Emery didn’t know. She shrugged and said, “It’s a lot, Greer. It’s heavy, jarring, intense, loaded … it’s too much to simply forgive you and go back to the way we …”
He swallowed and his gaze darted to her lips before meeting her eyes again. She wanted to kiss him so badly. She wanted him to hold her while she cried for Travis’s loss one more time, or maybe a dozen more times. She wanted a lot of things from him that she couldn’t focus on right now.
“I need time, Greer.”
It was a flimsy excuse. She needed a lot more than time.
“How long?”
“Weeks, months, years … I don’t know. I honestly might never come to grips with you killing my brother.” It was harsh, but it was true.
He nodded and lifted his hand from her arm. His blue eyes were full of sadness.
Emery pulled in a breath and had to turn away from him. She busied herself getting them both some eggs and toast while he used the bathroom and downed two cups of water.
She’d already eaten, but she forced herself to eat a few bites while he ate quickly. The silence between them was stifling. Emery hated it. She hated how awkward things felt. She wished she could tell him she would come to grips with everything, but it was overwhelming.
His phone rang halfway through breakfast.
“Excuse me,” he murmured.
He stood and walked back into the living room. Emery tried to listen in, but with Greer’s one-word answers, she didn’t get any kind of information. Greer had gradually grown more verbose with her during the time she’d stayed with him, but obviously whoever he was talking to didn’t get much out of him.
Her back door slammed open.
A man carrying a pistol darted in. Emery barely registered his black ski mask. She cried out and stumbled to her feet and away from him, but she wasn’t fast enough. The guy yanked her against his side and shoved the pistol against her forehead with his other hand. Terror made her muscles lock, and she froze in his arms.
Greer appeared in the kitchen doorway, his gun in his hand. “Don’t,” he warned the guy.
“Don’t you tell me what to do,” the man yelled, and Emery recognized his voice. He wastheVoice. Her stomach dropped to her toes. “You’re going to tell me where the weapon is, or I’ll kill her and then I’ll go after your mama or somebody you actually care about.”
Greer’s gaze focused on her. His blue eyes were so full of her, and she knew she was his world. She was in mortal danger, but all she could see was Greer. He was her tough, protective cowboy and he would never let anything happen to her. She was safe with him.
“I love you, Emery,” Greer said.
Emery’s heart raced out of control. He’d said the words, and right before she would probably die.
“What?” the Voice yelled. “Who cares? I’m going to kill her. I’m not messing around here. Go ahead and say your goodbyes. You obviously don’t care about her enough to reveal the weapon for her. What a pathetic excuse for a boyfriend.”
Greer watched the man steadily as he ranted, not responding or so much as flinching.
“Fine,” the Voice sneered. “Your uncle killed my son. Now I’ll kill her for recompense. Then no one is going to stop me. I’m coming to your valley, and I’ll kill Deltas until I find somebody you actually care about.”
The Voice was going insane, and he was going to kill her. She knew it. Emery wanted to tell Greer she loved him, but her throat was so dry and tight and the fear so overwhelming that she couldn’t even speak.
Greer dipped his chin slightly. Emery felt the terror fill her, but during their time together, she had learned to hear what he wasn’t saying. She dropped to the ground a split second before a gunshot pierced the air.
She screamed.
The Voice’s body slammed against her counter and then hit the floor. Blood seeped out of his forehead, saturating his mask. His eyes behind the mask were wide and unseeing.
Emery tried to scramble away. Greer was right there. He holstered his gun, helped her up, and then escorted her out of the kitchen and into the living room. He held her against his chest with his left arm, pulled his phone out with his right, and pushed a button on it.
A second later, he said, “Papa. I killed Flynn Wright’s father. I think he was the Voice.” He looked to Emery for confirmation, and she dipped her chin shakily.
Papa said a bunch of words, but none of them registered in Emery’s mind. All she could see was that blood and the unseeing eyes. Was that how Travis had looked?
Greer pocketed the phone sometime later. Then he turned her into him and held her tight while her body shook with sobs. “You’re okay,” he said softly.
Emery looked up at him. “No, I am not,” she whispered, and then her volume increased. “I amnotokay. You killed him.” She brought her fists up and pounded on his chest. “You killed that man. You killed Travis. Why are you a killer? How can you just coldly shoot somebody? I love you, and I don’t want you to be a killer.”
Greer blinked at her while she had her tirade. He didn’t seem upset or violent or dangerous. “I had to protect you,” he said simply.
Emery cried harder. She wrapped her arms around his back and clung to him. Greer tenderly held her, saying nothing else, and Emery knew he was right. Greer would protect her. Always. That man would’ve killed her, and Greer had instinctively rescued her. He was her hero.
Had he been Alivia and her boyfriend’s hero as well when he’d killed Travis to save their lives? Of course he had. Greer was a hero all the way through. Shooting the Voice in the head had guaranteed the man couldn’t react and hurt Emery. Had he shot Travis in the same way to keep Alivia and her boyfriend from harm at her brother’s hands? Had her brother been a cold-blooded killer? She couldn’t digest that any more than she could believe Greer was one.
She didn’t want to think about it. So she cuddled into the only safety she would ever need but might not have after today. And she cried harder.