Page 9 of Brutal Ice

The cops had gone to the scene. Searched it. So far, they’d turned up nothing useful.

I don’t think they looked hard enough.

So, sure, yes, there were parts of Violet’s story that absolutely, one hundred percent had been substantiated but…

“How did she escape?” The question came from a woman to the right of Royal. Blond. Breasts spilling from her skin-tight, sky-blue dress. Diamonds glittered at her ears. “That’s the part I don’t get.” She raised a flute of champagne to her lips. “Isn’t that suspicious? That she can’t remember exactly what happened from the time she got out of the trunk until she showed up at the police station?”

“Concussions are funny things,” the man next to her replied with a sage nod as if he had all the wisdom in the world.

From his position against the wall, Royal quirked a brow.

“She was probably drifting in and out of consciousness,” the man continued. “Whoever saved her—well, she may never remember his face.”

“Dr. Barnes.” The blond put down her empty flute so that she could grasp his arm. “You are so knowledgeable.”

Was he, though?

Her blood-red nails stroked up toward the doctor’s shoulder. “And I’m so sorry about your wife. I heard she passed away—how long has it been? Two years ago now? I hope you are?—”

“There’s Violet,” the doctor cut through her words. “There she is.”

And that same proclamation was echoed multiple times by people who’d been waiting for the star of the show to make her appearance.

There. She. Is.

Yeah, fuck it, even Royal shoved away from the wall as interest spiked through him. He’d shelled out the two hundred bucks for the ticket to the fundraiser just because he knew she would be there. And I wanted to see her again. Up close. Personal.

Hell, he hadn’t just paid two hundred bucks to get inside.

He’d dropped ten grand in order to buy the privilege of the first and only dance with the star of the show.

She hadn’t seen him yet. She was slowly walking down the stairs. Violet wore red. A silky dress with tiny, spaghetti straps that clung lightly to her delicate shoulders. His eyes narrowed on her. She seemed…smaller. Even more fragile than she’d been before. Makeup had been skillfully applied, but he still caught the hint of dark shadows under her eyes.

Have you been sleeping, sweetheart? Or do nightmares keep you up?

Her lips were painted a bold red to match her dress. Long, dangling earrings hung from her lobes, and those earrings slid in and out of her thick, dark hair.

As she drew closer to the landing, conversation stopped. All eyes were on her.

Royal knew that he sure as hell couldn’t look away. He wasn’t even sure if he was breathing.

Not the first time I’ve seen her since that night. Get a fucking grip, man.

Because…he had gone back to check on her. To stay close to the theater when he knew she was rehearsing late. To make sure that she got home safely.

To make sure she was safe.

Bullshit. Don’t lie to yourself.

He’d returned to…see her.

“Thank you all for coming!” It was the pompous ass beside Violet who’d just made that announcement. Micah Wright. The artistic director for the show. The man who basically was in charge of the ballet when it came to Savannah. His hand curled around Violet’s shoulder. A proprietary touch that had Royal’s gaze sharpening.

She gave a small flinch.

Royal’s back teeth ground together.

“It’s a big night for our show!” Micah called out. “The premiere will be next week, and I can’t wait for you all to see our Snow White take the stage!”

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