she said.
Emma was delighted she recognized it. “See the tree?” she asked, pointing at the slightly crooked shape that leaned toward the water, rather isolated and alone.
“I do.”
That park was why she’d taken that apartment despite the neighborhood, even though it was a bit over her initial budget. Having the park with the pond right across the street was worth it. She didn’t have to drive to give Emma room to run and play, and what she saved in gas money probably evened it all out.
And now with the raise, they would be fine. She hadn’t thought of all the ramifications of that extra money coming in. She gave Emma an even wider smile and the girl giggled.
“What’s this?” Jolie asked, pointing to a blotch of several colors on what was apparently supposed to be a fluffy white cloud.
“A rainbow,” Emma said seriously. “It’s not borned yet.”
Emotion welled up and nearly spilled over at the child’s simple words and beautiful imagination. “I love you, Emma Peters.”
“Love you back, Mommy. Can we go now?”
“We can. I have a little treat in store for you tonight.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Really?”
It tugged at Jolie’s heart that a treat was so rare it astonished the girl. Maybe it could be more often now, she thought as she took the girl’s hand and they headed back to where she’d parked. Emma clutched her painting as they stepped outside and the wind threatened to steal it. Visions of it blowing away with Emma in hot pursuit made her grimace. There wasn’t much traffic back here; the only person she saw was a woman on foot walking past the back door of the boutique shop next door, but you just never knew.
“Why don’t I hang on to that, and you go get in the car?” she suggested, hitting the button that unlocked the doors.
“’Kay.”
Jolie took the painting with her free hand, keeping her eyes on Emma as she ran to the passenger side of the car and pulled the back door open.
“Jolie? She forgot this.”
The call came from behind her and she turned her head to see one of the day-care monitors in the doorway, holding out Emma’s favorite headband, paint stained from being used to hold her hair back while she was creating. Jolie glanced back, saw Emma was safely in the car with the door closed. Just in case, she locked the doors before she walked back to take the headband. The woman smiled as she handed it over, and waved to Emma before going back inside. Jolie stuffed the headband into her pocket, wondering if the paint was there forever, or if it might wash—
Somewhere nearby, a car backfired, and she felt a split second of satisfaction at the maternal instinct that had told her not to assume cars wouldn’t be around.
Emma screamed.
Jolie whirled, running before she was completely turned around. She could see her. Could see that she was looking out the side window, staring at something in great distress.
There was no one else around. She reached the car. Saw that Emma was apparently unhurt. But still staring. Jolie turned around.
The woman she’d seen behind the boutique was lying on the ground. Blood was pooling around her. It took a moment for Jolie to process what seemed impossible. And when she got there, her breath jammed up behind the knot in her throat.
That hadn’t been a car backfire.
It had been a gunshot.
T.C. Colton leaned back in his chair, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at Dallas. He could see the Reunion Tower to the right, past the edge of the hotel complex built around it. He smiled as he usually did when he spotted it, remembering the first time he had, when he’d asked his father why they’d built it to look like a shifter. It had taken Eldridge a moment to realize it did indeed look like the stick shift on his car, and the old man had laughed.
Because it looks out over the place where the movers and shakers work, son.
Worry over his missing father spiked through him yet again. He tamped it down. He couldn’t let chaos creep in today; there was too much to do. Right now he envied his brother Zane, who as head of security was able to keep himself busy outside this building by visiting all the various Colton holdings for spot security checks. Here, things had gotten shoved aside in the initial panic after the senior Colton had vanished, and while Colton Incorporated was built to run efficiently no matter what happened, the distraction of every Colton at the top was beginning to show.
Not, he thought ruefully, that having Fowler distracted was a bad thing. At least he hadn’t left any messes for T.C. to clean up. That he knew about, anyway. Yet. But there would be something. There always was. There were many things not in his job description as executive vice president of Ranch Operations that had become his responsibility, and cleaning up after his ethics-challenged half brother was one of them. He couldn’t seem to help himself; if there was a devious or underhanded deal to be made, or a manipulative scheme to be hatched, Fowler Colton would find it, or come up with it himself. They’d clashed about it too often to count.
“You know if you put half that energy into honest dealings, we’d be right where we are, but I wouldn’t have to run all over town placating people and paying off the ones you’ve screwed over.”
“But it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun, little brother.”
Fun.
Not something he strove for in his work. Oh, he enjoyed what he did, and truth be told he didn’t mind putting out fires. It was what intrigued him about his work, the various problems that cropped up and how to best solve them. Even Fowler had to admit his approach worked; T.C. hired good people and then trusted them, offering help if needed, but leaving it to them if they said they could handle it. Something his brother freely admitted he would never be able to do.
“I never trust anyone outside of family, T.C. And sometimes not even them. Especially not even them.”
He’d have made a hell of a politician, T.C. thought sourly. It was all like a game to Fowler, a game he was the best at. And that he took great glee in winning. He truly did have fun with all his machinations, and nothing pleased him more than triumphing over someone who was fool enough to be honest in his dealings.
Whereas T.C. hadn’t really had fun in...four years.
The memory shot through him the way it always did when his guard was down. He’d been fixated on his worry about his father and his weariness with his brother, leaving the door open for the thoughts he dreaded most.
Jolie.
And the worst—or best—of the memories, that moment when he’d given in to an urge he had never expected, to take the only-months-old baby he was still nervous about even holding, the baby who was looking up at him so solemnly, and swing her up above him so she could look down for a change. It seemed to have thrilled her, and she had broken into a peal of delighted laughter. He hadn’t been prepared for that, and certainly not for how it made him feel. Something deep and primal had sparked to
