Colton Bullseye
Author
Geri Krotow
Reads
15.2K
Chapters
19
HarlequinChapter 1
“I am being careful, trust me. It’s my job. If I’m not on my toes, I’ll never get to the bottom of Charlie’s murder. I’m starting with the man who falsely accused him and whose testimony put Charlie behind bars.” Dominique de la Vega focused on driving in steadily increasing traffic as she entered downtown Grave Gulch, Michigan. Her morning call to her fraternal twin, Soledad, was over her car’s hands-free option.
“I get what you think your job is, sis, but I’m worried. You’re pushing your luck too far. If Charlie really was murdered, as you suspect, there are bigger forces at work here than one or two criminals.” Soledad’s concern made Dominique wish they were speaking face-to-face, so that she could better reassure her sister.
“I’m telling you, Soledad, Charlie was innocent. And I’m chasing down the best lead since his death, since he was convicted.” Ever since she’d started teaching creative writing at the county prison two years ago, Dominique’s investigative-reporter instincts had gone into full alert mode. One of her students there, Charlie Hamm, had convinced her that he’d been wrongfully convicted and imprisoned; he’d insisted that the drugs he’d been accused of dealing were never his. He’d claimed the witness who’d testified against him had lied, and that false evidence had been planted, too. When he was found dead from an “apparent prison brawl,” she’d wished she’d acted sooner on Charlie’s claims of innocence. The least she could do now was dig until she uncovered the truth.
“I get it, Dom. You want justice for Charlie. He was one of your best students and his poetry touched you. He convinced you he’s innocent, and I have to agree that it sounds like he was. That’s fair. But what kind of justice would it be if you get hurt, or worse? You said this possible lead is about who put Charlie behind bars in the first place?” Interest reflected in Soledad’s voice, but Dominique also heard distraction. Her sister was baking up a storm, as usual. As the owner of Dream Bakes bakery, it was her life.
Dominique stopped at a traffic light on Grave Gulch Boulevard in the center of the city and gave herself a heartbeat to answer her perceptive sister. If she told Soledad who she was really interviewing, or where exactly she was going to in Grave Gulch, her sister would relay the information to their father in two seconds flat. He’d flip out when he discovered she was willfully going into a part of town she wasn’t familiar with, in the midst of a drug cartel’s attempted takeover of their beloved town. If her father had read last night’s police blotter in today’s Grave Gulch Gazette, he’d have figured out that she was going to where drug-related crimes had occurred last night. To complicate matters, there was a serial killer on the loose in Grave Gulch, too, which added to Rigo de la Vega’s worries over his family. Dominique appreciated his concern, and while she felt not a little guilty that her actions caused him any angst at all, she wasn’t going to stop doing her job. She was in her third decade of life and had ventured into dicey situations all over town and the state for countless stories over the years.
She didn’t disagree that any part of Grave Gulch was downright dangerous when it came to ferreting out information from a probable drug dealer and, at the very least, false witness. The particular street she was headed to had seen several serious crimes this past week, all opioid related. As much as GGPD wasn’t cooperating with her on this story as she’d like, she felt for them. Every time it looked like the heroin scourge had been tamped down, it popped up again without warning. ODs often happened in clusters, depending on where the dealers were peddling their lethal wares. Dominique had learned long ago that getting the whole story often meant taking risks but getting her dad on board was another matter. Especially difficult to convince was her father, Rigo, who was beyond protective of his twin daughters, and always had been.
“Yes, the lede in my story is about Charlie’s key accuser. I’m going to get to the bottom of why he lied. Then I hope to tie it into Randall Bowe.” She believed Charlie’s case was yet another instance of GGPD’s forensic scientist deliberately tampering with evidence. “You know he’s suspected of planting the false evidence that almost put Everleigh Emerson in jail for murder for good, and several others, right? Thank goodness Everleigh was cleared.” She gripped the steering wheel in frustration. “GGPD is in over its head, if you ask me. Now that it’s solid truth that Bowe planted false evidence against Everleigh, GGPD has clammed up about the other cases, including Charlie’s. It’ll be more difficult for me to figure out why Bowe went after Charlie but trust me, I will.” Randall Bowe was in her sights, and she wasn’t letting up. Charlie’s death placed his case at the bottom of the GGPD priority list, as other investigations Bowe deliberately damaged involved the living. It wasn’t going to keep Dominique from getting justice for Charlie, though. “Look, sis, I can’t give you more information right now. You’ll tell Dad.” She never could hide her thoughts from her sister.
“Maybe I will, Dominique. You sound like you’re already in trouble. Where are you, anyway?” The clang of utensils and aluminum sheets sounded over the connection.
“I’m in Grave Gulch, downtown. I just drove past you. Trust me, I wouldn’t walk into a place unprepared, or in a dark alley or anything like that. Plus, it’s broad daylight.”
“Don’t patronize me, sis. We both know that evil knows no time of day or place.”
Dominique sighed, wondering why she’d told Soledad about any of this in the first place. Why hadn’t she kept their morning connection time simple and allowed her sister to do most of the talking?
You’re nervous.
Yeah, she was a little on edge. Going in to find and ask for an interview from the man, according to Charlie, who’d lied to put Charlie behind bars wasn’t what she’d consider usual, even for her job. Usually she’d leave the investigation of criminal activity to GGPD. But first Randall Bowe had evaded questioning, and now GGPD was locked down about Bowe’s involvement in rigged prosecutions. She had to do something, and that meant going after the false witness. Ever since she’d taught the creative writing and poetry night class for inmates in the county correctional facility, she’d established a bond with the men and women who had found themselves behind bars, rightfully or wrongfully.
She’d listened to those who claimed wrongful imprisonment, agreeing to use her skills as a reporter to investigate what she could, but made no promises. Again, this wasn’t her job, it was GGPD’s. As she had expected, she found many allegations to be unfounded. When confronted with the facts, most inmates had stopped insisting on their innocence. But not Charlie Hamm. Charlie had always proclaimed his innocence, and had never given up on the hope that he’d be released early, once someone proved his case. He was arrested a year before he’d been arrested again and sent to prison, both times for dealing. Dominique believed his heartfelt admission that he’d deserved the first arrest, and that it had scared him straight. Charlie swore he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, trying to help users and dealers break free of the sordid life. He’d been brought up on drug dealing charges with what appeared to be minimal but solid evidence in the form of an eyewitness and a single fingerprint. When the reports of Randall Bowe’s alleged evidence tampering began to leak out of GGPD, her reporter senses had tingled. Besides the possibility of a fake witness, evidence against Charlie, in the form of the fingerprint on a suitcase full of opioids, had been handled by none other than Randall Bowe. She knew GGPD was up to its neck in work with the confluence of a serial killer on the loose, the increasingly powerful opioid cartel and the recent kidnapping of a young child who’d been thankfully found safe and sound. All separate incidents. It would be unrealistic to expect GGPD would get answers on Charlie’s case with any sensible timeliness.
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.
Rigo made it clear—he’s hired you to keep his daughter safe, period.
She turned right and made her way up a side street that wasn’t nearly as traversed as the one where they’d parked. He mentally envisioned the side alleys, all memorized. Passing the first side street without a problem, she didn’t look over her shoulders once. Dominique seemed to be pretty certain of where she was headed. He scanned the street, approaching the next alley. A hooded figure emerged from behind a large tree and Stanton paused, keeping Dominique in view. The hairs on his nape rose as he saw the man quickly close in on her.
Stanton broke into a jog, then a full run as the figure’s hand reached into his pocket.
“Dom, look out!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, but not before he saw the thug grab for Dominique.