Page 91 of Brutal Ice

“Oh, yeah, please, tell me more about how to do my job. Love that shit.”

Royal stopped. Glared.

“I get it.” An inhale from Curran. “You want to kick my ass. Rip my head off. Chop me up and feed me to the alligators you used to talk about so much that lived in the swamps of Louisiana.”

“I need Violet.”

Curran faced off with him. “I had a job to do. Believe it or not, I was helping your fool ass. You are welcome.”

“Violet.” Curran was in his path. Either the guy would move or Royal would move him.

“All right, slow your roll. Just one damn thing first, okay?” Curran glanced around, then back at Royal. “No marks.”

“What?”

“Your Violet said she tased her attacker. Stabbed him and tased him.”

“Micah had a stab wound.”

“Yeah, and we had to take him to the hospital to get it stitched up. He’s still at the damn hospital—with guards—but you know what he doesn’t have? Marks from a taser.”

So what? “Maybe the taser didn’t make contact. He has the knife wound.” That should be enough.

“And he says someone ran up and stabbed him! I’m just warning you—all the pieces don’t fit. They don’t.”

They rarely ever fit perfectly. “While you were trailing me, did you see anyone else at that service station?”

Curran shook his head.

“So either Micah is the bad guy…or someone else is. Someone who got away. That’s what you’re telling me. The perp could still be out there.” Royal assessed possibilities even as his gaze swept over Curran. “Unless it was you, old friend.”

“What?” Shock rippled across Curran’s face.

“You were there. Lurking about in the darkness. Watching everything. Are you hiding any wounds I might need to know about? Can’t say for sure how deeply Violet stabbed her attacker.” He took a step closer to Curran. “You were at the scene. Maybe you ditched the mask in the dark. Switched clothes. Maybe it was you.”

Curran’s chin whipped up. “Now you think I’m a killer?”

“Only fair, isn’t it?” he returned with a shrug. “You think I’m one. You think?—”

“Royal!”

Violet’s voice. Violet’s voice pouring over him, and he shouldered past the detective. Violet rushed from the end of the hallway. She wore soft gray sweats and a t-shirt that was far too big for her. Her hair spilled down her back. Her face was too pale. And her eyes—her eyes lit up when they locked on Royal.

“Just watch her,” Curran advised, voice grim. “I don’t think this is over.”

It won’t be over until you let me put her attacker six feet under.

Royal reached for Violet, and she threw herself against him. Immediately, his arms closed around her. He lifted her up against him, and Royal knew he held her too tightly. He should ease his grip. He should.

He didn’t. He buried his face in the fall of her hair and inhaled her sweet scent. Lilacs for his Violet. “Sweetheart…”

“I told them you had saved me. I told them that Simone called me and asked me to come meet her. That you warned me it was a trap, but I convinced you to go with me anyway.” She shuddered against him. “Simone is dead. They told me she died—that she never spoke again.” Violet pulled back. When she looked at him, there were tears gleaming in her eyes. “I told all the cops that she said Micah’s name. She told me that he was the one to attack her.” A tear spilled down her cheek. “There was so much blood on her. Everywhere. And she’s dead. That could have been me. It would have been me. Without you.”

“It will never be you.” Over his dead body. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Reporters are out front,” Curran warned.

Fine. “Then we’ll go out back.”

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