Colton 911--Soldier's Return, page 24
Charlie had provided her with all of what he knew, and she’d taken copious notes. He’d believed that a cartel kingpin was at the heart of his wrongful imprisonment. When she’d pressed Charlie for names, he’d balked, claimed that “the drug ring in this town is nothing for a lady like you to worry about.” Charlie had always maintained that he was in recovery for his own heroin addiction and was a reformed part-time dealer, as well. His goal was to help others and he’d claimed that’s all he’d been doing when the event went down that got him in jail this time. Dominique wasn’t a novice and knew that addicts were often gifted liars—it was a dark side of the disease. But Charlie was unlike any other addict or dealer-turned-legit she’d ever interviewed. He’d had such a positive outlook, even while imprisoned. If only she’d pushed harder, Charlie might still be here. She still struggled to accept he was gone.
Charlie Hamm had been found dead in his cell from internal bleeding suffered during a prison fight. Some of her students told her that they suspected the fight was staged—Charlie was targeted by the drug cartel’s boss because Charlie had specific information pertaining to the drug ring, including the names he never provided her—but they wouldn’t tell her more, wouldn’t give her one iota of information. They were afraid for their lives, too. Which led her to wonder if Charlie knew the actual kingpin, a name that so far had eluded law enforcement, as far as she knew.
To make matters worse, she’d uncovered facts that made it appear that Grave Gulch PD hadn’t done all their homework when Charlie was arrested. Point in case was the faulty evidence, processed at GGPD’s small but highly capable forensics lab. Dominique wasn’t certain, or convinced, that Randall Bowe’s reason for planting the fingerprint against Charlie had anything to do with the cartel. But GGPD wasn’t letting her in on their findings, so she had no choice but to follow the drug cartel lead.
Charlie never should have been brought to trial. Her heart ached for him, as much as her fury gnawed at the possibility of his fatal injuries being a premeditated murder. His suspicious death and all he’d told her previously triggered her reporter instincts into rapid-fire, and fueled her quest to solve Charlie’s case.
“Please don’t go to Dad, Soledad. Not yet. You know that this story is vital not only to my career, but for the Grave Gulch Gazette, as well.”
“No offense, sister of mine, but I don’t give a beaver’s butt about the Pulitzer Prize. I want you safe. Alive.” More clatters sounded over the connection as Soledad worked. Dominique didn’t bother to correct her sister. Sure, she wanted to one day win the coveted journalism award for her paper as much as anyone, but her first allegiance was to the story. The truth. She’d add justice in there but knew that the local courts would handle that part. If she could make sure the bad eggs at GGPD were called out and meted punishment. First she had to get some evidence that Charlie’s jail time was for a crime he might never have committed.
“Are you making any of your snickerdoodles today?” Her stomach grumbled at the thought of the buttery cookies, cinnamon baked into their crisp outer edges.
“Remember what I said about patronizing, sis?” Soledad wouldn’t be sidelined by Dominique’s distraction technique.
“Sorry. Trust me, sis, I’m good. I’ve got to go, but I’ll stop by later if I can.” She enjoyed all of the confections her sister created but had to limit herself as her sweet tooth was a serious downfall. As she passed a too-familiar apartment building, the memory of eating hot cinnamon rolls in Stanton Colton’s bed flashed in her mind. The deep pang of regret it triggered was immediately followed by frustrated annoyance. She’d split from the dangerously attractive bodyguard two years ago. Ever since she’d taken on Charlie’s story, though, Stanton had been occupying more space in her head. Probably because she’d always relished sharing her research with him, getting his perspective as a security expert. Memories of him and their short-lived—but passionate—relationship belonged in the past.
“You sound distracted.” Darn Soledad’s ability to read her, even over the phone. Dominique got it; she was equally able to sense where Soledad was emotionally, sometimes physically. They definitely had the twin connection.
“I was for a minute. This traffic is nuts. I’m good, though, no worries. I should probably let you go. We both have work to do.”
“We sure do. I’m proud of you, sis. But for the record? It’s my prerogative to worry about you. Know I love you and nothing is worth any fancy journalism prize.” Soledad’s sincerity infused Dominique’s center with a sense of peace. It wasn’t the first time she’d realized how blessed she was to have her sister in her life.
“Love you, too.” She disconnected and continued to drive down Main Street, passing all of her favorite haunts, including a used bookstore and nearby coffee shop. Her description of where she was headed hadn’t been completely honest. She was well into the east side now, where in a matter of a block the cheery storefronts gave way to run-down buildings and littered sidewalks. Making sure she was as close to the desired cross street as possible, she parallel parked in front of a dilapidated building that had splintered plywood boarded over every window and the door. Still, it was better than driving into the depths of the narrow road she’d have to walk to get to the interview.
Dominique quickly reviewed the address and map on her phone, committing her next steps to memory. Her subject, Johnny Blanchard, was her ticket to the truth. The witness had been difficult to chase down, and he refused to speak to her on her cell phone, opting to leave her messages on the Gazette’s landline only. Before Charlie’s death she would have thought Blanchard might be slightly paranoid, but her perspective about what was happening in Grave Gulch had changed. The more information she gleaned, the more deadly Charlie’s case seemed to have been, from the moment he’d been arrested. The fact that Charlie wouldn’t give her names, in his attempt to protect her, was telling.
Grabbing her trusty, purse-size notebook, she locked her wallet in the glove compartment, shoved her favorite bag under a blanket she kept on the back seat and held on to her keys and phone as she exited the car. Once on the street, she pocketed both in her wool cream trench coat. She was grateful for the warmth it gave her on the almost-spring day. April here meant snow and cold temperatures as Lake Michigan slowly woke up from its long winter of freezing conditions.
Her choice of outfit was deliberate. It was important that she looked like her profile photo on the paper’s website and her social media, so that Johnny knew it was really her. Otherwise, she’d never get close to Johnny; he’d take off the minute he spied her from the window or peephole of his apartment in this part of Grave Gulch. Which was why she’d opted to not dress down but maintain her preferred style.
Everything she relished about living in Grave Gulch—the large, diverse community with a small-town feel, being able to recognize many faces at her most visited restaurants and coffee shops, the ability to enjoy all four seasons with gusto—faded as she turned off the main street and walked deeper into what could be low-income housing in Anytown, USA.
Except this was her home, and it made her heart ache to see the suffering too many endured on a regular basis. She’d reported ad infinitum on the opioid epidemic’s effect in Michigan, but nothing ever prepared her for the harsh separation between the addicted and those who’d either never touched the stuff or were in solid recovery from addiction. Dominique regularly read the published police blotter, and when GGPD hadn’t been so shut-down against giving the press case information she’d ask officers for more specifics. Last night two drug deals had been reported on this same street. GGPD had captured one dealer but the other was still at large. The street wasn’t abandoned, but the sense that she was being watched hung like a thick wet blanket about her shoulders. It was to be expected; drug dealers were always looking for a new source of income.
How many people had taken this same route to their eventual death as they sought the fix for their addiction to prescription painkillers?
You can’t fix everything. Work on fitting your piece of the puzzle.
Only three more blocks and she’d be where the answers to Charlie Hamm’s wrongful conviction, and maybe even his murder, began. A shiver struck her nape and shocked down her spine. Soledad was right; this might be her worst idea yet, coming here alone. Her toes itched for her comfortable and serviceable running shoes. She’d remembered the address, the location on the street grid. But she’d forgotten how quickly a situation could go sour.
You’re being ridiculous.
She was. It was the middle of the day and she was here to ask a person a few questions. No need to make a dramatic case out of it. Let the drama stay where it already existed: in Charlie’s probable murder.
Dominique breathed in rhythm with her steps as sweat trickled down her back, soaking her blouse under the wool coat. It wasn’t one of her usual forest hikes, with hawks, eagles and trees overhead, but only a few blocks.
Only a few more steps. She forced herself to appear confident, without fear. It was only human to be wary when the ravages of several crises saturated Grave Gulch’s normally upbeat atmosphere.
You know you fanned the flames unnecessarily.
Admittedly she’d been fired up when she’d used her personal social media to basically threaten the local cartel with retribution for their crimes against Charlie, along with pushing GGPD until all information pertaining to cases Randall Bowe had worked was released. She’d vow to not stop until she had the truth. Her last post had been a bit softer, as she’d promised to seek justice for Charlie and wouldn’t stop until she had the entire truth. But the meaning was indisputable.
The address was in her sights. She stepped across a tiny break in the sidewalk, kept going. The interview wouldn’t take long if Johnny cooperated.
A big if. Interview subjects were notoriously fickle when the stakes were high. Soledad’s words haunted her. Was she risking her safety for nothing?
No. Justice was always worth fighting for. But she picked up her pace, anxious to get her story and get home.
* * *
Stanton Colton used his best security and protection skills to follow Dominique without being detected by the intrepid reporter. Typical of her defiance against what any normal person would consider “too dangerous to go it alone,” she was making her way up a street that had appeared on the GGPD’s reports from last night.
He had double-checked that he had a weapon both at his waist and ankle before he left his vehicle. He’d parked several spaces behind where Dominique had left her modest SUV on the east side of Grave Gulch. It wasn’t the flashiest of cars, and its black paint looked to be covered with an extra layer of dust. He briefly wondered if she was still partial to hiking through the Michigan forests for hours on end. It would explain what looked like long pine needles piled in the corners of her windshield, plus the fresh pollen on the auto’s hood. They’d enjoyed hiking the one spring they’d been together. As well as what they’d done before and after the outdoor excursions. Sometimes, during.
Nope. Not going there. Since they’d split two years ago, he’d kept a tight leash on his mind’s wanderings regarding Dominique. She’d knocked him to his knees, something no woman before or since had ever done. And he’d promised himself he’d never again be so foolish, leaving his heart that vulnerable to a woman. Fortunately, his workload as CEO of Colton Protection left him little time to worry about being alone.
Dominique picked up her pace and he matched it, careful to stop into doorways or behind battered building corners as needed. He knew it was only a matter of time before she discovered he’d been hired to protect her, but Stanton wasn’t ready to come completely clean about the assignment he’d accepted from Rigo de la Vega, Dominique’s fortress of a father. Not until he had to. Dominique was in all likelihood going to give him a hard time about protecting her, and while he understood her viewpoint, he also had great respect and compassion for her dad. The man was frustrated by his daughter’s refusal to see how her job as an investigative reporter put her life at risk, and he was desperate to keep her safe. Whether Dominique wanted to be protected or not wasn’t on Rigo’s radar. Rigo’s words had been persuasive enough for Stanton to agree to accept the job. He’d reminded himself repeatedly over the past hours that was all this was. An assignment. A contract. It had nothing to do with his and Dominique’s past.
Sure, it doesn’t.
If he were to be honest with himself, Stanton was curious about where she was headed. He’d scoured the Grave Gulch Gazette’s digital archives for her reports from the last six months, which in fact was only a review of what he already knew. He never missed one of her articles. Dominique was a gifted journalist and while his business required mostly the nuts and bolts of crime reports to keep his clients safe, he always appreciated the more human, personal take that Dominique’s reporting highlighted. Whether she was covering a crime victim or a high school student who’d been awarded a university scholarship, Dominique put her all into every report.
Stanton hadn’t learned anything new from her reports, but when he’d checked out her social media page, his breath had lodged in his chest. Dominique had waved the equivalent of a red cape at the local cartel’s kingpin. She hadn’t mentioned the cartel or even drug dealing, but had made it clear she was going to uncover “every last criminal” who’d caused Charlie Hamm harm. And taken shots at GGPD, which made his head hurt for his sister, Chief of Police Melissa Colton. Then, as he’d scrolled further, he saw the “anonymous” posts threatening Dominique. He’d bet his professional reputation that the unknown posters were directly connected to the cartel. It made his gut twist to think about the sheer hatred aimed at her.
They’d parted ways two years ago and yet he’d never been able to let go of his instinct to protect her, to keep her safe. At least, that’s what he told himself. If he dug deeper into his emotions, the truth was probably more related to the fact he might still have some remnant of feeling for her.
They were over, though, had been for two years, and he wasn’t letting his thoughts wander back into that soul-sucking black hole. At least not during work hours. He had to stay in his lane, which for the foreseeable future was protecting Dominique.
And it was in her best interest to not alert her of his presence just yet. Letting her know he was here, and not leaving her side from here out, would cause a scene and draw the most unwelcome attention. Because no way in Hades was Dominique de la Vega going to accept his services without a fight. She insisted on doing things her way; this much, he’d wager, hadn’t changed about his ex.
Her figure swayed with what he’d affectionately told her once was her ability to hypnotize him with a single step. She was clad in dressy wide black pants and a belted, short white trench coat that emphasized her hourglass figure, and he had to consciously work to keep his head in the game. He was here to guard Dominique, keep her safe from the deadbeats who were blasting her social media with vile and vitriol. He might be called to protect her from the kingpin of a major drug cartel operating in Grave Gulch. Not to stare at her ass nor think about how her skin had felt under his fingers.
Reviewing what Rigo had told him, which lined up with what Stanton had read on her social media posts, infuriated him. She’d put herself at unreasonable risk, and if he had his way, he’d talk her out of pursuing this story. Or at least wait until the dust settled from the blowout that was certain to ensue once she realized he wasn’t going anywhere. His gut churned as he followed her, knowing dang well that Dominique was incapable of letting anything go if it involved unearthing the truth.
And then this morning’s post. What on earth had possessed Dominique to announce publicly that she was looking for sources and intended to uncover “corruption in the Grave Gulch Police Department”? It was pure madness on her part. Sure, she was a reporter and he was all for her exposés and her investigative journalism. Free press was important. But it was best to leave the riskiest aspects, including anything to do with hardened criminal figures, to law enforcement agencies, or LEA. Let the local, and national as needed, LEAs handle it. Except Dominique seemed convinced that she couldn’t trust her local LEA, GGPD. It stuck like a jagged piece of glass in his awareness because he had so many Colton family members who worked at GGPD, including his older sister, Chief of Police Melissa Colton.
Dominique’s passion for justice was one of several characteristics that had attracted him to her in the first place. In his current position as her bodyguard, though, it made her a prime target for a bad guy at the top of a local drug ring, as well as a bad cop, or police supporters who misread her motives. The threats facing her were myriad and made his heart pound, his stomach twist. If anyone hurt her—
You’ve made a mistake.
Yes, accepting this job was pure madness. It would have been smarter to pass this assignment off to one of the half dozen fully trained and capable agents on his payroll. Colton Protection had earned its sterling reputation by protecting high-visibility clients from politicians to judges to A-list Hollywood celebrities. If he didn’t get his head completely in the mission, which meant blocking off any thoughts of his previous association with Dominique, he risked blowing their until-now untarnished image.
