Chapter 22

Juliet sat next to Rafe in the Impala, with her backpack on the floor and her daddy’s duffel in the trunk. Besides her weapon, she’d brought flashlights, ponchos, water bottles, and granola bars. She’d also changed into jeans, a T-shirt, snake boots, and a field jacket. It’d been nine months since she’d been to the manor, and she had no idea how much more it had declined.

Was she surprised Rafe had left his unit to join a super-secret group of highly skilled soldiers? No. Despite enlisting in the army at nineteen, he’d always done his own thing.

He’d barely spoken since picking her up. But, as angry as she was, she had to take some responsibility. She could’ve worked harder to get him to answer her questions—before Sally’s murder—yet Juliet had chosen the fearful path. The path of self-pity. And where had that led? Vandalism and death.

Her cell phone buzzed with a text from Samantha.

Sold all of Abigail Casey’s botanical prints to a sexy stranger. $3000. Hope I get paid tomorrow.

Wonderful. Everyone gets paid tomorrow.

Even if Juliet had to steal the money to do it. Now that she knew Abigail’s husband, Liam, was in prison with the rest of Nate’s men, Juliet was sure Abigail would appreciate the sale. Maybe Abigail would have enough capital to design the line of stationery they’d discussed to sell in Juliet’s Lily.

Yay! Painters are here to finish your logo on the new windows. Will send pics.

Before Juliet could respond, her phone rang. It was her lawyer. “Hello, John.”

“I have two interested buyers for your land. One of them is a cash transaction and he’s not as concerned about the King’s Grants, although I warned him he could lose up to forty percent of the land to the federal government without them.”

“The land isn’t up for sale yet.”

“I only talked to my well-connected clients. Most of them weren’t interested without the King’s Grants.”

“I’m going to the manor now. I’ll call when I find them.” She hung up and held the phone in her lap.

“What was that about?”

“Besides finding your vial, I need to find the King’s Grants proving King Charles gave my family the land on the Isle of Grace.”

“Why?”

“If I can prove the land was granted by King Charles, the federal government can’t claim protected wetlands. Without the grants, they could take forty percent of the property.”

“You’re still thinking of selling?”

“I have no other way of refinancing my loan and staying in business. Even if I could sell my land to cover the expenses of my refinanced loan, I still need Carina’s money to finish the Liberty Square project. If Carina doesn’t come through with what she owes me, I won’t be able to pay the city’s workers. If I don’t pay, the city will sue me and I’ll be bankrupt by the end of the summer.”

His hands loosened on the wheel. “You’ll persuade her tonight.”

“She hates me.”

For the first time since leaving the city, he glanced at her. “What happened to Calum when we were kids wasn’t your fault.”

“I let Calum lie for me. Because of that lie, his parents sent him away. Carina will never forgive me for that.”

“You were twelve. You’re not responsible for what happened.”

“I guess.” Juliet sent more texts to Bob, and he sent her a photo. The new fountain at Liberty Square would be hooked up tonight, weather permitting. The water guys and electrical workers had come to a truce. Probably due to the donuts she’d sent to the work site earlier.

Once finished with her texts, she stared at the blowing palmetto trees as they crossed the only bridge leading to the Isle of Grace.

“You should open Garza’s envelope. That way we can get the fight over with.”

She threw her phone into her backpack. “What fight?”

“I’m talking about the way you sink into yourself when you’re annoyed or frightened. How you separate yourself from the real world when you don’t want to feel pain or get hurt.”

Wow. They were going to do this now? “Instead of throwing myself into a gauntlet of eighty men with weapons and chains? Would you rather I hold a knife at your throat and tell you what I really think of you?”

“At least that would be the truth.” Once exiting the bridge, he pulled the car over and hit the brakes.

She braced herself against the dashboard. “Because you’re the beacon of honesty?”

He faced her, his gaze fierce and determined. “You lie by omission. You’re so afraid of feeling pain that you can’t rely on others. It’s so self-destructive, you won’t argue or confront them when they’ve done wrong.”

She got out of the car and slammed the door. He followed, and she stared at him over the roof. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You should be pissed at me. I hurt you. I’ve done terrible things I’ll never be able to redeem myself for or be forgiven for. Yet you won’t talk about it.”

“Because you won’t answer my questions.”

“Maybe you’re asking the wrong ones.”

“Maybe I don’t know what to ask.”

He took off his jacket and threw it into the back seat. “I’m not wearing it anymore.”

“I don’t care about your arm. Or that tattoo under the bandage. Maybe I’m not asking the right questions because your answers don’t matter.”

“You’re lying. You’re not asking because you care too much. Because if you know the truth, there’s a chance you’re going to get hurt again.”

She closed her eyes and turned her back to him. “I agreed to help you. And you promised you’d leave. Why can’t we do this without any talk of the past?”

“That’s not possible.” His voice sounded closer, and she opened her eyes. He stood inches away, his chest moving with every breath. “Every time we look at each other, we remember.”

Despite what she’d said about not caring, she avoided looking at his fully tattooed arm. And the blue ribbon around his other wrist. Focusing on the muscles contracting beneath his T-shirt wasn’t helping either. “No, we don’t.”

Now who was lying?

He pinned her against the car, his larger body covering hers. “I remember what it was like between us once. The last time we were together.”

She licked her lips and kept her gaze on the pulse at his neck. She remembered too. “It doesn’t mean—”

His lips found hers. His arms held her tight, one around her waist, the other behind her neck tilting her head at the perfect angle. He refused to hide his strength or his erection. As the kiss increased, her resolve weakened from those memories of the last time they’d made love. That last day of August when they’d gone hiking and found themselves at a secluded waterfall. They’d eaten a picnic and made love in the water, beneath the pine trees, under the stars.

Just as she kissed him back, he lifted his head. The yearning in his eyes threatened to leave third-degree burns on her heart. “You remember.”

She pressed her fists against his chest—that solid wall of uncompromising muscle. “It doesn’t matter.”

He gripped her shoulders. “I need to know that when you read that letter you were in the same amount of pain I was in.”

She pushed harder, but he only came in closer. “You’re the one who caused the pain.”

“Didn’t you hear anything Garza said?”

“You left your unit—you left me—to work for an arms dealer with a god complex.”

“Think harder, Juliet.” Now Rafe’s hands held her waist, their hips still meeting, his erection cutting into her stomach. “You’re a smart woman. I can’t tell you what happened, so you’ll have to be the one to figure it out.”

Why was he doing this to her? She punched his chest but he didn’t even blink. “I don’t understand.”

“I know.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I swore an oath I can’t break.”

“You swore to love me above all others until death do us part.”

“That’s all I’ve done.”

She scoffed. “How?”

“If I speak, we both die.”

She shook her head. Her lips were tender, as if she hadn’t been kissed in years. Which was the truth. “We know about Escalus’s journal, so we’re all in danger.”

“Pete, Samantha, Calum, and Garza. They’re expendable to the Fianna. You’re not. You’re the only leverage the Prince has over me. If I don’t fulfill my duties, they’ll kill both of us.” Without warning, he let her go and headed to his side of the car.

He’d kissed her like she’d brought down the stars from the sky, and now he was walking away as if it didn’t matter?

She ran over and grabbed his arm. “I don’t know why you came back. I don’t know what you want or why you kissed me, but I’m counting the minutes until you leave.” He stared at her hand on his bicep covered with names. She wiped her hand on her jeans.

How could she have let him kiss her?

“Now that I’m seeing vestiges of the girl I fell in love with, I might stay.”

She went for her side of the car. “That girl disappeared years ago.”

“She’s just lost. And I’m going to bring her back.”

She got in and waited until he turned the car on and began driving. “Nothing can bring her back. She died from a broken heart. And I swore I’d never let that happen again.”

“Whatever you say.”

Ignoring him, she found Garza’s envelope and opened it, determined to prove him wrong. She found four pages. One was a photocopy of the picture on Garza’s phone. The second was a copy of a journal page. The print was perfect, tiny, and impossible to read. A sketch took up half the space: a drawing of Rafe with eyes filled with so much pain she wondered how he could bear to stay alive. It was dated February fourteenth of the year she’d received his letter. The day he’d abandoned her.

The third sheet was a State Department transcript requesting Rafe’s extradition from a Russian prison to the United States. Garza had highlighted the application date and Eugene Wilkins’s signature. The fourth paper was a DoD form detailing the terms of Rafe’s incarceration at Leavenworth. Again, Garza had highlighted the date.

The road shifted from paved to gravel, and Rafe tightened his grip on the wheel. “What are they?”

“A photocopied page from Escalus’s journal. Your extradition paperwork signed by Eugene Wilkins with the transfer date—the same day Eugene died. The last one is your Leavenworth paperwork.” She dropped the papers into her lap. “You arrived in Leavenworth the day my daddy died.”

Rafe turned onto a dirt road that led to the river and public dock. Once he’d parked next to a blue IoG bus, he took the pages and checked the dates.

“It can’t be a coincidence,” she said.

“It’s not.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she realized something. She had her own anger, regret, and sadness to carry, but she’d been able to emerge from the nightmare of their past to make a life for herself. While Rafe—she glanced at his hard jawline and powerful body—was still in the nightmare.

“Rafe?” She touched her bruised lips. She tasted his peppermint mouthwash and would have to wash his scent out of her hair. But those concerns were secondary to her fears. “Is Garza right? Did the people we love die because of you?”

“Yes.” Rafe tossed the papers into the back seat and got out. “Now you’re asking the right questions.”