Colton 911: Family Under Fire. Jane Godman

       Chapter 1

      Everett Colton had visited the offices of Torrington Law once before. Although he couldn’t remember much about the brief meeting, he did recall the lingering odors of wet dog and fried chicken. Back then, Raymond Torrington, senior partner in the firm, had blamed both on the large, elderly bloodhound that had been sleeping in a basket behind the front desk.

      Impatiently, Everett pushed open the glass front door. This was going to be a waste of his time, he didn’t want to be here, he had more important things to do…and he didn’t want to subject his nostrils to a repeat performance.

      As he stepped inside, it became clear that at least one of those things wasn’t going to be an issue. There was no sign of the dog, and the place smelled like a regular office.

      He approached the reception desk, his mind on the letter he had received a few days earlier:

      You are invited to attend a private reading of the last will and testament of Sean Dodd and Delilah Kennedy Dodd.

      Although Sean Dodd had once been Everett’s best friend, they had barely spoken in the last four years. That is, until recently, when Everett had helped his brother, Casey, arrest Sean, Delilah, and Sean’s sister, Georgia, for murder and cattle rustling. Now Sean had driven his car off the road into a wall, killing himself and his wife.

      Initially, a suicide note on the dash had led the Sur County Creek Sheriff’s Department to the conclusion that the act had been deliberate. Everett wasn’t so sure.

      Not that the cause of death explained the current situation. Sean would want me at the reading of his will because…? He almost laughed. When had he ever been able to predict what Sean had wanted? He would find out soon enough.

      “I have an appointment with Mr. Torrington.”

      As the receptionist checked her computer screen, Everett breathed in the improved aromas. Copier toner, coffee, some sort of holiday-season air freshener and violets.

      “Mr. Torrington has been delayed for a few minutes. But if you would care to go through to his office, his other guest is already here.”

      “Other guest?” The invitation hadn’t mentioned anyone else, and…wait. Violets? “Do you use Acqua Viola?”

      The young woman regarded him nervously. “Can I get you some coffee?”

      Everett rubbed a hand over his jaw. He’d thought he was over this. He was over this. It must be the stress of Sean’s death. It had come on the heels of the operation his brother had undertaken, together with the woman he was now seeing, Melody Hayworth, to capture the rustlers and murderers. That, along with the speculation about what the will might hold, was triggering a return to the old fantasies. It was at least six months since the last time he’d imagined he could smell Alyssa Bartholomew’s favorite perfume. Even longer since he’d experienced that stomach-churning mix of excitement and dread when he glimpsed a certain woman with long, corn-colored hair and momentarily wondered if she’d come back to him.

      “Coffee would be good.” He tried out a reassuring smile. From the way the receptionist scooted back in her wheeled chair, he wasn’t sure it worked. If she had a panic button under that desk, he was about thirty seconds away from explaining to his bosses at the FBI field office in Phoenix why this woman had every reason to believe one of their best agents was acting weird.

      “I’ll bring it through.” She gestured toward a half-open office door.

      Everett remembered Ray Torrington from his teenage years. Anxious, pale and lanky, the other guy had always been out to impress the wrong crowd. Even though they’d been six years younger, Everett and his twin brother, Casey, had known to steer clear of the company Ray kept. Only a serious intervention on the part of Ray’s dad had gotten him back on track and into law school. Which made the invitation—summons—currently residing in Everett’s back pocket all the more irksome.

      He pushed open the door with the heel of his hand, his brain simultaneously registering two things—that subtle scent of violets was stronger here…and it was not his imagination.

      The first Christmas he and Alyssa had been together, he’d scoured the department stores in Phoenix, only to come away empty-handed. How could he have known it was a rare Italian brand? On Christmas morning, when he’d given Alyssa the enamel violet on a silver chain, with an apology, she’d laughed and explained that Acqua Viola had been her grandmother’s favorite perfume. Alyssa laughed a lot.

      A woman was seated with her back to the door, her head bent over her cell phone, and the other thing he took in was the long blond hair, confined loosely at the nape of her neck. Tendrils were escaping the restraint and she pushed impatiently at them, the gesture achingly familiar to him. She didn’t look around as he paused just inside the room.

      How many times had he pictured seeing her again? Somehow, he’d always thought it would be in a bar, the scene an echo of their first meeting. Pizza and beer. That was more their style than this impersonal setting. The thought brought him back to reality with an uncomfortable bump. It was her.

      “What are you doing here, Alyssa?”

      She turned her head slowly, her dark blue eyes widening as she gazed at him.

      “I don’t know.” Her hand reached up to clutch the enamel violet at her throat. “But maybe I should ask you the same question.”

      Her voice was calm as she spoke, but the cell phone slid from her fingers and clattered onto the floor.