her features. Yes, she had definitely changed, had grown into a beauty. Not that any one feature was perfect, but she was stunning in an indefinable kind of way. Fragile. Earthy. Natural.
She stood around five-three and was still too slender. But her once scraggly brown hair shimmered with shades of gold, accentuating a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and a small dainty nose. Her cheeks were pale, yet a natural rose color stained full lips devoid of lipstick. She didn’t need it. She had kissable lips.
Damn, if she hadn’t developed some luscious curves, too. Grady tried not to linger on the swell of her breasts, tried to stifle the elemental response of his body. Her denim skirt hung loosely on the gentle slope of her hips, and sandals showcased bare toes. Her toenails were painted pale pink.
The whisper of her feminine scent floated to him. That smell and those damn pink toenails made his body stir, waking nerve endings that had lain dormant forever.
For God’s sake, this was Violet Baker.
He could not be attracted to her. She had been Darlene’s best friend. Her father had confessed to killing Darlene. And Violet might have known.
Besides, he’d heard the rumors about her being strange, maybe crazy.
She cleared her throat, and he realized he’d let the silence stretch way too long.
“What are you doing here, Grady?”
“I…” He halted, not wanting to admit he was searching for evidence to corroborate her father’s confession.
She seemed to read his mind, anyway. “Did you find anything?”
“No.” He secured his gun back in his holster. “But I haven’t conducted a thorough search.”
Pain flickered in those expressive eyes—the one thing about her that hadn’t changed. They were still huge and an unusual shade of blue, almost purple, the obvious reason her parents had named her Violet. And they still had the power to tug at emotions inside him just as they had when he was a scrawny kid.
He dragged his gaze away. He refused to get sucked in by emotions. He’d waited too damn long to crack this case. Besides, Violet was not a scrawny kid anymore; she was an adult who could take care of herself.
“How did you get in?” she asked.
He gestured toward the door. “It was unlocked.”
She frowned as if that surprised her.
He shrugged. “Most people around here don’t lock their doors.”
The throat muscles worked in her slender neck as she swallowed. “My father always used to. At least he’d latch the screen.”
Maybe because he knew he wasn’t coming back, Grady thought, but he refrained from pointing that out. “How’s your grandmother?”
More pain in her eyes. “Stable. She wanted to be near her sister to recover, so she’s being transferred to the Black Mountain Rehabilitation Center today.”
He nodded. “Good. I’m glad she’s okay.”
“She’s not okay, Grady.”
He let the statement stand in the dank air between them for a minute. “What’s wrong?”
“She needs therapy.” Her voice took on a hard edge.
“But it’s not just the stroke. Your phone call upset her.”
Another awkward silence fell between them. He had no idea how to reply. Telling her not to blame the messenger seemed pointless. “I didn’t expect you to come to Crow’s Landing so soon.”
She folded her arms beneath her breasts, then tipped her chin up, offering a glimpse of the feisty little girl she’d once been. “I have a lot of things to take care of here.”
“Right.” The funeral arrangements. “I’ll let you know as soon as the coroner releases your father’s body.” Then she could get out of town. He didn’t want her here.
Her hands tightened into fists. “Tell me about this supposed suicide note and the confession. I’d like to see it, too.”
Grady shook his head. “I’ve told you everything I know. And I sent the note to the crime lab to verify that your father wrote it.”
“Then I suggest you leave now.”
He frowned. “I’m not through here.”
“Yes, you are. I won’t let you hunt for more evidence to incriminate my father.”
Anger flared. “I didn’t realize you and your dad were close. You haven’t been back here in years.”
Violet bit her lip. “My grandmother doesn’t believe my father killed—” Her voice broke, her first visible sign of emotion. “She doesn’t believe the confession is real,” she finished, sounding stronger. “And neither do I.”
Could she not even say his sister’s name? “Is that the reason you came back?”
She stepped sideways, indicating the door. “Yes.”
His gaze locked with hers, and he saw her inner turmoil. She might claim she didn’t believe her father was guilty, but she had doubts.
She was afraid her father had killed Darlene.
“Like I said, I’m not finished here,” he said baldly.
Her eyelashes fluttered. “Yes, you are. Come back when you have a search warrant.”
Her hand trembled as she toyed with a long chain dangling between her breasts. The Best Friends necklace Darlene had bought them. She still wore it.
So she remembered his sister. She had cared for her.
Or maybe she wore it out of guilt.
He caught her wrist with one hand, then flicked a thumb along the jagged edges of the necklace, tracing the word Friends with his finger. Her breath hissed in. “I’m going to find out the truth, Violet. All my life, I’ve wanted Darlene’s murderer to pay. I’ll see that he does.”
Both fear and courage emanated from her eyes as she glared at him. “I want that, too.”
“Really? What if the killer was your father, Violet?”
Ignoring the hurt and uncertainty that darkened her eyes, he released her arm, then stalked outside. But he would be back with that search warrant.
And no matter how much he had to hurt Violet, her grandmother or his own father, he’d uncover the truth and see that Darlene’s killer got what he deserved.
And if one of them had covered for the killer…he’d make him or her pay, too.
AS THE DOOR SLAMMED SHUT, Grady’s declaration echoed off the dingy walls. Violet shuddered, the empty house closing around her. The mustiness, the echo of abandonment, the stale
