it and called as he walked inside, “Hello, anyone here?”
“Yes, I’m here.” He heard the voice at the same time he saw a woman standing there, facing the door he had just entered, holding a pair of scissors threateningly. “But you can go now.”
He aimed the light toward her eyes, hoping to blind her enough to stop menacing him. And then he blinked at the same time she did—but for a different reason.
He recognized her.
At least he thought he did. She was Savannah Oliver—but if so, this Savannah didn’t look exactly like the woman he’d seen at the various parties and fund-raisers he’d been dragged to by his Colton siblings, silently kicking and screaming, though he’d gone along anyway because...well, they were his brothers and sisters.
And now he had a good idea who had disappeared from the back of the prison van: she stood before him, still aiming scissor blades toward him.
Her hair was a lot shorter than he’d seen it before. Even so, or maybe even because of it, she was one beautiful, sexy woman.
A woman he’d avoided feeling attracted to. After all, she was married—no, she had been married—to one of the biggest investment bankers in Arizona, Zane Oliver.
The husband she’d recently been accused of murdering.
“Hello, Savannah,” he said calmly. He wasn’t armed, had no weapon with him—and wouldn’t have used it on her even if he had.
For one thing, he had heard about her arrest, the charges against her, in the news. But he hadn’t believed them.
“Hello, Grayson,” she said without moving the scissors—except that her slender arm, in its long-sleeved beige shirt, was trembling a bit. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing, although I can guess. You’re running away, right?”
She didn’t answer directly but said, “And I assume you’re doing your first responder thing out here after the quake. Well, if you’re looking for people to help, you don’t need to worry about me.”
“That’s good, but—”
“But what? Should I make you stay here?” She waved the scissors toward him, but the expression on her face appeared more desperate than threatening.
Under other circumstances, he might have liked the idea of staying overnight in a deserted cabin with a woman as lovely as Savannah. But she was a fugitive, accused of murdering her ex-husband. And at the moment, another earthquake could hit at any time.
“No thanks,” he said.
“But—I don’t think I’d better let you leave. I mean, well—you own that first responder company, right?”
“First Hand First Responders,” he said. “That’s right.”
“So if I let you leave here—you’ll just go tell your cop friends or associates that you found me. Or—you’re not going to try to bring me with you now, are you?” She suddenly appeared panicked.
And why not? She didn’t know, no matter what he’d said, that he wasn’t carrying a gun or other weapon.
He glanced around what he could see of the cabin in the light he carried. It looked like—well, a regular fishing cabin, except for the area destroyed by the earthquake.
And Savannah? She wasn’t in any kind of jail garb, but everyday clothes of a light-colored shirt over darker slacks. Maybe he was wrong about her.
And maybe not.
“Look, Savannah,” he said. “If what I’ve heard about you is true, then I can understand why you feel threatened by my being here.”
“I assume you heard the worst about me,” she said. “And—well, I didn’t kill my ex-husband.” Looking at him for a reaction, she raised her hand with the scissors even more. He just stayed calm, nodding his head. “I can’t let you arrest me.”
Grayson shook his head. “Let me tell you right now that I’m only the kind of first responder who tries to help people in trouble, both medically and otherwise. I don’t attempt to arrest anyone, or anything like that.”
“But you can get in touch with those who do,” she retorted.
“But I won’t,” he said. “Look, why don’t we sit down over there.” He gestured toward the kitchen table across the room where she had apparently been sitting and eating. “I’ll tell you what I’ve heard about you—and how much of it I believe. Which isn’t much.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened. And even in the light he carried, he could see their lovely greenness glowing, even as her blond eyebrows narrowed in apparent disbelief.
Yeah, she was definitely good-looking—and he’d better be careful. He didn’t want to get too interested in her.
He might not intend to turn her in, but neither did he intend to try helping an accused murderer escape justice.
Did he?
“Really,” he said. But she still didn’t appear convinced. And why should she? “Hey, I see you have a bottle of water over there. I assume a place like this doesn’t have anything stronger, so is there any more?”
“Yes, in the refrigerator, though it’s not cold.” She still looked and sounded wary.
“That’s fine. I’ll go get a bottle for me, then sit down over there.” He gestured toward the table. “Then we’ll talk, okay?”
“Do I have a choice?” Her voice sounded hoarse and he wished he could say something more to reassure her.
But what?
“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Only, I’m really not such a bad guy. Honest.”
“Honest?” she repeated. “Hah.” But when he looked at her, still standing not far from him, her posture seemed at least a little more relaxed. “Okay, let’s give this a try,” she said.
“Great. I’ll go get my water.” And Grayson headed to the refrigerator.
Oh, yes, he intended to talk with her. Maybe get her side of the story, since she had asserted her innocence.
And he didn’t think it was just their unusual circumstances at the moment that made him want to believe in her.
Savannah lowered the scissors as she watched Grayson get water from the refrigerator, then sit down. He placed the bottle in front of him beside his large flashlight.
What should she do? What could she do? She hoped he was telling the truth, that even as a first responder he wasn’t here to arrest her again, or call those in authority at the police station who’d bring her in. But even if he lied, she wasn’t really going to stab him. The best she could do would be to run out the door when he wasn’t looking, then continue running—in the near darkness. But where?
For now she would just remain alert and wary and hold a conversation. If he’d been telling the truth before, maybe it would be okay to talk with him.
But even then, when he was ready to go—well, would she be able to trust him not to turn her in, no matter what he said?
She would just have to see how things went.
Not that she could control them anyway. At least not entirely.
“So tell me what happened,” Grayson said as she sat down facing him, gently placing the scissors on the table before her but within reach. “Tell me how the van was struck and how you got out of it. I assume you’re aware the driver was killed.”
Savannah nodded solemnly.