Secret Protector. Ann Peterson Voss
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an accident. She’d come looking for him. And she looked prepared to take a pound of flesh.
He blew out a breath, and it condensed into a cloud in the cold air. Truth was, he couldn’t blame her. Whatever cruel words she wanted to hurl, he deserved them. He’d said worse to the reflection in his mirror. The bottom line was that one of the best men Gray had ever known had died and Gray hadn’t. And if Jimbo’s wife couldn’t forgive him for that fact, she wasn’t alone.
Gray couldn’t forgive himself, either. “I’m so sorry, Sherry, but I have to go.”
“Don’t want to face the truth?”
He shook his head. He felt for Sherry. And he missed Jimbo, his friend, his brother. If he could change things, he would. But right now, the best thing he could do was steer clear and focus on his job. He had to get back to the bridal shop before Natalie left. He couldn’t change the past, but he could shape the future. His future. His redemption.
And it all started with keeping Natalie Kendall safe.
NATALIE WAS RELIEVED when she finally pulled her car through the gate surrounding the Kendall Estate, the iron scrollwork closing securely behind her. It used to be that her aunt and uncle often didn’t bother to close the gate. They just left it open, the quiet upscale neighborhood giving them little reason to worry about security. But with all the trouble the family had been having, that practice had changed.
She looked up at the traditional gray stone mansion and let out a long, relieved breath. Maybe it was the strange run-in with the guy who’d followed her from the coffee shop, or maybe it was Jolie’s mistrust of Gray, but she could have sworn a car had followed her home from the bridal shop.
She let her car idle in the driveway and eyed the street through the tall fence. The street was quiet. No headlights. No car creeping past, slowing down to see where she’d turned. Nothing.
Maybe she was losing her mind.
She shifted her sports car into gear and continued past the main house where her aunt and uncle lived. She’d grown up in the Kendall mansion, and living inside its walls still made her feel like a child. That was why, after she’d returned from college, she’d moved into the guest cottage in the rear of the estate. It was easier to deal with the memories if she wasn’t living them every day.
Of course, all that had happened the past two months had brought those memories out, front and center. And even her little house among the gardens couldn’t hide her from them.
She followed the winding drive past the pool house and rose garden and cove of evergreens until she reached her cottage, nestled among tall oaks. On the verge of shedding their leaves, the trees reached twisted limbs into the night sky. A scene that reminded Natalie far too much of Halloween horrors.
Or much worse, the real kind.
She parked in her little garage and let herself into the house. She loved her cottage. With only two bedrooms, one she’d transformed into an art studio, the place was cozy, warm on nights like these, and safe. At least it always had felt that way.
Now every part of her life felt uneasy.
She switched on the light and stepped into the kitchen. The window over the sink stared at her like an unblinking eye. She pulled the blinds, crossed her arms over her chest and tried to rub warmth through the jacket sleeves.
She was being ridiculous, freaking herself out this way. And over nothing. Sleep. That’s what she needed. A good night’s sleep and the morning light would make the world look much different. Tomorrow she would be able to put everything back into perspective. The man who’d followed her … Gray … Jolie’s nerves … she just needed sleep.
She passed through the dinette and the living area, turned down the hall to the bedrooms and shivered, despite herself. A draft seemed to be moving in this part of the little house. She switched on the hall light. The flow of air seemed to be coming from her studio. Strange. And the door stood open.
A door she always kept locked.
Her heartbeat launched into double time. She reached out a hand and pushed the door open farther. Curling her arm around the doorjamb, she felt for the light switch and flicked it on.
At first she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. Shreds of canvas hung from her work easel. Red paint pooled on the floor. The glow of the moon sparkled on shattered glass.
A gasp caught in her throat, and she turned to run.
Chapter Four
“Here you go, dear.” Angela Kendall pushed a mug of tea into Natalie’s hands, plopped down on the kitchen chair next to her and studied her niece with concerned brown eyes. “It will calm you, make you feel better.”
Natalie wrapped both palms around the hot mug, grateful to have something to hold on to that would help to steady her shaking hands. The scent of chamomile wafted toward her. The tea her aunt pulled out to soothe any trauma Natalie faced, from her love life woes to the nightmares she’d had since she was six.
Natalie hated chamomile tea.
Aunt Angela leaned toward her, the kitchen light glinting off the few strands of gray that threaded her brown hair. “Is the tea all right, honey?”
“It’s great.” Natalie gave her aunt what she hoped was a grateful smile and dutifully lifted the tea to her lips. She took a sip of the dreadful brew and then returned the cup to the table. “Thank you.”
Angela gave her a smile and ran her hand over Natalie’s arm in a comforting caress. When Natalie had burst into the main house in a panic after finding the broken window and slashed paintings in her cottage, her aunt had been wearing her bright pink bathrobe and matching pajamas, ready for bed. Somewhere between soothing Natalie, alerting Uncle Craig and brewing tea, she’d changed into an orange sweater and jeans, combed her hair smooth and dashed on a bit of mascara and tinted lip balm.
The woman was nothing short of amazing.
Natalie was lucky to have her, back when she was six and her aunt and uncle had taken in orphaned Natalie and her three older brothers as their own and now. But as much as she appreciated her aunt’s nurturing, this much coddling made Natalie feel as if she was once again a weak, traumatized little girl.
Uncle Craig walked back into the kitchen before Aunt Angela had a chance to urge Natalie to take another sip. “Ash is bringing a couple of patrol officers with him.”
So now the whole St. Louis Police Department was going to get involved? Natalie supposed it made sense, but she still felt like hiding her face. “I’m sorry for all this.”
“Sorry? Why should you be sorry?” Uncle Craig’s eyes flashed blue fire. “You didn’t break into your own cottage and vandalize it. The person who did this, that’s who should be sorry.”
“That’s right, dear,” Aunt Angela chimed in. “How long before Ash gets here?”
“He was getting into the car when I hung up.”
The grandfather clock down the hall chimed loud and slow.
Natalie glanced around the kitchen. The room was immaculate, as usual. Beautiful cabinets, gleaming countertops, and just the right decorating touches. Yet nothing was stuffy or showy. She didn’t remember much about the house when her parents lived here, but since her aunt and uncle had moved in to take care of Natalie and her brothers, the house had felt like Angela. Warm, well cared for, welcoming.
She choked down another sip of tea for her aunt’s sake. She hated being so needy, so clingy. She wanted to feel strong for once in her life, confident that she could stand on her own feet. That she could love as an equal and have that love returned. She wanted to forget that night twenty years ago. That night that chewed at the back of her mind.
Before she knew it, Ash was striding into the kitchen. He wore jeans and a simple shirt. A leather jacket spanned his broad shoulders and muscular chest. With