“I’m coming with you.”
“No. He won’t talk to me if you’re there.”
“Too damn bad.”
She moved to the door, only to stop and turn when he tried to follow her. “Holden—”
“There is no scenario, none, where you go to Malcolm’s house alone. Do you understand? It’s me, or nothing.”
Her jaw visibly clenched. “Fine. But you’re waiting outside.”
He could have laughed. He was going wherever Clara was going, whether she liked it or not.
Clara’s heartbeat hard in her chest as Holden drove them to Malcolm’s house, doubt flickering in her mind.
Maybe she shouldn’t be doing this. But it wasn’t him who’d attacked her last night. It was a woman. And there were things Malcolm hadn’t told her. Things that might help her figure out who it was. And yes, it wasn’t her job, but for some reason, even though she and Scarlett weren’t friends, she felt like she owed it to the other woman.
She shot a glance at Holden. He was mad. His fingers were so tight around the wheel that his knuckles were white.
“You’re not going to wait outside, are you?” she asked quietly.
“Not a chance in hell.”
She sighed as they pulled up in front of a ranch-style home.
Those nerves hit her again, but she tried to hide them as she climbed out. Holden scanned up and down the street, his hand going to the small of her back as he led her toward the door.
She knocked.
She wasn’t nervous that Malcolm would hurt her—she was almost certain he wasn’t involved. Maybe she was nervous about the information he might have.
When no one answered, she knocked again. “Malcolm?”
Another minute passed. Still nothing. She pulled out her phone and tried calling, and even though he didn’t answer, she heard the ringing inside the house.
She frowned as she looked up at Holden before trying the door.
Unlocked.
“Clara…” There was warning in Holden’s voice.
“He’s expecting me. If he’s not answering the door, something must be wrong.” She stepped inside. “Malcolm? Are you here? It’s me, Clara.”
Nothing.
Had he left? Shewasten minutes later than she’d said she’d be. But his phone had rung from inside the house. No one left their phone at home when they went out.
She tried to take a step, only for Holden to grab her arm. “We’re leaving.”
“Holden—” She stopped when she saw him looking at something. She followed his gaze to the couch. “Malcolm?”
He sat there, his back toward them.
Clara took a step toward the couch, but Holden tugged her back, stopping her.
“He’s so still,” she whispered.
Holden stepped forward, and Clara followed to see Malcolm’s head tilted to the side at an odd angle, his eyes closed.
