Secret Protector. Ann Peterson Voss
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crossed to Natalie. “You okay?”
The concern in his voice made her throat feel thick. She managed a nod.
“Uncle Craig said someone broke into the cottage?”
“That’s right,” Craig answered.
Natalie forced her voice to function and filled her brother in on how she’d sensed the draft and found her studio door open and the window shattered.
“Did you notice if anything was missing?” he asked when she’d finished.
“I don’t know. I ran out.” She had. Like a scared little girl.
“You did the right thing. There’s always a chance the intruder could have still been there. When the squad car gets here, I’ll go out and take a look around.”
Her throat closed. The paintings. She hadn’t even thought about the fact that her brother and his fellow officers would need to investigate. And when they did, they’d see the shreds of her canvases littering the floor.
Would Ash realize what the images were? Was she ready for him to see what she’d been painting?
“Is that okay?” He narrowed his green eyes.
She forced a nod.
“What’s wrong?”
The disadvantage of having a cop for a brother. He could sense when she wasn’t being totally up front. “Nothing. I’m just a little shaken.”
“You can stay here tonight, honey. In fact, you can move back in. We’d love to have you. You know that.”
She gave her aunt her best attempt at a smile. Her aunt and uncle were the only parents she’d ever really known. Sure she had images of her mother and father. But she’d only been six when they died. And the images she had of them were all mixed up with memories of the Christmas morning she’d awakened, excited about seeing what Santa brought her, and instead had discovered her parents’ murdered bodies.
“A squad car just pulled into the drive. Oh, here comes Devin, too.”
Natalie almost groaned. With her aunt and uncle, Ash and Devin all hovering over her, all she was missing was her third brother, Thad. Of course, she was sure he’d be here, too, if he wasn’t on assignment as a photojournalist in some remote locale. He probably hadn’t even heard about all that had happened in St. Louis the past couple of months. They’d tried to reach him to tell him their parents’ murderer had been exonerated, but hadn’t been able to find him. Devin had left a message with a woman at the news network, but they hadn’t heard a word since.
Another concern to add to the rest.
“We’ll handle this. You don’t worry.” Ash gave her a quick hug and headed for the door.
To her studio …
“Ash, wait. Can I talk to you?” She had to prepare him for what he would find.
He turned around and paused, as if he expected her to start talking right there in front of her aunt and uncle.
“In the study?” She tried not to notice the slightly hurt expression from her aunt.
Ash motioned for her to lead the way. Once he shut the door behind them, he turned to her with a spill-it-all look he’d mastered long before he’d become a cop.
Natalie’s throat felt dry as sawdust. “The paintings in my studio … I just wanted to warn you …” She tried to swallow.
“Your nightmares?”
She nodded.
“I should have known they’d come back after all that’s happened the past two months. You should have told me.”
“It’s not so bad. Not as long as I paint them, to get them out of my head.” She hadn’t told him to elicit his concern. God knew, she had plenty of that. “The paintings were slashed. I wasn’t in the house long, but I didn’t notice anything else damaged.”
“Just those paintings …”
“Do you think it means anything?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll take a look around.”
He hadn’t answered her question, but that was as good as an answer with Ash. If he could have told her this had nothing to do with their parents’ murders, he would have.
“Don’t worry. You’re safe now. Go upstairs. I’m sure Aunt Angela has your old room ready for you. Get some sleep and we’ll get to the bottom of this. It will be all over before you know it, and the situation will be back to normal.”
She pressed her lips together. Not a smile but as close as she could get. Even though she knew he was right, that she was safe, she couldn’t help feeling this mess wasn’t over.
No, she suspected it was just beginning.
“SO NEEDLESS TO SAY, I didn’t sleep much.”
Gray leaned his elbows on the too-small café table and tried his best to seem shocked by Natalie’s story. Of course, he’d followed her to the cottage from the bridal shop last night just as he followed her home every night. He’d been just about to go home himself and get some sleep when he’d seen her bolt from her cottage and dash to the main house where her aunt and uncle lived. It hadn’t taken long for Devin to call him on his cell and demand answers Gray didn’t have. Minutes after that, Natalie’s cop brother, Ash, had squealed into the drive, eventually followed by a squad car and Devin himself.
It had been a long night for all of them.
“I’m sorry for laying this on you.”
“What do you mean? I had to drag it out of you.” He had. And he felt bad about it. But since he knew the events of the night before, he was afraid he’d slip up unless he convinced her to tell him herself. This way, he didn’t have to keep as many details straight. And he had a seemingly legitimate reason to worry about her and insist he stay close.
The waitress swooped in on their table, deposited the check and two cups of coffee and removed the remnants of their lunch, panang chicken for her, pad see ew for him. It had been a stellar lunch, great Thai food and even better company. The time had gone far too fast. Gray could see making lunch with Natalie a daily ritual. The only thing that could make it better would be not having to worry about keeping his cover story intact. “Did you stay the night at your parents’ house?”
“Aunt and uncle. Although they raised us. Especially me.”
Of course, he already knew her family history, and he felt guilty at once for causing her pain, especially in service of his subterfuge. “That’s right. Your parents … they’ve been in the news lately. I’m sorry.”
She waved his apology away, but a sadness touched her eyes that suggested she couldn’t so easily dismiss the memories of her parents’ murders.
Not surprising. Who could?
She sipped her coffee, then leaned back in her chair, playing with a spoon still on the table. “You know, it’s funny.”
“Funny?”
She shrugged a shoulder as if trying to convince herself as well as him that what she was about to say was no big deal. “Funny that I’ve never felt comfortable talking about this.”
“I’m sorry.” Another dose of guilt. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. We can talk about something else.”
“No, that’s the funny part.”
He shook his head. “I’m not following.”
“I don’t feel uncomfortable. Not when I’m talking to you. Is that weird?”
“I don’t know if it’s weird. I think it’s kind of nice.” He reached across the table and took her hand before he thought to stop himself.
She