Page 20

T he door closed, and the house was suddenly too quiet. A heavy kind of quiet that sat on her chest, making the air feel thick and her lungs tight.

She touched her temple to the wood of the door, trying to breathe even though she wanted to cry.

She’d just done exactly what she knew needed to be done.

So why had it felt so wrong? Why, when she’d asked for space, had a voice in her head begged, screamed , for her to give him more time? But more time for what? To love her?

She turned, hating the tears that pressed at her eyes. Hating that even though space between her and Holden would save her heartache in the long run, right now it felt wrong and hard and painful.

She stepped into her room and took off her shirt and jeans, then eyed her pajamas. She should put them on. She didn’t. Instead, she rummaged through her bottom drawer before finding an old sweatshirt. Not her old sweatshirt—Holden’s.

There was something about it that just made her feel close to him, even when she wasn’t.

Man, she was a glutton for punishment.

She pulled the sweatshirt over her head, and it was so long it almost hit her knees.

In the kitchen, she was about to grab a bottle of water from the fridge when a cool breeze hit her legs. She turned to see the back door ajar.

She frowned. Was Scarlett out there?

Slowly, she crossed to the door and stuck her head outside.

Nothing. Well, nothing that she could see, anyway. It was dark though.

She quickly closed the door, but when she went to flick the lock, she couldn’t. The bolt wouldn’t engage. Was it broken?

All the fine hairs on her arms suddenly stood on end, and that chill on her skin intensified.

Was Scarlett home? Had she noticed something had happened to the lock on the back door?

Quickly, Clara went to Scarlett’s bedroom. She knocked and waited.

Silence.

Was Scarlett even here? She knocked again, and when there was still no answer, she quietly turned the knob and stepped inside. The light was on, and just like the other night, Scarlett was hunched over her desk.

Where was her laptop? And if she wasn’t working, why would she fall asleep on an empty desk?

Unease churned in her belly. She inched forward, her pulse quickening, each beat loud in her ears.

“Scarlett?”

Nothing. Not even the twitch of a finger. Then Clara noticed something else…

Scarlett’s back wasn’t moving.

Her heart started to beat faster, dread pooling in her gut.

“Scarlett?” Her voice was louder this time, and there was more urgency.

Still nothing.

With trembling fingers, she reached out and touched Scarlett’s back. No reaction. No movement.

No. This wasn’t possible. She had to be in a deep sleep or something.

Slowly, Clara reached for the pulse on Scarlett’s neck.

There was none.

She shot back, her throat closing, cutting off her breath. Her knees felt so weak that she wanted to crumble.

A distant knock sounded on the front door, but Clara couldn’t move. She could barely think. Black dots began to dance in her vision, bile crawling up her throat.

Dead. Scarlett was dead.

The knocking sounded again, this time louder and followed by a voice.

“Clara, it’s Holden. I had to come back. We can’t leave things like this.”

Air. She needed air.

She stumbled to the bedroom door and grabbed the frame to keep herself upright. Her head was in a deep fog, her lungs barely allowing her to breathe. When she finally reached the front door, she yanked it open for Holden.

The second his eyes hit her, his expression shifted from concern to panic to something harder that she couldn’t quite name.

“What’s wrong?”

“She’s dead.” The words were so quiet she wasn’t even sure they crossed the distance. “Scarlett’s dead.”

Holden’s entire body locked at Clara’s words, years of training in the military taking over as any words he’d been about to say died on his lips.

He moved quickly, stepping inside the house and locking the door before pulling his Glock from his concealed holster.

He didn’t always carry, but fuck, was he glad he had tonight.

He pushed Clara behind his body, shielding her. If it was up to him, Clara wouldn’t be in the house at all, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he was leaving her alone outside if there was a killer somewhere. It was too dark out there. Too many places for someone to hide.

He scanned her hall and living area. “Did you see or hear anyone?”

“No.” Her voice was quiet, a small shake in it. “But the back door was ajar and the lock broken.”

Shit. If someone had killed Scarlett, they could still be here.

He grabbed his cell.

Jesse answered on the second ring. “Hey—”

“You need to get to Clara’s house now . Her roommate’s dead.”

There was a small pause. “Dead?”

“Yes. Come quickly.”

Jesse cursed. “Coming.”

“Where is she?” Holden asked, keeping his Glock raised.

“In her room.”

“Stay close.” Remaining close to the wall, he inched down the hallway, every sense heightened. If there was someone still here, they wouldn’t be getting past him. Not a chance.

He scanned the hall as he moved, looking for a threat. When he reached the bedroom, he saw Scarlett hunched over her desk.

At first glance, it looked like she was sleeping. But after a few seconds, it was obvious she was too still.

He moved closer and touched the inside of her wrist.

No pulse. But there also didn’t appear to be an obvious wound. Hell, there wasn’t even blood. What the hell had happened?

Another scan of the room before he turned to look at Clara. “I need to check the house.”

Her eyes widened and she grabbed his arm. “Wait for Jesse.”

“I’m just as well trained as your brother.”

“I know, but—”

“I’ll be okay.”

He took a step, but she stopped him again.

“I’m coming with you.”

He opened his mouth to tell her that he needed to go alone, but she spoke first.

“ Please ! I don’t want to be alone.”

Shit. He didn’t want her alone either. “Stay behind me.”

She nodded.

He stepped out of the room, Glock up but close to his chest. Systematically, he went through the house, checking her bedroom, the bathrooms, then the living room. Nothing was out of place until he reached the kitchen, and just as Clara had said, the lock was broken on the back door.

That was how the asshole had gotten in.

Something sounded from the front of the house. Holden pressed Clara behind him before slowly moving toward the noise.

Someone tried the handle, then the pounding of a fist on the door. “Clara! Holden! It’s Jesse.”

The air rushed from Clara’s chest, and she ran to the door.

Jesse immediately pulled Clara into a hug before gripping her shoulders and searching her face. “Are you okay?”

She nodded shakily, and Jesse growled and tugged her into another hug.

The next hour passed quickly, with people going in and out of Clara’s house, taking prints and photos. When Scarlett’s body was removed, Clara’s face paled even further.

Holden never left her side.

“So there was no laptop?” Jesse asked, after Clara finished telling him everything that had happened.

“No.” She ran her fingers over the edge of the couch cushion. “I think whoever…killed her, took it.”

Holden tightened his arm around her, thankful as hell that she hadn’t pushed him away.

“And you don’t know why she was acting strange when she got home today?”

“No, but a couple nights ago…” Clara paused, glancing at Holden before looking back to her brother. “She went out with some people who work at the hospital and took some laced brownies with her.”

Jesse cursed. “That’s why you asked me about them at The Tea House. I’m guessing they didn’t know the brownies were laced?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t had a chance to ask them.

But I doubt it. She wasn’t completely honest with them about her job.

I’m assuming because she didn’t want them finding out what she was writing.

But then, I don’t think she was completely honest with me about her job either, based on the ethics of how she got her information. ”

“We need a background check on her.” Jesse shared a look with Holden. “But tonight, it seems someone might have discovered that she was a journalist who was investigating them. They said too much after being drugged—”

“And needed to silence Scarlett,” Holden finished.

Clara shuddered. “You’re suggesting someone from the hospital murdered her? Oh God, I’m going to be sick.”

She dropped her head into her hands, and Holden barely bit back a curse as he rubbed her back. He hated that this was happening to her.

“We don’t know anything for sure,” Jesse said. “So nothing can leave this room. But Clara…” He waited for her to look up. “I’m going to find out what happened to her.”

She nodded quickly, those tears once again shining in her eyes.

“I want you to come stay with me and Aspen,” Jesse said.

Holden stiffened. No part of him wanted Clara out of his sight. Not after what had happened tonight.

She shook her head. “No. I have clients in the morning. And I don’t want to be scared out of my own home.”

“Cancel them,” Jesse pushed.

“No. I don’t want to. They need their treatment.”

“ I’ll stay.”

Both Clara and Jesse looked at Holden.

“No,” Clara said again. “You don’t need—”

“I do. I need to be wherever you are. And if you say no again, I’ll just sit in my truck and watch from the street. I’m not going home tonight.”

There was a beat of silence.

Say yes, Clara. Let me stay.

He didn’t have a problem staying in his truck, but the closer he was, the faster he’d get to any danger that arose.

She swallowed, silent for a few seconds, her gaze boring into him before, finally, she nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”