Linda O. Johnston - Colton First Responder

She hoped.

The next morning, Grayson awoke at the family ranch.

Now he sat at his wing’s kitchen table, more decorative and undoubtedly more expensive than the plain wood one at the cabin last night. He grabbed toast and coffee for breakfast, getting ready to meet the new day and learn more about how his employees had done yesterday. From what he’d grasped when he spoke with Norah, everyone had been out there helping people successfully. But he hadn’t spoken with any of them again afterward. He wanted confirmation today, as well as more details.

He also planned to check out what downtown Mustang Valley looked like after the quake, and do a shopping expedition there, as well.

Then—well, then, he would have the pleasure of going to see Savannah again. Lovely Savannah, who claimed she had been set up by her ex and falsely accused of murder. Very falsely.

He had thought about Savannah a lot last night after leaving her. Maybe he should just stay out of the whole thing, neither help her nor rat on her to the authorities. But—well, he liked her.

And he hated the idea that she was being framed by her ex, if that was true.

He’d gotten out of a bad relationship recently, too. But they’d both just walked away. His ex hadn’t plotted any revenge against him, and he hadn’t against her, either. That sounded so absurd in Savannah’s situation. But it could of course, be true.

Hell, he was a first responder. He helped people who needed it. Who deserved it. And he truly believed, at least for now, that included Savannah.

He would find out soon, he figured, if he had been duped by her, and she actually was a killer.

He took a sip of coffee from his mug with the FHFR logo and phone number on it.

That mind of his unsurprisingly kept going back to yesterday and the quake and its aftermath.

Once he’d left Savannah the previous night, he had returned to the place where he’d earlier found the damaged van and its dead occupant. All was gone now—except his own useful SUV.

Then he carefully drove along a couple of the mangled dirt roads to check out other fishing cabins besides the one Savannah was occupying, but they were empty, a good thing. And he’d seen no other evidence of people needing help, though quake damage was still evident.

He had considered stopping again on his way home to check on Savannah but had decided against it, since he was sure she was asleep by then. He doubted anyone else knew she was out here, and he intended to see her tomorrow anyway, while bringing the supplies he had promised her.

And tomorrow had arrived. Now that he was awake and preparing to start his day, he kept thinking about her. A fugitive. One he couldn’t get out of his mind. Was he nuts?

Maybe.

“Okay,” he muttered. Today was going to be undoubtedly interesting. He stood and put his empty plate in the metal kitchen sink but carried his remaining half mug of coffee.

He headed down the stairs after closing the door of his bedroom behind him and locking it.

He drove to the First Hand office.

When he arrived in the greeting area, he rapped once on each of their doors in order from the bottom of the steps—Pedro’s first, then Norah’s and Chad’s. He heard a low woof after that last knock and just smiled. Winchell, Chad’s K-9 companion, knew better than to bark here, even when on duty, but he was always alert.

In moments, the gang had joined him in the reception area. They were all present here at the office, so apparently no additional calls had come in after the ones he had heard about last night, and they’d already accomplished the searches they had needed to do immediately after the earthquake, depending on their individual expertise.

His employees greeted him with handshakes and pats on his back, as he did with them. “Good to see you all,” he said. “And I’m looking forward to your reports.”

“We want to hear yours, too, boss,” Pedro said.

There was a reception desk for greeting people who walked in off the street seeking help, against the far wall from the entry door. Plate glass windows circled the room—all intact, fortunately, after the quake, Grayson had noticed last night. The floor was laminate, and the walls beige drywall decorated with photos of successful rescue operations and waving people they had saved. Half a dozen blue upholstered Parsons chairs were arranged with their backs toward the windows, so the room’s occupants, if they spent any time there, could see one another.

And there were a couple of extra doors to offices that could be allocated to additional staff.

Grayson waved his bunch to the chairs so they could start their discussion. Once they were seated, he glanced beyond them to his view of the street. All seemed fine outside.

His mind returned to the damaged cabin where he had left Savannah. Hopefully she remained okay—and there.

“Okay, who’s first?” Grayson asked, putting that behind him for now and looking at Norah.

“You, chief,” she said.

“Nope. I’m last. So tell me your experiences with the quake and after.”

Norah didn’t argue but leaned forward in her chair. Before joining First Hand, she had worked for the City of Phoenix as an EMT but always crowed about how she’d run right to Mustang Valley when she heard of Grayson’s start-up of a private first responder company a while back. She was well trained and a certified expert in emergency medical techniques, and was doing a great job with FH. She was thin yet very strong, and she kept her light brown hair in a style that framed her face.

Most important? With her ongoing and always increasing EMT skills, she was excellent at helping to save lives.

“I was right here when the quake hit.” She motioned toward her office door.

Since not too much around there was damaged, she had hurriedly driven to Mustang Valley General Hospital. The staff there had immediately assigned her to ride in one of the ambulances, to assist the drivers and hospital EMTs.

“Six different locations, and we helped over a dozen people, although their injuries were of different severities. Some weren’t too bad off, but there were maybe four that probably wouldn’t have survived if we weren’t there.” Her grin totally lighted up her slender face, and Grayson smiled back.

“Great job,” he said, then turned toward Pedro. “Any fires?”

Pedro Perez had been a firefighter in Las Vegas—but he’d informed Grayson when he’d hired him that he was excited about the opportunity to come to Mustang Valley and be the premier firefighter for FHFR. Pedro was dark-haired, large and muscular.

“About five, across town. Only one was really bad, though. I heard about it in the news before heading there and helped the local fire department get it under control. They know me, of course, so they asked me to help with the rest. And after we got those out, I hung out with the gang at the station for a couple more hours just in case. I gathered that all the fires were electrical fires because the wiring in those buildings was badly damaged by the quake and aftershocks. And I remain on call now, too, with the department in case they learn of any other blazes.”

“Excellent,” Grayson said. They all then turned toward Chad and Winchell, his German shepherd. “So—what’s your story, both of you?”

Chad had been a K-9 cop with Tucson PD before coming to work for First Hand. He’d brought along his assistant Winchell, who was a certified search and rescue dog as well as a police K-9. He was moderate height and wore glasses, and always asked if Winch and he could do more.

“There were a few reports of break-ins across town in the area where the quake hit worst—you know, the shopping area where stores are plentiful but not especially elite. I got a call from one of the dispatchers at the police department, and Winch and I headed there. We actually nabbed a couple of guys who dared to try to loot some damaged stores—those SOBs. Fortunately, they were scared of Winch, so we were able to turn them over to the PD.”