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“I’m not convinced that Nat killed herself. I never was,” Niko bluntly admitted. “I want to know if my sister was being threatened before she died.”
Brooke released a hissing breath, half-collapsing against her brother. If Trent hadn’t been holding her in a tight grip, she would have fallen to the floor.
“What the hell, Niko?” Trent rasped, sending Niko a fierce glare. “We all grieved for Nat. Brooke most of all. You have no right to come here opening old wounds.”
Rayne didn’t doubt the truth of his words. The loss of Nat was still clearly a source of pain for Brooke.
Or was it guilt?The treacherous thought niggled in the back of Rayne’s mind. They’d all been devastated by Nat’s death, but Brooke’s grief still appeared to be as raw and deep as the day they found Nat dead.
So was it just an act? Teenage girls could be victims of their raging hormones. Even Rayne had felt out of control during those traumatic years. And friendships could transform into worst enemies in the blink of an eye. Had Nat done something that had sent Brooke over the edge?
She was pondering the horrifying possibility when Niko spoke directly to Trent.
“What about you?”
Trent flinched, as if blindsided by the abrupt question. “Me?”
“You were dating Nat.”
“Hardly dating,” Trent protested, an unexpected flush staining his lean face. “We lived thousands of miles apart.”
Niko folded his arms over his chest, his expression hard. “She came here to spend the summer with you before her senior year.”
“And?”
“Did she ever call you? Maybe mention she was having trouble with someone at the school?” Rayne hastily stepped in. There was a tension vibrating around the Orwell siblings that warned they were increasingly irritated by the questions. Even if they did know something, they were getting to the point they were going to refuse to answer. “Or even a boy from the nearby town?”
“Yes, she occasionally called or texted me,” Trent ground out, glaring at Niko. “But no. She never mentioned any trouble. She was excited about graduation and looking forward to her career as a photographer. She even asked me to write a letter of recommendation for her application to the School of Visual Arts in New York.”
Rayne grimaced. His words only confirmed that Nat wasn’t contemplating suicide. She glanced toward the silent woman at Trent’s side.
“Brooke?”
“She never said anything.” Brooke wrapped her arms around her waist, as if she was suddenly cold. “And if she really believed she was being threatened, she would have told me.”
Once again Rayne was struck by the edge of aggression in the woman’s voice. “And you don’t think she would have told you that she was thinking about killing herself?”
“That’s enough,” Trent growled, urging Brooke across the room. “I’m sorry, but we have a meeting in the stables with a buyer. You can show yourself out.”
Startled by the abrupt end to the meeting, Rayne turned to watch the two head toward the door. She still had more questions, but the Orwells had made it clear that they were done with the conversation. Then her gaze caught sight of a large, framed picture on the wall above a glass trophy case.
“Wait,” she muttered.
“Let Nat rest in peace, for God’s sake,” Brooke snapped.
Rayne ignored the chastisement, hurrying to inspect the photo of Brooke and Trent standing next to a beautiful chestnut stallion. There was a large trophy on the ground in front of them, and off to one side was a man dressed in coveralls. Rayne would never have recognized him if it hadn’t been the newspaper article that was framed next to the picture with a large headline:
Easy Breeze, owned by Orwell Horse Farm and trained by Henri Wagner, takes All-Around Award for best in Quarter Horses.
“Henri Wagner.” She blinked in shock. “Isn’t that Henri from St. Cecilia’s School?”
CHAPTERFIVE
Niko turned his head toward the Orwells, watching their reaction to Rayne’s accusation.
Brooke’s eyes widened, something that might have been fear rippling over her face, while Trent’s jaw tightened with an unmistakable anger. It was obvious Henri Wagner had left behind intense feelings. But after a quick glance, they hurriedly attempted to disguise their response.
“Who?” Brooke asked, blinking as if unable to recall the name.
