A few seconds later, he burst through the door. He pulled the guard off me, slamming him into some cupboards behind him.
“You, son of a bitch,” Luke growled, smashing the guard’s face with his fist over and over again. The bastard screamed and tried to duck, but Luke was a head taller and far stronger than him.
“You will never touch her again,” he shouted, kneeing him in his balls. “Never, again!”
Another two guards rushed in and pulled Luke off the guard, looking from me to the guard whose face looked like it’d seen better days.
Luke shrugged free and came over to me.
I sat down with my arms wrapped around my knees.
“It’s okay,” he said out of breath. “Are you hurt?”
I shook my head.
He stood, stretching his hand out to help me. When my knees buckled, he steadied me, then reached down and picked me up, carrying me out of the room. I wondered how inappropriate this looked, but the only thing I cared about was getting away from there.
He opened my door and set me on the bed.
“I’m sorry,” he offered as he left the room.
There was nothing he should be sorry for. He’d saved me.
I curled up into a ball and wept.
ChapterEight
Luke
Today, I was meeting Alyssa’s sister. And if I were lucky, she would let me have a word with Gracie. Although, I would understand if she didn’t agree to that. Maybe I’d pick up something in the house I’d missed the last time. After what happened to Alyssa the other day, I was even more adamant about getting her as far away from that place as possible.
Seeing her vulnerable like that was all it took for me to get on a plane and fly to another city. Thankfully, the asshole guard was fired on the spot. Management usually hid that bullshit, but with me being involved, there was no way they could.
I walked up the impressively well-manicured front lawn toward the expensive two-story house and rang the bell. After a few minutes, a woman who must have been Alyssa’s sister opened the door to welcome me in. She was polite, but I could tell she was not pleased to see me.
“Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, Mrs. Reagan.” She extended a hand reluctantly.
She looked a lot like Alyssa—same light skin, brown eyes, and dark hair. This woman’s features were sharper, though, and she appeared a bit older but not by much. Her hair was tied in a tight ponytail, and she wore a well-tailored suit. I knew she, too, was a lawyer like Alyssa.
Walking into the house, I waited for her to lead.
“You can go ahead and look around, I’ll just stay here, and when you’re done, we can talk outside.” She motioned for me to go ahead.
I didn’t find it odd. This was the house where her younger sister killed her brother-in-law. I wouldn’t want to be reminded of it either.
The house was tastefully decorated, not grand or overpowering, but you knew you were in a wealthy home. I walked straight to the scene of the crime. Of course, I’d been here before, but I found in the past that revisiting a crime scene sometimes helped. The kitchen was stark white and stainless steel. There was nothing out of place and obviously a clean-up had been done. I sat on the kitchen island stool, trying to imagine a day in the life of the Morgans.
Who was the cook? Did they argue a lot? Did they fight? Did things get violent between them?
The neighbors never heard anything out of the ordinary that night or any other night for that matter. Her neighbor, Melissa, was quick to praise Malcolm, saying he was a kind man who wouldn’t hurt a fly. She also mentioned Alyssa never wore scarves or clothing that would conceal bruises which meant it was unlikely domestic violence was involved. She seemed to be a big Malcolm fan and watched too many movies.
There were pictures on the refrigerator. I’d seen them before, but I stood and walked to it, getting a closer look.
There was a picture of Alyssa and her husband, Malcolm, smiling at the camera, the ocean a backdrop. I figured they must have been on holiday.She wore a bathing suit well.I grinned at the thought. There was another one with Alyssa and her daughter, Gracie, and they were laughing about something.
I looked around the kitchen. The police report was clear. She’d confessed to killing her husband in a fit of hysterical laughter. After that, she refused to speak. She’d said all she needed to.
As I walked upstairs, despite the number of times I had done this, I couldn’t shake the strangeness of being in someone else’s home. I combed through the bedrooms, stopping outside the main bedroom. Entering, I switched on a light with the blinds being closed. Above their bed was a nude portrait of Alyssa in a sensual pose, smiling seductively.
