see his face clearly through the sea of shifting heads and the service wasn’t interpreted, so Marianna couldn’t actually understand much of anything being said. Which gave her time to focus on the people.
She knew a lot of them, their sad faces grabbing her heart. But it was Suzanne’s parents who speared her emotions and clogged her throat with tears yet again. Unmitigated grief, stunned disbelief and rampant rage alternated across their faces. Marianna could relate. She hoped they’d gotten everything they’d wanted from the house this morning. Suzanne hadn’t had a lot of things and as soon as the police had cleared the scene, her family had wanted to gather the last of their loved one’s items.
Marianna shivered again. When she took her focus off Suzanne’s family, became aware of her surroundings, she felt…watched. After finally admitting the unsettling sensation wasn’t just in her imagination, her stomach quivered.
And then she realized…he probably was here.
Suzanne’s killer might be somewhere in this crowd.
She’d heard of killers showing up at their victims’ funerals but couldn’t fathom that she might actually be standing somewhere near a murderer. Shuddering, she wrapped an arm around her middle in a one-arm hug.
Fear churned; she swallowed it down.
Ever since the viewing and short service at the church, and then upon arrival at the burial site, she’d felt someone staring holes in her back. Yet each time she turned, she saw nothing strange and no one out of place. At first, she chalked it up to being the dead woman’s roommate. Of course people would stare at her.
But maybe it was more than that.
As though in slow motion, she turned a full circle, examining every face, trying to see around hats, scarves and umbrellas.
Movement caught from the corner of her eye brought her head around. Ethan headed her way. Nerves cluttered up her stomach. If he leaned over and whispered in her ear, would she be able to catch the words? Pulling the collar of her coat snug around her neck, she stepped to the left to get a better view of the minister. She’d been invited to sit with the family, but the number of relatives in attendance had clearly been underestimated, so Marianna had surrendered her chair to an elderly aunt.
Ethan stepped next to her. She looked up at him. He smiled and mouthed, “Are you all right?”
She shrugged, ignored the threat of tears for the hundredth time that day, then dared to ask, “He’s here, isn’t he?”
Ethan didn’t bother to pretend he didn’t understand who she meant. She could see it in his eyes. “Probably.” Keeping his voice low, he looked over her shoulder and asked, “Do you see anyone who shouldn’t be here?”
Once again, Marianna let her eyes trail over the people. The minister had finished and the mourners started their exit. “There’re too many people, too many hats and umbrellas. I can’t see all of their faces.”
“I’m having that problem, too.” His eyes scanned the group, but his body remained relaxed, hands tucked loosely in his pockets. “Who did you come with?”
“Just myself. My parents didn’t know Suzanne very well, and my dad wasn’t feeling well anyway, so Mom wouldn’t let him come out in the cold.” She paused, bit her lip and looked away from him. “I spent the night at my parents’ house again last night. I just couldn’t…I guess tonight I’ll stay at my house.” Tears pooled and this time she couldn’t fight them. Several dribbled down her cold cheeks.
A warm cloth swept them away. Ethan had pulled out a handkerchief. Grateful, she took it from his hand and finished mopping up. “Thanks. I’m sorry. I suppose the tears will stop one day.”
“Let yourself grieve. It’s okay to hurt. And it’s okay to stay with your parents awhile. No one would blame you.” All gentleness and compassion, his eyes said he hurt for her.
She pocketed the handkerchief. “I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”
“No hurry. Come here.” He took her hand in his and urged her along behind him.
She followed, stopping when he placed a hand on her arm. Wondering what he was doing, she watched his face, waiting for him to speak. “Okay, now, you can see the people getting in their cars. Tell me if you see anyone who sticks out.”
Marianna turned. She and Ethan stood at the top of a gently sloping hill, making it easy to watch the crowd scatter to their various vehicles below. The rain had slacked off. People closed their umbrellas, affording Marianna a pretty good view of faces she hadn’t been able to see earlier.
She gasped, “There’s Bryson.”
“The ex-boyfriend, right?”
“Yes. I mean, I don’t know why I’m surprised he’s here. It was a mutual breakup without any hard feelings. Of course he would be here. I’m sure Suzanne’s death came as a shock.”
“I still want to talk to him and maybe catch him off guard so I’ll see a true reaction. Excuse me, okay?”
Marianna watched the good-looking young attorney head for his black BMW. Ethan set off after the man, leaving her trailing slowly behind and watching the two of them. Then the feeling of being watched caused her to glance over her shoulder once more. Nothing and no one around her stood out as suspicious.
Her BlackBerry vibrated. Shoving her hand in her pocket, she kept her eyes on Ethan as he approached Bryson. When the device hummed again, she glanced at it. And groaned.
Curt Wentworth. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone?
She flipped the cover and read his text.
“We need to talk. Stop being so stubborn and meet me this evening for dinner.”
Not in this lifetime, buster. What would it take for him to get the message she wanted nothing more to do with him? He’d put his hands on her in anger and left bruises on her. He’d also been verbally abusive. He was the last person she wanted to have dinner with. For at least two minutes, she stared at it, debating what to say. Unable to come up with anything she wouldn’t regret, she closed the unanswered message and the machine, clenching her fist around the device.
A gentle hand covered hers. Startled, she realized Ethan had come back. She shivered. And realized something else. The feel of his hand on hers felt right.
“Problem?” His brows climbed to reach into the shaggy blond hair that lay across on his forehead.
“What?” She’d missed what he’d said. Trying to speech read through a red fog of anger didn’t come in her little bag of tricks.
“Is there a problem?” he repeated.
“Oh. Yes. But nothing I can’t handle.” And she would handle it. Just as soon as she figured out how.
“I don’t mind helping out.”
“I said I could handle it.” She appreciated the offer but didn’t need another person in her life trying to take care of her. Winning her independence had been a tough battle, but she’d done it.
Hands held up in a gesture of surrender, he backed up
