Page 2 of Possession

Worse, she’d faced it when I wasn’t there to protect her.

I didn’t think she was incapable of taking care of herself—in fact, Grace was one of the most resourceful people I knew, male or female—but it felt like a task that was meant for me.

When we were together, I was the one who was supposed to shield her. It was my job. She’d already been on her own far too long. Had faced too much without someone to support her.

Christ, Carson, did firing that shot knock something loose from your head? She’s not for you. This—whatever the fuck it is between you—isn’t about romance and flowers. Chemistry isn’t the same as a lifetime commitment.

“Whatever it is, tell me and we’ll figure it out together.” As difficult as it was to keep my tone even, it was worth it to see relief filter into her expression. She didn’t need to deal with me running off at the mouth half-cocked.

Or hell, fully cocked, because I was so angry that I couldn’t be sure what might come out of my mouth next.

Like asking my best friend for an alibi for tonight.

An alibi, for fuck’s sake. As if he were a common criminal.

As if I hadn’t grown up as one myself.

Sins of the father always came home to roost. I didn’t know if they had yet in my brothers, Sebastian and Donovan, but I had a feeling that they were for me. Hell if I knew exactly why or how yet, but somehow, I was almost certain this break-in had way more to do with me than Grace.

That didn’t mean I wouldn’t gladly kill them for daring to intrude on her home.

Even if it was technically now mine.

The sirens neared and I closed my fingers around her wrist, tugging her that much closer. “What’s happened?”

“Little things. Stuff not where it should be. The occasional missing item. And then last week, the day you were running on the beach—” She stopped, flushed. “I saw the glass on the built-in bookcase in the living room had been pried away. Some of the pieces of art I’d given Gram were broken on the floor. I figured it was an accident.” She lowered her gaze to where I held on tight. “It wasn’t an accident.”

“It might’ve been,” I said, ignoring my gut instinct in favor of wanting to make that darkness lurking in her gaze vanish. I didn’t want to lie to her, though. Not about this, when I’d already lied and deflected about so much. “But probably not.”

She nodded and stepped back as red and blue light washed over the driveway as the police cars screamed into the drive. Marblehead PD wasn’t huge, and I was willing to bet this was one of the biggest—if not the biggest—call all year in town.

Murders and robberies and most major crimes didn’t happen there.

Except they had. And more and more, it was looking like they hadn’t just begun, either.

I tucked Grace behind me as one of the cops approached the back porch, hand on the butt of his weapon. Grace promptly delivered a kidney punch that would’ve laid a MMA fighter low and slid in front of me while I searched for oxygen.

“Officer,” she said smoothly. “Thank you for coming so fast.”

“Are you the homeowner?”

When Grace nodded, I cupped her shoulder. “I am.”

She stiffened and moved to the side, turning her face away from me as the officer began to question me about what had occurred. I ran through the sequence of events without editorializing, more concerned about how Grace was taking things than in the notes the cop was taking on her little pad.

I didn’t expect the police to find the culprits. Where I’d grown up, that wasn’t how things were done. The only justice was street justice. I might wear the veneer of a respectable man, but beneath, I’d been formed from gutter filth. There was no way in hell I’d sit back and wait for others to handle this situation for me.

That wasn’t how I was built. But I still smiled politely and played the game.

A second cop joined the first, after having apparently done a sweep of the premises. Odd they hadn’t done that together, though I think they were certain the threat had gone.

Who could blame them?

The second cop was the one who commented on the blood spatter near the door and on my knuckles. That seemed to take cop number one aback. She’d most likely tucked this event firmly into a manageable category, like most other Marblehead crimes. Blood made it different.

For me, as well.

Annabelle’s gun was taken from me to be brought in for testing, in case they caught the perps and were able to compare the man’s wound to the weapon I’d fired. There was talk of DNA testing and possibly working with a sketch artist from nearby Boston. Being insanely rich had its perks, and one of them was that they’d move heaven and earth to catch the dirty criminals who’d done this.

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