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Chapter 1
Sitting at the built-in computer nook of a bunker hidden in the secluded foothills surrounding Mustang Valley, Ace Colton had long since lost track of whether it was day or night. With little access to natural light and zero human contact, he’d spent much of the past weeks obsessively sifting through news reports while considering the evidence against him. Trying to make sense of the so-called witness to his confession, the planted weapon and the way the solid and successful life he’d so long taken for granted had fallen to pieces since January.
No, fallen was the wrong word. That implied something that had simply happened on its own, for no rhyme or reason. It was obvious by this point that his life as Payne Colton’s eldest son, the hardworking and successful CEO of a billion-dollar corporation, Colton Oil, had been deliberately blown to pieces. Stolen from him by whomever had sent out that email telling every other member of the board, his family, that he was, in fact, no real Colton, but an imposter foisted off on them at birth.
Then, before the sickening shock of it, the sense of isolation and displacement, could begin to settle, his job was ripped away, too, though he’d done absolutely nothing wrong—known nothing of any scheme involving his being switched at birth.
He would never forget the searing pain of hearing his father, the man he loved and trusted, tell him that only a real Colton was fit to lead the company. Afterward, harsh words had flown between them, words Ace would regret forever. For as understandable as his hurt and fury might have been, he’d been overheard, making him the prime suspect later when his father had been found lying on his office floor, barely breathing, with two bullets in him.
Is he breathing still? When Ace had fled after a so-called witness had implicated him, and a gun linked to the shooting was found beneath a floorboard inside Ace’s own condo, the man he would always think of as his real father had still been in a coma, in critical condition. As badly as Payne had hurt Ace by acting as if, without a genetic link, none of his business acumen, hard work, or the relationships he’d spent a lifetime building made one damned bit of difference, he couldn’t hang around his condo waiting to be arrested, even though he knew he’d let down the people who cared for him by going into hiding.
But neither could he actually leave the area, not without doing whatever he could to track down the real shooter, protect his family from further harm, and find some way to get his life back on track, even if he had to do it using his laptop to connect to the untraceable virtual private network that was his sole link to the outside world. He thanked his lucky stars that he’d purchased this plot of land several years ago from the cash-strapped, out-of-state nieces
of a former owner. Only after the property’s closing had Ace learned of the existence of a survival bunker from some old receipts and a set of long-forgotten plans found among a packet of yellowed paperwork he’d been given.
That long-ago investment, based on his vague instinct that the land, with its scenic views of the valley below, might someday prove a good place to build vacation rental cabins, had paid off in spades, a gift from his younger self to the desperate fugitive Ace had become. A gift he’d carefully retrofitted and provisioned as best he could in the weeks before it became apparent that he would soon be taken into custody.
Within the tomblike confines of the bunker, he searched his online sources for any relevant local updates from the Mustang Valley area, from the obituary he dreaded to the longed-for news that his name had been cleared. Finding neither, he began skimming other headlines, only to nearly jump out of his skin when an alarm wailed over speakers placed throughout the bunker.
Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!
The security cameras he had installed above-ground set off a siren that echoed throughout the confined space, alerting him to the presence of an intruder.
Heart thrashing against his rib cage, Ace leaped to his feet before typing in the code to access the hidden cameras. As his screen divided into six sections, a glimpse of swift movement and a clearly human outline on the lower right panel, near the entrance hatch, made his gut clench, though the lighting was too dim to make out any details.
There was a bright flash of light and then a muffled boom. Carefully hung tools fell from the walls of the bunker as Ace’s panic spiraled.
Was it the police, detonating the hatch and coming to arrest him? Surely not, he thought, reasoning that law enforcement, if they found him, would arrive en masse rather than what had appeared to be a solitary presence. His instincts told him it was far more likely that this was the same person who’d made the attempt on his father’s life and set him up to take the fall. Had the perpetrator come to bring him in—or to shoot him down, too?
Sweating bullets, Ace went for the handgun he’d procured before going into hiding and wondered if he had it in him to pull the trigger. With only one way in and out of the bunker, there was no avenue to flee, and locking the inner submarine-style door would only give his unwanted guest time to gather reinforcements—or trigger yet another blast.
Something clattered from the hatchway. Ace tensed, his stomach going icy cold.
Reaching above his head, he flicked off the LED lights that would expose him when the interior door opened. After weeks of solitude in the confined space, he knew the bunker’s every twist and turn by heart—the only real advantage he had against a well-prepared intruder.
Pushing himself back into the alcove adjacent to the opening, he waited in pitch darkness, feeling more like a trapped feral animal, teeth bared and claws ready, than the polished, urbane and occasionally ruthless corporate warrior he’d been for so long.
Against the shallow scrape of his own breath, he heard the turning of the door’s mechanism, followed by the whoosh of its hydraulics. Dim light flickered; then came a shadow, followed by a puff of air cooler than the scrubbed bunker atmosphere he had been breathing. Smelling of leaves and needles, earth and fresh greenery, it spoke of the foothills, nighttime—and an imminent threat to his freedom or his life.
With a wordless shout that echoed through the bunker, he jumped out and wrapped his arms around what he swiftly realized was a smaller person, twisting his body to slam his unwelcome guest headfirst into the bulkhead. There was a thud and a cry of alarm—higher pitched than he expected. An instant later the intruder twisted free, the silky sweep of long hair brushing across his face and filling his nostrils with a clean, light scent that triggered a memory of one of his sisters’ shampoos.
“Ainsley?” He drew back reflexively, wonder vying with relief to imagine his attorney sibling tracking him here somehow. Guilt came next as he recalled how he’d thanked her for her efforts to help him by disappearing on her, and horror at how hard he’d slammed her into the bunker’s unyielding steel framing. “Ainsley, are you all right? I’m so sorry if I hurt—”
Out of the darkness, something came at him like a guided missile, a blow that struck his temple hard enough to knock him off his feet.
