Justine Davis - Colton Family Rescue

“She tried to do a sketch with the police artist,” she said when the story was finally out, “but she’s only four. She couldn’t describe much more than her eyes. Then last night it was dark and she was terrified.” Her fingers were knotted together and resting on her knees, the only way she could stop them from shaking. “But it was a woman. It has to be the killer.”

He just looked at her, in that quiet, assessing way he had. She made herself go on.

“I know it’s crazy, asking you for help. But with you, at the ranch, is the only place I’ve ever felt completely safe. And I know you loved Emma, once. So when the police asked me if there was someplace safe I could take her...”

He still said nothing as her voice trailed off. She steeled herself, and sat up a little straighter. She saw something flicker in his eyes then, as if something had shifted in his clever brain. But still he said nothing. And even knowing it was a tactic, knowing he used silence as a tool, she felt compelled to fill it. And to give him the acknowledgment he deserved.

“I know you hate me, and you have every right. Nothing, not even your mother’s threats, can change the fact that from your point of view, I took money to leave. But this is for Emma—as was that, not that it makes any difference to you—and I’d do a lot more than beg to keep her safe.”

“Would you.”

It wasn’t a question, and Jolie belatedly realized how her last words could be interpreted. She felt her cheeks heat but told herself at least he’d finally spoken. But then she had a sudden vision of him demanding sex in return for his help, of him taking out whatever anger at her remained, ruining forever the sweet memories that were all she had left of that brief, too-brief time in her life when she’d thought she’d truly found her place.

“So you really think I’d do that,” he said, his voice harsh.

She looked at him, realized she’d forgotten he read her as easily as she read him, and that he’d guessed what she’d been thinking. The sex part, anyway; she doubted he could guess at how much those memories tormented her. She made herself hold his gaze, and it was one of the hardest things she’d done since the night she’d left him.

“No. You would never use that to punish, even if you wanted to.” Her mouth twisted. “Besides, you can’t want me anymore.”

“Oh, I want you,” he said, his voice so harsh now it made the admission more a threat than anything. “But, lady, I can’t afford you.”

The words she doubted had ever been spoken by a Texas Colton in decades echoed in the space between them. But she knew how he meant it. And for the first time she had an inkling of what her departure had cost him emotionally.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, meaning it fiercely. “Sorrier than you can ever know. But I couldn’t make her live like that, under your mother’s hatred. I took the only chance I would ever have to make sure Emma would never grow up like I had to.”

“So you made your little deal with the devil.”

She blinked. “These are your parents we’re talking about.”

“Exactly.”

Her brow furrowed. He’d never been blind to his parents’ quirks, but he’d never been this critical. It struck her as especially odd now, with his father missing. But she didn’t want to go there, so she said nothing.

“Where have you been?”

He sounded as if he’d fought asking, so she considered her answer carefully. “Here.”

“You never left Dallas?”

“Only for a while. I went to school. Came back. Had a couple of jobs, worked my way to where I am now.”

He looked at her over steepled fingers. “Which is?”

She gave him a sideways look. “I work at a hotel.” She decided not to tell him at the moment that her hotel could be seen through the big windows of this office. Or that she’d hesitated taking the job for that very reason.

“Doing?”

“Sous-chef. Mainly I work in one of the restaurants, although I’m on the banquet staff, too.”

She waited, thinking silence could work in both directions, and that she could do it, now that she was a little calmer. And if answering these questions would get him to help her keep Emma safe, the cost would be little enough.

“Stayed in the kitchen, then.”

He didn’t say it the way some did, his mother in particular, who had a way of using the phrase “kitchen help” that had set her teeth on edge.

“It was what I knew.”

“Use us as a reference?”

That cut, and she knew he’d meant it to. He would never belittle her job, he respected honest work. But what she’d done...

She pulled herself together inwardly. She’d done what she’d done, she’d thought it her only option at the time, and she couldn’t change it. She’d apologized, both for coming here and for what had happened four years ago. He deserved that. And she would beg, if she had to, for Emma. But she wouldn’t grovel at his feet. She would find another way.

“If I’d been braver, and smarter—and less scared for my daughter—at the time, I would have demanded a glowing reference as part of the deal.” She got to her feet. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Colton.”

“Leaving so soon?” He didn’t even react to the formality. She realized she was getting a taste of what negotiating with him must be like.

“This was obviously a mistake.” She grimaced. “I thought I was past making them this big, but obviously I was too scared by last night to think straight.”

His jaw tightened. She wondered if it was in outrage that she’d had the nerve to even begin to think he might help her. She wouldn’t blame him if it was.

“I can’t change what happened, but I am glad to have had the chance to apologize and explain. I know it makes no difference to you, but it does to me.”

She turned and walked toward the door. Her heart was sinking, and she felt panic hovering anew. Mrs. Amaro, she thought desperately. Perhaps she would watch Emma tonight while Jolie went back to the apartment and gathered some things. She didn’t want the girl to go back there, wondered if she would ever feel safe there again, even if the killer was found.

And then they would go...somewhere. She didn’t know where, but somewhere safe. She would think of something.

She had to.

Chapter 6

T.C. watched her go. He was so angry at himself he said nothing. Well, angry at his body, anyway, for the instant, fierce response to her. If he’d had half that response to anyone else, he’d likely be married and have produced the precious grandkids his father kept nagging him about.

Had kept nagging him about.

And that unwelcome thought made him realize that after that first moment, he’d never once thought of Fowler’s accusations.

“Jolie.”

She stopped, half turned back to look at him. He steeled himself and ignored the flash of hope he saw in her eyes.

“Have you seen my father?”

Her brow furrowed. She seemed genuinely bewildered by the question. “Of course not. I would have told you, first thing. And the police. I wouldn’t have forgotten that, no matter what that woman did last night.”

Out of what he told himself was idle curiosity, he asked, “I thought it was too dark to see?”

“It was. That’s why I can’t say for sure she was blond. It could have been the light.”

“Then how are you so sure it was a woman at all?”

“I could tell when I tackled her.”

He drew back slightly. “Tackled her? You tackled an armed assailant?”

“Of course,” she said with a frown. “She had my little girl.”

And a knife, T.C. thought. Jolie might not have had the strength of will to stand up to his mother and father four years ago, but as a mother, she was clearly a tigress.