Confessions

by Cynthia Eden

  Such a lie. He’d known it even as he’d spoken those words. She’d gotten past his guard, when he should have been more vigilant. I’ll never be done with her.

  “You need to be done,” Sullivan said flatly. “You let that woman get too much of a hold on you. I’ll never have that weakness.”

  Never say never, brother.

  But Sullivan didn’t let anyone close. Grant lifted his chin. “Scarlett and I aren’t done.” They had just found their way back to one another. This time, though, he’d get things right with her. He’d be damned if he repeated the mistakes from his past.

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  Grant glared at him. “I don’t need you to keep an eye on Scarlett. I’ve got her from here on out.”

  “Whatever you say.” His brother shouldered past him. Controlled, dangerous Sullivan. The man had too many shadows on his soul, and with every day that passed, Grant often felt as if Sullivan pulled further away from him and the rest of the family.

  Sully. He’d been so carefree as a boy. But then everything had changed...overnight.

  Sullivan stopped, pausing near a booth about five feet away. His back was tense. “You ever think it was because of us?”

  Grant frowned.

  “You made enemies, I made enemies. The twins...hell, we all stir up plenty of trouble.” Sullivan looked back at him. “Five years have passed, and there are no new clues about our parents’ murder. The crime was so perfect.”

  Too perfect.

  “What if it was because of us? What if someone hurt them to get at us?”

  It was a question that haunted Grant, and he’d been tracking down every lead he could find in the past five years in order to answer that question. But so far, he’d turned up nothing.

  There was no reason for the crime. No motive that he could see.

  On the night of November twenty-eighth, hell had come calling to the ranch that Grant had once called home. A ranch that had been in his family for over one hundred years—ever since his great-grandfather had emigrated from Ireland.

  Intruders had broken into the house. Those men had proceeded to shoot their victims, first Grant’s mother, then his father, at point-blank range. They’d ransacked the house, looking for something.

  We’re just lucky they didn’t kill Ava.

  “We’re going to find them.” That was why he’d come home. To bring justice to his parents. To protect Ava.

  Ava still won’t look me in the eye. She flinches whenever anyone gets too close to her.

  “I’ve got enough sins on my soul,” Sullivan said as he rolled his shoulders. “I don’t want that one, too.”

  “We’ll find them.” Grant had been making that same promise for years.

  “And when we do?” His brother’s gaze held his. “Do you play hero again? Or do we punish them? Because doing the right thing...some days, I’m not even sure what that is anymore.”

  Sullivan walked away, leaving Grant in the bar.

  He glanced down at his clenched hands.

  The right thing...

  Some days, he wasn’t sure what that was, either.

  Grant made his way out of the bar, but by the time he got to the street, Sullivan was long gone.

  * * *

  SCARLETT GRABBED THE lamp on the nightstand and threw it at her attacker. But he didn’t stop. The dark shadow surged toward her. Gloved fingers wrapped around her ankles and jerked her toward the edge of the bed.

  She aimed for his face, intending to drag her claws across his skin or gouge his eyes but—He’s wearing a ski mask. She felt the soft fabric against her fingertips.

  And she also felt the cold touch of a knife press into her side. Her T-shirt had bunched up in the struggle, and the knife’s blade nicked her skin.

  Scarlett froze.

  An image of Eric’s body flashed into her mind. The terrible wounds. The blood.

  The knife pressed harder against her. “Please,” she whispered, “don’t hurt me.”

  He laughed.

  And a pounding reverberated through her place. A pounding? Someone was at the front door again.

  Her eyes widened. One of her attacker’s hands was on her leg now and one held the knife. You should have covered my mouth—your mistake! “Help!” Scarlett screamed at the top of her lungs. “Please, help me!”

  She shoved against the intruder and that blade slid down. She felt its sting against her skin—harder and deeper this time—and something wet dripped across her side. Blood, my blood.

  There was a crash in the other room.

  Her attacker let her go. He jumped away from the bed and ran for the window and the fire escape. She reached out, trying to grab him, but he was too fast.

  Footsteps thundered in the den.

  “Help!” she yelled again as she staggered out of the bed. She was bleeding. Her hand covered her side just as the lights in her bedroom flashed on.

  Detective Townsend stood there, a gun in his right hand, his eyes wild. “Scarlett?”

  She pointed toward the fire escape. The window leading out there—that window was open, but there was no sign of her attacker. “He’s running!” Her voice was too high. Too scared. “He had a knife!”

  Shayne lunged for the window.

  Get him. Get him!

  Her hand was still pressed to her side, and the blood kept dripping through her fingers. Shayne leaped through the narrow window opening and gave chase, rushing down the fire escape.

  She stumbled toward the window. Adrenaline and terror pulsed through her, a combination that left her shaking. She could see Shayne below, but there was no sign of the other man.

  He’d laughed...

  And that laughter had seemed strangely familiar.

  * * *

  GRANT DROVE BACK to Scarlett’s place, his hands too tight around the steering wheel. His brother’s words kept replaying in his head.

  Grant had never wanted to hurt Scarlett, and never wanted her to be hurt because of him. When he looked back over his life, his best moments had been with her and—

  Flashing blue lights illuminated the front of Scarlett’s building. Uniformed police officers were searching the area with flashlights.

  An ambulance had parked to the right, near the curb.

  What in the hell?

  He slammed on his brakes and leaped from his SUV even as fear grabbed hold of his heart. He ran toward the building’s entrance, but a uniformed cop stepped in his path, blocking his way.

  “Who are you, buddy? You live here?”

  Clenching his teeth and trying to choke back his fear, Grant said, “My girlfriend does.” Girlfriend wasn’t so much a stretch, not after what they’d shared that night.

  “Girlfriend, huh?” The questioning voice came from behind him. He whirled around and saw Shayne standing there, with his arms crossed over his chest. His badge was clipped to his belt. “And here I thought Scarlett Stone was just your client. Interesting that you have such a personal relationship with her.”

  Snarling, Grant advanced on the detective. “What’s happening? Where’s Scarlett?” He’d been gone for only an hour. One hour. He’d planned to slip back before she woke up.

  Shayne’s head inclined toward the ambulance. “They’re getting her patched up.”

  They’re getting her—

  Grant ran to the vehicle. Sure enough, he saw Scarlett sitting in the back. Two EMTs were beside her. One was putting a thick white bandage on her lower right side.

  “Ma’am, are you sure you don’t want to come to the hospital?”

  She shook her head. “You said I didn’t need stitches. It’s just a scratch.”

  Grant realized then that only one of the men with her was actually an EMT. The other guy
looked as if he was collecting evidence...from beneath her nails?

  “Scarlett.” Her name came out too gruff and hard. Her head whipped toward him. “What happened, baby?” The endearment slipped out before he could stop it.

  “Grant.” The inside of the ambulance was well lit, so he could easily see the paleness of her skin. And the residual fear in her eyes.

  He wanted to be in that ambulance, holding her. He stepped forward.

  Shayne’s hand settled on his shoulder. Hard. “I can tell you what happened. An intruder in a ski mask broke into her unit. He slipped up on the fire escape.”

  The same way I entered.

  “He had a knife. One he used on her.”

  The crime scene tech finished up with Scarlett. He slid from the ambulance. The EMT backed up. Scarlett sat there, staring down at her hands.

  Grant couldn’t take his gaze off the bandage or her bloodstained T-shirt.

  “I heard her scream,” Shayne said, his eyes hard with the memory. “If I hadn’t...well, it seems her neighbors, the Hills, are out of town on a business trip, and Kylie Jones was pulling an all-nighter at her shop. No one else would have been there. No one else would have heard her.”

  She’d be dead.

  “Scarlett.” Grant’s voice wasn’t hard this time. It was desperate.

  She turned her head to meet his gaze. “I thought you were there.” Her voice was lost. “Then...later...for an instant, I thought he was you, until he attacked me.”

  She slowly climbed from the ambulance. Her bloody shirt fell down to cover her bandage. Reporters were there now; he could see them watching with avid eyes. He shouldn’t give them any more fuel to add to the already raging fire of Scarlett’s story. He should stay in control.

  He should.

  A tear leaked down her cheek.

  He jerked away from Shayne and pulled Scarlett into his arms. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered as he held her tight. He could feel her heart racing like mad, pounding too fast. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

  Her arms locked around him.

  “That brings up an interesting question.” Shayne had worked with him before. They were friends, but Shayne didn’t exactly sound friendly right then. “Where were you, Grant?”

  He didn’t let Scarlett go. “I was with my brother Sullivan at the Gray Canyon.” Grant knew Shayne would recognize the name of the place.

  The detective nodded, but his expression was still guarded. “I’m sure Sullivan and others at the bar can back up that alibi?”

  He needed an alibi? Grant’s body stiffened. Keeping his arm around Scarlett, he glanced back at the detective. “They can confirm it,” he promised. “And if you need an alibi confirmed, that tells me you let the attacker get away.”

  Shayne’s chin jutted up. “He won’t get far.”

  Damn it.

  A slight tremble shook Scarlett’s body. Reporters were filming them. Some were snapping pictures. “You heard her scream,” Grant said, repeating Shayne’s words. “It’s long after midnight. Why were you outside Scarlett’s door?”

  The blue lights were still flashing.

  “Because I was looking for you and Scarlett. I thought you’d both want to know...”

  “Know what?” Grant pressed, when the detective’s words trailed away.

  Shayne was watching him with a too-assessing stare. “That Louis East is dead. We found his body earlier tonight. Someone stabbed him and left his corpse in an alley.”

  Chapter Six

  Sometimes a nightmare wouldn’t end. No matter how hard you tried to wake yourself up, it just wouldn’t happen.

  Scarlett felt as if she were in one of those terrible dreams right then.

  The sun was up; she could see the dawn light spreading across the sky. But the nightmare wasn’t over.

  “Louis East gave the cops his evidence before...” Grant cleared his throat. “Before his death. That evidence can still help to clear you.”

  They were back in Grant’s house. On his deck. She should have felt safe there.

  She didn’t.

  Scarlett glanced over at him. He wore a pair of low-slung jeans and his hair was mussed, though not from her fingers this time. He’d spent the past few hours either online or on his phone—pushing his brothers to help him gather evidence on a case that was spinning out of control. And as they’d dug for information, his fingers had raked through his thick hair.

  It was a Saturday morning. She wouldn’t find out anything else on her case until Monday. But she knew the press would be filled with all kinds of stories and speculations. The media would be going crazy.

  “We don’t know that his death is connected to your case,” Grant said slowly.

  She had to laugh at that. He was trying to make her feel, what—better? That wasn’t happening. Her laugh sounded bitter, even to her own ears. “Eric was stabbed to death. I was attacked by a man with a knife, and the same night, Louis East was killed. I think it’s pretty clear all of that is connected.” Connecting those dots wasn’t exactly a hard job. Her breath was ragged as she continued, “Shayne told me that it appeared Louis was attacked less than an hour—an hour—after he left the police station. Someone was out there, waiting on him.” Stalking him like prey.

  Grant closed the distance between them. “The same person who then went to watch your condo?” His fingers curled around her arms.

  “The man who waited for you to leave,” she whispered, because she’d figured this out in the hours before dawn. “So that he could come after me.”

  If Shayne hadn’t arrived, Scarlett knew she’d be dead. A chill had settled over her, and that chill had been numbing her for hours now. “Why?” She just didn’t understand why this was happening.

  “We understand the motive, and then we’ll find the killer.”

  Or he’d find her again. She pulled away from Grant and turned back to stare at the sunrise. The world looked so beautiful right then, but there was plenty of evil out there. Evil that often hid in plain sight. “All of the deaths are tied to me. The killer even tried to frame me for Eric’s murder.”

  But when that frame job had started to unravel, when Louis came forward to alibi her...

  Did you kill Louis in order to punish him?

  “I was looking for enemies that Eric might have.” Grant was right behind her. She could feel him there, but he wasn’t touching her. “I was looking in the wrong direction.”

  She didn’t want to hear this.

  “I should have been looking at enemies you have.”

  “I’m a schoolteacher. I spend my days with fourth graders.” Or she had, but that job wasn’t looking secure now. Once I’m cleared, maybe I can go back. “I can’t think of anyone who would hate me enough to do something like this.” She didn’t exactly go around trying to anger people.

  She had a few friends in Austin. Most were other schoolteachers. Not murderers.

  “Maybe it’s a former lover who’s holding a grudge. In cases like this, well, I told you before that knife attacks tend to be more personal. Do you have a lover who...”

  Now she did glance back at him. “Who what? Wants me so much he can’t let go? Or would rather see me dead than with someone else?” She shook her head. “There have only been three, Grant.” Sure, she’d dated plenty of other men, but she hadn’t gotten intimately close with them because the connection just hadn’t been there—for her or them.

  Surprise rippled over his face.

  “You didn’t have a problem letting me go,” she reminded him with a snap in her voice.

  “Scarlett...”

  She shrugged. She’d just been stating a fact. She didn’t need him to try and make excuses at this late date.

  “I was with Ian Lake, briefly, when I was in coll
ege. We didn’t end well.” Understatement of the century. “He transferred shortly after our breakup, and I haven’t seen him since then. And Eric...well, he’s sure not the guilty one, is he?”

  The sunlight made Grant’s eyes appear brighter. “Ian. He hurt you.”

  She blinked, and understanding settled in for her. “Right...you talked to Sullivan last night.” Her eyes narrowed as she thought about the tension she could all but feel crackling in the air around them. “He didn’t...just tell you that, did he?”

  “Yes.”

  Ah, that would explain some of the fury she saw in Grant’s glittering eyes. “Sullivan is usually pretty good at keeping secrets.” He’d kept hers over the years.

  Only fair, as she’d kept his, too.

  She shrugged, trying to push away that chill. “Ian was a control freak. I got tired of being controlled.” And she would not be abused. Her father had pushed her mother around a few times before he’d cut and left town. She and her mom had both been glad to see him vanish. And in the years before her mother had passed from cancer...those had been their happiest times.

  Scarlett cleared her throat. “I met Ian when I thought I needed someone else to help me move on with my life.”

  Grant just watched her.

  “I knew soon enough that I only needed myself. The last thing I needed was a guy like him.”

  She realized then that she’d been rubbing her right arm. The arm he’d broken on those stairs. And Grant’s watchful stare was focused on it.

  She immediately stopped rubbing and dropped her arm to her side.

  “Ian and a witness said you were drinking.”

  Chatty Sullivan. He wasn’t usually that way. “Ian had been drinking, and I’d had one glass of wine. Look, the folks at the hospital did a blood-alcohol test. I was sober.” She’d never drunk to excess—especially not back then, when the party scene had been new to a fresh-faced Texas girl. “When I broke up with him, he shoved me.”

  “Down a flight of stairs.”

  She could still see his face. Hear his frantic whispers in her ear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry... I’ll make it up to you. Don’t tell, Scarlett! Don’t tell.”