Colton 911: Baby's Bodyguard

Chapter 2

A week had passed since his brothers had ambushed him at the crime scene. A week of frustration that gripped Forrest so intensely, he wished he’d never accepted the position no matter how temporary it was going to be.

The hurricane had caused so much damage, and not just physically. Emotionally people were dealing with the loss of loved ones and their homes or their livelihoods. The Whisperwood Police Department was stretched thin. The crime-scene techs were understaffed and overworked, so nothing had been processed yet from either scene. And the coroner...

She hadn’t even taken the bodies from their refrigerated drawers yet, let alone begun the autopsies. And until he had more information, Forrest didn’t want to parade in the family members of every missing person to see if the dead woman was their loved one. He didn’t want to put every family that was missing someone through that kind of pain.

Hell, he didn’t want to put one family through that kind of pain. But it was inevitable. Once they figured out who she was.

Everybody expected miracles from Forrest, but his hands were nearly as tied as the poor victim’s hands had been—bound behind her back.

He wrapped the reins around his hands and clenched his knees together as the quarter horse he rode scrambled over the uneven ground. Despite taking the detective position, Forrest continued as a volunteer for the Cowboy Heroes. The team was not done with Whisperwood and the surrounding area, which had been hit particularly hard with flooding after Hurricane Brooke.

The water had begun to recede, though, leaving only muddy areas like the one in which the horse’s hooves now slipped. His mount leaning, Forrest nearly slipped off it and into the mud. Ignoring the twinge of pain in his bad leg, he tightened his grip.

“Whoa, steady,” Forrest murmured soothingly. When the horse regained its balance, a sigh of relief slipped through Forrest’s lips. This was why he usually handled the desk work for the rescue agency and not the fieldwork. But like his brothers, he’d been born in the saddle. He couldn’t not ride.

He wasn’t able to help with the rescues as physically as he would have liked, though. Sometimes his leg wouldn’t hold his weight, let alone the weight of another person or animal. He sighed again but this time with resignation. It was what it was.

He’d accepted that a while ago. And he helped out where he could—like riding around to survey the areas. There were still some people missing, and maybe the floodwater had hidden their remains.

Not that he wanted to find any more bodies.

But that was the purpose of the recovery part of the Cowboy Heroes’ rescue-and-recovery operation. Survivors needed that closure of knowing what had happened to their loved one and having that body to bury. That was why he needed the body in the morgue identified, so he could give her family some small measure of peace.

Until he found her killer.

And he would.

His frustration turning back to determination, he urged the horse across the muddy stretch of land. Heat shimmered off the black shingles of a roof in the distance. He’d started out early from his family ranch, before the sun had even risen much above the horizon, and it wasn’t much higher now. So it was going to be another hot August day, which was good.

The last of the water should recede and reveal whatever secrets it has been hiding. Whatever bodies...of animals and people.

So much livestock had been lost, too. A pang of regret over all of those losses struck his heart. Then another pang of regret struck him when he realized whose house he’d come upon in the country.

Hers.

Rae Lemmon. His new sister-in-law’s best friend, and quite the beauty. He hadn’t lived in Whisperwood for years, but he remembered this was her family home. And maybe he’d subconsciously headed that way.

But why? Sure, she was beautiful, but because she was beautiful, she wouldn’t want anything to do with a disabled man. She’d asked him to dance at the wedding, but that must have only been out of pity or maybe just a sense of obligation to her friend.

And maybe that was why he’d come this way, to check on her place—out of a sense of obligation. She was his new sister-in-law’s best friend, so that almost made her family, too. And as much as the Coltons took care of everyone else, they took extra care of their own.

He knew that because of how everybody had taken care of him after he’d been shot. Well, everybody but one person. But she hadn’t been family yet, and after he’d been shot, she’d returned his ring.

He flinched as the memory rushed over him. Not that he could blame her. As she’d said, she hadn’t fallen in love with a cripple, so he really shouldn’t have expected her to stick around for him. It wasn’t as if they’d said their vows yet either, and now he expected those vows would not have included “in sickness and in health.”

While the old memories washed over him, the horse continued across the muddy field, toward the back of the house. The field was higher than the yard, so he could see into it, could see that a tree had toppled over into the water pooled on the grass. Maybe the roots had turned up a mound of dirt, or maybe something else had made the hole. The pile was almost too neat, as if it had been shoveled there.

Maybe she’d thought the hole would drain away the water.

But as Forrest drew nearer, he peered into the hole and discovered it wasn’t water filling it. Something else lay inside it, something all swaddled up in linen material smeared with mud and grime.

“What the hell...?” he murmured.

He swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted. His boot slipped on the muddy ground, but he used the horse to steady himself. Like all of the horses for the Cowboy Heroes, Mick was well trained and helpful. Forrest patted his mane in appreciation before stepping away from his mount and turning toward the hole. He leaned over and peered inside it, and his boot slipped again.

This time he didn’t have the horse to steady himself, so his leg—his bad leg—went out from beneath him. As he began to fall, he reached out to catch himself. But like his boot, his fingers slipped on the mud, too, and he slid into the hole, knocking the loose dirt into it with him. It sprayed across that weird material.

Whatever it was, it had contoured to the shape of the object beneath it. But it wasn’t an object.

It was a body with arms and legs and a face.

A mummy...like the one his brother Jonah had found. But unlike that body, Forrest suspected the storm hadn’t turned up this one. Someone else had either dug it up or dug the hole to bury it here, like someone had buried the woman by the pharmaceutical company.

But why here? Why in Rae Lemmon’s backyard?

Forrest reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He needed to call in a team to process the scene. Hopefully he could remove himself from it without compromising any evidence. After he called the coroner and some crime-scene techs, he shoved his phone back into his pocket and tried to pull himself out of the hole. Using his good leg, he dug his boot into the side of the hole and climbed out. As he pulled his boot free, some dirt tumbled down into the hole, next to the body, and the sun glinted off it.

It wasn’t just dirt. There was something shiny beneath the mud and grime. Something metallic. Like coins or...

Buttons?

Had those belonged to the victim or the killer?

* * *

Rae closed her eyes and savored the silence. She would have to get up soon for work, but she had a few minutes to rest her eyes and relax. And after Connor had spent most of the night crying inconsolably, she needed some peace. He’d finally fallen back to sleep.

The pediatrician suspected the baby had colic, for which Rae blamed herself. The stress of law school, her job and single parenthood had affected her ability to produce breast milk and she now had to supplement with formula. When she’d called the doctor’s service last night, she’d been told to switch to a soy-based formula, which she would do today on her way to bring Connor to day care.

Exhaustion gripped her, pulling her into oblivion. But she had been asleep for only a moment when a noise startled her. It wasn’t the light beep of the alarm, but a loud pounding at a door. Worried that the knocking would wake up Connor, she rushed out of her bedroom without bothering to grab a robe. The only people who visited her were Bellamy and Maggie. Maybe Bellamy was back.

But she probably would have just let herself in; she had a copy and knew where the spare key was hidden. Disoriented for a moment from lack of sleep, Rae rushed to her front door and opened it. But nobody stood on her porch. If someone was there, they probably would have rung the bell.

The back door rattled as that fist pounded again. And a soft cry drifted from the nursery. Connor wasn’t fully awake, but he was waking up. She ran across the living room and kitchen to pull open the door. “Shh,” she cautioned her visitor. Then she gasped when she recognized the man standing before her. “What—what are you doing here?”

What the hell was he doing there? Especially now?

She had to look like death—after her sleepless night—with dark circles beneath her eyes, and her hair standing on end. And her nightgown...

She glanced down at the oversize T-shirt an old boyfriend had left behind. At least she’d gotten something comfy out of the relationship. But she hadn’t expected much. Her experience with her father had taught her to never count on a man to stick around, and every boyfriend she’d ever had had reinforced that lesson.

That was why she’d chosen to be a single mother. She didn’t need a husband to have a family. She didn’t need a man. But this one...

He was so damn good-looking, even with mud on his clothes and smeared across his cheek. A fission of concern passed through her. “Did you get thrown?” she asked. Over his shoulder—his very broad shoulder—she caught a glimpse of a dark horse pawing at the muddy grass. “Are you okay?”

“I did not get thrown,” he said, his voice sharp as if she’d stung his pride.

Or maybe that was just the way he always talked. He’d sounded that way when he’d told her that she couldn’t be serious about asking him to dance.

Her face heated with embarrassment, but she didn’t know if it was because of what had happened then or how unkempt she looked now. And with the way he kept staring at her, he couldn’t have missed it. He was probably horrified.

“Then what are you doing here?” she asked again.

“I’ve called the police.”

“I thought you were the police,” she said. She knew, from the news reports and the gossip around Whisperwood, that the chief and his brothers had successfully talked him into investigating the murders.

“I am,” he said. “That’s why I called. I need to tape off your backyard. It’s a crime scene.”

Despite the heat of the August day, a cold chill raced down her spine and raised goose bumps on her skin. “Crime scene?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”

“I found something in your yard,” he said.

“Why were you searching my property?” she asked. “Did you have a warrant?”

His face flushed now.

“I know my rights,” she said. “If you didn’t have a warrant, your search was illegal.”

“I was surveying the flood damage,” he said, “and your yard was in plain view from the field behind it.”

Which was his family’s property. In Whisperwood, the Coltons’ ranch was second in size only to the Corgan spread.

“So you weren’t even acting as a lawman when you performed this illegal search?” she asked. “You were just riding around your own property?”

His brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to answer her, but she cut him off with a, “How dare you!”

She’d thought she’d let it go—her embarrassment over how he’d rejected her request to dance. But now that embarrassment turned to anger, which she unleashed on him.

Or maybe her exhaustion had made her extra irritable.

“You’re trespassing on my property,” she continued. “And when your fellow officers arrive, they will be obligated to issue you a citation.”

“Rae—”

“You’re not above the law,” she said, “just because you’re a Colton.”

“I know I’m not above the law,” he said, his face still flushed, but with anger now. It burned in his hazel eyes, as well. “And neither are you.”

“I am a law student,” she said. “And I’m already working as a paralegal. I probably know the law better than you do.”

He snorted then. “I’ve been a police officer for years,” he reminded her. “I know the law. Why did you switch from managing the general store to law?”

She narrowed her eyes and studied his handsome face. He’d barely talked to her at her friend and his brother’s wedding, so why was he curious about her now? Especially since he seemed to know more about her than she’d realized.

She was proud of her decision to go to law school, so she answered him, “I want to do something about all the crimes happening around Whisperwood.”

“Then you should want me to investigate what I found on your property,” he pointed out.

Now she was curious, which she probably would have been right way if she wasn’t so damn exhausted. “What did you find?” she asked.

“A body.”

She gasped in shock and shook her head. “No.” It wasn’t possible. Someone couldn’t have been murdered in her backyard, where she’d imagined her son playing as he grew up, just like she had played there as a child. She shuddered and murmured again, “No.”

Forrest nodded. “I’m afraid it’s true.”

“But—but I didn’t hear anything.” Wouldn’t she have heard something if someone had been murdered in her backyard? But with work and school, she was gone so much that she probably hadn’t even been home when it had happened. “I didn’t see anything amiss.”

“Have you missed anyone?” he asked. “Somebody staying with you that suddenly disappeared?”

She shook her head. Somebody had disappeared years ago on Rae, but that had been his choice to leave. Nobody had murdered him, although she’d sometimes wished she would have...when she’d watched her mother suffer.

“So you didn’t notice anything in the backyard? Any digging?” he asked, persisting with his questions.

She shook her head again. “Why the hell would someone bury a body in my backyard?”

“I’m not sure if they’d just buried it, or if it was just uncovered,” Forrest said. “It could have been there awhile.”

“Like the body that Maggie and Jonah found after the hurricane?” she asked.

They had just stumbled across the body—the mummified body. She shivered with revulsion. What if that was what Forrest had found in her backyard? Another mummy?

“I’ll know more once the coroner arrives,” he continued.

The wail of a siren grew louder as it came closer to her house. Maybe the coroner was arriving now, along with the squad cars with the flashing lights that were pulling into her driveway.

Connor cried out now, and it wasn’t a sleepy little cry but a wail almost as loud as the siren.

“What the hell is that?” Forrest asked in alarm.

And Rae bristled all over again with outrage. “That is my son,” she replied as she hurried off to the nursery.

* * *

Tension gripped the chief, and he tightened his grasp on his cell phone before sliding it back into his pocket.

Behind him, sitting on the porch of his two-story farmhouse, Hays Colton chuckled. “Forrest has always had good timing,” he said of his son. “You drive out here, looking for him, and he calls you like he somehow knew.”

Chief Thompson shook his head. “That’s not why he called.” And he could have pointed out that Forrest’s timing wasn’t always perfect, or young Colton wouldn’t have taken that bullet in his leg. But if his instincts weren’t as strong as they were, he might have taken that bullet in his heart or his head instead of his leg.

He had survived.

His shooter had not.

“What’s wrong?” Hays asked, his blue eyes wide with alarm. “Is he all right?”

Thompson nodded. “Yeah, he just called to give me a heads-up.”

“Did he find out the identity of that poor girl found at the pharmaceutical company?”

The chief shook his head. “I wish that was why he called. Or better yet, to tell me he caught the killer.” Because it would probably hit the news soon anyway, Archer Thompson shared, “He found another body.”

Another person for the already overworked coroner to identify.

“I’m sorry,” Hays said. He rose from the porch swing, set his coffee cup on the railing and reached out to pat Thompson’s shoulder.

They’d known each other for a long time, but Thompson didn’t need any more sympathy. He needed answers—about his sister’s murder and about these bodies that had recently turned up. He uttered a ragged sigh as he pushed himself up from the rocking chair in which he’d been sitting. He didn’t move as fast as he once had, his bones aching now with age and overuse. He didn’t stand quite as straight and tall as he once had either.

Neither did Hays, though, who had spent too many of his seventy-some years in the saddle, working his ranch. “My son will find out who really killed your sister,” Hays assured him.

Thompson wanted to believe the killer was Elliot Corgan, because then he would have the satisfaction of knowing the sick bastard had died in prison. But Elliot had denied killing his sister, and there was no way he could have killed that woman whose body had been discovered in the Lone Star Pharma parking lot.

There was another killer in Whisperwood.

And until he was caught, the chief had a feeling that bodies would keep turning up.

Chapter 3

Cries emanated from the house, drawing Forrest’s attention back to the one-story ranch structure and to her. A shadow passed behind the windows as if she was pacing in her kitchen. She had a baby.

Somebody had probably mentioned it to Forrest, but he didn’t remember. He’d been preoccupied with the hurricane damage and now with the murder investigation. He surveyed the crime scene. Techs worked on bagging those corroded coins or buttons he’d uncovered, while the coroner worked on removing the body from the hole. They knew what they were doing; they didn’t need his supervising their every move. In fact they’d probably resent it if he did.

So he headed back to the house. He raised his fist to the frame around the glass in the back door but hesitated before knocking. The cries were louder now, so he wasn’t at risk of waking the baby.

The little guy was already awake and squalling. Seeing through the glass that Rae had her hands full with the baby, Forrest reached instead for the knob, turned it and let himself back into the house.

She gasped at his bold intrusion, but then she didn’t seem to like anything he did. The invitation to dance had definitely been extended out of obligation or pity. Probably obligation...because she didn’t seem to like him enough to pity him.

She glared at him over the baby’s head. “Why did they have to come here with the sirens blaring?” she asked. “It doesn’t look like an emergency.”

“No,” he agreed. The body was far beyond help. Rae Lemmon looked as if she needed help, though, as she rocked the baby’s stiff little body in her arms.

Dark circles rimmed her brown eyes, but instead of detracting from her beauty, they highlighted it. She looked both vulnerable with her delicate features and sexy as hell with the old T-shirt molded to her generous curves.

“He had just finally gone to sleep,” she murmured with a little catch in her voice, “when the sirens woke him up.”

A pang of regret struck Forrest. The officers hadn’t needed to put on the sirens. It would have been better to draw less attention to the scene than more.

Fortunately no reporters had followed them. Forrest had never enjoyed dealing with the press. So he definitely should have advised the police not to use the sirens when he’d called in what he’d found. He opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could, chimes rang out.

Was that the sound of her doorbell?

Maybe a reporter had picked up on the call after all. He grimaced—just as Rae held out the baby toward him.

“That’s my phone,” she said, as she handed him the crying infant.

Because he had no experience with babies, he didn’t know how to hold him. But he reacted instinctively, closing his hands around the baby’s midsection. Was he supposed to cup his head or something? He moved one hand to the baby’s neck, and the little guy’s head swiveled toward him.

The face that had been scrunched up with cries froze with shock, and his dark eyes widened as he stared up at Forrest. Was he scared?

His crying stopped, though, so that was a good thing. Forrest could hear himself think again. He could also hear the soft murmur of Rae’s voice as she spoke to someone—maybe the baby’s father. She must have left the phone in another room, since in order to answer it she’d left him alone with her baby.

Forrest was as frozen with fear as the little guy was. What if he was holding him wrong? Or he dropped him?

Rae would hate him even more then.

And Forrest would hate himself. But the kid was light and easy to hold. Maybe he could do this. And if he figured it out, he would actually be able to hold Donovan and Bellamy’s baby once it came, and not harm his little niece and nephew.

He crooked his arm and eased the baby into that, so the kid could stare up at him more comfortably. And he kept staring like he had no idea what the hell Forrest was, let alone whom. Keeping his deep voice to a low rumble, he murmured, “I’m Detective Colton.”

Not that the baby could actually understand him. But he stared up at Forrest’s face as if he was listening.

Maybe Forrest reminded him of his father. Where was the guy? Forrest didn’t remember seeing anyone hanging around Rae at the wedding. But then, as one of the maids of honor, she’d been busy. Not too busy to ask him to dance, though.

But that must have been just part of her duty as a maid of honor—to look after the guests. Maybe that was why the baby’s father had made himself scarce. Or maybe he’d stayed home to watch the baby, since he probably would have been newly born at the time of the wedding.

She hadn’t looked like she’d recently given birth then, though—not with how well her navy blue maid of honor’s dress had fit her.

Forrest had so many questions about Rae Lemmon, so much curiosity. It was that curiosity that had drawn him to her house this morning and to the body in her backyard. That—more than anything—should have proved to him that she was going to be trouble.

He had to restrict his curiosity to professional only, since his broken engagement had convinced him that personal relationships were not for him. The only personal relationships he was going to allow himself was with his family.