Colton's Deadly Disguise

Bella hadn’t thought about the prospect of climbing atop the loading dock. The back garage-type door was her only way in, from what her reporter’s group informed her. Her editor-in-chief and supervising editor knew what she was up to, as did her closest reporter friend, Fred Jameson. Fred had never let her down, was always there for her and didn’t hesitate to speak up if Bella was crossing a boundary. Like the time she’d tried to stake out the local drugstore to catch underage teens purchasing vaping paraphernalia. She’d nearly been arrested as the shop owner wasn’t impressed with her credentials and positive motives. Fred had given her the passcode for the loading dock’s security pad, procured from “a friend of a friend.” Bella suspected Fred had paid someone off for the information but didn’t ask for details.

She silently thanked the years of video workouts she’d done as she climbed atop her car and then leaped up to the loading dock, no small feat in capris and sandals. Euphoria began to sing in her veins until she eyed the keypad lock next to the sliding door. Her colleagues had failed to mention this. It must be a new addition.

Still, she was this far. Bella decided to go for it and pressed the main button, hoping that maybe she’d luck out and the door would rise at once. All she got was a “please enter the passcode now” message, given in a disembodied female voice.

“Drat. Drat. Drat.” She muttered as she looked over her notes and emails from her trusted reporter circle. There, in bold letters, was the password that Fred had insisted she write down.

MUSTANG#1

Without hesitation she punched in the code. Hitting Enter, she held her breath. Until the grinding gears engaged and the door rolled up.

Bella hunched to get inside as quickly as possible, and once past the entrance hit the close button, ensuring no one would see the open door and call the police. That’s all she needed, to be caught breaking into the very school she’d been attacked in mere hours earlier.

Darkness immediately surrounded her so she pulled out her Mag-Lite and made her way through to the staff room, behind the stage. There hadn’t been any cars in the front lot where Spencer dropped her, and none back here, so she was comfortable in the thought of being alone. For now.

She still had to be careful. Not that being a journalist didn’t involve a modicum of wariness each day, but this time it felt different. Not only because she was attacked. She was getting herself more embedded than she ever had before, and the stakes were higher, now that she knew Spencer suspected the two pageant murders were related. His belief had been written all over his face.

No one would blame her if she decided to quit.

Never. This was for Gio’s sake.

Light still came through the staff-room windows and allowed her to see what she’d tried to breach before—the antiquated file cabinet. Except something was off. She squinted, tried to deny what she saw. Each and every drawer was open. Rushing to the cabinet, she couldn’t keep her groan from morphing into a cry as she saw all of the drawers had been emptied. If anything had ever been in there at all. Grasping the corners of the rusty metal cabinet, she bowed her head and for the first time since Gio’s funeral allowed herself to weep.

After a good cry, she’d be ready to make an even better plan. No one or nothing was going to keep her from justice for Gio.

Holden gave Bella Colton credit. The woman was as intrepid as any agent he’d ever met. As much as he wanted to discredit her motives due to her job description, he couldn’t. She wanted something in the school, most likely the staff room, and wasn’t going to let a mere attack get in her way.

He waited to see her disappear through the cargo entrance before he used his fob to enter the building. It’d show up on the security system as him, as the guard, and he’d explain it as having seen the cargo door being opened after hours. If Bella had a key code she might have some kind of legit reason for entering. But if she were entering the school again for a valid reason, why wouldn’t she use the front entrance? His internal radar wasn’t happy with what he’d witnessed. It was time for Bella Colton to answer some questions.

It took him a few minutes to get to the stage, as he had to move quietly. He drew his weapon as a precaution against the attacker returning, not to protect himself from Bella. She was an aggressive reporter but had no criminal record. Once again he thanked his lucky stars for his investigative team at the Bureau and the training he’d received. This case was growing more complicated by the second, as if the evil surrounding it was molten lava seeping into every crack and crevice of Mustang Valley.

An odd sound made him halt backstage, behind the curtain that allowed for undetected passage from stage left to stage right. The sound was from the staff room, he was certain. But he had to get closer, to make sure it was only Bella in there. As he crept along the cinderblock wall, the black curtain to his left, he heard his breathing, his heartbeat. But no more sound from offstage. Had Bella already left?

He cleared the curtain and saw the light pour out of the staff room a.k.a. stage dressing area. A few more steps and he’d put Bella’s journalistic snooping to a quick end.

But when he looked into the room, cleared left and right, it was empty. He stepped inside the open door and saw that the LEAs had done their job—swept for fingerprints, opened all drawers and file systems to rule out explosives, left everything as they’d had to.

The attacker had held an unconscious Bella near the old file cabinet, before he’d dragged her to the side exit and made his escape. Holden holstered his weapon and walked to the cabinet, the dusty behemoth’s four deep drawers wide open.

“Stay right where you are or I’ll spray!”

Female voice, to his rear, dead center. Voice—Bella Colton.

Crap.

Holding up his arms, he spoke. “You’re safe. I’m the security guard.”

“Don’t turn around or reach for your gun. I will take you down. You’re not in uniform.” She paused and he wondered if she was calling the police.

“This is Bella Colton. I want to speak to my bro—”

“Heck no!” He turned and faced her, ready to explain why he was here and find out why the hell she was. “You’re okay, I’m—”

Wet liquid heat hit his face, his eyes, his nostrils and then his mouth. And oh, by the love of heaven, it burned. As if microscopic shards of glass were cutting his face wide open.

Bella Colton had just pepper sprayed him. He, an FBI agent, had been bested by a reporter.

Again.

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