He’d confessed to so much. Shooting her brother. The private investigator. He’d shother.
Brynnon couldn’t reconcile the man she knew as her brother’s best friend and her father’s confidant with the cold-blooded killer who’d left her in the cold to die.
He tried to kill me.
More memories assaulted her. Martin dragging her across the rough pavement. The way he’d sounded just before he walked away. Cold and emotionless.
What if he comes back?
Fear that he’d return to finish the job left her shaken. Terrified, Brynnon tried calling out, but the only sound she could make was a low moan.
Somewhere in the background, the incessant beeping sound she’d barely registered from before grew faster. More intense.
She attempted to move, to get someplace safe where Martin could never find her, when a deep, soothing voice broke through the panicked fog.
“Easy, Princess. You’re okay.”
Clearing her dry, scratchy throat, Brynnon was finally able to speak. “Grant?”
There was a slight pause and then she heard, “I’m here. I’m right here.”
He sounded funny, his voice thicker than normal.
Brynnon’s pulse slowly returned to normal, coinciding with the steadying rhythm of what she realized was her heart monitor. She licked her lips, the delicate skin there stinging as though they were chapped.
You laid in the freezing cold for who knows how long. Of course, they’re chapped.
Feeling stronger by the second, she worked her eyes open. The sight before her damn near overwhelming.
Holding her left hand in his, Grant was sitting as close to the bed as possible. His gray eyes shone with profound relief.
Brynnon immediately noticed something different about the way he looked. It had nothing to do with his rumpled clothes and scraggly hair. Nor was it the exhaustion reflecting back from his weary gaze.
The man was still sexy as sin, of course, but something just seemed different. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he almost seemed...lighter.
“Hi, Princess,” Grant whispered with a smile.
Brynnon’s chin trembled and a tear escaped the corner of her eye. “H-hi.”
With sweet understanding, he used his free hand to gently wipe the droplet away. “Damn, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“So are you.”
Reaching over to the metal tray beside him, Grant poured her a cup of water. Using great care, he put the bendable straw between her lips and held it there so she could take a much-needed drink.
Once she’d had her fill, he set the cup down and exhaled a slow, shaky breath. Carefully cupping one side of her face, he said, “I thought I’d lost you.”
Brynnon reached up and took hold of his thick wrist. “Me, too.” Despite fearing the answer, she asked, “Martin?”
“Dead.” Grant’s answer was instant and final.
Her eyes landed on the white bandage wrapped around his knuckles. “You?”
He shook his head. “Downing got cornered by the police and shot himself.”
“Oh, my god.”
She tried to fight it, but in the end Brynnon couldn’t help but shed a few tears. Not for the man who’d tried to murder her, but rather the one she thought cared about her family. Now, however, she knew that man never really existed at all.
