Chapter 18 #2
She blinked. “No, no, I was scared.” This part, she remembered.
“Storms scared me when I was a kid. Especially the lightning. The thunder. My dad—he would usually come into my room. Sing to me.” The memory made her ache.
“But that had been before things started to happen.” Things.
“He saw things that weren’t there. Got so paranoid. Thought someone was after him.”
“Do you remember that happening? The paranoia? Him seeing things that others didn’t? Or were you told those things happened?”
She stiffened. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
His hand stroked over her cheek. “Nothing.” Soft. “I’m just asking.”
No, he was not just asking. “Spit it out. Whatever you’re thinking or suspecting, just say it.” She tensed in the bed. Her heart drummed. Say it.
“Your mother is having an affair with Owen.”
She nodded, moving her head against the pillow. “Yes.”
“How long has it been going on?”
“As long as I can remember.” Her mother and Owen had always been close. As a kid, she’d thought they were friends. When she’d grown older, she’d realized their relationship was a whole lot more complicated than just friendship.
“They’ve never gone public with the romance, though.”
“No. My mother used to say it played better to be a grieving widow.”
Silence.
“I know that sounds terrible. But she told me that she won her first election because everyone felt so sorry for her. She took my grandfather’s senate seat when he retired.
He had Parkinson’s, my father had just died, and she used that opportunity to seize the goals she wanted.
When she was elected, she swore that she would fulfill my grandfather’s legacy.
Only my mother has surpassed him over the years.
Accomplished so much more. Gotten so much more power than he ever imagined. ”
Gray’s hand slowly slid away from her cheek. “Your grandfather was at the house when your father died.”
“Both of my grandparents were there. When I was scared…” This she did remember.
“I finally found them. I searched the rooms upstairs for my mother and father, but they weren’t there.
I pounded on the doors downstairs until my grandfather opened one.
” She could still recall the way his hands had shaken as he’d held her.
She’d been shaking, too, but his embrace and his rumbling, worried voice had soothed her.
“My grandfather loved me,” Emerson heard herself say. “He kept me safe in the storm.”
“And you didn’t see your mother that night?”
“A door slammed when my grandparents were taking me back up to bed. I-I remember my mother ran in the house. She was soaked, dripping water onto the floor. She said that Ethan—my father—she said he was gone. I didn’t understand what that meant.
I thought he’d driven to town. My grandmother started to cry, and I kept wondering why you would cry when someone just went away for a few hours.
” Only it hadn’t been for a few hours. It had been forever.
“When did the police come?”
“Later that night. My grandparents had put me to bed by then, so I didn’t really see the cops much. Didn’t understand what was happening. Not until the next day. The storm had ended. When I looked out my window, I saw uniformed officers searching near the cliff.”
“The storm would have washed away all evidence. Especially if it was a powerful storm. Sounds like it was. Not like you’re gonna have footprints or signs of a struggle left to see after that. And any bruising or broken bones on your father would have just been attributed to the fall.”
Her heart seemed to squeeze in her chest. “Evidence? It wasn’t a…crime scene, Gray.” Such halting words.
“Emerson. Emerson, Emerson.” Not mocking. Tender. Caring.
Since when did Gray care? They’d had sex, but it had just been sex. Not like emotions were involved. Not like he loved her.
“Emerson,” he said her name once again. Still tenderly. “Why did you seek me out?”
“The lamp light is too bright,” she heard herself say. “Turn it out?”
Without hesitation, he did.
The darkness closed around her, and Emerson could breathe again.
“Why did you seek me out?” Even softer. He wasn’t touching her now, but she could feel him. His warmth, reaching out so temptingly toward her. “Why did you want to work with me so badly?” Gray asked her.
She’d told him this before. She blinked quickly. Tears wanted to fill her eyes. “You know killers.”
“So do you.”
Her lower lip trembled. “You know them better than anyone I’ve ever seen. You can hunt them, wherever they are.” Whoever they are . “You don’t stop. Nothing intimidates you.”
“Nothing,” he agreed. “No one.”
Yes, yes, that was what she needed, that was what?—
“I’ll figure out who killed your dad, baby.”
Thank you. She couldn’t stop the tear drop. It rolled from her eye. Fell into her hairline. She could feel the slow trek of the tear on its path. Such a slow path.
Like the path she’d taken to find justice for her father. Because the cops had never suspected anything but suicide. Her mother had told the world her father was schizophrenic. That he’d just walked right off the edge of that cliff.
No one had investigated. No one had helped.
But Emerson…
Gray knows killers.
“Any other secrets you want to tell me?” Gray asked her, voice very careful. “Anything else you want to say?”
Gray was going to help her. He’d understood what she’d wanted. Maybe he’d known the truth from the beginning. “No.” A lie that came with a hard effort. Because what she wanted to say, another secret that she held so very, very tightly…
I love you, Gray.
She rolled away from him. Curled on the other side of the bed.
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark. She could see the two windows.
The faint starlight and moonlight that spilled inside.
It let her see the outlines of the framed pictures on the walls.
The pictures were of different shots on the island.
She’d noted them earlier. Now, though, as she lay with her shoulders hunched, Emerson automatically began to count those outlined frames. One, two, three, four ? —
The mattress dipped. The covers rustled. Gray’s warm body pressed to her own. His arm came around her, curled over her side, and his fingers brushed against her stomach. He pressed a kiss to the back of her head.
“One day you’ll realize,” a low rumble, “that you can tell me anything. I’m the one person you’ll never have to lie to in this world. Because I can handle any truth you give to me.”
The tension slid from her body. Eventually, she slept, safe in Gray’s arms.
Gray Stone had to die. The FBI agent was an interfering pain in the ass. The jerk thought he was untouchable. That he could do anything he wanted. Take what he wanted.
He was pretending that Emerson was his. Touching her. Sharing a room with her. Probably fucking her.
The big, bad Man of Stone. But Gray wasn’t invulnerable. He could be hurt. He had weaknesses.
The bastard was clueless. Gray had no idea that this would be his last case. That this would be the end of the line for him.
Gray had made a serious mistake by going to the isolated island off the Georgia coast. He didn’t have his precious Marine friends as backup. They weren’t guarding his six. No Semper Fi heroes to rush to the rescue.
For the FBI agent, there would be no rescue this time because…
Gray Stone had to die.