Page 155 of Capturing You
“Your grandmother knew.”
“My grandmother would never?—”
“That detective knew. Maybe he trusted the wrong person. Maybe that person wants to eliminate you.”
The tiny wrinkles around Forbes’s eyes deepened as if he were considering her words, but then his stoic look returned. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter? How can you say that? We’re talking about your life!”
“We’re talking about justice.”
“So you’d put yourself in danger?—”
“Yes! Anything to find out who killed them.”
The words felt like poison darts. He would get himself killed, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.
She stood to face him, reaching across the desk. “You can’t save them, Forbes. They’re gone. I think…I think you’re still trying to redeem that scared little boy, but he doesn’t need redemption. He didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t do anything to be ashamed of.” When Forbes didn’t argue—and his expression gave no indication of what he was thinking—she pressed further. “Let’s just take what we’ve learned to the state police and let them handle it.”
He held her eye contact for a long moment, and she braced for an argument, a list of demands.
And then, he blinked. “I’ll think about it. But no matter what, you need to go.”
“Not without?—”
“Please.” The word sounded wrenched from deep inside. He moved around the desk and pulled her against his chest, wrapping her in his arms.
She was stunned by the sudden shift in his mood.
“Please, Brooklynn.” His breath was warm in her ear. “Please go where you’ll be safe. You mean so much to me, and I’ve already lost…so much. I can’t lose you too.”
Tears stung her eyes at all this man had gone through. “If you promise to consider my idea?—”
“I will. Either way, you’ll go to Coventry.” He leaned back so he could see into her eyes. “Okay?”
“Okay.” She wanted to convince him to come with her, but he’d agreed to think about it. For now, that was the best she would get.
CHAPTERTHIRTY
It was nearly ten o’clock, but energy hummed in Forbes's veins.
The truth of what had happened to his family was laid out on his father’s desk. He just needed to decode it amid all Brooklynn’s notes, Forbes’s notes, Dad’s notes. All the noise.
The killers were right there.
He stared at the names and initials and dates and numbers. Most were still unidentified. They blurred in his vision.
Brooklynn’s hand slid up his back. “I have an idea.”
“Good, because I’m fresh out.”
“Why don’t I make a few calls?”
He faced her. “To whom?”
“Ian Prescott. He owned that charter company with Leo Taggart—the one that used the seagull logo. There’s been no indication that he was involved in anything.”
“Or Dad didn’t know about him.” Though Dad had seemed to know a lot.
