Buried in the back office of the art gallery, Colt and Krissy stared at frame after frame of the surveillance video. The view of The Yachtery office was completely unobstructed and, as predicted, very few people came and went. The task was tedious, but after only a few minutes, Colt figured out how to set the video playback to scroll through one frame every fifteen seconds.
The frames clicked by for what seemed like hours when Colt finally stopped the video. “Look here.” Krissy followed Colt’s pointing finger and caught sight of a woman approaching the front door of the Yachtery. The angle of the camera allowed them to see her face as she approached. Now Colt advanced the image one click at a time until he had optimized the view of her face.
“Can you zoom in?” she asked.
“Just a second.” Colt clicked on the mouse and chose the area to enhance. He then zoomed in for a closer look at the woman’s face. The two detectives glanced down at the photo that was resting on the desk. The video image was grainy, but the woman’s features were decipherable. “Looks like a match to me,” Colt said.
A few clicks later, Colt had e-mailed the video file to himself and to Krissy, making sure to note the exact time Jailene Arroyo was seen entering the building. “So now that we have Arroyo connected to Mathis, what’s next?” Colt asked.
“Let’s bring Mathis in,” Krissy suggested. “He’s a suspect in his assistant’s attack, so we can start there and then move on to Samantha. Then we can see what he has to say about Jailene Arroyo.”
Since Mathis was now a suspect in two attacks and posed a flight risk, Krissy made the decision, and her lieutenant agreed, that they would need to bring him in right away. They could have officers down south make the arrest, but the paperwork would be a lot less complicated if Krissy and Colt made the drive once more and took care of it themselves. “You up for a drive?” she asked.
“Always,”Colt replied.
Gambling on the fact that Mathis would be at his Long Beach office, Colt and Krissy made the decision to stop there first. As they pulled into the parking lot of the marina, they scanned each row of cars. “There’s his truck,” Colt said pointing to the silver behemoth in the second row. “This should be easy enough.”
Krissy’s unmarked police car was parked within 20 yards of Mathis’ truck not far from the rows of shops that lined the harbor. It was somewhere within these shops where they suspected they would find The Yachtery’s satellite office. The wooden siding on the buildings coupled with the countless seagulls gave the area a nautical feel. From inside his car, Colt scanned the front doors of the shops he could see. None of them bore the logo of Mathis’ company.
“There he is.” Krissy was already reaching over to open the car door. “Let’s get him.” She waited and watched as he came closer to his truck. When he was within ten feet , she pulled out her badge and a pair of hand cuffs and announced, “Steven Mathis. You’re under arrest for kidnapping and assault.”
Mathis turned at the sound of her voice and broke into a sprint in the opposite direction. Without losing a second, Krissy took off after him with Colt by her side. They gained on him quickly and, realizing he couldn’t outrun the pair, Mathis slowed to a stop then turned to face them.
Krissy methodically slapped the cuffs on his wrists and escorted him back to her car. It was a long, quiet drive back up to Santa Barbara. Since Krissy wanted to wait until the setting was in her favor before she began any questioning, she resisted the urge to probe from the front seat. There would be plenty of time for that at the station.
Showing posts with label Online Novel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Online Novel. Show all posts
Monday, March 15, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Colt Crawford - Chapter 4
As he stood up to leave Samantha’s room, Colt glanced though the partially open door and saw a middle aged couple making their way down the long, sterile hallway. “Are those your parents?” Colt asked, nodding toward the them.
Craning her neck to see through the doorway, Samantha replied, “Yeah. I expect they will try to stay all day, but I think they need to get out some. I know I do.”
“Did anyone ever get a hold of your boyfriend?” Colt asked changing the subject.
“They only place I had his number was in my phone and I haven’t really tried very hard to track him down. We haven’t been together that long. I’ll worry about it later.”
Always the detective, Colt told her that he would try to find a phone number using some of the online search tools to which he subscribed. “What’s his last name?”
“Ford,” Samantha replied. “Creighton Ford.”
“And he lives in L.A?”
“Yeah. Eagle rock area,” Samantha said.
As Mr. And Mrs. Woods entered the room, Colt extended his hand and introduced himself. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.
After enduring their gushing gratitude for several minutes, Colt, finding no way out, finally relented and agreed to let them take him out to lunch that afternoon. “You need some time with Samantha, and I have some work to do, so why don’t I meet you back here around noon?” Colt suggested.
Once he got back out to his car, he silently chastised himself for not bringing his laptop with him on this trip. Of course, he had purposely left it behind so he couldn’t work, but now he wanted it more than anything. That machine was his connection to the world and without it, he was at a severe disadvantage. His iPhone was a handy device, but it couldn’t access the databases or search sites that were available online. Fortunately, there was something useful that the iPhone could do for him at the moment and, within seconds, he was connected to the trusty 411 operator. Unfortunately, there was no listing for a Creighton Ford in L.A. so Colt was forced to resort to Plan B. As a wildly successful detective, he had learned to always have a second option for tracking down every lead because no one was perfectly predictable. With the phone once again pressed against his ear, he dialed a familiar number. Seconds later an equally familiar voice answered.
“Charlie,” Colt said as the new boss of Crawford Investigations joined the conversation.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” Charlie Marshall replied as he settled his large frame into what had once been Colt’s inviting leather desk chair in the corner office Colt had once occupied.
“I just can’t leave it all behind that easily,” Colt said. “I need a favor.” After explaining the laptop situation to Charlie, he asked him to find a number for Creighton Ford of Los Angeles. It was a somewhat unusual name, so Colt felt confident that finding the right man wouldn’t take long and he was right.
“I’ve got one in Eagle Rock,” Charlie said after a short wait.
“That’s the one,” Colt replied. Charlie rattled off the number as Colt committed it to memory. Memorizing lists and phone numbers was a trick he had mastered years before by creating mnemonic devices that attached various images to numbers. It was a trick that had bailed Colt out of more than one tricky situation in the past, and he was confident it would help again in the future.
After hanging up with Charlie, Colt dialed Creighton’s number. It was a home number though he was more likely to be at work at 10:30 on a Tuesday morning, but it was worth a shot. He’d leave a message and move on. To Colt’s surprise, Crieghton answered on the third ring. Colt quickly introduced himself and told the boyfriend that Samantha had been beat up and kidnapped.
“Did they catch the guy?” Creighton asked.
The question threw Colt off guard. He had expected something about Samantha’s well-being or where he could visit her, but not this. It seemed strange to Colt that Creighton was more focused on justice than on Samantha’s health. Regardless, he filled him in on a few of the lesser details, but his gut told him to proceed with caution. Before he hung up, Colt had made an appointment to meet Creighton at the hospital later that evening.
His next move was to call a friend at the LAPD and find out if there had been any reported car thefts in the area of Figueroa and Ninth the night before. After the necessary small talk, he finally posed his question and waited for a reply. “I think I did hear about something down there yesterday, but that’s off my beat. Let me ask around,” Lieutenant Teddy Crosby said. “Hey, Glover!” He yelled with the phone pressed against his slightly enlarged stomach in an effort to muffle the sound and simulate an “on-hold” feature that Crosby refused to actually use. “You hear about a car jacking at Fig and Nine yesterday?” Colt could hear voices but with the blue uniform blocking the receiver, words were hard to follow. Besides, the rumbling of Crosby’s stomach juices was enough to paint a very vivid picture in Colt’s mind of what the scene on the other end must have looked like.
A few minutes later, Crosby was back on the line with the phone once again returned to the appropriate part of his body. “There was a car jacking reported, but someone else called in two minutes later and canceled the call. Normally we would follow up anyway, but with it being a holiday, we were swamped with drunks.”
“Any info on the suspects?”
“We didn’t get any. Like I said, the call was cancelled.”
Colt explained the situation he was dealing with regarding Samantha and asked Crosby if he could get some surveillance tapes from the buildings in the area. Given the information Colt had conveyed to Crosby, he was confident that a crime had indeed been committed in the city, so he promised that he would assign a detective to track down any video footage of the area that might exist. “I’ll get you copies of whatever we find,” Crosby assured Colt.
Colt’s next call was to the Santa Barbara County Sheriff’s office. He wanted to get in touch with the detective handling this end of the case and offer to help. Mostly he just wanted to find out what they knew so he could do his own investigation, but he figured he would have to have something to offer up in exchange. The L.A. video tapes should give him some leverage.
After navigating the automated answering system for a few minutes, Colt finally got put in touch with someone who could tell him which detective was following up on the Samantha Woods case. Seven and a half minutes after he first dialed the number, a woman’s voice answered. “Malone,” was all she said.
“Detective Malone,” Colt began. “My name is Colt Crawford. I’m the guy who found Samantha Woods on the side of the road last night.”
“Oh yes. I believe Sanchez spoke with you last night,” she responded. “He handed the case to me this morning. I’m taking it from here.”
Since there had obviously been a changing of the guard, Colt spent a few minutes filling her in on his side of the story before telling her his own profession. “Is there any information you could share with me?” Colt asked.
“I haven’t really had much time to work the case yet, but if you can meet me this morning I’d be happy to trade notes. I’ve never been one to turn down free help.”
Colt glanced at his watch. It was 10:45 a.m. He was supposed to meet Samantha’s parents at noon. “I’m at the hospital. Can you meet me at the Starbucks down the street in ten minutes.
“Ill be there,” Detective Malone said. “I’ll be the one in the dark blue undercover cop car,” she joked.
There was something about her laid back demeanor that intrigued Colt. A lot of cops were hot shots who were out to prove something to the world, but Malone seemed different. The only thing she seemed interested in proving was who hurt Samantha Woods. Colt briefly tried to imagine what Detective Malone must look like, but instead, the face that came to mind was that of Samantha, bandages and all. For a man on an open-ended vacation, he was suddenly very busy.
Colt started the car and was just getting ready to pull out of the parking lot when his phone rang. Glancing down at the caller I.D., he picked it up and said, “What’s up, Charlie?”
“Man, you are never going to believe what I just found out,” Charlie Marshall said.
Results -
What did Charlie just find out?
Creighton Ford was one of many aliases for a con man with a rap sheet. - 50%
Creighton Ford had just attempted suicide and was in the hospital. - 50%
Crawford Investigations had investigated Creighton several years earlier. - 0%
Craning her neck to see through the doorway, Samantha replied, “Yeah. I expect they will try to stay all day, but I think they need to get out some. I know I do.”
“Did anyone ever get a hold of your boyfriend?” Colt asked changing the subject.
“They only place I had his number was in my phone and I haven’t really tried very hard to track him down. We haven’t been together that long. I’ll worry about it later.”
Always the detective, Colt told her that he would try to find a phone number using some of the online search tools to which he subscribed. “What’s his last name?”
“Ford,” Samantha replied. “Creighton Ford.”
“And he lives in L.A?”
“Yeah. Eagle rock area,” Samantha said.
As Mr. And Mrs. Woods entered the room, Colt extended his hand and introduced himself. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.
After enduring their gushing gratitude for several minutes, Colt, finding no way out, finally relented and agreed to let them take him out to lunch that afternoon. “You need some time with Samantha, and I have some work to do, so why don’t I meet you back here around noon?” Colt suggested.
Once he got back out to his car, he silently chastised himself for not bringing his laptop with him on this trip. Of course, he had purposely left it behind so he couldn’t work, but now he wanted it more than anything. That machine was his connection to the world and without it, he was at a severe disadvantage. His iPhone was a handy device, but it couldn’t access the databases or search sites that were available online. Fortunately, there was something useful that the iPhone could do for him at the moment and, within seconds, he was connected to the trusty 411 operator. Unfortunately, there was no listing for a Creighton Ford in L.A. so Colt was forced to resort to Plan B. As a wildly successful detective, he had learned to always have a second option for tracking down every lead because no one was perfectly predictable. With the phone once again pressed against his ear, he dialed a familiar number. Seconds later an equally familiar voice answered.
“Charlie,” Colt said as the new boss of Crawford Investigations joined the conversation.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” Charlie Marshall replied as he settled his large frame into what had once been Colt’s inviting leather desk chair in the corner office Colt had once occupied.
“I just can’t leave it all behind that easily,” Colt said. “I need a favor.” After explaining the laptop situation to Charlie, he asked him to find a number for Creighton Ford of Los Angeles. It was a somewhat unusual name, so Colt felt confident that finding the right man wouldn’t take long and he was right.
“I’ve got one in Eagle Rock,” Charlie said after a short wait.
“That’s the one,” Colt replied. Charlie rattled off the number as Colt committed it to memory. Memorizing lists and phone numbers was a trick he had mastered years before by creating mnemonic devices that attached various images to numbers. It was a trick that had bailed Colt out of more than one tricky situation in the past, and he was confident it would help again in the future.
After hanging up with Charlie, Colt dialed Creighton’s number. It was a home number though he was more likely to be at work at 10:30 on a Tuesday morning, but it was worth a shot. He’d leave a message and move on. To Colt’s surprise, Crieghton answered on the third ring. Colt quickly introduced himself and told the boyfriend that Samantha had been beat up and kidnapped.
“Did they catch the guy?” Creighton asked.
The question threw Colt off guard. He had expected something about Samantha’s well-being or where he could visit her, but not this. It seemed strange to Colt that Creighton was more focused on justice than on Samantha’s health. Regardless, he filled him in on a few of the lesser details, but his gut told him to proceed with caution. Before he hung up, Colt had made an appointment to meet Creighton at the hospital later that evening.
His next move was to call a friend at the LAPD and find out if there had been any reported car thefts in the area of Figueroa and Ninth the night before. After the necessary small talk, he finally posed his question and waited for a reply. “I think I did hear about something down there yesterday, but that’s off my beat. Let me ask around,” Lieutenant Teddy Crosby said. “Hey, Glover!” He yelled with the phone pressed against his slightly enlarged stomach in an effort to muffle the sound and simulate an “on-hold” feature that Crosby refused to actually use. “You hear about a car jacking at Fig and Nine yesterday?” Colt could hear voices but with the blue uniform blocking the receiver, words were hard to follow. Besides, the rumbling of Crosby’s stomach juices was enough to paint a very vivid picture in Colt’s mind of what the scene on the other end must have looked like.
A few minutes later, Crosby was back on the line with the phone once again returned to the appropriate part of his body. “There was a car jacking reported, but someone else called in two minutes later and canceled the call. Normally we would follow up anyway, but with it being a holiday, we were swamped with drunks.”
“Any info on the suspects?”
“We didn’t get any. Like I said, the call was cancelled.”
Colt explained the situation he was dealing with regarding Samantha and asked Crosby if he could get some surveillance tapes from the buildings in the area. Given the information Colt had conveyed to Crosby, he was confident that a crime had indeed been committed in the city, so he promised that he would assign a detective to track down any video footage of the area that might exist. “I’ll get you copies of whatever we find,” Crosby assured Colt.
Colt’s next call was to the Santa Barbara County Sheriff’s office. He wanted to get in touch with the detective handling this end of the case and offer to help. Mostly he just wanted to find out what they knew so he could do his own investigation, but he figured he would have to have something to offer up in exchange. The L.A. video tapes should give him some leverage.
After navigating the automated answering system for a few minutes, Colt finally got put in touch with someone who could tell him which detective was following up on the Samantha Woods case. Seven and a half minutes after he first dialed the number, a woman’s voice answered. “Malone,” was all she said.
“Detective Malone,” Colt began. “My name is Colt Crawford. I’m the guy who found Samantha Woods on the side of the road last night.”
“Oh yes. I believe Sanchez spoke with you last night,” she responded. “He handed the case to me this morning. I’m taking it from here.”
Since there had obviously been a changing of the guard, Colt spent a few minutes filling her in on his side of the story before telling her his own profession. “Is there any information you could share with me?” Colt asked.
“I haven’t really had much time to work the case yet, but if you can meet me this morning I’d be happy to trade notes. I’ve never been one to turn down free help.”
Colt glanced at his watch. It was 10:45 a.m. He was supposed to meet Samantha’s parents at noon. “I’m at the hospital. Can you meet me at the Starbucks down the street in ten minutes.
“Ill be there,” Detective Malone said. “I’ll be the one in the dark blue undercover cop car,” she joked.
There was something about her laid back demeanor that intrigued Colt. A lot of cops were hot shots who were out to prove something to the world, but Malone seemed different. The only thing she seemed interested in proving was who hurt Samantha Woods. Colt briefly tried to imagine what Detective Malone must look like, but instead, the face that came to mind was that of Samantha, bandages and all. For a man on an open-ended vacation, he was suddenly very busy.
Colt started the car and was just getting ready to pull out of the parking lot when his phone rang. Glancing down at the caller I.D., he picked it up and said, “What’s up, Charlie?”
“Man, you are never going to believe what I just found out,” Charlie Marshall said.
Results -
What did Charlie just find out?
Creighton Ford was one of many aliases for a con man with a rap sheet. - 50%
Creighton Ford had just attempted suicide and was in the hospital. - 50%
Crawford Investigations had investigated Creighton several years earlier. - 0%
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Colt Crawford - Chapter 1
It was New Year’s Day and Colt Crawford once again found himself alone in his car outside an upscale bar in a swanky L.A. neighborhood. The sky was enviably blue and the afternoon temperature hovered around 72 degress. It didn’t seem right for a January day. Within the solitude of his car, Colt pondered how his parents must be feeling at that moment as rain gently pounded the roof of their suburban Portland home. They were, no doubt, sitting in front of a warm fire watching the rain drops streak down the living room window as a college bowl game played out on the 52 inch plasma TV Colt had bought for them for Christmas last year. How many times had he sacrificed his holidays to camp outside a restaurant or flashy house waiting to catch somebody sneaking around with someone who was off limits?
For the first seven or eight yeas of his career as a private investigator, Colt had thrived on the job. He loved the thrill of the hunt, even when it involved countless hours of waiting and watching. But on this day, and on many others like it over the last few years, the magic was gone. People would always do dumb and selfish things and Colt was growing increasingly tired of interfering with the lives of idiot celebrities who were determined to screw up every last chance they might have at true happiness.
Life as a private investigator for the stars did have its perks and that detail was not lost on Colt Crawford. The seats of his BMW 650i were indeed comfortable. As Colt sipped his iced latte he inhaled the rich smell of leather that enveloped the car’s interior. Peering over the rim of the paper cup, he scanned the front door of the bar waiting for his latest target to emerge.
Most investigators would shun a car as flashy as a Beemer so Colt didn’t mind that in this neighborhood his car was as inconspicuous as a Honda or Toyota might have been in any other part of the the city. As he sat in the warm mid-afternoon sun, he was tempted to put down the convertible top, but that would only draw attention to himself so he decided against it.
As the minutes ticked by, Colt caught himself letting his mind wander from his task. Thoughts of a life free of the constraints of the big city brought him a momentary reprieve from the daily grind. He could almost feel the wind in his face as he imagined himself gliding down a wide open highway on top of a powerful motorcycle. Just as his thoughts were tempting him to throw in the towel and walk away from it all, a brief commotion in front of the bar shook him back to reality.
Glancing out the front window of the BMW, he saw a man and a woman engaged in a heated discussion. “That’s her,” Colt mumbled to himself. He pulled the camera from the passenger seat and zoomed the lengthy telephoto lens in on his target. Snapping the shutter four or five times in sequence, Colt was satisfied that he had the last piece of evidence he needed in order to prove to his client that his girlfriend was indeed cheating on him.
With the camera once again resting on the seat beside him, Colt Crawford started the ignition and the car hummed to life. With a quick flick of the wrist the gear shifter slid smoothly into drive. Just as he was about to move his foot from the brake pedal to the gas and pull away from the curb, he glanced back at his target. The discussion between the woman and her companion was heating up even more. He could now not only see their animated gestures, but he could also hear angry words. If he listened closely, he could even decipher some of them. “Time to put the top down,” the detective said to himself.
Even though he disliked his chosen profession at the moment, he couldn’t help but do the job he had been trained to do. Once the roof of the car was tucked neatly away, Colt could make out most of their conversation. The two were clearly involved in a disagreement. “Come on!” the man yelled. “I’m your brother and I care more about you than he ever will!”
At that, the tone of the discussion seemed to settle by several degrees. The woman’s eyes dropped and he confident demeanor vanished. Colt glanced down at the file he had created for this case. What was her name? he wondered. Flipping through a few pages, he quickly found what he was looking for. His finger rested on the name, Mandy Miles. Again peering through the powerful telephoto lens, Colt looked back at the pair and saw that Mandy had tears in her eyes. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he saw her lips mumble. And with that, the man put his arm around Mandy Miles and the two walked off toward the parking lot. With their backs to him and the argument over, Colt had no way of knowing what was going on so he pulled the Beemer away from the curb and pointed the car back toward his office.
As he merged the car onto the 405 and drove north, he pondered the mistake he had almost made. He mentally kicked himself for not picking up on the brother/sister angle earlier. It all started to make sense as he sorted out the scenario that had been unfolding in front of him for the past week - the secret meetings, the late night rendezvous. Mandy Miles had been trying to leave an abusive relationship and had turned to her brother for help. Colt shuddered at the thought that he had almost helped an abusive man trap a frightened woman in his grip. Then, right there in the number three lane with the wind blowing through his hair, Colt Crawford made a decision. He was thirty-three and single and it was time for a change.
What kind of change should Colt make? Use the voting buttons to the right to cast your vote. You can also leave comments with some of your ideas.
Results:
A) Close his office permanently and join his brother in his real estate business. - 0%
B) Close the office indefinitely and take an extended road trip in the BMW. - 75%
C) Close the LA office and start over with a new practice somewhere else. - 25%
For the first seven or eight yeas of his career as a private investigator, Colt had thrived on the job. He loved the thrill of the hunt, even when it involved countless hours of waiting and watching. But on this day, and on many others like it over the last few years, the magic was gone. People would always do dumb and selfish things and Colt was growing increasingly tired of interfering with the lives of idiot celebrities who were determined to screw up every last chance they might have at true happiness.
Life as a private investigator for the stars did have its perks and that detail was not lost on Colt Crawford. The seats of his BMW 650i were indeed comfortable. As Colt sipped his iced latte he inhaled the rich smell of leather that enveloped the car’s interior. Peering over the rim of the paper cup, he scanned the front door of the bar waiting for his latest target to emerge.
Most investigators would shun a car as flashy as a Beemer so Colt didn’t mind that in this neighborhood his car was as inconspicuous as a Honda or Toyota might have been in any other part of the the city. As he sat in the warm mid-afternoon sun, he was tempted to put down the convertible top, but that would only draw attention to himself so he decided against it.
As the minutes ticked by, Colt caught himself letting his mind wander from his task. Thoughts of a life free of the constraints of the big city brought him a momentary reprieve from the daily grind. He could almost feel the wind in his face as he imagined himself gliding down a wide open highway on top of a powerful motorcycle. Just as his thoughts were tempting him to throw in the towel and walk away from it all, a brief commotion in front of the bar shook him back to reality.
Glancing out the front window of the BMW, he saw a man and a woman engaged in a heated discussion. “That’s her,” Colt mumbled to himself. He pulled the camera from the passenger seat and zoomed the lengthy telephoto lens in on his target. Snapping the shutter four or five times in sequence, Colt was satisfied that he had the last piece of evidence he needed in order to prove to his client that his girlfriend was indeed cheating on him.
With the camera once again resting on the seat beside him, Colt Crawford started the ignition and the car hummed to life. With a quick flick of the wrist the gear shifter slid smoothly into drive. Just as he was about to move his foot from the brake pedal to the gas and pull away from the curb, he glanced back at his target. The discussion between the woman and her companion was heating up even more. He could now not only see their animated gestures, but he could also hear angry words. If he listened closely, he could even decipher some of them. “Time to put the top down,” the detective said to himself.
Even though he disliked his chosen profession at the moment, he couldn’t help but do the job he had been trained to do. Once the roof of the car was tucked neatly away, Colt could make out most of their conversation. The two were clearly involved in a disagreement. “Come on!” the man yelled. “I’m your brother and I care more about you than he ever will!”
At that, the tone of the discussion seemed to settle by several degrees. The woman’s eyes dropped and he confident demeanor vanished. Colt glanced down at the file he had created for this case. What was her name? he wondered. Flipping through a few pages, he quickly found what he was looking for. His finger rested on the name, Mandy Miles. Again peering through the powerful telephoto lens, Colt looked back at the pair and saw that Mandy had tears in her eyes. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he saw her lips mumble. And with that, the man put his arm around Mandy Miles and the two walked off toward the parking lot. With their backs to him and the argument over, Colt had no way of knowing what was going on so he pulled the Beemer away from the curb and pointed the car back toward his office.
As he merged the car onto the 405 and drove north, he pondered the mistake he had almost made. He mentally kicked himself for not picking up on the brother/sister angle earlier. It all started to make sense as he sorted out the scenario that had been unfolding in front of him for the past week - the secret meetings, the late night rendezvous. Mandy Miles had been trying to leave an abusive relationship and had turned to her brother for help. Colt shuddered at the thought that he had almost helped an abusive man trap a frightened woman in his grip. Then, right there in the number three lane with the wind blowing through his hair, Colt Crawford made a decision. He was thirty-three and single and it was time for a change.
What kind of change should Colt make? Use the voting buttons to the right to cast your vote. You can also leave comments with some of your ideas.
Results:
A) Close his office permanently and join his brother in his real estate business. - 0%
B) Close the office indefinitely and take an extended road trip in the BMW. - 75%
C) Close the LA office and start over with a new practice somewhere else. - 25%
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