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“I know you’ve got to be rattled after everything that’s happened, but honestly, man, that was embarrassing, having to hear Detective Doherty repeat every question two or three times to get an answer,” Seaver said as the two of them strode down the hall toward the station’s front lobby and exit. “What’s the matter with you? You should be celebrating.”
“Celebrating?” Ace echoed dully.
“Now that O’Neill’s blurted out that he was the one responsible for your father’s shooting, it’s obvious the police have no interest in giving you any further grief.”
“I still don’t understand how O’Neill managed to set me up to take the fall.”
“More than likely, while watching your father to see when the best time would be to catch him alone at Colton Oil headquarters, he started picking up on your comings and goings, too—”
“And decided I’d make a damned fine scapegoat when he somehow heard about that email Harley Watts sent for whoever was pulling his strings at the AAG—”
“The AAG? So he’s confessed?”
Ace shook his head. “He’s not talking yet that I’m aware of, but getting back to O’Neill, after I’d been ousted from my position as Colton Oil CEO, he must have figured it was the perfect time to make his move.”
Seaver shrugged. “Makes sense to me.”
“Yeah, it does.” Ace nodded. “Especially considering how at the hospital O’Neill was talking about setting it up to look as if I’d killed my father and then myself out of guilt as some kind of payback for driving his own father away from his family.”
“That’s some pretty twisted reasoning,” Seaver agreed, “but in light of today’s events, I’m sure Sergeant Colton and the DA will get it right this time.”
“So my legal issues are over,” Ace said, “but my family still has so many questions that need answering.”
“Let’s climb one mountain at a time, Ace,” Seaver said, clapping him on the shoulder and offering one of those slick smiles he seemed to keep on hand for such occasions. “Can’t you admit that today we’ve conquered Everest?”
Ace wasn’t so certain about the we part, since he hadn’t noticed Seaver helping Sierra and him chase down his father’s would-be killer. But he let it go and nodded before spotting something in the lobby that had him blurting, “Thanks, Michael. We’ll touch base tomorrow, but I’ve gotta run now.”
“Hey, where’re you going?” Seaver called after him as Ace took off.
But the words scarcely registered as Ace hurried toward Sierra, who was sitting with Ainsley in the lobby area. The two were leaning f
orward, their heads close. As he approached, he saw that his younger sister, dressed casually this evening in jeans and a striped sweater, was holding Sierra’s hand, clearly offering her comfort.
Even more surprisingly, Sierra was accepting that kindness. But then, she looked utterly spent, her head drooping so that her tangled hair partially obscured her face. Her clothing, too, was dusty and rumpled and her shoulders slumped after her ordeal in the ghost town. Grateful as he was to see her still here, he forced himself to slow his approach, half-afraid that he might somehow frighten her into bolting—or stiffening her spine and insisting she was ready to take on all comers.
“Ace,” Ainsley said when she spotted him before coming to her feet and wrapping him in a warm hug. “Sierra’s filled me in on all the details. Are you—is it really true? Is this nightmare all over for you?”
“We can talk at home. I’m bushed.”
“That’s why I’ve come,” Ainsley told them, “to take you back to the ranch, where everyone can be together. And before you give me any flak about it, I wanted to let you know that Genevieve’s given her blessing. She—she’s heard about what happened today at the hospital, how you saved Dad from that horrible man—and she says it’s long past time that you came home.”
“That—that’s wonderful,” he said, gratitude flowing through his veins like cool rain on the parched desert. Still, he couldn’t keep his worried gaze from moving to Sierra.
“And I’m happy to say Sierra’s already accepted my invitation,” Ainsley added.
A warm burst of relief flowing through him, Ace reached out to offer her his hand. When she let him help her to her feet, he embraced her, murmuring, “Thank you,” into her ear. “Thank you for still being here. You don’t know how worried I was that you’d simply cut and run.”
“I’m half-starved and exhausted and miles from my car, which for all I know is by now rigged up with more explosives than July Fourth in a theme park castle,” she admitted, her voice hoarse with either fatigue or the dust she’d swallowed during her earlier fall. “So like it or not, I’m afraid that I’m not going anywhere quite yet.”
* * *
A week after the arrest of Kyle O’Neill, Sierra found herself walking between two of the long, white barns outside the sprawling guest ranch-style Colton mansion early one beautiful, clear morning that hinted at the warmer days to come. Simply walking, she felt the pleasant stretching of tight muscles and her lungs expanding to take in the scents of fresh, green grass and open sky, which smelled as clean as her clothing now was, thanks to efforts of the ranch’s pleasant and efficient staff.
Pleasant or not, she’d meant to be long gone by now, and surely would have been, had Ace not insisted on summoning a doctor to examine her here the night of their arrival—because apparently house calls were still a thing for people rich enough to own their own oil company. After politely but firmly ordering Ace to quit hovering and leave the tastefully plush and private guest suite where she’d been put up, the long-time family retainer had checked Sierra over head to toe.
A bosomy older woman with a warm, informal manner, she’d quickly put Sierra at ease, assuring her that she could expect to make a full recovery. With her mind already skipping ahead to fretting over where she could get her hands on another set of wheels and where she might go next, Sierra found herself caught off guard when the doctor had solemnly added the words, “In time.”
Frowning, Sierra shook her head. “What do you mean, in time?”
