Hour of Need (Scarlet Falls #1)(30)

Grant scanned the room. The papers he’d left in neat stacks on the table were askew. The kitchen drawers hung open. Items on the counter had been shifted. Grabbing the baby and the dog’s collar, he turned and herded them all back out the door. He could hear AnnaBelle lunging against the front door.

“What’s wrong?” Hannah resisted.

He whispered in her ear. “Someone was in the house.”





Chapter Eleven


Grant hustled them back to the van. He put the kids and dog inside and handed the keys to Hannah. “Lock the doors, drive down the street, and call the police.”

“Where are you going?” Hannah protested.

“I’m going to check the house.”

“But—”

“I’ll be fine.” He closed the van door.

As soon as the vehicle pulled away, Grant turned back toward the door. Anger and purpose sped his strides as he sprinted up the walkway. God help anyone he found in his brother’s home.

He crept inside through the door he’d left open. He listened, but the house was silent. He stopped in the kitchen and selected the utility knife from the block on the counter. Rage boiled in his veins and blurred his thoughts as he stalked into the hallway. Reverse gripping the handle, he started searching rooms. The office and dining room were clear. If someone was in the house, he’d find him.

Grant walked up the stairs. He slid into the kids’ rooms, checked their closets, and peered under beds, then crossed the hall to Lee and Kate’s room.

Grant stood in the center of the master, listening for a creak of hardwood that would give away an intruder. In his peripheral vision, a curtain moved. He crept across the floor with silent feet and swept the fabric aside, the blade poised for attack. But the space was empty. Air from the floor radiator blew into his face and moved the drapes.

With his fingers clenched on the knife handle, he turned away. Clothes hung from half-open drawers as if they’d exploded. A pair of silk panties lay in the middle of the room. The intruder had gone through Kate’s intimates. Grant’s fury compounded as he eased back into the hallway and trod toward the guest rooms, then went up to the third floor and checked the attic.

A wide-open, dusty—and empty—space greeted him.

Disappointment flooded him. One minute with his brother’s killer. That’s all he wanted. That’s all he needed.

Breathing hard, he stopped at the base of the attic steps. To do what? He hadn’t had a choice in Iraq and Afghanistan. He’d killed to protect other soldiers. He’d killed for his country, but to kill for pure revenge would be different. He looked down at the knife in his hand. If Grant had found someone behind that curtain, would he have slit the intruder’s throat? Without even making sure he was the same person who’d killed Lee and Kate? The answer was a disturbing maybe.

Frankly, he wasn’t sure what he would have done.

He dragged the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his sweating forehead. His adrenaline rush ebbed, leaving his hands shaky. He flexed his fingers. The physical letdown would pass. His fury, however, remained at low simmer in his gut. He breathed in and out and willed his anger to cool. He needed to control his temper. Carson and Faith were reliant on him to take care of them. He couldn’t lose it.

Grant jogged down the stairs and peered out the living room window. A marked police car pulled into the driveway and two uniformed cops got out. A dark blue sedan parked behind the black-and-white. Detective McNamara stepped out of the second vehicle and walked toward the house.

Grant greeted the cop on the porch. The flow of cold air chilled his clammy skin. “There’s no one in there now, but there was.”

“We’ll just have a look inside.” The uniforms disappeared into the house.

Eying the knife in Grant’s hand, McNamara held out a hand. “You should have waited for us.”

Yes. Grant handed him the knife, handle first. “I’m pretty much an expert at clearing buildings.” His argument sounded weak because it was lame. He’d gone into the house hoping to find someone to take the brunt of his anger.

McNamara accepted the knife. “Yeah. I bet you are, but you don’t do it alone, do you?”

“No,” Grant admitted.

The minivan pulled into the driveway. The sliding door opened, and Carson jumped out. He bolted across the lawn and hit Grant in the legs with a full-body hug hard enough to knock him off balance. Grant pried his thin arms from around his thighs and picked the boy up. “What’s wrong, buddy?”

AnnaBelle circled them, barking.

Carson buried his head in Grant’s shoulder. “I was scared for you.”

Oh, shit. He’d f*cked up. The kid had lost his parents, and Grant had left him in a frightening situation and put himself at risk. Carson might not fully understand the circumstances, but he could probably pick up on Hannah’s fear and Grant’s aggression. Holding the trembling child, Grant realized things were never going to be the same again. It wasn’t about him and what he wanted anymore. The kids had to be considered first in each and every decision.

The uniforms came out of the house. “House is clear. The laundry room window was opened. He used a glass cutter.”

“Dust the doorknobs and window for prints and look for footprints under the window,” McNamara said to the uniforms. He turned back to Grant. “You’ll have to give us a list of what was taken.”