"I'm not lying about that. I swear."
I wasn't. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I just wanted to find Thatcher.
And what happens if you have to choose between the Sawyers and Thatcher?
I had to hope that wasn't going to happen because if I had to choose, it wouldn't matter how much I liked Tenn Sawyer. Thatcher was going to come first every time.
Chapter Twelve
TENN
Scarlett melted into me, her lips grazing my neck, her breath soft and warm on my skin. I'd heard tears in her voice. Tears. She could be playing me, but I didn't think so.
I should shut her out. I should stash her and the kid in one of the empty guest rooms, put a guard on the door, and forget about both of them.
Not going to happen. However stupid it might be, I liked her exactly where she was—in my arms, the weight of her full breasts against my chest, the scent of peaches and woman teasing my senses. Whatever was going on that had driven the dauntless Scarlett to tears, it had to be big. She was in over her head, and she needed help.
Hadn't I decided no more damsels in distress? I hadn't had any trouble brushing off Vanessa. And now Vanessa was dead.
It hit me all of a sudden.
Vanessa was dead.
I hadn't liked her. She'd broken Griffen's heart and made Ford miserable, but I'd known her half of my life, and now she was dead.
Scarlett's arm slid around my waist and tightened. Leaning back to tilt her face to mine, she murmured, "What? What's wrong?"
I shook my head, avoiding her eyes. "Nothing. Just thinking about Vanessa." I let out a long breath. "I didn't like her, but—"
"It's not your fault," Scarlett said before I could finish my thought.
How had she known? I found myself saying, "If I'd given her the money—"
"Then you'd be a few hundred grand poorer, and she'd still be dead."
"You don't know that," I couldn't help arguing.
Scarlett reached up to take my face in her hands, forcing my eyes to hers. "Look, I know we just met, and you kidnapped me, so I could be completely wrong about you, but I know for a fact that unless you're secretly The Flash, you didn't shoot Vanessa." I said nothing. The corner of her mouth quirking up, Scarlett tilted her head to the side. "Are you secretly The Flash?"
The kindness in her eyes undid me. I matched her half-smile. "Sadly, I am not secretly The Flash."
Her smile spread to fill her face. "Too bad, August would have gotten a kick out of meeting The Flash. But if you aren't him, then you couldn't have shot Vanessa. And if her killer was at the Inn waiting for her, then I doubt handing her a check would have saved her."
"If they were after the money—"
Scarlett cut me off again. "If they were after the money, they would have let her live to try again. More likely, based on what your police chief said, she was a tool to set you up for murder."
"Still makes me the reason she's dead." That thought landed like a lead balloon in my gut. Before it had a chance to settle, Scarlett lightly smacked my chest to get my attention.
"Don't be an idiot. She's dead because of the person who shot her. Who is not you. And you probably hate this idea, but you're not the bad guy, you're a victim. The only difference between you and Vanessa is that you aren't dead." Her eyes scanned my face slowly, pensive. "Really, when I think about it, you're lucky the killer wanted you in prison, because if he wanted you dead… It happened so fast, I bet Vanessa never saw it coming. You wouldn't have either." She stepped back and cast her gaze around the room. "Makes me glad you have all of this—the house, the security—between you and whoever killed her. If they can't have you in jail, they might just decide to try a bullet again."
I shook my head. "I don't think it's about me specifically. I think it's about my family."
"Then I hope the rest of your family is being careful."
So did I.
A knock fell on the door. I opened it to find Savannah pushing a rolling cart piled high with covered dishes. "Just like a hotel," Scarlett murmured beside me before moving to help Savannah. We got the kids set up at the coffee table while Savannah folded out hidden leaves at the sides of the food cart, turning it into an intimate table for two, complete with a linen tablecloth. Savannah set out a tall, white candle in a sterling silver holder and lit it with a flourish.
I grabbed the chair at my desk and another from the hall as Savannah produced an ice bucket already stocked with a bottle of white wine and lifted the covers off of our dinners. Steak, asparagus, and twice-baked potatoes. Scarlett let out a moan that instantly distracted me from my empty stomach.