Justin. I didn’t kill him.”
“I know that.”
Susan stared at Brady for a long moment. “You don’t think I killed him?” Most everyone else did. Why not Brady?
“Things ended badly between us. That doesn’t mean I think you killed the next guy you dated,” Brady said.
A show of support from one of the last places she’d expected it. “Thank you for believing me, but I don’t see what I can do to help Reilly.”
Brady pulled her car to the side of the road and parked. He faced her. “Susan, come on. It’s me. I know how your mind works. This isn’t the first time you’ve been through something terrible and blocked it out. When you get upset, you shut down. I know what this must be like for you.”
Susan rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “You know what this is like? Sorry, no, you don’t.” Justin was dead and everyone blamed her. Brady didn’t understand what that felt like.
“Susan, I know you better than almost anyone.”
Susan had trusted Brady once and confided in him her deepest thoughts. He had been her go-to person. He had been the man she had wanted to spend her life with. That was the past and she’d put it behind her. “You don’t know me anymore. Things have changed.”
“Things have changed. People don’t change. Not that much.”
“Brady, I’m in the middle of a disaster. I can’t deal with you or with whatever the reason is that you’re here.” Her words were similar to the ones he had spoken to her six months before, when he was a recovering patient in the hospital. They had wounded her fiercely. She hoped her words didn’t have the same effect on him.
“I can help you,” Brady said. His voice was low and soft.
Right. Help her how? Did he realize how bad her life had become? If he wanted her to help clear Reilly’s name, she didn’t think she could. “If anyone would listen to me, I would tell them that Reilly showed up at the scene and didn’t have a thing to do with Justin’s death. The police don’t want to hear my side of the story.” Susan had worked for the police as a freelance sketch artist for the past five years and it hurt that people who she’d considered friends had turned their backs on her.
“I know.” Compassion laced his voice.
“I’m followed everywhere by the media.”
“I know.”
“The mayor, Justin’s family and the police think I’m responsible for Justin’s death.”
“I know,” he said.
His simple, two word answers were annoying her. “Then you know everything I do, so why are you here?”
“I’m here to help you. To protect you,” Brady said.
A nice sentiment, but not one she’d buy. “You can’t protect me. No one can. I got myself into this and I’ll get myself out of it.”
“Don’t be stubborn, Susan. You don’t have to do this alone.”
She had never been able to count on anyone to stick around for her. How could she put her trust in Brady now? He’d left her once before. “Of course I do. I’m alone now. I’ve been alone all my life. I don’t want your help.”
Susan turned away from Brady, hating the pity she read on his face. Not everyone was lucky enough to be born into a family like the Trumans. For better or worse, some people had to muddle through life on their own.
* * *
Susan pulled another blanket over her. The draftiness of the old farmhouse didn’t usually bother her, but the past several nights, nothing had made her feel warm. Justin was dead. The guilt was crushing her and breaking her down. At different times over the past few days, she’d felt someone watching her. The police? Justin’s family? The media? She’d never actually seen anyone, yet the uneasy sensation persisted. Her world had been turned upside down and shaken, and now everything felt wrong and uncertain. Maybe she was losing her grip on her sanity.
She couldn’t remember what had happened the night Justin had died. She’d tried. Had she blocked out his murder because it was too traumatic to remember? Had she played a role in his death? They’d ended their relationship, but Susan hadn’t been angry with Justin when she’d met him on the boat. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him. She was the one who had told him it was over. She’d realized she wasn’t in love with Justin and Justin deserved better. Was it possible she had killed him, disposed of the body and didn’t remember it? The police and media seemed to believe so.
Had it been a robbery gone bad? She absently touched her necklace, a gift from Reilly’s wife, Haley, that she cherished. Nothing had been taken from the boat except her camera, and she wasn’t certain it had been stolen. Normally, she was exceedingly careful with her expensive camera and equipment. Where had she left it?
The confusion surrounding that night made it difficult to say that she hadn’t misplaced the camera, lost it or taken it somewhere and forgotten it. The more she tried to remember, the more frustrated she became. Her sleep-deprived mind was only half functioning. If she were rested and relaxed, could she break through the mental walls blocking her memories?
To add to her stress, Brady’s appearance a few days ago had shaken her. She had been too flustered and emotionally wrung to deal with him. Why was he offering to help now after making it clear six months ago he didn’t want her in his life?
Going over the incident outside the gallery, she was bothered by how rude and hostile she had been to him. Brady had walked out of her life over a year ago and she wanted to get over him.
She’d met Brady at a barbecue at a police colleague’s home. Reilly had brought his younger brother, the Special Forces pararescueman who was on leave from the air force. The attraction and chemistry had been instant and hot. Susan had never experienced a connection that strong with a stranger.
Brady had strolled over to her and introduced himself. Susan preferred to be the listener in conversations, but Brady had drawn her out. He had asked her questions about her work and her hobbies. She’d loved telling him about her artwork, her sketches, her paintings and the photographs she took. His focused interest in her had made it easy to talk to him. He’d made her feel as if everything she said to him was incredibly riveting.
By the time the party was breaking up, Susan and Brady had been talking for four hours. They’d spoken on the phone every day after that, had their first date a week later and remained together through Brady’s deployments over the next several years. His returns home had been wonderful and exciting.
She’d never seen the breakup coming.
Susan had told herself and her friends she was over him.
Then, six months ago, Reilly had told her that Brady had been injured in combat, and the fear that had struck her had left her physically shaken. Reilly hadn’t known much about his brother’s condition, only that he was en route to the nearest hospital for surgery. Brady had returned to America after a few days to recuperate and by that time, Susan had been engulfed with worry. She’d had to see him. She couldn’t stop herself. Susan had to know he was okay.
He
