Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set

by Addison Fox, Cindy Dees, Justine Davis

  He turned to look at her then. And his voice was gentle, with that soothing tone that eased her fears, when he said, “Not your fault. You trusted his credentials.”

  “And my mother’s recommendation,” she murmured, almost to herself. At Brady’s sharper look, she realized how that had sounded. “She said he truly tried to help my father and that he was devastated when he committed suicide. Took it as a personal failure.”

  “Maybe your father couldn’t be helped,” Brady said, then looked as if he regretted saying it. She lowered her gaze and softly voiced what she guessed was the reason for that feeling.

  “And maybe I can’t be, either.”

  She sensed him move, then felt the gentle touch of a finger under her chin, tilting her head back.

  “I don’t believe that,” he said, quietly but firmly.

  She looked at him, thinking it amazing that a man in his job could have such warm, kind eyes. Beautiful, deep blue eyes. She remembered with sudden vividness the first time she’d looked into them, as he’d pulled her from the car in the moment before it had slid down the mountain. She remembered thinking then—rather inanely, given the circumstances—that those eyes promised she would be safe, that somehow he would get her out of this.

  And he had. At no small risk to himself.

  She couldn’t let him risk himself even more.

  “I can’t tell you what that means to me,” she said softly. “But you’ve already done enough. More than enough. I don’t want to…entangle you in my mess when there’s nothing to do about it.”

  His tone went harsh. “Except jump off a cliff?”

  She didn’t even wince. “Most of my life I’ve been hurt and angry about my father. Angry at my father, because I thought he was a coward. Because I couldn’t understand why he did it. How he could leave me. Now I do.”

  “Ashley—”

  “It’s too much, Brady. And if the alternative is being locked up somewhere, drugged up but always knowing every day I’ll lose a little more reality, then…” She ended with a shrug.

  Hayley rose and came to her. The woman’s eyes were warm, gentle. “You’ve been alone, Ashley. You’re not anymore.”

  “I’ve had my mother. She tries so hard, but—”

  “Your mother has your father haunting her, as well,” Hayley said. “What happened has to color her thinking, just as it does yours.” Ashley had never thought about it in quite that way. The tumult inside her calmed a little as Hayley continued. “But it doesn’t color ours. At least let us try.”

  “But why? Why would you?”

  Oddly, the woman glanced at Cutter. But she said only, “It’s what we do.”

  “And what if you conclude I can’t be…fixed?”

  Quinn spoke for the first time in a while, and his voice echoed with both certainty and command, just as Brady’s sometimes did. “Then we’ll still be there with you, every step of the way.”

  Ashley was certain she looked as doubtful as she felt. But then Brady said, very quietly, “Ashley, if there’s even a chance…you have to take it. You can’t give up until you do.”

  Her gaze shifted to him. He was looking at her with those eyes, steadily, with none of the wariness or repulsion she often saw in the expressions of people who knew she was having mental issues.

  “Brady,” she began, but her voice faded away as no more words came to her. As if merely saying his name was all that mattered.

  “What do you have to lose?” His voice was even softer now.

  And he had, she realized, a point. What did she have to lose? She’d nearly made that fatal leap last night—what could possibly be worse than that?

  Being locked up somewhere, unable to end the nightmare? Living for years in a drug-induced haze? Unable to end it even if she wanted to?

  She heard a faint whine, realized Cutter had once more stationed himself beside her. As if he were showing her he, too, was with her against the world, if need be. The fanciful thought would have made her smile if her mind hadn’t been whirling into chaos.

  As he leaned against her knees, she reached out to stroke the dog’s head. And yet again that calm stole over her, as if there were some soothing magic in his soft fur. And something in those amber-flecked eyes calmed the turmoil, until the truth of what Brady had said was all that remained.

  What did she have to lose?

  CHAPTER 16

  Brady didn’t understand the picture that was emerging.

  Ashley didn’t fit neatly into any category he knew. In fact, if he had to base an assessment on the last couple of days since they’d been holed up—something that would likely cost him his job if this went sour—in Alex’s place, on the hours on end he’d spent with her, watching her, talking with her, he would say she seemed perfectly normal for the circumstances. There was no forgetting, no confusion, no misremembering. No odd tangents or impossible-to-follow thought processes.

  Quinn had asked her to recount her entire life, it seemed, from the time the breaks in her mental state had begun. And she had done it, starting with when the recurring nightmares had started. She’d sadly admitted some days were shrouded in a befuddled fog, and a few hours here and there lost altogether. Yet she still managed to give a reasonable account of the timing of everything, from the onset of the problems, through when she’d begun therapy with Dr. Andler, the medications he’d put her on, to having to leave her job because the confusion was getting worse, until she started blanking out on hours at a time. Finally, after the incident with the potential rapists, having to get the birth control shot for her own sake. That had been a severe wake-up call, and the pressure to come and stay with her mother had become too much and she’d agreed.

  It was a sad tale, and one that made him feel this was at best foolish, and at worst a lost cause.

  But hadn’t Hayley said lost causes were Foxworth’s specialty?

  Just as he thought it, Hayley somehow found something to say that made Ashley laugh. He looked over at them, at Ashley, and was slammed anew with the realization she was beautiful. And that he’d give a great deal for that smile, that cheer, to be her permanent state. When that thought registered, the only words that came to this mind were slippery slope.

  He turned away.

  Do not go there, Crenshaw. Do not read into that little smile she gives you, those shy glances, that she’s feeling anything more than grateful that you didn’t drag her off to jail as you should have. Because even if she feels the same pull, even if there was genuine invitation there, it’s not one you can accept. Not when her life is in such chaos. Haven’t you had enough experience with a fragile woman to last you a lifetime?

  Quinn, who had been standing across the great room on the phone, ended his call and walked over to where Brady stood looking out the window at the snow continuing to fall. It was a good thing the Foxworths had gone on that shopping expedition yesterday, picking up clothes and necessities for both him and Ashley. He’d thought about going back to his place for supplies, but after he’d made that call and mentioned being familiar with the suspect, he thought it might be better to stay out of sight. He might be ending his career by this decision to not take her in, but that didn’t mean he had to hurry it along.

  He looked at Quinn, who had just called to let the people back at their headquarters know they wouldn’t be back as scheduled. “Sorry about that.”

  “Our people get it. They’re as committed as we are.”

  Brady believed it. They had spent these two days talking with Ashley, and he had been amazed. He generally didn’t have time for slow reveals—once the initial case report was done, that was usually the end of it for him—but he was suddenly seeing the appeal of genuine, careful detective work.

  “There’s one thing I’m already mostly convinced of, though,” Quinn said.

  “What?”

  The man looked over to where Ha
yley and Ashley were sitting on the couch, Cutter plopped on their feet. “That woman is as clearheaded as you or me.”

  Brady let out a long breath. “Yes. She is.”

  “I haven’t seen a single break in her stability. Have you?”

  He shook his head. “Not a one. Her mind seems crystal clear.”

  Quinn nodded. “Ty—he’s our dig-deep guy—is going after what we can get on her father. And mother.” The man gave Brady a half smile. “And one of my local guys is working up some info on your favorite shrink.”

  Brady drew back slightly. “Is this one of those times Dunbar warned me about, when I shouldn’t ask questions about how you do…what you do?”

  “You might be happier if you didn’t. It helps,” Quinn added with a wry smile, “when you don’t have to worry about it standing up in court.”

  “Normally I’d protest that. The system isn’t perfect, but it’s all we’ve got.”

  “I’d say the concept is, but it doesn’t always work, because people aren’t perfect.”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  “Foxworth tries to help with those times when it malfunctions.”

  “All right. No questions. For now.” Quinn nodded as if he’d expected nothing less.

  A while later, coincidentally—or perhaps not—when the snow had stopped, Cutter showed in his polite way that he needed outside. Brady, who had been restlessly pacing again—this violating his oath had him on edge—quickly offered to take him.

  He hadn’t expected Ashley to jump to her feet and say she’d go with them, that she wanted to go out in the fresh snow. A glance outside at the now solid three feet told him she was unlikely to try to take off, so he merely nodded. And pondered the fact that she sounded…different. He wasn’t sure what it was, but her voice, her tone, seemed different. Maybe just relief at this respite from her troubles, he decided.

  They’d been using the back door for the dog, since it opened onto a covered patio that was sheltered from the snow. Still, the flakes had drifted up along the sides, practically enclosing the space in pristine white walls. Cutter plowed forward, undaunted, and disappeared behind a particularly tall drift.

  Brady was just thinking that it wasn’t nearly as cold as he’d expected when Ashley said, “It’s practically warm out here. This must be how igloos work.”

  Startled, he looked around at the surrounding snow. “I think you must be right. It’s acting as both windbreak and insulation.”

  “Do you think we could sit out here for a few minutes?”

  He gave her a quizzical look. “Cabin fever?”

  “More a case of giving Quinn and Hayley some alone time,” she said. “It is their anniversary trip, and I feel guilty about intruding on their celebration.”

  “Hayley said every day’s a celebration for them,” Brady said.

  She gave him that smile that made it so hard to believe there was anything seriously wrong with her. “I believe it. They’re amazing together, aren’t they? Especially given how they started out.”

  They sat down on a bench he brushed clear of the snow that had made it through onto the patio. “Hayley told you, huh? About him kidnapping her and Cutter?”

  She grinned then. The doubts her smile instilled were nothing compared to the crazy tumble his insides took at that grin. For a moment he couldn’t even breathe. “Yes. With the proverbial unmarked black helicopter.”

  His mouth quirked. Quinn had left out that part when he’d told him how he and Hayley had met. “That’s when I first realized Foxworth is a lot more than I ever imagined.”

  “I think they are, too.”

  He realized then what he was hearing in her voice, what that different, new note was.

  Hope.

  He felt a sudden qualm. What if they were building that up in her and it turned out that it was false hope? Wouldn’t that make it all even more devastating? It seemed she had reached, if not peace, at least acceptance, of her condition, before.

  So much that she was ready to die to end it.

  The memory of that heart-stopping moment when he’d seen her teetering on the edge at the lookout slammed into him, and he knew anything that forestalled that was worth it.

  Even false hope.

  “Do you ski?”

  The unexpected question snapped him out of the unaccustomed emotional turmoil. “What?”

  She looked at him, her green eyes looking as serene as he’d ever seen them. “I just thought since you grew up here in the mountains, maybe you skied.”

  “I do. Not as much as I used to, but I try to get out a couple of times a season.”

  She nodded. “My dad skied.”

  Brady went still. Tried to remember if she’d ever brought the man up on her own, without referring to the mental illness that had stolen him from her.

  “Did he?” he said carefully.

  “He was going to teach me, starting on my tenth birthday.”

  A birthday the man hadn’t lived to see.

  He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to disrupt the normalcy of this, the way she sounded like nothing more than someone missing their dead father. He tried to think of something…neutral.

  “So he was a good skier?”

  “Very. He thought about competing for a while, when he was young, but decided it might take the joy out of it for him.”

  “I get that,” Brady said, but he was frowning inwardly. That didn’t sound like a guy with a messed-up brain, any more than she did. But she’d said that came on later.

  “He was a wonderful man. Strong. Kind. Loving.” She gave a faint smile then. And he could almost feel it all creeping back in on her. “I adored him and thought he adored me.”

  “I’m sure he did,” he told her, thinking it rather lame even as he said it.

  “I always believed that. That’s why I couldn’t believe for years, and never, ever understood why he committed suicide. Until the other night.”

  He couldn’t stop himself from grabbing her hands. Her bare fingers were cold despite what she’d said about the temperature out here. “Ashley,” he began, but stopped when she turned on the bench to look at him straight on.

  “It’s all right,” she assured him, as if she were the steady one. And at the moment he wasn’t sure she wasn’t right. “I won’t try that again. I don’t feel so alone anymore.”

  He wrapped his fingers around hers, trying to warm them. She curled her hands in turn, as if she welcomed the feel of his. That gut-level part of him responded as if hers was the touch of a lover, something that had been lacking in his life for a long time. He tried to quash it, because what he’d thought earlier still held; he had no right to take advantage of the situation. The problem was, the more time he spent with her, the harder it was to suppress his response to her.

  Afterward, he wasn’t sure how it had happened. He didn’t think he’d done it, but how else had she ended up in his arms? And the way she clung to him, how the hell was he supposed to push her away?

  He told himself it was her fragile state of mind that kept him from doing just that, but deep down he knew he hadn’t because it felt so damned good. Not only good, having her warmth pressed against him, it felt right. Very, very right.

  And when she looked up at him, something in those green eyes made him want…everything. Everything that was possible between a man and a woman. He wanted to start with a taste of those sweet, tempting lips, but he knew if he did, he would not want to stop there.

  You’re an ass, Crenshaw. Three days ago she was on the verge of suicide.

  He was not—was not—going to take advantage of the situation, even if it did seem she wanted the same thing he wanted. Because right now she couldn’t possibly be sure what she really wanted. Maybe that hunger in her eyes was simply because she hadn’t taken that jump, because she was still ali
ve. Maybe it was all just reaction to that.

  The only thing he wanted more than what she seemed to be offering was to never see regret aimed at him in those vivid eyes. Not that that made it any easier to tamp down his body’s response to her closeness, to that heated gaze. He had to get past this. He had to quit watching her, sneaking looks at her and most of all wishing the situation was different. That she was well and could make rational, fully aware decisions about what she wanted.

  And that she’d decide she wanted him.

  None of which was reality. And being snowbound here with her was no help at all.

  CHAPTER 17

  Ashley awoke the next morning feeling better yet again. As she had been every day. Underlying was the lingering, niggling fear that the only reason she was feeling better was that she hadn’t been taking her meds. They were still sitting at home, where they’d been, untaken, since the crash. She’d left them there that night, since she obviously wouldn’t be needing them any longer after…

  She calculated the timing. Ten days. Ten days since she’d stopped her regular pill. Minus the days of utter fog on the pain pills, when she’d felt so ill from them that even the pain was better. But once that had cleared…there wasn’t a moment missing since. She remembered it all, clearly.

  But are you remembering it right?

  What her mother had apparently claimed had happened that night with the knife was so different from what she remembered. Yet the memory was so clear to her. It had to be her that was mistaken, her confused brain that was responsible. Didn’t it? And yet…

  Brady hadn’t taken her in. It had been three days since that bulletin naming her as a suspect in an assault she would swear hadn’t happened, and he hadn’t yet arrested her. Even knowing her mind was damaged, and the official version quite possibly true.

  Quite possibly? Don’t you mean probably? Definitely?

  How could it not be true? She was the one with the befuddled brain, not her mother. But could she really have manufactured such a clear memory? She must have. Her mother would never make up such a thing.