay everywhere, shards of glass sharp enough to slice through skin. Flames licked at the back of the building. Ordering Rex to stay back, he picked his way through the rubble.

Quinn always delivered Tia’s meals in person...putting them on her desk. He had been there once, knew the agent worked at an expansive desk in the back. Everything in the back was splintered, fragments of a profession...of a life. Smoke billowed through the air.

Where the hell was Quinn? He’d seen her head in this direction, knew she was delivering Tia’s lunch. Maybe she hadn’t entered. Please, he prayed. Let her be okay. He whistled for the dog.

“Rex, find Quinn,” he yelled out.

Rex nosed through the rubble toward the front of the shop, clambering over boards and debris.

Rubble was everywhere. Rex barked, the signal for finding a human. Boards and a chair covered a petite figure sprawled on the ground. West lifted the board and tossed it aside to find a woman lying on her back. A shattered food container, and mangled bits of pasta, was nearby.

Quinn. She couldn’t be dead. His breath hitched, and then he saw her chest rise and fall. Relief made him weak, but he got a grip.

Alive, but unconscious, bleeding heavily from a laceration to her head. Blood streamed down the side of her face. West shrugged out of his jacket, tore off his white T-shirt and held it to her head to stanch the bleeding.

Not daring to move her further, in case of a neck injury and shattered vertebrae, he held his shirt against her head, his hand trembling.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he whispered, everything inside him bunched up in knots. Rex licked her face.

People were running toward him. The whine of sirens grew louder. Help was arriving. Hurry. In his mind’s eye, he flashed back to that terrible night when he was a teenager. House burning, broken glass littering the front yard, his screams echoing through the night as the sirens wailed a mocking song... Too late, too late, too late...

Not too late. Quinn was breathing. Alive.

EMTs rushed forward. One medical professional squatted by him, opened a kit. West was dully aware of the man trying to shoulder him aside.

“We’ve got this,” the paramedic assured him. “Let us treat her.”

Let her go. They’re professionals. But everything inside him screamed to hold on and not let go of Quinn because if he did, he could lose her.

She might die, just like his mother, father and little sisters.

She will die if you don’t move it, Brand.

Dragging in a deep breath, he stood and stepped aside.

With quiet, swift professionalism, the paramedics went to work, swapping out his soaked shirt for real bandages, putting a neck brace on her to prevent her head from moving, starting an IV, taking her pressure. He heard a buzz of words, saw them slide Quinn onto a backboard and then lift her onto a gurney.

She’s going to be okay. Has to be okay. I can’t lose her.

Everything inside him fought to run back to his truck, race after the screaming ambulance. Follow her to the hospital, make sure she got treated, hover until she opened her eyes and looked at him.

West clenched his hands and unclenched them. Using a breathing technique he’d learned from a therapist who’d treated him for PTSD, he centered himself and his thoughts.

The best way he could help Quinn was by doing his job. The sooner he helped catch the bastard doing this, the safer she and the town would be.

“Brand!”

He turned at the sound of Finn Colton’s voice. The chief looked at the departing ambulance, his expression grim. “What happened?”

West told him about finding Quinn, as others arrived and began to work the scene.

He knew cops, knew the tight brotherhood. Quinn had been injured—one of their own, family—and they were going to work this case hard.

West didn’t need to get insider information on the local cops to ascertain this. He knew human nature.

Finn gave him a hard look. “Brayden and Shane are on their way to the hospital, and they’ll question Quinn if she wakes up. I need you to stay here, work the scene.”

West nodded, though he fought the instinctive need to rush to the hospital with the chief. He turned back to his truck to fetch his equipment.

No one knew what Quinn meant to him. They had kept their relationship secret on purpose. But right now, as he jogged back to his truck, Rex at his side, he was the one who could openly claim her and join her brothers at the hospital.

* * *

Firefighters had quickly doused the flames and now the cops were working the scene. Someone had marked Tia’s body.

What was left of it.

He saw a high-heeled red shoe attached to a section of bloodied leg sticking out from beneath half a large-screen television. High heels. Quinn had not worn high heels. Not during the day. At night she liked wearing them when they met in secret outside town. Dinner, a show, good times.

He liked her in high heels, and when she wore them to bed last week...

Was she okay?

Focus, Brand. Focus.

West dragged in a breath and studied the body with cool, professional detachment. Tia lay on her side. One of her arms had been torn off in the blast, and her torso was horribly mangled.

Burns covered her body and part of her head...

He looked at Tia’s head, noting the head injury and exposed brain matter with analytical coolness. If she had died before the explosion, the autopsy would confirm it.

“Find,” he ordered Rex, his death grip on the leash making his palm sweat through the latex gloves.

Rex combed through the building’s rubble to search for secondary devices. Nothing found. But near what had been Tia’s desk, West found pieces of the bomb, including the detonator.

Cell phone. Same kind of burner phone used in the first bombing.

Until the pieces were tested, he couldn’t be certain, but he suspected it was the same type of bomb that had gone off earlier in the abandoned building. The first bomb was a trial run, probably to see how much damage the unsub could inflict.

But something had gone wrong. The killer hadn’t known that Quinn delivered lunch here every day around noon. Nor had he anticipated the device wouldn’t totally destroy evidence.

Or had he? Quinn had told him that everyone knew her schedule—that every day she hand delivered lunch to Tia, one of her best clients. Tia always ate at twelve thirty sharp. The woman ran a tight schedule.

He returned to his truck, fetched his equipment. With methodical care, he combed through the scene. Gray file cabinets were dented, some of their contents blown out. The computer was in shards, but if Tia backed her files up to a cloud, they could access them.

Maybe one of her clients had a grudge. Damn, it was better than thinking someone had it in for Quinn, or wanted to cause more than one injury.

In the rubble, he found the thin stump of a cigar. West bagged and tagged the evidence. Tia smoked. A fact Quinn relayed to him previously, her pert nose wrinkling in disgust. Tia even liked to light up Cubans after hours. But everything had to be looked over.