Old people were so easy to fool.
And Natalie was old. Gullible. Malleable.
She wasn’t the one who could potentially thwart him.
That honor belonged to the sheriff and Cara.
But he’d deal with them if necessary, just like he’d dealt with Micah.
No one was going to stop him from securing the upscale life he’d grown accustomed to—and deserved.
No one.
TWENTY-THREE
WAS THAT ... BLOOD?
Natalie paused as she straightened the sheets on Steven’s bed—the least she could do after the dear boy had volunteered to trek into town for her groceries—and squinted at his pillow.
She leaned closer. Adjusted her glasses.
The faint smear certainly looked like blood.
Perhaps it was from a shaving nick that hadn’t yet healed. Or a slight nosebleed.
Whatever the source, she ought to give him a fresh pillowcase. He deserved a spotless room after all the long drives he’d made down here and all the weekends he’d devoted to her.
He was such a treasure.
She shook the pillow out of the case and onto the bed, then started for the linen closet in the hall.
Stopped.
As long as she was tidying up, may as well check the bathroom. If he’d showered this morning, he’d welcome a fresh towel.
Pillowcase over her arm, she switched direction and walked over to the bathroom. Flipped on the light.
The pristine bath towel hung at the end of the tub.
No need to change that out.
As she turned away, a sliver of red caught her eye, peeking out from beyond the shower curtain.
Odd.
She entered the room and crossed to the tub.
A limp washcloth stained with blood lay in one corner. A lot more blood than was on the pillowcase.
What in the world?
A shaving nick would never have bled that much, though a nosebleed could have.
That had to be the explanation.
What else could it be?
Yet he’d never mentioned being prone to those.
