Confessions

by Cynthia Eden

  “Justin Turner is on the third floor, that’s what you said?”

  He nodded.

  “And he has guards?” The guards would be a problem.

  Again, Shayne nodded.

  “I need you to get me past those guards,” Sullivan said, his voice soft but implacable. “I want to talk to him.”

  “That can’t happen, man. He’s under arrest—”

  “For torching my brother’s house. Right. Got it. But seeing as how my brother was just nearly killed, you can see where I might want to have a little...one-on-one meeting with Justin.” Sullivan crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe the guy wasn’t working alone.” He knew the same thought had no doubt occurred to the cop. “If someone else is planning to attack again, if he’s hired someone to come after Grant and Scarlett, I will find out.” Because he didn’t have to play by the rules like the good old cop did. “Give me five minutes, and I’ll have everything I need to know.”

  Shayne hesitated.

  “Five minutes,” Sullivan said. It wasn’t a plea.

  It was an order.

  Because he knew some of the secrets that Shayne Townsend carried, and he wasn’t above using those secrets as leverage in order to get what he wanted.

  The detective’s eyes narrowed with a burst of fury. He obviously knew just what Sullivan was saying—and what he wasn’t. After a moment, Shayne gave a tense nod. “Five minutes, but you can’t leave a mark on him.”

  Sullivan laughed at that. “I never do.” It wasn’t amateur hour.

  Silently, he followed the cop to the elevator. He turned back just before the doors closed, and saw Scarlett. She’d left the recovery room. Brodie and Davis were heading in for their turns with Grant then.

  My brother shouldn’t be in that little room. Scarlett shouldn’t still have Grant’s blood on her shirt.

  She stepped toward him. “Sully?”

  The elevator doors slid closed.

  There were times when someone needed to do the dirty work. Sullivan had become good at that particular task. He was an expert at it, of sorts. Thanks in large part to Uncle Sam’s training.

  He’d get the answers he needed, one way or another.

  * * *

  HE HURT.

  The pain was the first awareness that Grant had. It pulsed through his side, throbbing, aching. But pain was a good thing. The soldier in him knew that. If he felt pain, that meant he was still alive. And if he was alive...

  “Scarlett.” Her name emerged as a whisper. He tried to push open his eyelids. They didn’t exactly want to cooperate, and that just made him all the more determined to see—

  “I’m here.”

  Her.

  His eyes opened. At first, everything was unfocused. Soft white, foggy. But he blinked a few times and the hospital room crystalized for him. And Scarlett was there, sitting near his bed. Her fingers twined with his.

  She smiled when their eyes met, and it was a smile that lit up her whole face.

  It was the smile she used to give to him, a lifetime before.

  Nearly dying had totally been worth the price to see that smile. “Told you...” he managed to say “...I’d be all right.”

  Her laughter held a desperate edge. “All right? Don’t even ask me how long it took them to stitch you up.” Her fingers tightened around his. “You were far from all right, Grant.”

  He tried to shrug. Didn’t happen. But the machines around him starting doing a double-time beat. “Just a scratch.”

  “Tell that to someone who didn’t see all the blood you lost.” And her smile was gone. Shadows lined her eyes. “I was scared.”

  He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her. But he was hooked up to so many wires and needles. “I wasn’t going to leave you.”

  She stood then, and he thought for an instant that she was about to leave him. But she leaned over him instead. Her lips brushed his. “How about,” she whispered against his mouth, “you don’t ever do that again?”

  It wasn’t exactly on his to-do list. “Yes, ma’am,” he managed to reply, and the words sounded only a little bit hoarse.

  Her lips pressed to his once more. Then she pulled back to stare at him. “Just how much do you remember?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I remember...the black SUV.” His instincts had been screaming at him as soon as he saw the accelerating vehicle in his rearview mirror. “It...hit us.”

  “It swerved and slammed into the driver’s side.” Her voice shook. “The metal twisted, the windows shattered, and you were—”

  “Trapped.” Yes, he did remember that. The pain in his side had reminded him. He looked down, because he had to see the damage, but when he pulled aside the sheet, all he saw was a big, thick, white bandage.

  “You’ll have a new scar to add to your collection.”

  So he would. He lowered the sheet.

  “Do you remember anything else?”

  There was a hesitant note in her voice. He strained, struggling to remember. “The air bag deployed. It was like a white cloud all around me.”

  She nodded. And waited.

  What else had happened? “What?” he asked, hating the rough sound of his voice. “Did I do...something? What is it?”

  Scarlett opened her mouth to reply, then hesitated.

  “Scarlett?”

  She smiled. A sweet, almost sad smile. “You almost died on me,” she told him. “And I realized that I didn’t want to be without you.”

  Was she saying...?

  “Second chances,” Scarlett whispered.

  And he had a flash of her face. Tears had been on her cheeks. Blood had been on the hands that touched him. She’d been talking to him. Telling him that he’d be all right.

  The door opened with a faint squeak. Footsteps padded into the room. Grant didn’t look away from Scarlett.

  There was something that she was holding back from him.

  “Well, well. I get word that my brother is supposed to be at death’s door,” a mocking voice said. “And I rush here to find him wide-awake, with a pretty woman already in his bed.”

  Scarlett’s cheeks stained because—Grant glanced down—yes, she was in bed with him.

  Pretty much, anyway.

  “Mac...” He growled out his brother’s name as Scarlett turned toward the man who’d just entered the room.

  Mac had their father’s dark hair and the McGuire family green eyes. A faint scar sliced through his right eyebrow, and another notched under the cleft in his chin. He was smiling as he approached, and that smile lit his eyes.

  “Brodie had me fearing the worst,” he muttered as he neared the bed. Mac shook his head. “And I couldn’t get here fast enough.”

  Grant had felt the same way before. When he’d gotten the news about his parents, he hadn’t been able to return fast enough. He’d been a world away, and his life had crumbled.

  “Glad you’re okay,” Mac said. He leaned down and clapped a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “Now don’t ever pull that crap again, got it?”

  As if Mac was one to talk. His scar collection was unrivaled. He liked the dangerous missions. The more difficult the odds, the more he reveled in the cases.

  Mac glanced over at Scarlett. “Heard you were with him when it happened.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Tell me that you saw the SOB.” Lethal intent was in his voice.

  Scarlett shook her head. “I’m sorry.” Her gaze slid back to Grant. “His windows were tinted too dark. I couldn’t see into his SUV. It just—it all happened so fast. He slammed into Grant’s side and was gone in an instant—”

  “So he meant to hit Grant?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was certain. Grant was just as certain. That had been no drunk dri
ver. No chance car accident.

  The driver of that SUV had wanted to kill him.

  He’d nearly succeeded.

  The faint lines near Mac’s eyes tightened. “A new day, a new enemy? Is that how it’s going for you, Grant?”

  It sure felt that way.

  “We’ll figure this out.” Scarlett’s hand brushed over Grant’s forehead. “You just need to rest now. You were only moved to this private room a few hours ago. The doctor said that you’d need to recover for a few days.”

  He didn’t want to lie in bed and recover. He wanted to be out, hunting down the guy who’d gone after him. With every moment that passed, the trail left by the fellow would be growing colder and colder. “Mac...”

  “Oh, you can count on me,” his brother said with a nod, obviously understanding. “I’ll go talk to the cops who investigated the scene and find out just what they know.”

  Good. And he’d—

  Scarlett’s fingers pushed against his chest. “You are not seriously trying to get out of that bed!”

  Um, he might have been trying just that.

  She pressed the call button for the nurse. “You aren’t indestructible, no matter what you might think. You lost too much blood. You nearly died.”

  The door opened again. This time, Sullivan’s familiar face appeared. He was frowning, until he saw Grant, and when he saw Scarlett pushing Grant back down onto the bed, one of his rare smiles lit his face.

  “Back with the living?” he asked. “I mean, really back...because a time or two there, you woke up talking all crazy. I think you even asked Scarlett to marry you.”

  Her hands flew away from him. “You didn’t.”

  But there was something there...in her eyes. Grant caught her hand. “I don’t think that sounds so crazy.”

  She licked her lips. “You need to rest. I need you to rest.”

  “Listen to the lady,” Mac advised curtly. “I’ll start the hunt. You know you can count on me.”

  He did. He could count on all his family members—always.

  “I’ll start with that Justin Turner.” Mac gave a grim nod. “He torches your place one night, and the next, some bozo tries to run you over? Hell of a coincidence. I’m thinking he’s got a partner, or he hired someone to—”

  “I already had a little chat with dear Justin.”

  Sullivan’s words captured Grant’s total attention.

  Sully’s eyes held his. “And we’ve got a problem. A very, very big problem.” He shook his head. “He’s not our guy.”

  “What?” Scarlett took a step toward him. “Of course he’s our guy! We caught the man red-handed. The gas tanks were in the stolen pickup truck that he’d driven to Grant’s.”

  “Oh, he set the blaze at Grant’s home. The guy admitted that to me.” Sully paused. “But he didn’t kill his brother. He swears it. And he swears he wasn’t behind the frame-up on you, Scarlett.”

  Grant saw her fingers clench into fists.

  “And you believe him?” she asked.

  “Let’s just say that the guy realized it was in his best interest to tell me the truth. The complete truth.”

  And Grant understood that Sullivan had been using his “special” interrogation techniques. “Damn it, Sully—” The last thing they needed was for him to wind up under arrest.

  “I didn’t leave a mark on him,” Sullivan murmured, “and I got him to confess all to me. He had huge gambling debts, and the guy’s an alcoholic.”

  After their last few encounters, Grant had suspected that.

  “When Eric threatened to cut him off financially, Justin panicked. He thought for sure Scarlett was the reason his brother was getting so tight with the purse strings.”

  “I wasn’t,” she declared. “I didn’t even know about that money!”

  The stitches pulled in Grant’s side as he shifted on the bed.

  “When Eric died, the guy’s financial troubles were over, but Justin’s guilt set in, hard. He thought Scarlett was going to get away with killing his brother, and he wanted to do anything necessary to bring her to justice.”

  “You’re kidding me.” She shook her head. “He burned Grant’s house to the ground. He—”

  “Said he did it to draw you out. To show Grant that you were dangerous. He thinks that you destroy every man you touch.”

  Scarlett flinched. “Well, why not just write that on a greeting card?” She edged away from Grant.

  He wanted her back at his side.

  “From what I can tell, he hasn’t been sober in years—”

  “So how do you know he isn’t lying?” Scarlett managed to ask. “How do you know—”

  “His hand,” Sully said flatly.

  Grant frowned. The pain was growing worse, and the nurse had just bustled into his room, a young redhead with a broad smile. “You’re awake!” she exclaimed, sounding cheerful...and so at odds with everyone else there, who basically ignored her.

  “Justin’s fingers shake. Probably from all the alcohol the guy’s had in his system. Maybe from something else.” Sullivan exhaled. “They tremble constantly. You must have seen it.”

  Grant frowned, and he remembered the guy’s shaking fingers. He had seen the tremble.

  “So? What does that matter?” Scarlett asked, her voice rising. “He’s dangerous—”

  The nurse’s smile dimmed a bit as she glanced around the room.

  “He is,” Sullivan agreed.

  “Damn straight,” Mac added.

  “But he isn’t the man who killed Eric with a knife. He isn’t the man who murdered Louis East in that alley.”

  The nurse edged back a step.

  “And I’m guessing the man who came at you in the dark...Scarlett, were his fingers shaking as he held that knife to you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Justin Turner can’t even hold a knife. He can’t hold it steady.” Sullivan’s gaze swept toward Grant. “Justin may be a fire-burning SOB, but he’s not the killer we’re after. The man who killed those others...the man who came after Scarlett...he’s still out there.” He gave a hard nod. “And I think he’s the same man who tried to take you out on that road.”

  Hell. The danger was far from over. “I want out of this bed,” Grant growled.

  No one moved.

  “Now!” Because he wasn’t going to stay here while that killer was out there, hunting Scarlett, hunting him. The guy would attack again. Grant couldn’t be weak while that predator was on the loose.

  The nurse bustled toward him. His machines were beeping loudly.

  “Way to rile him up,” Mac muttered to Sullivan. “Great job, jerk.”

  Sullivan swore.

  The nurse put her hands on Grant’s arms. “Sir, you have to calm down or you will tear out those stitches.” She lifted a syringe. Aimed for his IV. “It’s time for your next dosage of pain medication.”

  “No!” Grant shook his head. “That will make me sleep. I can’t sleep. I have to...I have to be ready.”

  But Scarlett was beside him once more. “No, you don’t. The battle’s over, soldier.” Her voice was soft, her face tender as she stared down at him.

  The war was still raging. She had to see that. The danger was closing in, and he had to protect her.

  It’s not over.

  An image of that black SUV flashed before his eyes.

  Chapter Twelve

  Scarlett slipped from Grant’s room, aware that her knees were shaking. He’s all right. He’s all right. The mantra repeated through her mind as she eased down the hallway and took deep gulps of air. She’d been so worried about Grant, and the cold vise around her heart hadn’t eased, not until he’d whispered her name and opened his eyes.

  She’d tried to foo
l herself into thinking that, during the past few days, she’d kept her emotions closed off. That she wasn’t still vulnerable to him. She’d realized that lie for what it was the instant their vehicle had spun off the road.

  Grant mattered to her. He’d always mattered. Time and space hadn’t changed the way she felt for him. Nothing could change it.

  Did you see...that I loved you?

  His question had pierced Scarlett to her core.

  I hope...you saw it.

  “Scarlett?”

  She turned at the call, her hands knotting into fists.

  “Scarlett, is everything okay?” Shayne asked as he shuffled closer to her. “Grant hasn’t taken a turn for the worse, has he?”

  She straightened her shoulders. Pasted a smile on her face. “He’s actually awake.” And trying to fight off the nurse. “He’s going to be fine. He’s—he’s in there with his brothers now.”

  Shayne’s gaze swept over her face. “Then why are you out here, looking as if you just lost your best friend?”

  Because I’m afraid. I thought the nightmare was over, and it isn’t.

  “Sullivan,” Shayne growled in the next instant. “He’s one of the brothers in there, right? And he told you about Justin.”

  She swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat. “Is Sullivan right? Or do you think Justin was behind those murders?”

  “I’m...looking into other possibilities,” the detective said, the words slow and careful and not what she wanted to hear.

  “But if it’s not Justin, then it could be anyone.” The nightmare would just keep going. “I want this to be over! I want to be safe.”

  “Safety’s an illusion.”

  Confused, Scarlett shook her head.

  “We walk around, thinking that the threats aren’t out there, but they always are.” Shayne’s eyes were grim. “If you’d seen the cases that have crossed my desk, you’d know that no one is ever really safe.”