His Forgotten Colton Fiancée. Bonnie Vanak

held her tight, stroking her back in circles. West hated seeing her this upset. Hated that he was the one making her cry, because he had to ask all these questions. It was his job, and he had no choice.

      Not that he could tell her that.

      “What does your compact look like? If it’s like hers, I might be able to track her down.” He wiped away a stray tear. “Don’t tell your brothers. This is something I’m working on my own.”

      “To find Demi?”

      At his nod, she swiped a hand over her eyes. He didn’t like the frown denting her brows, and the suspicious look she gave him. “Not because she’s my sister and you know how worried I am about her. Because she’s a suspect.”

      He blew out a breath. “She is a suspect, Quinn. The sooner we can find, and question her...”

      “The sooner you can arrest her.”

      West clenched his hands. “The sooner she’ll be safe. Now, will you help me?”

      Quinn bit her lower lip. “All right. I’ll tell you whatever you need to know, as long as it will help Demi.”

      “Is your gold compact like hers?”

      “Not exactly.” She frowned, and toyed with the brush again. “Actually, now I remember. Hers wasn’t gold. It was silver, with her initials on it. And round. I got a round one for her to engrave her initials on it.”

      Damn.

      “Mine was heart shaped.”

      West went still. A chill raced down his spine. “What exactly does it look like?”

      His heart dropped to his already-churning stomach at her next words.

      “It’s gold. With a butterfly emblem on the front.”

       Chapter 3

      How the hell had his fiancée’s compact ended up in a blown-up building? Quinn acted as surprised as everyone else to learn about the explosion. And worried, too. Could she possibly have been in the building—helping her sister set up explosives? Come on.

      He couldn’t risk sharing details with the RRPD just yet. The following morning, he drove east to meet with his supervisor. Special Agent in Charge Mikayla “Mike” Ryan ran the satellite office near Sioux Falls. She had worked with him in the field for the three years since West had moved to South Dakota.

      Before meeting Quinn, he’d had the itch to move again.

      The diner where he’d chosen to meet Mike was off the main grid, a small, but clean greasy spoon between Sioux Falls and Red Ridge. With her mousy brown hair, glasses, petite and trim figure clad in a blue pantsuit, Mike looked more like an accountant than a woman who knew how to take down bad guys. She was already there in a quiet back booth by the large picture window, sipping coffee and digging into a big plate of fried eggs and crispy bacon. His nostrils twitched with appreciation. Since dating Quinn, he hadn’t eaten anything “unhealthy,” but his taste buds sure did remember those days.

      West slid into the booth across from her.

      Mike glanced up from her forkful of eggs. “You look like hell, West.”

      “Nice to see you, too.”

      Beneath the table, he handed off the brown paper bag containing the bagged evidence of the gold compact, along with a plastic bag with a few strands of Quinn’s hair taken from her brush last night. Mike tucked it into the tote bag sitting on the seat beside her.

      He signaled for the waitress and ordered black coffee. Stomach too tense to even try food, he watched his boss eat as if it were her last meal. Mike amused the hell out of him. How she stayed so thin while eating artery-hardening grease was a mystery. She was sometimes too sarcastic and loud, but a hell of a good field agent and manager.

      West sipped his coffee and waited. Mike wasn’t the type to rush headfirst into conversation. She liked to give the agents a chance to collect their thoughts, assess the situation.

      And then hammer them. He’d already filled her in on the explosion and the investigation.

      “Anything on the RRPD?” she asked, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin.

      Same question she asked yesterday. Mike was like a dog, worrying the same topic to death.

      “Nothing so far.” West stared out the window of the diner. “I can’t get a bead on the Coltons. They’re good at their jobs, and keep to themselves.”

      “Like you.” Mike stirred more cream into her coffee. “Anything else I should know?”

      Guilt flickered through him. Yeah, I’m engaged and in love with the sister of the suspect. But you don’t need to nose around my personal life.

      He clenched and unclenched his fists. “I need you to run the evidence for DNA and match against the hair sample I’ve provided.”

      Mike didn’t even blink. “Victim of the blast?” She leaned forward, her green eyes sharp behind the glasses. “Or personal acquaintance, of the female variety?”

      West cringed inside. “What makes you say that?”

      “You look like you haven’t slept all night, and what sleep you did get was in your clothing. You want me to process this separately from the routine investigation the RRPD is already conducting, so it’s got to be connected to the Coltons or a Colton, and...”

      He waited.

      “You have a love bite on the right side of your neck.”

      Inwardly, West cursed, and slapped a hand over the telltale mark. Knew he should have worn a collared shirt, but he’d been in a rush.

      “And you shaved off your beard. You never shave your beard. So it has to be a woman.”

      West rubbed a knuckle against his cheek. “My personal life is none of your damn business.”

      Mike’s gaze narrowed. “It is if your personal life interferes with the job, West. You’re a good operator. I asked for you on my team because that’s how good you are. You’re focused and private and that’s fine. But don’t let a woman get in the way of finding Demi Colton. I’d hate to see you trash your career over good sex.”

      “Great sex.” He locked gazes with her, and flattened his palms on the table.

      Her mouth curled into a smile, and then she gave a short, grudging laugh. “I’m glad someone’s getting something. Fine. Do whatever you must do. But do your job, as well. And don’t hold anything back from me.”

      Mike was not his father confessor. “You’re on a need-to-know basis. That’s how we set up this op. So when you need to know, I’ll tell you. For now, know this. Whoever blew up that hardware store probably is the same person who stole the fifty-five-gallon drum of peroxide from the chemical warehouse in Sioux Falls. This could have been a test for something bigger, with massive human casualties.”

      Now he’d succeeded in diverting her attention away from his face and neck. Mike glanced at the bag in her tote. “Another TATP bomb? Demi Colton trying to create a distraction, or blow up a whole damn wedding, groom and bride this time?”

      “I don’t know. My gut says whoever did this, the hardware store was a test run, to see how volatile the explosives were and how much was needed for the real thing. If it was Demi Colton, she’s gone beyond shooting grooms.” He took his notepad out of his back pocket where he’d scribbled details about Quinn’s sister and what he had learned about her.

      Quinn hadn’t been close to her half sister. She’d told him as much. But that had been growing up. Giving Demi the gift of the mirrored compact told him Quinn reached out, tried to forge a bond with her sibling.

      “Have you gotten