Page 12

Riley

“ D on’t turn away from me, or I will die. Let me hear of Your unfailing love each morning, for I am trusting you. Show me where to walk, for I give myself to you. Rescue me from my enemies, Lord; I run to You to hide me.”

Honestly, I’d half expected him to change his mind and refuse to send them over.

So when I saw them in my inbox, I’d been more than a little relieved.

There wasn’t anything in them that he hadn’t already told me, so I sent them to Tucker to analyze.

He’ll be able to track where the emails came from and uncover all kinds of other information that might as well be a science fiction story to me.

Tucker can work at a distance, but I need to be up close to get my answers. Unfortunately, I’m not entirely sure I’ll be able to convince Jules to take me back to the scene of a crime she fled from.

Gibson texted this morning to let me know they have no new leads on Fletcher, which is not great. Killers like him are patient. He’ll remain in the wind until it dies down enough that Jules feels no need for protection.

Then he’ll strike, and she won’t stand a chance.

My hand tightens into a fist, so I set my Bible aside and get to my feet to make a fresh pot of coffee. I’ve just hit the brew button when Jules steps into the kitchen wearing a T-shirt and baggy flannel pants, her hair a mess around her shoulders, face clear of makeup.

She’s stunning.

Get it together, Hunt. She’s pretty, but you have no need for a relationship. “Coffee’s brewing.”

“Great. Thanks.”

I nod. “Did you sleep well?”

“Better than I have in years,” she says as she heads into the living room to sit on the couch. “That mattress is amazing.”

“Same one I have in my room,” I tell her. “So I agree.”

She smiles softly, but her gaze drops to my Bible. “Light reading this morning?”

“I try to start every day with a chapter or two.”

“My grandfather was the same way. He never strayed from his faith. Not once. Even being in the industry he was in, the man was always sharing his love for God.”

“He sounds like he was a great man.”

“He was.” She clears her throat. “Any update on Ian Fletcher?”

“Not yet. But I have something I want to run by you. An idea I had late last night.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to take me through your grandfather’s estate. Show me where it happened and how you escaped.”

She pales. “I don’t want to go back there.”

“I know you don’t. But I need to be there. Boots on the ground. I want to look through his stuff and see if I can find anything that explains why someone wanted him dead.”

“Why? You said you saw crime scene photos.”

“I did. But they’re not a substitute for being there. I know it’ll be hard, so if you can’t, I completely understand. I can have Nova stay here at the house and go myself.”

She shakes her head. “No. I’ll take you.”

“You’re sure?”

She nods. “I want to catch this guy more than anything. So if this is what helps us accomplish that, then let’s do it.”

“We need to check with Lani and get clearance for you to fly. But we’ll take a private plane, so you won’t have to navigate a bunch of strangers.”

“You have a private plane?” she asks. “Not even my grandfather had that.”

It’s a joke and a welcome one, considering it’s the first bit of humor I’ve seen from her. A moment when her walls aren’t up. “I have access to a private plane,” I reply. “Perk of the job.”

“That’s handy.”

The coffeepot finishes, so I pour two cups. “Do you take cream in your coffee?”

“Yeah. If you have it. Otherwise, I can just drink it black.”

“I have it.” After retrieving some of my mom’s homemade coffee creamer from the refrigerator, I pour some in two cups then carry them into the living room. “Here.”

“Thanks.” She still looks a million miles away even as she takes the mug. “I guess I should let Odie know we’re coming.”

I sit down on the other part of the couch, putting distance between us. “You let me deal with Odie. I’ll let him know.”

She turns to me. “Trying to protect me from my brother?”

“Your brother’s a jerk. I’m trying to protect him by not giving him the chance to talk to you like that again in front of me.”

She laughs, color returning to her cheeks. “Why, Mr. Hunt, how noble of you.”

“I don’t like bullies,” I tell her truthfully. “And your brother is a bully.”

The amusement that was on her face dies in an instant. “He’s always been a bit tough. It got worse when his mom died.”

Because I sense she’s finally opening up a bit, I keep quiet, afraid that anything I say will trigger those walls again.

“I think he blamed me for it.”

“Why?”

“They were coming to pick me up from a sleepover at my friend’s house. They died on the way there.”

“I’m sorry.”

She takes a sip of coffee. “I’d begged to go then got scared. It was my fault they were on the road.”

“It was not your fault,” I tell her. “Not at all.”

“Odie never saw it that way.”

“Then Odie is an even bigger idiot than I thought he was.”

She smiles softly, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Odie is brilliant. Always has been. Straight A’s, honor roll. He was voted most likely to succeed in school. Ran the school newspaper. The list goes on and on.”

“Being successful in school doesn’t make you a good person.”

“Nah, Odie’s a good one,” she says. The look on her face makes my heart ache for a woman who has clearly never felt like enough. And brings a fresh wave of crushing guilt down on me because I’m starting to think that I misjudged her too.

“Is that why you’re trying so hard to protect him? Why you ran and didn’t go back home?”

Jules takes a deep breath then sips her coffee. I worry I’ve pressed too hard, but then she shifts her emerald gaze back to me. “I’ve had a lifetime of bringing trouble to my family’s doorstep.”

“The missing years.”

Jules nods, and for the first time since we met, I see an emotion other than anger or fear on her face.

Sadness. There’s a well of sadness inside of her.

One that she’s likely drowned in a time or two.

“What followed was trouble, too. My grandfather was never the same after that. I know he blamed himself, and I wish I could just tell him that it wasn’t his fault.

That none of it was.” She’s silent a moment.

“Anyway, what a shame life doesn’t work that way.

So, when are you wanting to go back to Seattle? ”

Subject change.

Even though I want to know more, not just for her background as it applies to this case but because this was a chip away at armor she’s likely worn for far too long, I let her move on.

“A couple of days should be good. As long as we get Lani’s blessing, we’ll plan to head out Monday morning.

That way, you’ll have a few days to relax and take it easy. ”

“I don’t need to relax,” she says. “I need to figure out who wanted my grandfather dead.”

“We’ll still be working on that, too. Odie sent over some of your grandfather’s emails last night, and I spent most of the night poring over them.”

“Emails?”

“Did you know your grandfather was trying to pull out of his publishing contract?”

Her expression shifts, and I see that she clearly had no idea. “What? Why? Since when?”

“The month leading up to his death,” I tell her. “He was working to negotiate a buyout.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. He worked so hard to get that deal. It was all he wanted.”

“That’s the other thing; Odie claims the deal was terrible. That he’s surprised your grandfather’s lawyers allowed him to sign it.”

Her brow furrows. “I don’t understand. Grandpa was incredibly excited about that deal. Said it was the deal of a lifetime. Do you have the contract?”

I nod.

“Can I see it?”

“Sure.” I stand up then reach down to offer her my hand since I imagine her abdomen still hurts enough that getting up on her own will be difficult.

She hesitates, just as she did when I offered to help her get out of the truck.

But then she slips her delicate fingers into mine, and I pull her up gently.

As soon as she’s standing, I withdraw my hand and head toward my office. After pushing open the door, I lean over my computer and log in then open the contract Odie sent over. “Feel free to go through it.”

“Thanks.” After setting her mug of coffee down on a coaster near my keyboard, she sits down slowly in my chair, taking a deep breath as soon as she’s settled.

“Are you okay? Are you sure you don’t want any Motrin? Tylenol?”

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Call out if you need anything,” I tell her.

She nods but doesn’t respond, her attention already focused on the contract in front of her.

Which is exactly why I feel confident in stopping near the door and studying her for a moment. Her emerald gaze is narrowed on the screen, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders.

While I’m watching, she shifts her attention away from the computer and retrieves one of the large Post-it pads I have near my desk along with a pen. She marks something down then returns to the contract.

I was lost trying to go through that thing. But she’s here, combing through it like a woman on a mission. It’s impressive. It’s yet another notch in my belief that I massively misjudged her.

Jules Landers is as prickly as thorns on a rose. There’s no denying that. But I’m starting to believe that there’s more to the red-carpet princess than I thought.