Colton Christmas Protector (The Coltons of Texas #12)(21)

She made a tiny noise of dismay. “Of course it did.”

He raised a hand. “I know. My bad. I admit I made mistakes. I handled it badly and have a lot of regrets about how things unraveled. But I didn’t kill him over it. Later that day, when he fainted while we were in the field interviewing a witness, I did what I thought I needed to help him. He’d been nauseated and told me to get his emergency kit from the cruiser and—”

“Yeah,” she said, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “I know this part.”

“But do you believe me? I don’t care if anyone else in the department or the justice system or all of Texas believes me, so long as you do.”

Pen swallowed hard as she met his stare.

His gaze warmed. His navy eyes were intense, penetrating. Soul searing. Her tremble now had nothing to do with the chill.

“You’re the only one who matters to me,” he whispered.

Her heart stuttered at the wounded look he gave her. She realized her hand was still on his arm, and she withdrew it quickly, curling her fingers into her tingling palm. “Wh-why?”

The raspy question slipped out before she could swallow it, choke it back down. Why was dangerous. Why left her vulnerable, showed she cared enough about him to need an answer.

“I think you know why,” he said in a voice as soft as a caress, as tender as a kiss.

And therein lay the real dilemma. She knew exactly why, and it scared her to the core.

*

He shouldn’t have been so honest with Pen.

An awkward silence filled his truck as he drove her back to her house. He’d given her a lot to consider, and the knit in her brow said she was deep in tangled thoughts.

His regret wasn’t for telling her about the events of the day Andrew died. No, he wanted her to understand what had transpired, give her the version of those events she hadn’t yet heard. But he’d all but admitted his long-held feelings for her. If pressed on the issue, he supposed he could deny any deeper meaning. I just meant you’re my friend, and I want your forgiveness, your trust. You’re his widow, and your opinion is the only one that matters.

But the gut-wrenching ache in her tone, the raw emotion in her eyes and quiver of vulnerability in the rasped why? had punctured his defenses, undermined his better judgment.

Add to that the disturbing information they’d uncovered at her father’s house, the indications Andrew was onto something incriminating—and the bombshell that Penelope might not know she was adopted. His own emotions were in upheaval today, and her question had blindsided him.

At a red light, Reid tapped the steering wheel with the side of his fist. When he added his own father’s disappearance and other recent tumult at the Colton Valley Ranch, he had quite enough to ruminate on before adding today’s mysteries to the roster. He pondered the fact that Hugh Barrington had been key in stirring up false hope about Eldridge’s whereabouts last month. Was there a connection to what Andrew was researching? Maybe not, but he didn’t buy into the theory of coincidence, either.

He continued to mull over these thoughts as he turned onto the neighborhood street where Pen lived. The long residential lane was lined with carbon-copy houses with winter dead yards and a variety of Christmas decorations on display.

Reid had been down this street enough times to be familiar with the lay of the land, but he still took note of the details. Old habits and all...

Most of the driveways were either empty, since the owner would have been at work at this hour, or had some fashion of minivan or SUV which belonged to the stay-at-home mom or babysitter. Sure, there were exceptions. He’d met the Clarks’ across-the-street neighbor, Ned Smithe, who did shift work, and his legal-assistant wife, at a Super Bowl party two years ago. The pickup truck in the driveway would be Ned’s, sleeping off a graveyard shift. As they drove past, Penelope returned a wave to an older gentleman raking leaves at the end of the street. All was quiet. Normal. Americana... The term popped into his mind.

What would it be like to live in a middle-class neighborhood like this one instead of a sprawling ranch with quarrelsome siblings and stepparents? To have neighbors over to watch the game or call friendly greetings to someone working in their yard? The simplicity of the lifestyle and idyllic imagery appealed to him. Although, he admitted, he enjoyed some of the creature comforts of having wealth. Having household staff to cook and clean. An infinity pool and tennis court. Privacy when it was warranted to keep the family circus on the down low.

He glanced in Penelope’s direction and amended his previous question. What would it be like to live with Pen in a neighborhood like this? His chest tightened. Where had that idea come from? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he needed to rein it in. She was his partner’s widow. Making a move on her would feel...wrong somehow. How could he even think of taking advantage of Andrew’s death by moving in on is wife?

As they approached Pen’s house, he noticed a light blue sedan that had been parked down the street pull away from the curb. He’d been briefly distracted by his wild sidetrack thought, but he’d not seen anyone get in the car. Of course, that didn’t mean—

A brief flash of sunlight on metal snagged his attention. An odd intuition sent a prickle of alarm to his core. He backed off the accelerator, slowing to a crawl when he saw the driver’s window lower. “Pen, do you know—”

A handgun appeared at the sedan’s window.