Confessions

by Cynthia Eden

  He didn’t back away as she approached. Tension made her steps hurried.

  “Even good men can carry dark secrets.”

  His words had her stumbling.

  “It’s not just your life I have to rip apart. It’s his, too. I hope you’re prepared for what I might find.”

  “I’m not prepared for any of this.” She gave Grant a brittle smile. “But that doesn’t matter, does it?” She was trapped in this hell, and she had to survive. One way or another.

  She put one foot in front of the other and reached the hallway. Her fingers rose and pressed against the wall. “I never imagined it would be this way.” She spoke without looking back at him. “When I thought about...us... Seeing you again... I never thought I’d be so desperate.”

  There was silence, then he asked, “What did you think it would be like?”

  For an instant, she almost smiled. A real smile. “You were supposed to have put on about two hundred pounds. You were supposed to be bald and you were supposed to desperately yearn for me. You were supposed to wish that you’d never left me behind.” Now she did look back at him.

  His expression was inscrutable.

  “You weren’t supposed to be my only hope. You weren’t supposed to be the man I had to beg.”

  He gave a hard shake of his head. “You never have to beg me for anything.”

  She did. For her survival, and it made her feel ashamed. Weak.

  “Good night, Grant.” She stepped into the hallway.

  “This isn’t the way I thought it would be, either.”

  She wouldn’t let his words stop her.

  “You weren’t supposed to be even more beautiful. You weren’t supposed to still make me ache...and you weren’t supposed to be with another man.”

  She wasn’t with anyone else. Not any longer.

  “You were supposed to be with me.”

  His words made her stumble again. She rushed into the room on the right. Shut the door.

  Sagged against the wood.

  You were supposed to be with me. Those words had pierced straight to her heart. The heart he’d claimed, long ago.

  The heart he’d tossed away.

  I will be stronger this time. I won’t make the same mistakes.

  She glanced around the room. Realized she was in his bedroom. Scarlett started to walk right back out of that room, but...

  But the bed looked too inviting.

  And I’m finally safe.

  Because if there was one thing she could count on, it was that Grant would protect her. She never doubted her ex-ranger on that score.

  But who will protect me from him?

  Her fingers slid over the lock on the door. She turned it and the distinctive click filled the air.

  I’ll protect myself.

  Because she knew that she couldn’t survive another Grant McGuire heartbreak. And she wouldn’t give him the chance to hurt her again.

  * * *

  JUSTIN TURNER STARED at the dark house. The lights had been on moments before, but then the place had plunged into darkness.

  Scarlett was in that house. With Grant McGuire.

  He knew all about McGuire. Most of Austin had heard of the man. Dangerous, determined...Grant McGuire’s reputation preceded him.

  The guy had opened his PI business a few years back. And he’d been working to help victims since then.

  Scarlett isn’t a victim. She was a killer. Grant should see her for exactly what she was.

  But Justin hadn’t been able to see the truth, either. Not at first. Like his brother, he’d been blinded by her beauty. By her dark eyes and her high-voltage smile. He’d been blind, and now Eric was dead.

  Scarlett wasn’t going to get away with murder. Justin would make absolutely sure of it.

  I can’t wait for you to meet Scarlett... His brother’s voice, jovial and light, ran back through his mind. I know you’ll love her just as much as I do.

  No, he didn’t.

  His eyes stayed on that darkened house.

  Chapter Three

  The pounding at his front door woke Grant the next morning. A quick glance at the nearby clock told him it was barely 6:00 a.m. Way too early for any normal visitor. He jumped out of the guest bed, dragged on a pair of jeans and headed down the hallway.

  Scarlett opened her door just as he was passing her. She was wearing one of his old army shirts—he’d forgotten to bring her clothes over—and looking so sexy that he came to a dead stop.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, her voice soft. “I...is someone here?”

  That pounding came again. Yes, some bozo was there. Too early. Grant pulled his gaze off the long expanse of her legs and finished making his way to the front door. A quick glance out the peephole revealed that he wasn’t being harassed by some too aggressive, jerk reporter.

  It was just his brother.

  Who could be quite a jerk in his own right.

  Grant pulled open the door. Sullivan, his youngest brother, stood on the threshold, glowering. That was hardly surprising. Sullivan always wore that hard, angry expression.

  He’d worn it since they’d buried their parents, five years before.

  “You aren’t supposed to be here,” Grant told him. “You had a case you were working in New York—”

  “Finished it last night.” Sullivan pushed by him. He was close to Grant’s own six foot three height. But while Grant had light hair, Sullivan’s was as dark as night. His eyes—eyes the same shade of green as Grant’s own—glittered. “And on the way back, I finally heard about the mess you got tangled in.” He gave a low whistle. “Man, what were you thinking? To get involved with her again? Especially after she killed someone!”

  “Ah, Sullivan...”

  “I get it.” His brother waved away the interruption. “She’s hot. Always was smokin’.”

  Grant’s eyes narrowed. Sullivan and Scarlett had been in the same class. He just hadn’t realized that his little brother had been quite so...aware of her.

  “And you’ve always had a crazy weakness for her.”

  Grant could feel his cheeks burning. “Sullivan.”

  “But she’s trouble. I read press reports about this case. That’s all I could read on the flight back. She killed one lover, and you’re going to whisk her right out of that courtroom without even—”

  “I didn’t kill him.” Scarlett’s voice wasn’t so soft anymore. It was angry. Fierce.

  Sullivan’s face went slack with shock. “You’ve got her in your house already?”

  Not just his house, his bed.

  Sullivan turned to face Scarlett.

  Smokin’...yes, with her hair rumpled and her legs bare, she was definitely a sight to behold. Red stained her cheeks and her eyes shone with a dark fire.

  “I didn’t kill my lover, Sullivan. The stories in the papers and online are all wrong.” Her lips tightened. “And so are you.”

  Sullivan rocked back on his heels. “She’s wearing your shirt.”

  She was.

  “Think with your head, bro!” Sullivan’s glare fired at Grant. “This woman wrecked you once—”

  Grant grabbed his brother by the shirtfront and shoved him against the nearest wall. “Not another word.” It was a lethal whisper.

  Sullivan blinked at him.

  “She’s innocent,” he growled.

  Sullivan shook his head.

  “I know Scarlett. She wouldn’t take a knife and shove it into a man’s chest again and again.” That wasn’t her. Scarlett was no monster. To him, she was one of the few good things in the world.

  He’d needed to remember her when he’d been in one hell after another. A good thing...in a world gone bad.

  “Yo
u don’t know her...” Sullivan gritted his teeth in turn, his jaw locking. “You haven’t seen her in ten years.”

  He had seen her. Sometimes, he’d needed to see her in order to get through the darkness that wanted to consume him.

  “Uh...” Scarlett’s footsteps padded closer and then she tapped Grant on his shoulder. “I get that the McGuire brothers have always liked to play rough and all, but I think you should let your brother go.”

  A faint smile curved Sullivan’s lips.

  Jerk. But Grant released him.

  Sullivan took his time straightening his T-shirt, as if Grant had done some kind of damage. Sullivan was an ex-marine. The guy could handle a hard shove—or twenty.

  If he reveals too much to Scarlett, I’ll give him plenty of damage to handle.

  “I didn’t kill Eric,” Scarlett said, her words rushing out. “And I’m here...because Grant is going to help me find the person who did.”

  Sullivan raised his brows at that.

  “Davis and Brodie are already working the case,” Grant told him, referring to their twin brothers. “I didn’t call you in because I knew you were close to wrapping things up in New York. We were handling this...”

  Sullivan’s gaze dipped over Scarlett’s body. “I’m sure you were handling plenty.”

  Grant started to lunge forward.

  But Scarlett was still touching him. Her fingers tightened around his shoulder. “It’s not like your brother is the only one who thinks I’m guilty. The grand jury indicted me. The press is flaying me and plenty of people feel the same way.” Her hand dropped. “That’s why we have to find the killer.”

  Before she could back away, Grant caught her hand. Soft, delicate. It hardly looked like the hand that would curl around a knife and viciously stab a man to death. His fingers smoothed over hers. He wondered when she’d stopped wearing Eric’s ring. There was a faint tan line on her left ring finger and he wanted to ask her—

  Grant swore. “You’re left-handed.” He remembered that now. When they’d been dating, he’d teased her a few times about being a leftie when they played a bit of baseball together.

  “Uh, yes, I am.”

  His head snapped up. His gaze pinned Sullivan. He hadn’t been planning to call in Sullivan, but since his brother was there... “We need to go over the ME’s reports. See if the attack is consistent with a left-handed or right-handed perp.” Because the results would be different. The angle of attack, the thrust of the blade—all different for a left-handed person. “We have to go over that report, immediately!” They might even need to get their own expert to review the injuries. Excitement thickened Grant’s voice. This was just one piece of the puzzle, and it could be a long shot, but...

  It’s a starting point. If the killer wasn’t left-handed, then that’s one piece of evidence pointing to Scarlett’s innocence.

  Sullivan’s eyes widened. “You’re doing this for her.”

  “No, we are.” Because the McGuires worked together.

  “We hunt for killers. We protect the—”

  “She’s no killer, and we’re going to prove it.”

  Their parents’ murders had hit Sullivan so hard. He’d stopped trusting people and started to look at everyone outside his family with too much suspicion.

  Grant glanced back at Scarlett. “We need to visit that crime scene today. I want you to walk me through every single moment...from the instant you stepped through that door until the cops arrived.” Because maybe there was something there. Some small piece of evidence that had been overlooked by the police.

  Such as Scarlett being left-handed.

  Eventually, the small pieces would add up, and they’d unmask the real killer.

  Hope lit Scarlett’s eyes, and it was a beautiful thing. He stared at her, lost for a minute. Once, she’d always looked out at the world with hope.

  Then he’d met her one summer evening, and he’d watched hope—hope for their future—fade from her eyes.

  “I’ll get dressed.” She threw her arms around Grant. “Thank you.”

  He wanted to hold her tight, but didn’t. He didn’t hold her at all. Then she let him go.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she hurried away from him.

  When she disappeared down the hallway, Sullivan spoke, his voice low. “This is a mistake. I’m going on record as saying so.”

  “I told you already that she didn’t do it.”

  “Right...because you were in the room with her and her lover. You saw that she was innocent.”

  Grant glared at his little brother. Marine or no, he’d still be able to take him down any day of the week. “I’m not like you, Sullivan. I didn’t stop believing in everyone.”

  Sullivan shook his head. “And you’re also trying to cling to the past. You can’t do that. The past is dead.” He stalked toward the front door. “And people change, bro. That’s a lesson you need to learn. She was your angel once, I get that. But you have no idea who—or what—she is now.” He yanked open the door. “Watch your back. You don’t want to wind up like Eric Turner.”

  * * *

  ERIC’S CONDO FELT ice-cold. Scarlett rubbed her arms as she walked inside. She hadn’t been in Eric’s place...not since the morning she’d found him.

  There was still blood staining the hardwood floor. His blood.

  The door shut behind her. “How’d you get in that morning?” Grant asked her.

  Sunlight streamed through the picture window. They’d been arguing, right there...

  You think you can leave me now? After everything?

  “The door was unlocked. I mean, I had a key, but I didn’t have to use it, because when I got here the front door was open.” Eric had always kept the door locked, so she’d been worried when she saw it slightly ajar.

  “You had a key.” Grant paused. “You lived here?”

  She shook her head, caught by the hard edge in his voice. “No, Eric wanted me to but...but I had my own place, close to the school.” Because she was a teacher, or she had been. Scarlett had already been notified of her suspension from that position. But if she could prove her innocence, she’d get the job back. She’d get her life back.

  “Why did you come here that morning?”

  “We’d fought the night before, and I didn’t like the way we’d left things. So I came over to talk with him again. I wanted to speak with him before I went in to school.”

  Grant paced into the room and stopped in front of the picture window. No other buildings blocked the perfect view from that window. Scarlett had stood there plenty of times and stared below at the park and then out at the bustling traffic on the streets.

  “What did you argue about?” Grant asked.

  “The engagement. I gave him back his ring.”

  Grant turned to face her. “He didn’t take it well.”

  “He had plans, dreams for us.” She shook her head, sad as she remembered. “So he was angry.”

  “Did he get...physical with you?”

  She rolled back her shoulders. “Not Eric. Never Eric. He wasn’t like that.”

  Grant frowned, and she realized that her words had revealed a little too much. Scarlett crept forward, feeling like an intruder in Eric’s place. “I called out to him, but he didn’t answer.”

  Everything in the condo was just as Eric had left it. His will had been in probate, so maybe Justin hadn’t wanted to touch any of his brother’s possessions until the will was clear. But with all of Eric’s belongings still there, Scarlett almost expected to see him walking toward her.

  I’m sorry, Eric.

  She could feel him in that place. There had been so much blood on him. On the floor...

  She pointed to the stained wood. “A vase of broken flowers was beside him.” He’d had that vase pr
epared for her when she’d arrived the night before. “The knife was to his right. I’d used that knife to make dinner the evening before.” And that evening had been a nightmare. She’d realized then, as panic closed in, that she couldn’t stay with him. He’d started talking about children, and she’d remembered—

  No. Don’t go there. Do not.

  “That’s why my prints were on the knife. I didn’t touch it that morning. I fell to my knees beside him. I tried to help him, but it was too late.” His blood had soaked her fingers. Her clothes.

  Grant stared down at the floor. Then he drew back and started walking around the room. He picked up photographs. A picture of Eric and his brother. One of her and Eric. “How long were you with him?”

  “A year and a half.” They’d met in Dallas. She’d thought maybe he could be the one for her. You can’t make someone love you...and you can’t make yourself love someone.

  Grant put the photo back down. “You think you knew all his secrets?”

  Scarlett shook her head. “I don’t think he had any secrets.”

  “We all have them.” Grant disappeared into the bedroom.

  Scarlett didn’t follow him. Her stomach was twisting into knots. He had gotten them into the building, slipping past the line of police tape to get inside the condo, and being in that place was like facing a nightmare.

  “The cops searched this place thoroughly,” Scarlett called out. “They didn’t find anything that pointed to any suspect...but me.”

  He was back. Striding toward her with his gloved fingers curled around something. He lifted his hand, and she saw a—business card?

  “Maybe they didn’t look hard enough. Or maybe they didn’t know what to look for.”

  She took the card from him. “Louis East...private investigator?” Scarlett frowned. “He told me that he hired a PI for a few of his cases, so that’s probably—”

  “Your name is written on the back of the card.”

  “What?” She turned it over and recognized Eric’s sloping handwriting.

  “I told you, we all have our secrets.” Grant’s fingers curled around the card once more. “I know Louis. The guy tends to have one specialty.”