The Missing Colton by Loreth Anne White
Publisher: Harlequin Romantic Suspense
<div style=”font-size:11px”>Publication date:&nbsp;05/01/2013</div>The Coltons of Wyoming# 3
Back of the book
4.0 Star Review – The Coltons of Wyoming # 3 series
I recommend this book.
If you have not read the below I would recommend reading those books first.
Colton by Blood by Melissa Cutler
After they are both almost killed they must figure out who is after them as the police are not really helping with the crimes around or on the ranch. They need to figure out who is trying to kill off Jagger to make it seem like Cole died.
Must say I really like Jagger and fell for him a little myself.
Who is after Jagger and who set him up?
What is the secret Jagger is keeping from Mia?
Why are the police not solving any of the crimes at the ranch?
The Colton Bride by Carla Cassidy – Due out in October
The Colton Heir by Colleen Thompson – Due out in November
Loreth has won the Romantic Times Reviewer’s choice award, is a double Romantic Times Reviewers’ choice award finalist, a double Rita finalist, a double Daphne Du Maurier finalist, and multiple CataRomance Reviewers’ choice winner.
Jagger McKnight blinked against the blowing grit as he pushed open the door of the Dead River Diner. He was greeted by a blast of warm air and the smell of fried food–yet another greasy spoon, like so many he’d frequented over the past twelve months as he’d drifted aimlessly across the United States. But it was almost 6:00 p.m.–he was cold and famished. He also had questions. A local diner was as good a place as any to start.
Choosing the empty booth closest to the door, Jagger hefted his kit bag onto the red vinyl seat and scooted it toward the grime-streaked window. He removed his jacket, then his cowboy hat. But as his fingers brushed against the ragged scar under his hairline, Jagger stilled, instantly disoriented. A soft panic began to lick through his stomach.
No. Not now…
He concentrated on breathing in slowly and folded his tall frame into the booth beside his gear. Pressing both hands down hard on the table, Jagger focused on the view of the parking lot outside the dirty window. He mentally cataloged what he saw–the gusts of sand piling into soft yellow drifts against a wall. The cracked wall, peeling plaster. Like the bunker.
Tongues of panic licked again, a little deeper, faster. And for a white-hot instant he could no longer see the parking lot. He was back. Trapped. Golangal Valley. A desert windstorm, the sound of blowing Afghan sand like screaming banshees as it funneled through rocks. They were surrounded by heavily armed insurgents in the hills. An invisible enemy. Dark was coming.
A pot banged suddenly in the diner kitchen and Jagger jumped, his pulse spiking as his brain scrambled to translate the noise into mortar fire, explosions.
Enough! You can stop this…
He turned his concentration back to the present, to the two Harleys parked out front of the diner. Across the parking lot, two eighteen-wheeler semis were angled for an easy exit. On the opposite side of the street, a young woman pushed a covered stroller as she bent into the wind, a scarf protecting her face. Civilian. Semis. Harleys.
No grenades hidden in scarves, or the folds of a burka or clutched in the small brown hands of a liquid-eyed child. No tanks. No guerillas around the side of the wall. If Jagger wanted, he could simply stand up, step out the diner door, hit the road. He was free. Free to go.
A tumbleweed bounced past the semis, driven by the vagaries of wind, en route to nowhere in particular. Just like he’d been–drifting. Seeking to numb his nightmares with too many beers, too many late nights, too many one-night stands with women whose names he couldn’t even begin to remember. A shrink would have a field day with him, but Jagger had walked away from all that medical crap. He had to do this himself.
And now, at least, he had a small hook on which to hang a future, however tenuous.
It had come to him Tuesday night, almost nine weeks ago–something to grab on to, something he could use to claw back a semblance of his life, and he’d grabbed it like a lifeline.
Maybe the timing had just been right. Maybe it was destiny. Maybe blind folly or sheer desperation. Hell knew. But on that Tuesday night, Jagger had been nursing a warm beer in a dive bar on…