C.J. Miller weaves a story of deception and framing that will keep you guessing....

She woke up on her ex-fiancé’s boat with his blood on her hands. Is it possible that Susan Prescott killed Justin and didn’t remember it? When the artist is accused of murder, the only one who will believe and protect her is Brady Truman. Brady, her former lover. Brady, who must dispel his agonizing self-doubts if he hopes to help anyone else....

To find the real killer—and the hitmen gunning for them—Susan and Brady have to deal with their still-simmering desire. It all hinges on Susan’s memory. Will returning to the boat trigger her recall…or plunge her deeper into danger?

Brady read worry and fear in Susan’s expression as they stood outside the café with their heads bent together.

He touched her cheek lightly, wanting to reassure her. “We’ll be okay. Every day that passes is a day closer to finding the truth. We’re making progress.”

Susan tapped her foot against the sidewalk. “I’m glad you feel confident about this. I feel like we’re walking into a trap. The police are looking for us. Special Forces military men are looking for us. Justin’s killer is still at large.” She let the rest of her breath out in a whoosh and held her head in her hands.

Brady ached to draw her into his arms, to offer some comfort. More than emotional comfort, he was aware of his body hardening at the image of her pressed against him.

He’d made love with her less than twelve hours ago, and he was ready for more.

Dear Reader,

I believe that lost love can be reclaimed. In this book, Brady Truman believes he’s done the right thing in giving Susan the chance to live her life without him. His job is too dangerous and takes him away from home too often. When a terrible injury ends his career, Brady has plenty of time for regrets. His biggest regret is letting go of Susan, and when she needs him, in typical Truman brother style, Brady goes to her aid.

Susan has tried to move on with her life, but Brady isn’t an easy man to forget. He shows up again when she most needs someone in her corner. Time has given them a new perspective on what’s important. They’ve never really gotten over each other and they’re forced to confront those lingering feelings. Forgiving and forgetting is a tall order, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. But happiness is never out of reach, not when love is still in play.

Happy reading!

C.J. Miller

Shielding the Suspect

C.J. Miller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

C.J. MILLER

is a third-generation Harlequin reader and the first in her family to write professionally. She lives in Maryland with her husband and young son. She enjoys spending time with family, meeting friends for coffee, reading and traveling to warm beaches around the world. C.J. believes in first loves, second chances and happily-ever-after.

C.J. loves to hear from readers and can be contacted through her website at www.cj-miller.com.

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To Jacob, my real-life love at first sight.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Excerpt

Prologue

Brady Truman’s life wasn’t as he’d planned. It was far, far worse. He shifted some of his weight to his bum knee, stifling a wince as pain shot up and down his leg. He gritted his teeth and took another step. More pain. It had been this way for two months. Two months of therapy, rehabilitation, surgeries and medical procedures as the doctors saved his leg from amputation and tried to restore function. Brady didn’t want to walk with a cane for the rest of his life.

Then again, he didn’t want a lot of things and choices had been taken away when an enemy had shot him.

He didn’t want to live with the disfiguring scars on his leg and the weakness in his knee. The surgeons had done everything they could. They said he was lucky that they had been able to save his leg.

Lucky. Sure. It was the last word he’d use to describe his current state.

The physical rehab was difficult, but he hated the psychotherapy more. Too much digging around his psyche about events that didn’t matter and trying to make a mountain out of a bump in the road. Brady avoided bumps. He didn’t stop and scrutinize them.

Adjusting to life outside the military would be difficult. He’d seen friends try it and fail, returning to the military because they needed the structure and discipline.

For Brady, returning to the military wasn’t an option. He couldn’t return to his former position with the Special Forces. His injury guaranteed he would never be stealthy and athletic enough and he couldn’t expect his team to trust him again after his colossal screw-up. A pararescueman needed to be strong, nimble and responsive. Brady didn’t credit himself with any of those traits. Not anymore. Brady let out a grunt of pain when his knee collided with the side of the hospital bed.

His balance was off, like everything in his life.

A tap at the door. He’d gotten accustomed to doctors, nurses and specialists coming and going, and he didn’t know why they bothered knocking. Brady had no illusions of privacy in the hospital.

“Come in,” he said, hiding signs of his discomfort and displeasure. It was one thing to harbor resentment and anger. It was another to act like a pansy and complain about his circumstances. Bad enough he was feeling weak, but worse to have others think it.

Brady didn’t want any more drugs forced on him and the more perfect a patient he was, the sooner he could be discharged. He wanted to go home. Staying in this hospital was making him crazy. He hated being caged in with nothing to do except exercise his leg and think. Too often his thoughts turned to the past and the mistakes that had led him to this point.

It wasn’t a doctor or nurse who entered the room. Instead, a familiar and unwanted face from the past.

“Justin,” Brady said, unpleasantly surprised to see his old pal from the air force walk into his room. The circumstances kept getting worse.

He and Justin had hung out occasionally with a mutual friend back when they’d both been enlisted, but they hadn’t spoken in more than a year and Brady was fine with that. He had nothing to say to the man who had betrayed him. They’d formed a competitive relationship from their early days in the military, but Justin’s relationship with Susan had taken things from competitive to combative.

“Brady Truman, I never thought I’d see the day you had to walk with a cane.”

Brady didn’t smile or take the bait and reply with a smart retort. He should tell Justin to get out of his room, but he didn’t want to give the man the satisfaction of knowing his words had cut deep.

“It won’t be for long,” Brady said. He’d been walking around his room for close to twenty minutes, near his upper threshold for endurance. He wasn’t admitting his leg was ready to collapse and he needed to sit. Not in front of Justin Ambrose.

“I heard you spoke to Susan the other day,” Justin said.

Brady had spoken to Susan, but she’d done most of the talking. She had been waiting in his room when he’d returned from his session with the therapist. At the thought of Susan, the memory of making love with her lodged in his mind, making it difficult to focus on the conversation. She was a true beauty with long hair and expressive brown eyes, a narrow waist he could wrap his hands around and soft, delicate skin. At least his injuries hadn’t killed his libido. Whether they were bad for each other or not, Brady would never stop wanting Susan.

His brief discussion with Susan wasn’t Justin’s business. “Yes. She came to the hospital.”

No point in denying it and no point in delving into details. If Susan wanted Justin to know something about their conversation, she would tell him.

“Susan and I are engaged. Did she tell you that?” Justin asked.

She hadn’t. But Brady had known. His brother Reilly had mentioned it to him. Reilly and Susan worked together at the police station, Reilly as a detective and Susan as a sketch artist. It was a job she’d taken to supplement her income from selling her artwork.

“I’m aware of your engagement.” Their engagement. Susan belonged to another man. Though he’d heard it before, the words hit him with blunted pain.

Justin bared his teeth and Brady took a sliver of delight in knowing his caginess was getting to the other man. “If you are aware of it, then stay away from her and don’t jeopardize what we have. You walked away from her. Don’t think you’ll win her back with some poor, hurt veteran routine.”

Brady took exception to almost everything Justin had said. He wanted Susan to be happy and he would never put her in a place to make a difficult decision, like asking her to choose between him and Justin. After the way Brady had treated her, she’d probably choose Justin anyway. She deserved what Justin was offering. A house. A family. A stable life. A boring life perhaps, but a stable one.

Things Brady couldn’t offer anyone. Couldn’t offer before and certainly couldn’t offer now. His knee throbbed and he forced more weight onto his good leg and the cane.

“You’re engaged. She made her choice.” Leave it at that.

“Yes, she did. She chose me,” Justin said, his expression radiating superiority.

Justin was former air force and he had friends and family who were still active duty. He could provide Susan the type of life she deserved, but he was also under his father’s thumb. Brady couldn’t help wondering what Lieutenant General Tim Ambrose thought of Susan. Brady had gotten the impression Justin’s father wanted his son to pick a Stepford wife who would blend in with the Ambrose family’s social circle. Brady couldn’t picture Susan as servile, submissive or thrilled to take a role in the political games that were played by military men at Lieutenant General Ambrose’s level.

“I’m happy for her,” Brady said. For her. Not for Justin. He couldn’t have cared less about Justin’s happiness. Bitterness seeped into his chest, taking some of the heat off his stinging leg. Though Brady wasn’t good enough for Susan, it wasn’t easy to watch another man with the woman he desired. Hell, two years ago, he would have gone crazy with jealousy to think about Susan with another man. He’d had to let her go. For her sake. He was a disaster for her.

“If you’re happy for her, then stay away. We don’t need you nosing around,” Justin said.

Justin hadn’t changed. Despite his lofty façade, he was still plagued with self-doubt and the constant need for reassurance, just as he had been in the military. Brady wasn’t in the mood to stroke his fragile ego.

Brady’s thigh muscles shook with fatigue. He dug deep for the energy to remain standing. “If Susan is satisfied with you, you have nothing to worry about.” Justin needed to leave so Brady could rest.

Justin glared at him. “Don’t mess with me. My family is powerful and you’ll regret it.”

Brady didn’t care about power or worry about Justin’s threat. The Truman family was loyal and resourceful. Brady’s mother was former CIA, his dad a former Navy SEAL, his brother Reilly was a detective and his oldest brother, Harris, an FBI agent. Over the course of their careers, they had made contacts and alliances with people in influential positions. Even Brady had a few connections he could reach out to if a situation became too dicey. But none of those connections could help him walk again or erase what had happened in the past and win over Susan.

Is that what he wanted? To win over Susan? He didn’t want to watch Susan marry Justin, but like everything else, Brady couldn’t do anything to change it.

Brady’s knee gave out and his other leg couldn’t catch his balance despite the cane. He fell, his cane skidding out from under him, his head slamming into the rail on the hospital bed.

Justin’s laughter faded as two nurses raced in, shooed him from the room and assisted Brady.

Brady’s leg hurt only second to his pride.

Chapter 1

Six months later

Brady shifted in his easy chair and stretched his legs in front of him, flexing his foot and rubbing at the pain that shot from his heel to his thigh. His right leg ached when he sat for too long. Sadly, most of what he did involved sitting, as well as thinking and occasionally taking the edge off with a cold beer.

He had nowhere to go and nothing to do except twice weekly rehabilitation appointments. One of those appointments was with the shrink from the hospital. He dreaded those visits.

It was late and most televisions stations were showing infomercials. He reached for the remote to change the channel, but stopped when a knock sounded at the door. Who was visiting this late?

He planned to ignore it and hope whoever it was went away. Instead, keys in the lock jingled and then his brother Harris’s voice called, “Brady?” as the door swung open.

Brady didn’t want to deal with a family visit right now. “What are you doing here?” he asked, knowing he sounded surly. But that was how he felt. Surly and angry. He didn’t like people dropping by unannounced. Lately, he didn’t like seeing people at all.

“Oh, my sincerest apologies. Am I interrupting your doing-nothing time?” Harris asked dryly.

“What do you want?” Brady asked. He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.

“Since you aren’t returning your phone calls or emails, you left me the option of finding time away from an undercover operation so I could talk to you about something important.”

Guilt mushroomed through him. Brady should have returned his family’s phone calls, but he wasn’t ready. He didn’t want them—or anyone—to see him this way. Now he’d forced Harris temporarily off an undercover mission. He’d add that to his list of screw-ups. He shut off the television. “You’re here. Say what you need to say.” Whatever it was, Brady wasn’t going to like it.

“Reilly is in trouble.”

Brady hadn’t expected that and he rose to his feet. The words lit a fire under him and for the first time in months, Brady had good motivation to get off his butt. “What trouble?”

“Reilly was the first responder on a murder scene and he’s been accused of tampering with evidence,” Harris said. “He’s on administrative leave pending an investigation into the matter.”

Reilly, the middle Truman brother, was a celebrated detective, his recent promotion a reward for the tough cases he’d solved. He would never compromise the integrity of an investigation by hiding or manufacturing evidence. “That’s ridiculous. Why would he tamper with evidence? What idiot would believe something like that?” Brady asked.

“The mayor believes it.”

“The mayor?” Brady didn’t like the pompous windbag who served as mayor of Denver, but since when did the mayor insert himself into police business?

“Since the mayor is in tight with Lieutenant General Ambrose, and it’s his son who is the murder victim—”

Brady started. “Lieutenant General Ambrose? Justin’s father? Justin’s dead?” Confusion streamed through him. What about Susan? How was she dealing with her fiancé’s death?

“That’s right, Justin Ambrose. Your favorite person,” Harris said. “The mayor wants the guilty party found and he’s decided the guilty persons are Susan and Reilly.”

Brady’s blood pressure soared and disbelief tumbled through him. Susan killing someone was more ludicrous than Reilly tampering with evidence. “The police will find the real culprit and then the mayor will look like the idiot he is and eat crow.”

Harris snorted. “I’d agree if the lead investigator on the case wasn’t a ‘yes man’ jockeying for a promotion and too lazy to do actual police work.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Brady said.

Harris held out a folder. “It is. Look at the file.”

Brady had respect for his brother’s colleagues and had liked the ones he’d met, but every job had its share of incompetents. He opened the file and scanned Harris’s notes. It was bad. “What can I do?”

Harris sniffed and then wrinkled his nose. “The first thing you can do is call Mom so she can stop worrying about you. Then you need to take a shower, grab a shave, change into clean clothes and rejoin the rest of the world. This place is a dump. Take some pride in yourself.”

His brother’s comments were justified. Brady felt and looked like crap. He hadn’t had a reason to care. Until now.

“And once I re-civilize myself?” Brady asked, letting his voice drip with sarcasm.

Harris nodded at the folder he’d handed Brady. “Read that cover to cover. I’ve kept notes on the case, nothing you can’t read in the news. Justin’s yacht was found covered in his blood and Susan was the last person seen with him. She was at the scene with blood on her hands and clothes.”

“What? She was where with what?” Incredulity and concern tore through him.

“Susan was on the boat. Justin’s body hasn’t been found. The ME states with the amount of blood at the scene, Justin couldn’t have survived. The police are looking for a body.”

Brady closed the file. “She didn’t kill anyone.” He didn’t need to read reports about the case to know he was correct about that. “Was she with Justin when he died? How did she keep herself from being hurt?”

Harris blew out his breath. “Susan doesn’t remember where she was and she can’t explain what happened or why. She has no signs of a head injury or concussion, and the lab didn’t find anything in her system that suggests she was drugged or sedated. She has no alibi for the night in question. I don’t believe she killed him, but I can’t offer any evidence or theory to the contrary. She hasn’t been charged because Justin’s body hasn’t been found.”

When Susan was under stress, she shut down. She’d dealt with terrible things from her childhood, like having an abusive alcoholic for a father and an imbalanced mother, by ignoring them and pretending as if nothing was wrong. As an adult, Susan’s coping methods were better. She’d pour her emotions into her artwork, work through the problem and eventually talk about it, but her initial reaction was silence. The one sure way Brady had to get her talking was to get her into bed and let her direct the post-coital conversation. Whether it was the intimacy of the act or that she was relaxed and contented, Susan was most open with him during those times. But her old defense mechanism could be triggered if the situation was desperate enough.

No way would she hop into bed with him now. Not only had he lost his chance with Susan, she was grieving for her fiancé. “Stress-induced amnesia?” Brady asked, wanting Harris’s opinion.

“Could be. My best guess is that her inability to remember is psychological,” Harris said.

“What makes the police think Reilly is tied up in this? Because he was first on the scene? Wasn’t his partner there?” Brady asked, worry for his brother mingling with concern for Susan. Brady wanted to go to her, to see if she was okay, to talk to her and comfort her. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he squashed it. He was the last man she’d want to see or speak to. His presence would only make it worse for her.

“Reilly was first on the scene and when he realized it was Susan involved, he called for another team to investigate. He waited with Susan on the dock, while his partner waited at the marina for backup to arrive. He and Susan’s friendship survived your relationship and she still does freelance sketch work for the department, so they’ve kept in touch.”

Brady had met Susan through Reilly at a party. The image of Susan the first time he’d seen her snapped to mind. Her beautiful, shy smile had caught his attention. He’d approached her and found she was easy to talk with and eager to see the best in people and situations. Her positive attitude had been refreshing.

Harris continued, breaking through Brady’s thoughts. “Once it got out that Reilly was first on the scene, Lieutenant General Ambrose talked to the media and his pal, the mayor, and connected them through you and painted the picture like something unseemly had occurred. The media loves tidbits about Reilly. He’s a pseudo-celebrity after the cases he’s solved for the city.”

Not shocking. The media twisting a story into a lurid and seedy tale was common and nauseating. Brady was surprised anyone reacted to the sensationalism and irrationality of the story. The public could be riled into a frenzy with the right words, the right pictures and the right people pushing their buttons. Why didn’t anyone stop to think about the idea of a detective—a decorated detective—leaving Susan, the alleged killer, at the scene of the crime with blood on her hands? If Reilly had wanted to cover up anything, he would have dealt with that first. The accusations were ridiculous.

How could he help? Susan wouldn’t want to see him and Reilly was capable of defending himself. Sleuthing wasn’t his area of expertise. However, if they needed someone to bungle the investigation at a critical moment, Brady had some experience with that. “I’m not a detective and I’m impaired at the moment. What do you want me to do?” Brady rubbed his knee.

Harris snorted. “Cut the crap and quit acting like a sissy stewing in your own tears. Your knee is fine. Get off your lazy rear end and talk to Susan. Work with her to find out what happened the night Justin was killed. Her memories might come back, but the stress she’s under could be concealing something important.”

Susan wouldn’t withhold information if she had it. “Why can’t you talk to Susan?” Harris was the one trained in FBI interview and profiling tactics.

“Two reasons. My career gives me a few more boundaries. I’m working an operation at the moment and I can’t bail out or juggle both. Too much is at stake. Second reason, and more importantly, you know Susan better than I do. You can help her remember.”

It had taken Brady time to earn Susan’s trust and when they’d broken up, he was sure that trust had been demolished. “What makes you think Susan will talk to me about the murder?” Brady hadn’t told his family the details of why their relationship had ended or about her visit to the hospital when he’d been a world-class jerk to her.

“You’re a Truman. Your brother needs you. You’ll do whatever is necessary to help Reilly.”

Harris was right. The Trumans stood by each other. It was how they’d been raised. Integrity, honor and loyalty defined their family. This situation had to be killing Reilly and putting a strain on his marriage to Haley. They were a strong family and Brady felt like the weak link. Could he be useful in his current state? What if he made it worse for Susan and Reilly?

“Anything else?” Brady asked, shoving aside his self-pity. The idea of his brother suffering and having done nothing wrong had spurred him to act.

Harris hesitated. “There is one more thing. Reilly is worried about Susan. We don’t know why she wasn’t also a victim and why she didn’t sustain physical injuries the night Justin died. Since the police have decided to focus on Susan as a suspect, they’re not interested in providing her with police protection. Reilly believes there’s more going on and Susan’s not out of danger yet. While you’re helping her sort this out, you need to look out for her.”

Spending time with Susan had convoluted mess written all over it. He wasn’t the soldier he’d been before his accident. His body was damaged and weakened, his confidence shaken. Was he capable of protecting her from a killer? What if she was attacked? Would he respond and protect her or hesitate and get her killed?

Then again, what choice did he have? His brothers needed him. So did Susan. Despite the ugly history, he would talk to her and do what he could to help.

* * *

The constant gnawing dread never let up. Susan Prescott clocked out of work, sliding her employee badge through the gallery’s timekeeping system. It had been another horrendous day. She was leaving via the side entrance, hoping the reporters waiting to speak with her would remain in the front. She altered her route every day to avoid a confrontation.

Susan didn’t have answers to the questions they asked. Why had she killed Justin? Where had she put the body? Why wouldn’t she give closure to his family?

How did someone answer those questions? They were meant to bait her into saying something she’d regret. She didn’t know anything about Justin’s murder. She hadn’t been involved. At least, she didn’t think she had. Frustration worked at her. Why couldn’t she remember?

Susan pushed open the side door. Reporters and cameramen snapped to attention and began shouting at her. A jolt of anxiety ripped through her. Susan focused on her car parked a few yards away, blinking back the tears that sprung to her eyes, a combination of sadness, humiliation and grief. Anything she said would make it worse, but she wanted to shout the only answer she knew, which was she didn’t know anything.

A hand grasped her elbow and Susan pulled her arm free, spinning and coming face-to-face with Brady Truman. The last man she’d have expected outside the gallery. He looked disheveled and tired, not that she was in any position to judge. She was sure she looked worse. The aggravating thing about Brady was that even exhausted and unkempt, his charisma and good looks were undeniable. Every part of him tempted her.

It wasn’t the time to fixate on Brady’s tremendous appeal. Extending one muscular arm in front of them, he led her through the crowd, forming a path to her car. He took her keys from her hand, unlocked the doors and helped her into the passenger side. He climbed in the driver’s seat, fastened his seat belt, held down the horn in warning to the media to move and drove them away from the gallery and the crowd.

Susan shook off her shock and confusion. “What are you doing here? You told me to leave you alone.” She had tried to talk to him in the hospital. He hadn’t been interested in hearing what she had to say.

“I need to talk to you.”

Being this close to Brady, her heart raced and her skin tingled. He still had that effect on her. “About what?” The answer snapped to mind as the words left her mouth. “Look, if this is about Reilly, I’m sorry. I know he was placed on admin leave because he was at the scene. He’s my friend, and he and Haley have been wonderful to me. I never meant for that—”

Brady shook his head. “I’m not here to blame you. I’m here to talk. I know you, Susan. I know you’re a good, honest person. I want you to tell me what happened with Justin the night he died.”

Susan stared at him. She would have told him if she could. “I don’t know what happened to Justin. I didn’t kill him.”

“I know that.”

Susan stared at Brady for a long moment. “You don’t think I killed him?” Most everyone else did. Why not Brady?

“Things ended badly between us. That doesn’t mean I think you killed the next guy you dated,” Brady said.

A show of support from one of the last places she’d expected it. “Thank you for believing me, but I don’t see what I can do to help Reilly.”

Brady pulled her car to the side of the road and parked. He faced her. “Susan, come on. It’s me. I know how your mind works. This isn’t the first time you’ve been through something terrible and blocked it out. When you get upset, you shut down. I know what this must be like for you.”

Susan rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “You know what this is like? Sorry, no, you don’t.” Justin was dead and everyone blamed her. Brady didn’t understand what that felt like.

“Susan, I know you better than almost anyone.”

Susan had trusted Brady once and confided in him her deepest thoughts. He had been her go-to person. He had been the man she had wanted to spend her life with. That was the past and she’d put it behind her. “You don’t know me anymore. Things have changed.”

“Things have changed. People don’t change. Not that much.”

“Brady, I’m in the middle of a disaster. I can’t deal with you or with whatever the reason is that you’re here.” Her words were similar to the ones he had spoken to her six months before, when he was a recovering patient in the hospital. They had wounded her fiercely. She hoped her words didn’t have the same effect on him.

“I can help you,” Brady said. His voice was low and soft.

Right. Help her how? Did he realize how bad her life had become? If he wanted her to help clear Reilly’s name, she didn’t think she could. “If anyone would listen to me, I would tell them that Reilly showed up at the scene and didn’t have a thing to do with Justin’s death. The police don’t want to hear my side of the story.” Susan had worked for the police as a freelance sketch artist for the past five years and it hurt that people who she’d considered friends had turned their backs on her.

“I know.” Compassion laced his voice.

“I’m followed everywhere by the media.”

“I know.”

“The mayor, Justin’s family and the police think I’m responsible for Justin’s death.”

“I know,” he said.

His simple, two word answers were annoying her. “Then you know everything I do, so why are you here?”

“I’m here to help you. To protect you,” Brady said.

A nice sentiment, but not one she’d buy. “You can’t protect me. No one can. I got myself into this and I’ll get myself out of it.”

“Don’t be stubborn, Susan. You don’t have to do this alone.”

She had never been able to count on anyone to stick around for her. How could she put her trust in Brady now? He’d left her once before. “Of course I do. I’m alone now. I’ve been alone all my life. I don’t want your help.”

Susan turned away from Brady, hating the pity she read on his face. Not everyone was lucky enough to be born into a family like the Trumans. For better or worse, some people had to muddle through life on their own.

* * *

Susan pulled another blanket over her. The draftiness of the old farmhouse didn’t usually bother her, but the past several nights, nothing had made her feel warm. Justin was dead. The guilt was crushing her and breaking her down. At different times over the past few days, she’d felt someone watching her. The police? Justin’s family? The media? She’d never actually seen anyone, yet the uneasy sensation persisted. Her world had been turned upside down and shaken, and now everything felt wrong and uncertain. Maybe she was losing her grip on her sanity.

She couldn’t remember what had happened the night Justin had died. She’d tried. Had she blocked out his murder because it was too traumatic to remember? Had she played a role in his death? They’d ended their relationship, but Susan hadn’t been angry with Justin when she’d met him on the boat. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him. She was the one who had told him it was over. She’d realized she wasn’t in love with Justin and Justin deserved better. Was it possible she had killed him, disposed of the body and didn’t remember it? The police and media seemed to believe so.

Had it been a robbery gone bad? She absently touched her necklace, a gift from Reilly’s wife, Haley, that she cherished. Nothing had been taken from the boat except her camera, and she wasn’t certain it had been stolen. Normally, she was exceedingly careful with her expensive camera and equipment. Where had she left it?

The confusion surrounding that night made it difficult to say that she hadn’t misplaced the camera, lost it or taken it somewhere and forgotten it. The more she tried to remember, the more frustrated she became. Her sleep-deprived mind was only half functioning. If she were rested and relaxed, could she break through the mental walls blocking her memories?

To add to her stress, Brady’s appearance a few days ago had shaken her. She had been too flustered and emotionally wrung to deal with him. Why was he offering to help now after making it clear six months ago he didn’t want her in his life?

Going over the incident outside the gallery, she was bothered by how rude and hostile she had been to him. Brady had walked out of her life over a year ago and she wanted to get over him.

She’d met Brady at a barbecue at a police colleague’s home. Reilly had brought his younger brother, the Special Forces pararescueman who was on leave from the air force. The attraction and chemistry had been instant and hot. Susan had never experienced a connection that strong with a stranger.

Brady had strolled over to her and introduced himself. Susan preferred to be the listener in conversations, but Brady had drawn her out. He had asked her questions about her work and her hobbies. She’d loved telling him about her artwork, her sketches, her paintings and the photographs she took. His focused interest in her had made it easy to talk to him. He’d made her feel as if everything she said to him was incredibly riveting.

By the time the party was breaking up, Susan and Brady had been talking for four hours. They’d spoken on the phone every day after that, had their first date a week later and remained together through Brady’s deployments over the next several years. His returns home had been wonderful and exciting.

She’d never seen the breakup coming.

Susan had told herself and her friends she was over him.

Then, six months ago, Reilly had told her that Brady had been injured in combat, and the fear that had struck her had left her physically shaken. Reilly hadn’t known much about his brother’s condition, only that he was en route to the nearest hospital for surgery. Brady had returned to America after a few days to recuperate and by that time, Susan had been engulfed with worry. She’d had to see him. She couldn’t stop herself. Susan had to know he was okay.

He hadn’t seemed okay. She had sensed a heavy, underlying resentment and anger in him. Though she could chalk some of that up to his negative feelings for her, more had been at play. Brady hadn’t been willing to confide in her. She’d wanted to help him, but he wouldn’t let her in. He had dismissed her, turning her worry for him to frustration with herself. What had she expected Brady to say to her? That he was sorry? To offer some explanation for why he’d broken up with her?

That his rejection had hurt was telling. She wasn’t over Brady. She couldn’t write him out of her life. Her unresolved feelings for Brady doubled her guilt over Justin. Why wasn’t she grieving for Justin as deeply as she’d grieved when she’d lost Brady?

Susan turned off the television. She wasn’t paying attention to it anyway. Though sleep had eluded her many nights, she was exhausted and her eyes were heavy with fatigue. If she were lucky, she would fall into dreamless sleep.

* * *

Susan awoke to the sound of Brady’s voice. Was she dreaming? Sweat covered her skin and her sheets were knotted around her body. Why was it so hot? What was that sound? She fought with the blankets to get some air.

A shadow appeared and grabbed her by the shoulders. Susan screamed and coughed, her voice choked by the heavy air. Her eyes were burning and adrenaline spiked in her veins.

“Susan, it’s Brady. Your house is on fire. We have to get out.” He tore the rest of the blankets away from her body.

Brady? What was he doing in her room?

She wore only a blue nightshirt, her legs bare. She needed clothes. Brady didn’t give her time to think or react. He dragged her to the ground, and the floor was hot under her hands and knees. She followed him at a crawl out of her room and into the hallway.

The front door at the bottom of the stairs was open. They crouched low as they thundered down the stairs. Brady stayed next to her, keeping one guiding hand on her back. Smoke warred with the oxygen in the air. Susan coughed, cupping her sleeve over her mouth, trying to draw fresh air. None existed. Brady’s gaze met hers, and alarm flickered in his eyes while the flames crackled and hissed around them.

“Keep going,” Brady shouted over the roar of the fire.

The heat from the fire was unbearable and her lungs heaved. Fresh air. They had to get outside. The house groaned and screeched under the assault from the fire. Dizziness assailed her and she grabbed at Brady to steady herself. He slid his hands around her and under her knees and carried her from the house.

The cold night air refreshed her, a dramatic change from the heat inside. Brady set her on the ground.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Susan stared at her home, now consumed in flames. Was she okay? No. She wasn’t. This incident alone was bad. On top of everything else, it was cataclysmic.

Confusion and sadness weighed heavy on her heart. How had this happened? She hadn’t lit a fire in the hearth that night. Hadn’t cooked dinner after work. Didn’t fix herself a cup of tea to relax. How had this fire, which was now consuming her home, her artwork and her possessions, started?

Questions flashed in rapid succession and she spoke the two that repeated most often. “What happened? Why are you here?” She’d made it clear outside the gallery she wouldn’t—couldn’t—see him. It hurt too much.

Then again, him saving her life put a fresh, bewildering twist on her feelings. Gratitude, desire and security mixed with guilt in a heady cocktail, jumbling her emotions.

Brady rubbed at his knee, pain written on his face. His injury! She’d been worried about herself and her house. What about Brady? He’d risked his life for her.

“Are you hurt? Is your knee okay?” she asked before he could answer her first questions.

He looked at her unblinking, emotionless. “I don’t know what happened. I saw the flames, called 911 and rushed inside. I didn’t hear your smoke detectors going off.”

Had they malfunctioned? Or was something more sinister afoot? Susan had never been the paranoid type, but events over the past week had put her on high alert. “Why are you here?” she asked again.

Brady shifted on his legs and stood, shaking out his right leg. “I explained the other day why I’ve been hanging around. Reilly’s gotten caught up in this and I need the truth. He’s worried about you, and given the current state of his career, he can’t look out for you. He wants me to.”

Susan’s jaw slackened. Her friendship with Reilly didn’t include talking about Brady often. He was a subject they both avoided. Reilly knew she wouldn’t be comfortable with Brady involved in her life. “I asked you to leave me alone and you were spying on me?”

He blew out his breath. “No, Susan, come on. I was making sure you were safe.”

Had he been the person she’d sensed watching her? She shivered, feeling a combination of cold and uneasy. “Did you look in my windows?”

Brady’s eyes narrowed in indignation. “No, dang, Susan, I’m not a creepy pervert. I was making sure you got home from work safely and no one was harassing you.”

“I’m trying to handle things.” She shivered again and rubbed her arms. Brady removed his jacket and slipped it over her body. It smelled like a combination of smoke and Brady. The scent of him was both comforting and arousing.

Brady glanced at her burning house. “I’m seeing a number of threats coming in your direction and while I know you’re independent and can handle yourself, I don’t know if you realize who you’re up against.”

Brady wanted to help her. Protect her. Had Brady figured out something she hadn’t? Susan had tried to sort out how her life had spun out of control. She had tried to remember what had happened the night Justin had died. She had come up empty on answers in both cases.

Every time Justin’s name came to mind, which was at least a hundred times a day, guilt and hurt slammed her in the gut. That she wasn’t emotionally shattered by his death only compounded the guilt. She missed him and she was sorry for his family and what they were going through, but she wasn’t experiencing the gut-twisting, heart-wrenching heartbreak of lost love. She had been on his boat before he’d died and she couldn’t recall anything to help the police. Had she been involved? She wasn’t a temperamental woman, but the circumstances made her question everything.

Justin had been a good man. He’d deserved better than a violent death. “I don’t know who I’m up against because I don’t know anyone who would do this to me.”

“Justin’s murderer.”

Susan tried to wrap her mind around Brady’s words. “If the person who killed Justin wanted me dead, they could have killed me that night, too.”

Brady’s face took on a serious expression. “My theory is that you were a good scapegoat for his murder and now that enough time has passed to leave the investigative trail cold, you’re a loose end that needs to be tied off.”

Chapter 2

Brady’s words slammed into her like a hammer. Someone wanted her dead? “Who would kill Justin and try to hurt me?” Susan asked.

“That’s the big question,” Brady said.

Susan rubbed at her temples where a headache of massive proportions was brewing. “This doesn’t make any sense. I don’t have enemies.”

Brady inclined his head. “You don’t exactly have any friends in your corner right now either. Well, except my brothers and me.”

If she allowed Brady in her life, would he explain why he had walked out of it to begin with and give her closure?

No, that wasn’t like Brady. Discussing emotions wasn’t on the agenda. As much as she had wanted to be part of his world, as intimate as her relationship had been with Brady, she had never reached the status of being family to him. She remained outside his inner circle, an inner circle he didn’t allow anyone inside except his parents and his brothers. Bitterness oozed from her chest and she worked to hide it. She had tried. She’d put her best into her relationship with Brady, and despite their chemistry and the effort she’d made, it had still failed.

If nothing else, his reappearance in her life had given her something to think about aside from the fire and Justin’s death. Though she hated to admit it, she felt safer with Brady around. He had a way of taking control of a situation and putting her at ease.

But how much could she rely on him? Was he sticking around this time, or would he bail if it got too complicated? History could repeat itself.

The cold had begun to cut through his jacket and her nightshirt. She shivered and rubbed her legs. Approaching sirens sounded in the distance.

“Come with me,” Brady said. “I have a blanket in my truck.”

He helped her to her feet and limped to his truck, one arm supporting her. Brady hadn’t answered her question about his injury. He was in pain, but he hid it well. Brady dug a blanket from the back of his truck, wrapped it around her legs and told her to wait in the cab. The truck sheltered her from the wind and biting cold, but not from the view of her home.

Her house was still in flames, her possessions destroyed. All she had left were the pajamas she was wearing and the necklace she’d gotten from Haley, one of the few people who’d stood beside her since Justin’s death. Susan watched helplessly as the fire trucks arrived and firefighters hooked up their hoses, pouring water onto the farmhouse. Despite their efforts, it was too late to do any good. The farmhouse was old, the wiring outdated, and the fire had been merciless.

No one had been hurt, and she was glad of that, but everything that mattered to her had been taken in an instant.

The ambulance arrived and the paramedic assessed them both, first treating Brady, who had an injury on his arm. An EMT procured a pair of sweatpants, a sweatshirt and a pair of shoes from a neighbor for Susan to wear over her nightshirt.

Hadn’t she suffered her share of heartbreak in the past week? What did she have left? Her eyes drifted to Brady. Once the most important man in her life, she couldn’t trust him. He’d hurt her once. He’d do it again.

Two police officers walked toward her and dread coiled in Susan’s stomach. She had no reason to fear these officers and yet, her experiences with the police in the last week had been less than stellar. Borderline catastrophic.

When they approached, Brady broke away from the paramedic and came closer, positioning himself at her side. “Thank you for the speedy response time,” Brady said to the officers.

Susan glanced at him. Nothing on his face gave away sarcasm. Why was he playing nice? Reilly was a detective, one of the best. Did Brady know these officers through his brother?

“We need some information from you,” one of the officers said, directing the statement at Susan.

When she’d been brought in for questioning after Justin’s murder, she’d known to ask for a lawyer. Did she need one now? “Do I need an attorney?” Asking the question made her feel guilty though she’d done nothing wrong.

The two officers exchanged looks.

“We’re not holding you under suspicion of starting the fire. If our investigation leads in that direction, we will need you available for questions,” the other officer said.

“If you’re uncomfortable saying anything now, we can go to the station later with your lawyer,” Brady said.

Brady was behaving as if they were friends. They weren’t friends. They were barely civil to each other, tonight being the exception. “I can talk now,” she said.

Susan was relieved that the officers needed only her basic information and promised to call when the fire investigator had finished examining the scene.

When the officers walked away, Brady knelt in front of her and looked her dead in the eyes. “What were you doing right before the fire?”

Did he think she had something to do with the fire? The idea infuriated her. “I was sleeping. And before that, I was watching TV.”

Behind Brady, a movement in the trees bordering her property caught her attention. She paused, squinted, trying to see who—or what—was there. Was it another nosy neighbor, her imagination on overdrive or someone with malicious intentions? She hadn’t called the police to report her unease and sense of being watched. They wouldn’t have believed her and she didn’t want to add fuel to their case against her by appearing insane. As far as the authorities were concerned, she was a criminal and every moment she had outside jail was a gift.

Another movement in the trees. “Brady.” His name left her mouth in a whisper.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, leaning close.

Their gazes locked and for a moment, Susan lost herself in his dark eyes. Brady had the same dark eyes as his brother Reilly, but at close range, she could see flecks of light brown the color of wheat in them. She let him draw her close, even when every other thought screamed warnings to stay away.

Though she felt silly for speaking the words, it felt important to tell someone. “I thought I saw someone in the trees.”

Brady didn’t question her. He didn’t tell her she was seeing things because she was tired. “I’ll look. Stay here.” He stalked in that direction to check it out, his limp drawing her attention. He disappeared into the dark and worry fogged her brain. If Brady was still recovering from his injury, could he protect himself? She had never before questioned his abilities. Before he’d been wounded, Brady had been a force to be reckoned with. She believed him strong and capable. If nothing else, sheer will drove him.

She waited for Brady to return. When he reappeared, his limp was less noticeable. Was it an injury that came and went? Was that a good sign for his recovery?

“Did you see anyone?” she asked. Please let Brady have seen something that would help.

He stilled. “No. I didn’t.” He spoke the words quietly.

She took a deep breath against the battering disappointment. If anyone had been there, Brady would have found him or her. Had she imagined the shadow? Lately, she’d felt on display every time she left the house. Neighbors and friends had turned on her, blaming her for Justin’s death, whispering behind her back. Those who knew her mother and her father whispered about history repeating itself. Their stares had made her paranoid. “I thought someone was there. I swear someone was watching me.”

“Maybe it was a neighbor, coming to see if you were okay.”

“Right,” she said, anger lacing the word. She’d lived in Denver all her life, and in this neighborhood for the past ten years. Everyone knew her by name, knew who she was. Some had purchased her artwork and had it hanging in their homes. Friendships and relationships had splintered the moment Justin was murdered and the police had made it clear she was their top suspect. Few people wanted to be seen with her and those who did were punished. Like Reilly.

Susan coughed, the cold of the night sharp against her lungs and disappointment heavy on her shoulders. She felt trapped and without options. Her life was falling apart and at the moment, Brady’s help was the only lifeline dangling within reach.

* * *

Brady studied Susan’s face. Exhaustion framed her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping well. The urge to pull her into his arms was overwhelming. He wanted to do something, anything to make her feel better. Though he wasn’t here to comfort her, gentleness and kindness could help. He could relax her and earn her trust. He’d coax the missing information out of her.

He’d meant to help her as a friend. But when it came to being close to her, touching her, those boundaries were unclear and his body had its own ideas. Making love with Susan had always put them both at ease. Kissing her had been a lengthy and intensely pleasurable activity. She liked having her feet rubbed and her calves massaged at the end of a difficult day and he’d been happy to oblige her. Taking care of her had been important to him.

Brady quashed those thoughts. That was the past. The landscape of the present was much different.

Susan’s fiancé hadn’t been dead a week. She was heartbroken and grieving. She didn’t want Brady in her life. She certainly wouldn’t want him in her bed. If she knew what he was thinking, she would shut him out completely.

Her current frame of mind wasn’t conducive to learning what he needed to about Justin’s murder. Brady would have to win back her trust. Maybe they would never stand on the same ground they once had, but he’d settle for getting close enough to help his brother.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Brady asked her.

Susan rubbed her forehead. “I can call my mother.”

That wouldn’t be easy on her. Susan didn’t have a good relationship with her mother and if anything, her mother would add stress. “I don’t know what’s going on yet, but from what I can see, this investigation is being bungled. Badly. The police suspect you. They’re not looking out for you. I can. I will. Stay with me. I’ll keep you safe,” Brady said.

Wariness flickered across Susan’s face. “That isn’t a good idea.”

It was a great idea. He could keep her close, protect her and work on establishing a friendship with her. “I’m planning to watch over you and keep you safe. I can continue to follow you around, or you can make it easy on me and stay close.”

“Easier on you?” Susan asked.

Brady shrugged. “It will be harder on my leg if I have to follow you around all the time with you working to dodge me.”

Indecision and a hint of compassion flickered across her face. “Staying together will create more problems than it solves.”

For her or for him? He could control himself. Brady knew Susan well enough to read her emotions. She needed someone to look out for her. She was run-down and exhausted. A gentle push and she’d agree. “You need a place to stay. You need someone to watch your back. I can offer both, no strings attached.” Why had he felt the need to add the last phrase? Of course he wouldn’t expect any attachment from her. He’d had his chance for her love and friendship and had blown it. Twice. Once when he’d broken up with her and again when she’d visited him in the hospital. Now, she was hurting, her heart broken over another man and she needed time to heal.

Susan folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t have much choice at the moment, do I?”

He didn’t mince words. “No, you don’t.” Given Justin’s murder, Reilly’s suspicions and the events of the evening, Susan needed someone to protect her. Brady would be that man. His knee stung as if to remind him he was working with a deficiency.

He hated that he was weak and questions about his abilities flickered through his thoughts. She’d agreed to stay with him, but if tested, would his injury get in the way and prevent him from protecting her? Would he fail again at his duty, leaving Susan for dead and Reilly paying the price for a crime he didn’t commit?

* * *

Ten minutes later, Susan was buckling her seat belt in Brady’s truck. The same pickup truck he had driven when they’d dated. She ran her fingers over the dash, memories invading her senses. Before she could tumble into reminiscing about the past, a loud voice screamed in her mind to stay somewhere else. Anywhere else. Staying with Brady was a mistake. The last time she’d spent the night at his place, they’d been lovers.

The last day they’d been together before Brady ended their relationship, they’d spent at the park. The weather had been unseasonably warm and Susan had her new camera and lenses. Brady had played in a pickup football game with a few friends he’d run into. He hadn’t wanted to leave her especially when he had limited free time, but she’d enjoyed sitting on the sidelines and taking pictures. Justin had been playing in the game that day, as well. It was the first time she had met him.

She’d sensed the tension between Justin and Brady right away and had chalked it up to good-natured competition on the football field. It was only later, after her relationship with Brady was over and she’d been dating Justin, that Justin had explained he’d known Brady from their time in the military. They’d been in basic training together though their careers had taken different paths. Much to his father’s disappointment, Justin had left the air force after a couple of years, preferring work as an accountant, and Brady had remained in the service.

Susan had loved watching Brady play football. Her camera captured him in action as he ran down the field, the look on his face when he caught the ball and his intensity immediately before a big play. She’d planned to take a few of the best shots and arrange them in a photo frame as a gift for his mother. With the holidays coming up, she and Brady had been talking about their plans and Susan had been hoping for an invitation to his parents’ house for Christmas.

Susan had never gotten the opportunity to edit and print the photos for Brady’s mother. Without Brady in her life, it had been one of the loneliest Christmases she could recall.

Brady had meant more to her than she had to him. She had been tied in from her soul. Brady had his own way of connecting and yet keeping her at arm’s length. The only way she knew how to move on was to forget what she could and leave the past behind.

They’d been on unequal emotional footing. If she was going to survive this, she had to be as cold and detached as he was. She was too tired to think of alternative places to stay, but tomorrow, when she was fresh, she would relocate. “Thank you again for helping me. I’ll find another place tomorrow.”

“You can stay as long as you need to, darlin’. I’m not rushing you out. I want to keep you safe.”

Darlin’. A casual endearment he’d used a thousand times in the past. The urge to lean closer and rest her head on his shoulder nearly overpowered her. She could let Brady take the reins and make decisions and figure out what had happened to Justin. But that wouldn’t be safe for her heart. It wouldn’t end well. It couldn’t. She would too easily give him her trust and her heart, and he would leave her again with more questions and more anger.

Susan closed her eyes and sealed off her heart from the barrage of memories and emotions that swirled inside her. Worrying about Brady should fall dead last on her list. She was emotionally debilitated by the events of the week. With a little sleep and time to think, she’d stop picturing Brady taking control, stop imagining Brady as her lover and shut down those worthless feelings for good.

“I have some charcoal and paper if you need it.”

Her eyes popped open at the sound of Brady’s voice. The melodic quality spoke to her, made her feel hot and tingly. Why hadn’t she put those sensuous feelings to rest long ago? He’d walked away from her. She’d reached out to him in the hospital when he might have needed a friend, and he’d rejected her. No explanations, no apologies. Her suspicions rose. “Why do you have charcoal?”

“You made it look easy when you drew. You swore it was therapeutic. When the shrink at the hospital insisted I give a new hobby a shot, I tried drawing.”

Brady had tried drawing with charcoal? He’d never expressed interest in art before. “I’m surprised you gave it a chance. Did you like it?”

“I couldn’t draw anything. I tried. You create beautiful pictures and make it look effortless. Most of my attempts looked like scribbles and smudges a blindfolded preschooler would draw.”

Despite the heaviness of her heart, she laughed. It was a laugh she needed and some of the tension released in her chest. “You need time to work with them,” she said. “Art doesn’t come quickly to everyone. Maybe you’d do better with a different medium. Like photography.” She touched the owl necklace at her neck, combination jewelry and storage device where she kept pictures she cherished. Though photography had been a hobby since her teens, she’d gotten more serious with it when she’d been dating Brady. He’d been an amazing subject. “We offer introductory classes at the gallery.”

“I don’t think I was cut out for artwork,” Brady said. “A hobby that frustrates me isn’t what the shrink has in mind.”

It was the second time he’d mentioned the therapist and it startled her. Brady was normally closed off about anything that affected him emotionally. She’d suspected his physical injuries had a deeper impact on him. To what degree was he coping? Losing his position with the pararescuemen had to have devastated him. His career had meant a great deal to him. He’d put it before everything else. Including her.

“Why the mighty frown?” he asked.

Susan needed to better censor her facial expressions. Especially around Brady. A natural observer, he watched the world around him and was excellent at deciphering thoughts and feelings from a look, a movement or a hand motion. Despite his outgoing and high-energy nature, when he wanted to relax, he could sit for hours and observe. They had done that together some days. She with her sketch pad in her lap, using what she saw for inspiration and Brady with his arm around her. She slammed closed the door on those memories. They were too painful to revisit now.

“Just thinking.” She had enough problems in her life. She didn’t need to give specifics.

“We’ll work this out.”

He sounded sure of himself and that was classic Brady. Determined when he set his mind to it. But if solving the case were that easy, the police would have done so by now. Granted, from the beginning the lead investigator had seemed bent on blaming her.

“The police haven’t come up with anything and all that’s keeping me out of jail is that Justin’s body hasn’t been found.” Sadness bit into her. Justin deserved a proper burial to bring closure to his family and the people who’d loved him.

A muscle flexed in Brady’s jaw. “The killer probably disposed of the body in the water. It would be difficult to carry it down the pier without being seen.”

“The police divers haven’t found anything yet. They’re waiting for a body to wash up on shore,” Susan said. The image of Justin’s body floating in the water made her sick.

“The detective in charge of the case is eager to wrap up the investigation and please the mayor and Justin’s father. He’s looking for a promotion. He’s taking the most likely suspect and the most likely scenario and swallowing it as fact,” Brady said.

Susan had gotten the same impression from the police, that they either hadn’t found other suspects or hadn’t considered them. “I don’t know what other options they have.”

“They can do better. Since it’s unlikely they will, it’s up to us. You were at the scene. You know what happened. You can remember.”

She whirled on him. “I can’t, Brady. If you think I’m lying about remembering, you can let me out of the truck now. If I knew what happened, I would tell you. For that matter, I would have told the police. That night is a black box. I feel terrible about it. I feel terrible knowing Justin died and I was in the room. I didn’t do anything to stop it. I haven’t been useful in helping the police find his killer. I haven’t remembered anything important. I don’t know what happened that night.”

Susan let out her breath in a rush. His questions called to mind her doubts about her involvement. She couldn’t imagine a scenario where she would physically assault Justin, but the few scraps of evidence pointed to her. Which is why she hadn’t told the police that she had broken up with Justin. It would only make her look guiltier. She’d realized she’d never been in love with him, and pretending and lying to herself was a mistake. Starting a relationship with Justin when her heart was broken over Brady hadn’t worked. Susan should have ended the relationship before it escalated into a marriage proposal. Her track record with men was pathetic.

First Brady, then Justin. When it came to love, she made terrible decisions. “I don’t know what happened,” she repeated.

“Whoa, whoa,” Brady said, holding up his palm. “I wasn’t accusing you. I know you can’t remember. Harris thinks given the right conditions and enough time you might. I wasn’t implying you were lying.”

Susan ran a hand through her hair. “I’ve tried a thousand times to remember what happened. I’ve gone over and over that night and tried to figure out where it went wrong.” She had been on the boat at Justin’s invitation. She’d regretted visiting the boat and wondered if under different circumstances Justin would still be alive. What if she hadn’t ended their engagement, and instead they had been out that night at a movie? What if they had decided to stay in and have dinner at her place?

“Maybe the problem is that you’re trying too hard. Putting too much pressure on yourself,” Brady said.

Relaxing wouldn’t come easily. Brady had an infuriating way of simplifying matters. “Maybe I should take a few days at the spa and see if anything comes to mind.” Her fingernails bit into her hand. “Oh, wait. Everywhere I go, people look at me as if I’m a pariah, so that wouldn’t be fun. I don’t have any money or any clothes and they frown on that at the spa.”

Her voice was reaching near shrieking. The shaking in her hands gave away how upset she was getting. She went quiet and took several long, deep breaths. Since Justin had died, she’d been teetering on the edge of losing her composure a dozen times a day.

“Feel better?” Brady asked.

“No,” she said, snapping at him.

“Why didn’t you call me when you knew you were in trouble?” Brady asked.

The question was ridiculous. Brady didn’t want her in his life. He only wanted her around now to help Reilly. “And say what?”

“That you needed help. I would have come.”

When Brady had rejected her again at the hospital, she’d written him out of her life permanently. She’d worked up a lot of courage to visit him. He’d shot down her attempts at civility and friendship.

“I don’t think of you as part of my life anymore.” As a friend. Or as anyone she could count on.

Brady didn’t respond. She could read his reaction. He was hurt. “Brady—” She hadn’t been trying to throw verbal daggers at him.

He shook his head. “You’re right. I don’t deserve your friendship.”

He turned his truck off the road onto a dirt path.

Susan didn’t have the emotional energy to talk about their crippled relationship. “Where are we going?” she asked, not recognizing the location.

“My place. I moved.”

Trees lined both sides of the winding dirt path. No streets signs were posted along the road. The divots in the road made the truck bounce and Brady navigated to avoid downed tree branches. It was not a welcoming place; in fact, it was borderline foreboding. Why had Brady chosen to live here?

The truck’s headlights illuminated a small cabin at the end of the dirt road. No other lights brightened the area.

“This is where you live?” she asked. She didn’t see neighbors or other cars.

“For now.”

“Alone?” she asked.

“My landlord has a place farther down the road.”

Susan squinted into the dark. What road? Choosing to live here was a deliberate way of separating himself from the world.

She didn’t comment further. As isolated as it was, it was a step up from the trailer park where her mother lived. At least here, she’d be with someone who could protect her if Justin’s murderer made another attempt on her life.

They climbed out of the car and Brady circled to her side. The man had presence, and Susan was aware of how close he stood even though she couldn’t see him in the dark. He radiated dominance and strength.

Brady set his hand on her lower back and she shivered. Touching was not a good idea, but Susan couldn’t see where they were and allowed the contact.

Brady escorted her to the front door, opened it and turned on a light. She was greeted by a tiny, dark space, with mismatched furniture, clothing and other items in general disarray. This wasn’t like him. Military life, with its rules and organization, had suited him.

What had happened to him? What had happened to her? They had once been happy, in love and with high hopes for the future. Brady had once shown up at the police station to surprise her, tracking her down through Reilly and Haley. Susan had been working with victims on a particularly tough case and he’d been patient and supportive, bringing carryout Chinese food for everyone involved in the case and waiting for her to finish her sketches of the suspects. The case had been a disturbing one and she had been grateful to have Brady with her that night.

He had been her best friend and he’d walked out of her life. The memory of the past and the events of the night came booming down on her. A sob caught in her throat.

“Hey, darlin’, everything is fine.” Brady came behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

He read her emotions even when she tried to suppress them. They’d had a finger-snap close connection from the moment they’d met. Brady could be across a crowded room and with one look, know what she was thinking. That connection had been too much too fast and had burned out. Nothing that hot and intense could burn indefinitely.

Brady’s fingers rubbed her shoulders, unknotting the tension that had been building since she had woken up on Justin’s boat with his blood on her hands. Brady’s comforting gesture sent pulses of heat over her skin, across her body, pooling in her chest. Her body remembered, and reacted to, his touch. To this day, making love with Brady had been the most amazing intimate experience of her life. The closeness and tenderness she’d shared with him couldn’t be replicated with someone else. She knew. She’d tried, pretended and failed.

Guilt assailed her for having those thoughts. Shouldn’t she be focused on her grief for Justin, not her anger and unresolved feelings for Brady? Though her romantic feelings for Justin had been gone for some time, he’d been an important part of her life. He deserved respect and remembrance.

The urge to turn and bury her face against Brady was overwhelming. When he took her in his arms, he made her feel better. Treasured. Loved. Even if it was a charade, it was one he played well. She had believed it and believed him. To reach out and try to reclaim that small bit of happiness was tempting. To press against him, to kiss him, to run her hands over his strong body. The way they’d moved together, made love together and danced together had been in complete harmony. Was it wrong to want a few minutes of relief from the constant ache in her chest?

She battled her wild emotions, beating them back with a vengeance. It would be wrong to give in to her urges. Susan couldn’t protect her heart if she let Brady hold her. Fool her twice, shame on her. Susan shrugged away his hands. She wouldn’t let herself fall for this again. Her life was chaotic enough.

“You can’t say everything will be fine. You don’t know how bad it is. I don’t understand why this is happening to me and you can’t possibly explain it.”

Brady turned her to face him, but didn’t let his hands linger on her. “That’s true. I don’t have any idea what you’ve been through since Justin died.” Was it her imagination or did his voice catch over Justin’s name?

His eyes drilled into hers. “You and Reilly are good people who got caught in something bad. I think Justin might have had a side he kept secret from you.”

Justin and Brady didn’t get along and they never had. They tolerated each other and they’d been cordial. Even so, accusing Justin of being two-faced struck her as wrong. She wanted to remember the good things about Justin, not harp on his negative traits.

“Justin was a good man. What do you think Justin hid from me?” She’d force Brady to back up his words.

“I’m sure he didn’t tell you everything about his life.”

“Perhaps, but he didn’t go out of his way to hide anything either,” Susan said.

“He told you why he left the military?” Brady asked in a tone that peeved her.

Justin had talked about his time in the military. “He didn’t like it. It wasn’t for him,” Susan said. “Not everyone enjoys risking their life for the adrenaline high.” She didn’t add that Justin’s father being a high-ranking officer in the air force had set expectations on Justin that had been difficult for him to achieve.

“Okay,” Brady said, his expression blank.

Anger incensed her. What was he not telling her? “‘Okay?’ What does ‘okay’ mean?”

Brady crossed his arms over his chest. “It means I don’t think he told you everything.”

“If you know something, tell me.” A demand. She was in no mood to coax the information from him.

Brady ran a hand through his hair and waited a few moments before answering. “Justin didn’t voluntarily leave the air force. He was kicked out. His dad pulled strings to keep him from being dishonorably discharged and preventing his offenses from being made public. It was more than him not liking the lifestyle. It was him not liking to follow rules.”

Susan narrowed her eyes. “His offenses? And what rules?”

“Word got around base that Justin and a few others had trouble keeping their hands out of the company till. They were accepting kickbacks from vendors who supplied the base’s convenience stores with food and drinks.”

Justin had never mentioned anything about it to her. “I can’t believe he would do that. Especially with who his father is.”

Brady snorted. “I think his father is why he did it. Justin didn’t like that his father was in charge of enforcing the rules. Tim Ambrose doesn’t let anyone forget he’s in charge and he likes to be in control. Justin bucked the system when he could.”

Susan had met Justin’s father several times and she’d gotten the impression he wasn’t happy with her as his son’s choice for a girlfriend. She’d assumed it was a hang-up about her past, maybe her humble upbringing or her mother’s problems with the law. Perhaps he hadn’t liked that he couldn’t control Justin’s decisions in regards to her. “Justin didn’t strike me as a rule-breaker.” If Brady was right, she had been in the dark about that part of Justin’s life. It wasn’t an “if” Brady was telling the truth. Trumans didn’t lie, even when the truth hurt. Susan couldn’t help but wonder what else she was in the dark about when it came to Justin. Something that would make him enemies? Something that would get him killed?

“I must sound like a fool for not knowing these things about Justin.”

“Not a fool, just a woman who sees the best in people. Don’t waste energy worrying about it. We’ll figure this out together.”

Susan closed her eyes. When he said together, she saw them as a team. With Brady, no such concept of team or partner existed. He ran the show and brought people along for the ride. In most circumstances, she didn’t mind. Life with Brady was exciting and ever-changing. In this case, Susan wanted control. She wanted to do everything possible to clear her name. “If the police don’t know about Justin’s checkered past in the air force, maybe I should tell them. Maybe it will help them connect Justin to someone bad he was involved with in the present.”

Brady shook his head. “Bringing a theory like that to the police without evidence won’t help. Justin’s father is involved in the case and calling the shots, at least from behind the scenes. He won’t allow Justin’s name to be dragged through the mud by allowing the past to enter the equation.”

What about her good name? Everything she could think to do wasn’t working. “When I’ve had some sleep, I’ll feel better,” Susan said. She’d been telling herself things like that for the past week. Every time she thought them, they were a lie. Nothing made her feel better or eased the guilt she carried.

“I’ll throw clean sheets on my bed for you. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She couldn’t expect him to do that. He’d done enough and she didn’t want to feel indebted to him. “I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Half the time I sleep on the couch anyway. Don’t give it another thought.”

He put fresh sheets on the bed and tidied his room, tossing laundry in the hamper. He put a pair of clothes for her on the end of the bed. “These might be too big, but they’re clean. I’ll put out a towel for you in the bathroom.”

Formal. Like they were strangers. She’d spent the night with Brady many times before and this felt bizarre.

Brady went to his safe next to his dresser and opened it, pulling out his gun. He checked it for bullets. “Holler if you need anything,” he said over his shoulder.

He closed the safe and left the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

She’d never seen him remove his gun from the safe before tonight. He was taking the threat to her life seriously.

Susan pushed aside her worries about staying at Brady’s and her anxiety about Brady needing to use the gun. It was late and she was tired. The day had been long and difficult. A quick shower to scrub the smoke and fire stink off her and then sleep would feel great. She wouldn’t think about what waited for her tomorrow. She would take one day at a time. Same as she had when her father had been murdered.

Exhaustion tugged at her and she hurried through a shower. If she weren’t covered in smoke and grime, she might have skipped it altogether. She dressed in Brady’s clothes and crawled into bed, closing her eyes, knowing Brady would find his way, unwanted, into her dreams.

* * *

Brady shifted on the couch and reached under it to check his gun. He wanted it in arm’s reach. Not since his work as a pararescueman had he needed to sleep with a gun beside him. Then, he’d had his team around providing backup.

Alone with Susan, he was her sole protector. Was he up to the task? His skills were out of practice and he wasn’t nimble on his feet. When he’d been with the pararescuemen, he’d worked with in-depth intel, extensive resources and top-of-the-line equipment. In protecting Susan, he had none of that. He didn’t even know whom he was protecting her from.

Doubts ran through him, but the events of the last week didn’t leave him much choice. He needed to look out for Susan. Brady wasn’t naïve enough to believe whoever was stalking Susan would give up.

Someone believed Susan knew something about Justin’s murder and they didn’t want it revealed. If they believed it, then Harris might be right and Susan held the key to solving Justin’s murder. Had she been drugged? Or was she blocking the trauma of the memory?

Brady’s knee ached and he reached to massage it. He’d pressed his body hard going into the fire to help Susan. Now that his adrenaline was slowing, he was paying for it. Unable to get comfortable on the couch, he sat up and grabbed the file Harris has given him on Justin’s murder.

Brady had read it a dozen times and thought it over twice that often. He’d made his own notes in the margins, most of which consisted of questions without answers.

His attention swerved to a noise at the front door. Was someone testing the front lock, trying to open the door? Harris stopping by again uninvited? Brady’s landlord made an appearance only when it was a matter of life and death. Connor was also former Special Forces and more of a recluse than Brady was. He hated trespassers.

Brady wasn’t taking chances. He retrieved his gun from under the couch and checked again that it was loaded. He wouldn’t open fire until he saw who was foolish enough to break into his home.

Scratching at the door. A screwdriver trying to pry it open? He didn’t have a window facing the front and the door didn’t have a peephole. He could swing the door open and surprise whoever was there, but he’d prefer to know who was on the other side. What if more than one person was looking for Susan? How quickly could Brady take them out and prevent them from getting to her?

Doubts flooded his mind. His Special Forces training had taught him that success in an operation was ninety percent mental. Brady had failed in a big way once, letting down his team and himself when the stakes were life and death. Brady pictured himself freezing, gun in hand, letting an enemy get the advantage. He shook off the memory. Could he succeed now when the stakes were as high?

Wood breaking sounded loud against the silence of the room. The door gave way under the weight of a man dressed in black. The man swung a gun around the room, sweeping for occupants.

Brady ducked behind the couch and strained to listen. Was anyone else attempting to get inside the house? His landlord, a paranoid SOB, had built one doorway entry into the house, but the cabin had several windows in the other rooms. Brady listened for the sound of breaking glass.

The floor creaked as the intruder moved around the room. Brady waited, following his movements. The intruder tracked closer to the bedroom, much too close to Susan for Brady’s comfort. He needed to get between Susan and the attacker.

“Drop your weapon and I won’t kill you,” Brady said. His knee might be damaged, but his aim was impeccable.

“I could say the same to you,” the man said, pivoting in Brady’s direction.

Brady prayed Susan stayed asleep or at least remained in his bedroom, where she was safer. “Last chance,” Brady said.

“Don’t get involved in this. I don’t want you. I want her.”

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the room, followed by Susan’s scream. Someone was in Susan’s room!

Brady moved his position and aimed. What if Susan came out of her room and he hit her? What if the bullet ricocheted? Anxiety tightened his throat and Brady pressed down on his shoulders and steadied his hands.

A red beam traced across the room from the attacker’s gun, a bullet sure to follow in its path. The attacker squeezed off a shot. Brady heard it whiz by his ear. If he’d been a second later in shifting, he’d have been hit. Brady fired his weapon. His aim was true; the attacker dropped to the ground, injured or dead.

“Susan!” Brady screamed, barging into her room.

Susan, her back to the large dresser across from the bed, was staring in horror at Brady’s landlord. Connor was pressed against the wall to the left of the door, gun in hand. Another masked man was dead on the floor. Connor made an appalling sight, his hair long, a full beard covering his face, his clothes wrinkled and worn. The first time Brady had met him, if he hadn’t known who Connor was, he would have been nervous around him. Connor carried an agitated energy, as if he was ready to spring at any moment.

“Are you okay?” Brady asked Susan.

“What is going on? Who is this? What’s happening?” Her voice shook and her hands trembled.

“This is my landlord, Connor. Someone else broke into the cabin. I took care of it.” Brady swung his attention to Connor. “Anyone else outside?” he asked.

Connor shook his head. “Heard them approach. Loud engine. Should have announced their presence with fireworks. Would have been quieter. Followed this guy inside. Just sorry I didn’t get him before he got through the window.”

Brady hadn’t heard anyone, but that was part of what made Connor spooky. He had an eerie ability to sense trouble. Or had Brady screwed up again? Should he have heard the attackers’ approach before they’d reached the front door? That would have been his first mistake. His second was letting the man get a shot off before stopping him.

Brady had lost his touch. His reactions were slow. Was it more than his physical response failing him? Was he destined to forever make critical mistakes in protecting the people he’d sworn to keep safe?

“Susan’s ex was involved in something and now Susan’s attracted attention from the wrong people,” Brady said.

“They’re trained. Sloppy and loud, but trained,” Connor said, echoing Brady’s thoughts about the attackers.

“Thanks for coming out to help,” Brady said. Connor hated to leave his place. At least, that’s what Brady assumed. He’d never seen the man leave the property. When it came to Connor, Brady didn’t ask questions and respected his desire for privacy.

“Told you when you moved in, I had your back,” Connor said. He nodded toward the broken glass. “I’ll get something to cover that and get it fixed tomorrow. I’ll do a perimeter check tonight. Stupid fools to come on this property.” With that, he strode out the bedroom door.

“We need to call the police,” Brady said.

“No! Not again,” Susan said. “Do you know how this will look? The police think I belong in jail. What will they think when I’m involved in a fire and a killing in the same night? They’ll think I killed him. Them.”

Panic and anxiety twisted her voice to a higher octave. Brady reasoned with her. “First, the gunshot residue will be on my hands, not yours. Someone entered my home. I defended us. We’ve done nothing wrong.” That his shot had hit its mark would be telling to anyone with common sense. An untrained woman with a gun would have had shots that went wild.

“What about the man who Connor killed?” Susan asked.

“Connor will talk to the police about that,” Brady said.

Susan nodded slowly, her eyes skating to the broken window and the man on the floor. “They just burst through the window.”

“We’re lucky Connor was around.”

Susan folded her arms over her chest appearing calmer. “I know we were. I didn’t know at first what was going on. He’s intense.”

“Connor is an interesting man with an interesting story,” Brady said. He wouldn’t share what little he knew with her or anyone. Connor was a private and territorial man who patrolled his grounds like a gray wolf. Brady had been grateful to be allowed to stay at this cabin.

“I don’t want anything more interesting to happen. I want dull. I want boredom and sleep.” Susan’s voice sounded close to breaking into tears.

She was scared and hurting and Brady wanted to stop it. Until he got to the bottom of Justin’s murder, Susan would suffer. It was a consequence he couldn’t live with.

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