Colton's Secret Investigation

He lifted a brow at her. “You hoard yarn?”

She put on her best snooty voice. “It’s not hoarding, Agent Roberts. It’s therapy.”

He gave another chuckle. “What do you do with it?”

“Knit.” He blinked. “And before you say anything derogatory, keep in mind knitting involves two very pointy tools.”

“I just…never pictured you as the knitting type.”

“What you don’t want to picture is me without it. Other people count to ten to hold on to their temper. I count stitches.”

“Point taken. Er, no pun intended.”

“Too bad,” she retorted. “It would have been a good one.”

And suddenly they were both laughing. And it was the most amazing feeling she’d had in a long time. That they could laugh amid what was going on was probably a bit macabre, but she couldn’t deny it felt good.

“Thanks,” he said. “I needed that.”

“Me, too. So, shall we get back on the merry-go-round?”

As had become habit now, they went through it all again. They’d done it so often they both had every step of the investigation practically committed to memory. But this was her first case anywhere near this magnitude, and Daria was determined to justify Trey’s faith in her.

They went over what little they had on the newest missing girl. They knew little except that she was from Denver, had been gone a week longer than expected and resembled the other victims. It wasn’t even certain yet that she was a victim of their quarry. But the resemblance was there, so they factored her in, although as of now she was in the category of “possible.”

Others were searching for her as an active missing person, and Daria sent up an earnest hope that she was found alive—and not simply because another victim would ratchet up the pressure on them.

“Blue Eyes,” Stefan muttered when they finally reached the newest bit of information they had.

“Helpful, huh?” Daria deadpanned.

“More than we had before,” he said. He turned to the laptop that was now booted up on the table in the center of the room. He tapped a couple of keys, and the recording she’d heard at least a dozen times played again. She listened to Lucy Reese, aka Bianca Rouge, tell her friend Candace—who had unexpectedly turned out to be the mother of the baby left on Fox Colton’s doorstep—that her date had passed out drunk, so she was down in the hotel bar and had connected with an older guy who was “still hot.” She had cheerfully referred to him as Blue Eyes and ended with a promise to see Candace later.

A promise she had been unable to keep.

It still gave her chills to listen to that rather ordinary message, given in such normal, even happy tones, by a woman who would soon be dead.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” she said.

“Used to what?”

Sighing, she looked at Stefan. “Hearing her sound so happy and chipper. It’s still distressing to listen to, knowing what happened to her.”

“Don’t ever get used to it,” Stefan said quietly. “If you ever get to the point where you can hear that, knowing, and not be distressed, it’s time to walk away.”

She hadn’t expected that. Sometimes this man surprised her. There were depths to Stefan Roberts that he kept hidden. It occurred to her to wonder if that might be part of the problem with his son, if he kept his feelings so masked the boy didn’t know how he felt, but she quickly pushed the thought away. It was, she reminded herself again, not her business.

An hour later they exchanged a glance, and both sighed at the same moment. He gave a low chuckle. “No sense putting it off any longer.”

“Agreed. Frame by frame this time?”

He nodded. He adjusted the settings on the video player on the laptop while she grabbed the remote and turned on the flat screen. This was going to take hours upon hours, she knew, going through all relevant feeds and angles of the security video from the hotel one frame at a time, but they’d so far been unable to find anything at all, even in slow motion, and this was their last shot.

“What do you want to start with?” he asked.

“The elevator lobby,” she said. “We know Bianca at least was upstairs first.”

He nodded and called up the video. It was already at the point where they had spotted Bianca coming out of elevator two. The timing coordinated with the message she’d left Candace, which was how they’d located this moment when she had come out of the elevator after leaving her drunken, passed-out client up on the third floor.

It was slow work. By utilizing some facial recognition software Stefan had access to, they had managed to track Bianca from the elevator across the lobby. Daria felt like calling her Lucy, because that’s who she really wanted to get justice for, the girl she’d once been who had found her way into this life for reasons they hadn’t yet uncovered.

Bianca had been headed in the general direction of the bar off the main lobby, but as far as they had been able to tell, she had not appeared in any video of the bar itself. So they now set themselves to going second by second, looking at every figure in the busy lobby, as far into the background of the video as they could see. They made notes of clothing to compare with other shots, anything that looked even vaguely similar to what Bianca had been wearing.

They studied any exchanges between men and women, taking notes again on clothing and any other distinguishing characteristics, on the theory that any man in the lobby could have been the one she connected with, and that he might have tried to pick up another woman before Bianca. And just because her message to Candace had mentioned the bar didn’t necessarily mean she’d met him in there.

She and Stefan had spoken little, but she’d found it interesting. Since they couldn’t see eye color on the videos, they’d given up trying to eliminate on that basis. Especially after, when she wearily suggested they just look at blonds for a while, Stefan smiled wryly and said, “I’ve got a cousin who’s darker than I am and has the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen.”

“I was kidding,” Daria said. “But I’ll bet your cousin is striking.”

“She’s gorgeous.”

Well, that doesn’t seem fair. Two of them in the same family? She yanked herself back to the matter at hand, although her next thought grew right out of that.

“That brings up the other issue,” she said.

“You mean her description of the guy?”

Daria nodded. Bianca had referred to the man she was meeting as handsome. They’d each pointed out men in videos to look more closely at, but after a couple of startled looks at each other over their selections, they laughed again.

“I defer to your female judgment,” Stefan said with a grimace. “Obviously I have no clue.”

“Different things are attractive to different women,” she replied. “But I’m not sure that applies in Bianca’s case. For her…job, she’d be looking for the ones who perhaps couldn’t get any woman in the room with a look.”

“You mean not the glamour guys, the movie-star types?”

“I mean,” she said, risking a grin at him, “guys who don’t look like you.”

He looked taken aback. She knew it couldn’t be at her assessment of his looks—after all, the guy had to look in a mirror now and then. He had to know he was way beyond handsome. Was it that she dared to tease him?

She shrugged. “I figured we’d been working together long enough now I could rib you a little. Sorry if I was out of line.”

“I…no. I just didn’t think you…thought that.”

It was her turn to blink. “What, you didn’t think I noticed? I’m not blind, Roberts.”

He looked at her for a long, silent moment. Let his gaze slide from her head to her toes. “Neither am I,” he said softly.

And that quickly he turned it around on her. Daria’s breath jammed up in her throat. She knew she could clean up nice, and when she took the time and trouble in, say, formal wear, she was attractive enough. But on duty she was all business. She’d set her course when she’d first been hired on here four years ago, and any guy who tried to flirt with her on the job was quickly chilled by her lack of response.

She had, with some nudging from Trey, gone out a few times with one of his closest friends, fellow deputy Keith Parker. Dates that were perfectly nice but utterly lacking in chemistry. And they had both quickly agreed they were much better off as friends, especially since they had to work together.

Which did not explain why she’d said what she’d did just now. It couldn’t be simply that Stefan was from outside the department. Or that he was quite possibly the most luscious male she’d encountered in a long time, let alone spent any appreciable time with. Could it?

Since she had no answers, and couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t get her in deeper, she simply went back to work.

On and on they went. Finding nothing. Only when her back began to ache—a rare occurrence for her, since she was determinedly in tip-top shape—did Daria finally glance at the time.

“Whoa,” she said, startled.

Stefan, who had been as intent on the task as she, looked up from the screen. She guessed, by the way he blinked, then rubbed at his eyes, that they were as dry and weary as hers were.

“It’s after eight,” she said.

He blinked again, and apparently as disbelieving as she had been, glanced at his watch.

“Damn. I’ve got to make a call.”

“And I’ve got to answer a call,” she said. “I’ll be in the ladies’.”

Her way of putting it earned her another brief flash of that grin. But when she came back, there was no sign of the amused man she’d left.

“Problem?” she asked.

“Yeah. Look, I know we’ve got a long way to go yet on this stuff, but…my sitter has to leave. And I can’t leave Samuel alone.”

“I should think not,” Daria said, imagining all the trouble a five-year-old could get into left to his own devices. “So…you want to call it a night?”

“No, I don’t, not when we’ve got so much more to get through. But…look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ve got a setup like this in my home office. It wouldn’t take much to pick up right where we left off there.”

Warning bells went off in Daria’s head. No way did she want to be in a nice, homey environment with this man. But as she looked at him—once she managed to stop dwelling on his strong jaw, broad shoulders and narrow hips—she realized he was more than a little frazzled. He would likely be so worried about his boy that he wouldn’t be thinking about…what she was thinking about. And couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.

Just because you think he’s the hottest thing that’s ever walked these mountains doesn’t mean he feels the same about you, idiot. And even if he did, it would not only be inappropriate, it would be downright stupid. For you, anyway.

“Fine,” she said abruptly. “I’d like to finish this tonight.”

“Thanks,” he said, and it sounded so heartfelt she felt even sillier for her own thoughts.

And she shoved them back into that “not interested” box.

Chapter 3

Mrs. Crane couldn’t leave fast enough. After a quick report that Samuel had refused to eat dinner or quit playing his video game or go to bed, she was gone. Stefan noticed Daria looking around the house with interest, but he couldn’t read her reaction to his place in her expression. He wasn’t sure if maybe he should be glad of that.

But right now he shouldn’t be thinking about that. He shouldn’t be thinking about Daria at all, but about the rebellious kid who had landed on him. He walked over to where the boy was indeed glued to his video controller, his eyes on the screen. He didn’t even look up when Stefan came in. And not for the first time, Stefan thought he should never have hooked the system up to the big TV. He’d foolishly thought of it as a peace offering.

He walked over to the couch. “Way past your bedtime.”

The boy didn’t even look up from his game.

“Come on, Samuel. Shut it down.”

Again the boy ignored him.

“He’s almost to the big castle. He can’t stop now.” Stefan turned to stare at Daria. Even Samuel looked up, startled. “Watch out, there’s a zombie!” she warned the boy, who quickly went back to the game, and with a couple of button presses, the stiffly walking, sickly-green creature was gone.

“Nicely done,” Daria said. “Now, when you get to the castle wall, it’s time to come have something to eat before bed. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Samuel said, focused on the game but still responding.

And to Stefan’s shock, when the game seemed to pause at the foot of a soaring stone wall, Samuel closed it and put down the controller.

“Have you encountered the dragon yet?” Daria asked the boy conversationally as they walked toward the kitchen. Stefan followed, suddenly feeling like a bystander in his own house.

“Not yet,” Samuel said.

“Ohhhh, you wiiill,” she said in an over-the-top creepy voice that made Samuel laugh. Stefan was gaping now; he hadn’t seen his son laugh since he’d been here.

Then the boy looked at her curiously. “Who are you?”

“My name is Daria. I’m working with your dad for a while.”

The boy’s expression changed, became something wary. “Oh.”

“You don’t like that,” Daria said. “Why?”

“My mom worked with someone. An’ he doesn’t like me. So she sent me away. Now I’m stuck here.”

Daria glanced at Stefan, and he felt his jaw tighten involuntarily.

“Well, I like you, so no problem,” she said to Samuel cheerfully. “What do you want to eat?”

The wariness faded from the boy’s expression. And Stefan had the niggling thought that he should be paying attention.

“I don’t know,” Samuel said. “There’s never anything good here.”

“Really? Nothing?”

“It’s all this fancy stuff.”

“Not even a good burger, huh?” Daria sympathized.

“No.”

“Maybe we should just look and see if there’s anything we can make edible.”

“What’s edi—ed…what you said?”

“It means you can eat it without gagging,” she said in a loud whisper.

And again the boy laughed. Stefan gave a slow, wondering shake of his head. I should definitely be paying attention here. How does she do that?

Daria was looking at him questioningly. He realized she was seeking some reaction from him, probably to her taking over. “Don’t stop now,” he muttered.

And then she was in his kitchen. Looking in the refrigerator. She ignored the leftover Szechuan takeout he’d had last night and figured they would eat later while working, and if she noticed the six-pack of beer—well, five-pack, now—on the top shelf, she ignored it. She poked into the deli drawer, then looked over her shoulder at him.

“Bread?” she asked.

Afraid to say anything for fear of setting Samuel off again, he walked over to the small pantry and got out the half loaf that was in there.

“Good,” she said. “Samuel, do you know where a skillet is?”

Stefan blinked, since it was hanging on a rack practically in front of her, opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again.

“Silly, it’s right there,” Samuel said, grinning and pointing.

“Why, so it is. Good eyes, my friend.”

She’d done it on purpose, Stefan realized. She was bringing Samuel into the conversation in a way he never would have thought of. And the boy was responding, right before his eyes.

“Now if only we had some butter, we could have a mega grilled cheese sandwich.”

Looking intrigued, Samuel trotted into the kitchen and pointed at a covered dish on the counter. He was tall for his age, but not quite tall enough to reach it. “It’s in there.”

“Then we’re a go.” She reached up for the skillet, unhooked it and handed it to the boy, who looked beyond startled. “Go set that on a front burner for me, will you? Don’t turn it on yet, though. I have to get the stuff ready.”

“’Kay.”

With exquisite care, Samuel carried the skillet over and set it down as she’d instructed. Stefan was leaning against the opposite kitchen counter now, watching in complete fascination.

“Good job,” Daria said. “But do you see a problem?”

“No.”

“Back up a little.” The boy did so. “Now walk toward me.”

He started to do as she’d said. Then, suddenly, just before his face would have collided with the protruding skillet handle, he yelped, “Oh!” Samuel reached and moved the skillet so the handle wasn’t sticking out.

“Wow, you figured that out quick,” Daria said. And Stefan felt the strangest sensation somewhere in his chest as his son beamed at her. He’d been wrestling with the boy for a month now, and she had charmed him in fifteen minutes flat.

Not only that, but when she’d finished preparing the thick, melted cheese sandwich, the boy gobbled it down, along with a big glass of the milk Samuel had looked at scornfully when Stefan had offered it to him.

“Now, let’s get you to bed, so you can be all rested up to attack tomorrow.”

The boy seemed to like the way she put it and happily headed into the bathroom next to his bedroom to brush his teeth. Daria stood in the doorway, saying, “Look at you—you don’t even need a step stool, you’re so tall. Are you sure you’re not six or seven?”

Samuel gave her a toothpaste-laden grin. And just to further emphasize the difference, he jumped into bed happily. Daria pulled the covers up over him as she said, “Kind of a big bed, huh?”

“Too big,” Samuel muttered, so low Stefan almost couldn’t hear it. He frowned. A bed was a bed, wasn’t it? If you fit in it, what did it matter how big it was?

Well, unless you had someone like Daria in it with you.

He could feel the pressure on his teeth telling him just how hard he was clenching his jaw to make sure he didn’t say anything even vaguely like what he had just thought.

“I see you’ve got some fun books there,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed as she gestured at the two colorful books on the nightstand.

“They’re dumb,” Samuel pronounced. “For babies. Teacher reads it to us. ‘The cat chased the mouse.’ What kind of story is that?”

“I see. I guess you’d better learn to read yourself in a hurry so you can get into the good stuff.”

For the first time, Samuel glanced at his father. “You mean like the boring stuff he reads?”

Daria didn’t look at Stefan. She was fixated on his son as if he were the most interesting person in her life. “Boring, huh? What doesn’t it have that it should?”

Samuel thought, his brow furrowed. “Dragons. Maybe spaceships. Or a cool dog, not a silly cat.”

“Hmm,” Daria said, and she pulled out her phone. “I might just be able to help you there.”

Stefan couldn’t see what she was doing from here, but he was afraid to move from the doorway and shatter the mood. Plus, he was feeling decidedly extraneous, unnecessary. Add to that the realization that was dawning that he’d never quite thought of his son as a person with opinions and ideas of his own, and he was feeling like a complete failure. Again.

He watched as Daria held out her phone for Samuel to see. “Maybe a dog like that?”

“Yeah!”

“Well, I just happen to have his story right here. Want to hear how it starts?” The boy nodded excitedly. “Okay,” Daria said. “But you have to listen with your eyes closed, so you can imagine the story in your mind better.”

Obediently, Samuel’s dark eyes closed.

She swiped a finger across the screen, obviously opening what was a reading app. And then she began to read in a low, pleasant voice. But when she got to dialogue, her voice took on a different tone for each character, making it come even more alive.

Stefan found even he was caught up in the story of a lost dog looking for home. And when she stopped what seemed like a very short time later, he realized he was waiting for Daria to begin again. But instead she brushed her fingers gently over Samuel’s cheek, stood up and stuffed her phone back into her pocket. Only then did Stefan realize his son was fast asleep.

“You’re a miracle worker,” he said softly when she had crossed the room to the doorway.

“It didn’t take that much.”

More than I’ve got, apparently.

He backed out into the hallway and stood there, still a little in shock, as Daria pulled the door closed behind her. Well, almost closed; she left it open about an inch. When he reached for the knob to close it the rest of the way, she looked at him curiously.

“Don’t you leave it open a little so you can hear him in the night, if he needs anything?”

In fact, he had not. It had never occurred to him. He had looked upon the closing of that door as a sign they had survived another day, and usually felt a sense of relief that made him also feel guilty.

“I…didn’t think of it. We used to, when he was a baby, but I didn’t think—Damn, I suck at this,” he muttered.

Turning away, he headed down the hall, embarrassed that she’d seen him at his most…ineffective. She followed him into the den, where he powered up the laptop and began to set it up to mirror onto the flat screen that was actually bigger than the one at the office.

“The first time you shot for a score, was it perfect?”

He stopped, wondering where that had come from. Looked over his shoulder at her. “Of course not. I’d never shot at a target before.”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“You didn’t expect to be a crack shot the first time, so why expect to be dad of the year when you’ve only just jumped back into the parenting pool?”

He blinked. “I…never thought of it like that. I mean, he’s five, and…”

“You said you hadn’t had much contact since the divorce?”

“No. And what we had was…strained.”

“And you’ve been on your own for a couple of years now, so in essence, you’re starting over. Building from scratch, and that takes time.”

Stefan looked at his watch, not realizing why until the thought formed in his head. In the space of less than half an hour, Daria Bloom had both charmed his son and made Stefan himself feel so much better in the process.

“Miracle worker,” he said, “doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

Chapter 4

Daria tried to focus on the screen as they laboriously went through the security video as promised, frame by frame, but her mind kept drifting back down the hall to where a little boy slept. He was a sweet kid who was just feeling helpless right now, ripped out of the life he knew and plunged into another world. A world that clearly hadn’t ever had him in mind. No wonder he was snarly. It was self-preservation. Especially if what he’d said was true—that some man in his mother’s life didn’t like him and so he was discarded. At least her own mother had had no choice. She couldn’t imagine what it would have felt like to know she just hadn’t wanted her child.

And even more disconcerting, she kept looking up and finding Stefan watching her. Something in his eyes unsettled her.

“Problem?” she finally asked.

“Sorry,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “I just can’t get over how you handled Sam. Samuel.” He said it in the tone of a self-correction. When she gave him a curious look, he shrugged. “His mother insists on Samuel.”

“What does he want to be called?”

Stefan glanced toward the hallway, then said rather sheepishly, “I don’t know. I never asked him.” He gave another, more definite shake of his head. “I never thought to talk to him the way you did.”

“I gathered. Talk to him, Stefan, not at him. And more important, listen to what he says. He needs to know he’s got your full attention, and not only when you’re correcting him. He needs to believe he matters to you.”

“Of course he matters.” He ran a hand over his head. And let out a long, weary breath. “I remember when he was born. I was going to be the greatest dad ever. I’d had my own father for an example, you know?”

She smiled at him. “Siblings?” she asked.