“What would you say, then?”
She toyed with a tendril of hair that had fallen from the bun. Anxiety left faint creases under her eyes. She opened her mouth and then shut it, her gaze lowered to the top of her knee.
“Something happened, didn’t it?”
Her eyes lifted and rounded on his. She’d learn soon enough that nothing got past him.
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “He, uh, came on to me a few months ago. It didn’t end well.”
Anger burned his skin. He kept his face passive, not taking his eyes from hers. “What happened?”
“I just told you.”
“No, you told me something happened. You didn’t tell me what.”
She blew air through her lips. “You want the details? Fine.” She straightened in her chair. “It was the night of the fall charity ball. I was home, and had just gotten ready for bed. It was after two in the morning when he showed up at my door.”
His body tensed. He didn’t like where this was heading. “Go on.”
“He–he came on to me. I pushed him away and told him that I wasn’t interested. He snapped. He broke some things, I kicked him out, and that was the end of it.” The story tumbled out of her lips, like bile purging.
The muscles in his legs ached, demanding he get up and pace the floor, but he couldn’t. He needed every last detail. “That was the end of it?” His tone was hard, distant.
She nodded.
“How did he come on to you? What did he do?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Her cheeks flared pink, and he tried not to stare at her mouth. “He kissed me.”
His brows snapped together. “That’s it?”
She sighed. “All right, fine. He pushed me up against the wall, shoved his tongue in my mouth, and groped me. I slapped him across the face. He hit me back, then put his fist through the wall and flipped over my coffee table. I told him if he didn’t leave, I would call the police.” Her arms circled her waist. She pursed her lips, waiting.
He rubbed his hand over his beard and leaned closer to her. “Don’t you think that’s important?”
“I’m telling you about it, aren’t I? But to think he could have something to do with wanting me killed…that’s a stretch.”
“Bullshit,” he breathed. “Your stepbrother physically and sexually assaulted you and you brushed it off? Months later, someone arranges to have you killed? That looks pretty damn significant.”
The smooth lines of her face hardened, and she lifted her chin. Before she could tear into him, he added, “I’m sorry. Why were you protecting him?”
“I wasn’t protecting him, dammit. I went to Grace and told her the whole story. Tanner came to me and apologized. He’d been drunk and had barely remembered, which was true because I had smelled the alcohol on him.” She met his gaze. “I said I forgave him, but I also kept my distance. Never in a million years do I think he’d have anything to do with this.”
Something nagged at him to drop it. She’d been through enough, and he didn’t need to give her hell. But Tanner sat as a suspect in the forefront of his mind. He’d look into him later.
“He’s your stepbrother on your father’s side?”
She picked at the material covering her leg. Some of the fire had left her face, and her shoulders relaxed. “Mmm-hmm. He’s Grace’s son.”
Grace Vanderpoel. He didn’t know much about her other than that she owned her own jewelry line and was a descendant of the Normand family. That was a very old, wealthy, and prominent name, and she had her own money and status.
“What’s your relationship like with her?”
“Grace? I like her very much. She takes good care of my dad, forces him to work out, eat healthy, and make more family time. We don’t have an overly close relationship, mostly because she’s very busy and so am I.”
“Well, that rules out the evil stepmother.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What about your mother? Where does she live?”
“New York, with her husband. I fly out there a couple of times a year, or she comes here. I miss her terribly, but she’s happy and so that makes me happy.”