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"Your purse is going to smell of smoke and be useless to you. Why do you need a necklace to hide out?" Typical woman, totally vain.
"It's all I have." She stopped, and he could tell she was fighting emotion. "Of her. The house and the necklace were all I had of my grandma. Now all I have is the necklace."
Oh, not vain—sentimental. Shit!
"You're living in your grandmother's house?"
She nodded as she glanced out the side window. The sun streaming in created a mirror effect, and he could see the moisture in her eyes.
"When she passed, she gave me the house because I took care of her when she was dying. My sister was too busy climbing the corporate ladder, and my brother left town as soon as he turned eighteen and lives on an offshore rig off the coast of California. It was just Grandma and me for years." She cleared her throat and straightened her spine. "Now, it's just me."
She turned to face him, her eyes glistening, but her back was straight and her shoulders squared. "I'm not going to let Waylon get me in trouble and take the last little bit I have of my grandmother. She'd be rolling in her grave. She always hated that asshole."
"Okay. Now you're talking. So, let's get you to safety, and then we'll figure out how to get that son of a bitch out of your life and in jail, and Bobby Ray right along with him."
"Are you a cop or something? Why do you want them?"
"I'm a bounty hunter, and Bobby Ray killed my parents. Waylon broke him out of the prison transport van on the way to his trial. I want both of them."
Her features softened, and sadness filled her eyes. "I'm sorry," she all but whispered. "I didn't know."
Clenching his jaw, he quickly glanced at her. She stood, trying to remain stoic but looked lost and confused.
"It was four years ago, but I think of them every day. Especially now. I need justice for them and my siblings. And I'm going to get it."
* * *
They pulled up to the curb across from her house, and she sucked in a big breath at the sight of the bedraggled broken mess that used to be her home. The white exterior was charred over most every surface. Her gorgeous flowers on the porch and around the landscaping of the house had been trampled, burned, or blasted by the fire hoses trained on them. Yellow crime scene tape wrapped itself around the house and the garage. Her front door stood at a sickly angle as someone had broken it to get in.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "It's a complete mess."
Without thinking, he reached over and wrapped his fingers around her nape and squeezed gently. Her dainty neck was warm to the touch—her slender shoulders strong and firm under his forearm.
"I'm sorry, Megan. It looks bad now, but once you settle things with your insurance company, you can rebuild. It'll look good as new, and all remnants of the fire will be gone."
"It won't be the same." She turned to look into his eyes, and he was taken with the shade of green that hit him. Earnest and sweet, she certainly seemed to be just that, but something Jolie said kept ringing in his head.That son of a bitch! He's just got to go. He's not even around, and he's getting you into trouble again. What the fuck?
He'd bet that was the arrest on her record. He'd need to call Rory a little later and get that information.
"Can we go in?"
"No, not without permission." He pulled his phone from his back pocket and googled the South Pass Fire Department. He tapped the phone icon and called them. When he got the chief on the phone, he explained who he was and asked for permission to enter the house. The chief asked them to wait until he arrived, so here they sat. And as if there were a radar on their presence, Marcus pulled up to the curb in front of the house.
"Figures he'd be here," she snapped. "Look at him look at us."
"He can't see us. I have a coating on the windows that makes it almost impossible to see in. It's mirrored on the outside, so if he's looking at anything, he's staring at himself. Figures he's a narcissist too."
The fire chief pulled into the driveway, and he squeezed her neck with his fingers. "Chief's here. Let's go. Stay close to me, and don't let Marcus get you alone anywhere."
She sucked in a deep breath and reached for the door handle. "Hold up. I'll get it." His brows furrowed. She wasn't used to a man opening doors for her.
Exiting his truck, he walked around the front of it, two-finger saluted Marcus and opened the passenger door, reached in to help Megan down, and wrapped his fingers around hers as they walked to the chief. Marcus exited his car and followed them up the driveway, and her fingers tightened on his.
Keeping his voice low, he said, "It's okay."
The chief greeted them alongside his truck and nodded. "I'm sorry about all of this, Megan. It sure is a shame. Ms. Gladys was a special lady, and this house has been in your family since she was first married to Mr. Marshall."
"Yeah. She loved this house. It's just so sad to see it like this.” She turned to face the chief. "Do you know if it was arson?"
