Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(67)

Easily.

Paul could have taken care of all of this and turned everything over to her in a nice, neat, impersonal report. It probably wouldn’t even take that much time. She knew his son, J. P., and J. P. was every bit as thorough and methodical as his father.

But Keelie had stopped letting other people handle things for her a long time ago.

The one time she’d tried to let somebody handle something, a nightmare had ensued and she still couldn’t quite deal with the guilt.

No.

She couldn’t just let her lawyer take over things for her. She had to poke around by herself and that was why she was huddled on the bathroom floor, nearly thirty minutes later, puking her guts out.

Now, Sheriff Deluca, you understand how it is, surely . . .

She gripped the toilet seat as her head pounded. The echo of her stepfather’s voice seemed to come from within her, and all around her.

You know how this sort of thing can happen. Boys will be boys. It just got out of control.

Cool assessing eyes, settling on her. Katie, can you tell me what happened?

Her voice breaking, I already did.

Katie, let me handle this . . .

Her legs shook as she stood up and made her way over to the sink. She washed her hands, scrubbing them until her skin was pink and then she did the same to her face. She brushed her teeth until she saw blood on the toothbrush and that was a smack in the face. She wasn’t going down that road again.

They’d made her feel dirty, because of what they’d done.

She wasn’t doing this again.

Carefully, she put the toothbrush back in its place and then she rinsed her mouth out.

She left the bathroom, feeling like her legs were going to give out under her, but she refused to cling to the wall or reach for any other form of support.

She was stronger now.

She’d made herself stronger and she had to remember that.

Once she was back on the couch, she reached for the laptop and started to read. This time, she made it all the way through and then she read it a third time.

When she was done, she scrolled back to the top, but instead of reading, she stared at the image of her stepbrother.


*

She was still staring at it when the phone rang ten minutes later.

“Hello?” She answered her cellphone woodenly, without even looking at the display. She knew who it was by the ringtone and if she’d thought it through for even a split second, she wouldn’t have answered at all.

“Keelie?”

She closed her eyes at the sound of Zane’s voice. “Hi.”

He was quiet for a few seconds and then asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, her voice brusque. “I’m just not in the mood to talk right now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Then she hung up, and went back to staring at the picture.


*

Zane lowered the phone, stared at it.

The weird, hollow ache in his chest—he tried, for a minute, to pretend it wasn’t hurt.

But then he wondered what was the point?

Nobody had the ability to hurt him the way she did.

He’d known, going in, that this wasn’t going to be an easy relationship. Here was just the first hurdle.

Okay.

So he’d wait until tomorrow.

But he sure as hell wasn’t going to stay inside all night, either. The longer he did that, the longer he was going to brood. And think about calling her.

Grabbing one of his camera bags, he checked inside, got an extra battery, his tripod. He was halfway to the door when he stopped and headed back toward his equipment, and took the old Leoto his grandfather had given him years ago. It had been his first camera and it was still his baby, even if it was a dinosaur compared to some of his equipment.

Right then, he was in the mood for the old, the familiar.

It was too late in the day to do any hiking, but he could head out of town. Do some shots out in the desert.

Empty his head for a while.

Convince himself he wasn’t thinking about her.

Yeah.

That wasn’t going to work.

Because he knew he would be thinking about her . . . thinking, and wondering just why he’d heard that underlying thread of pain in her voice.

Just what had happened between this morning and now?





Chapter Thirteen




Keelie woke up on the couch, sometime near nine.

She hadn’t gone asleep until nearly three and the table was littered with notes.

Links to various articles, dates, names.

She had no doubt that Paul would dig up all of this information if she asked—he probably already knew, but she had to see it for herself.

Boys will be boys . . .

That voice echoed in the back of her mind, a mockery. “Fuck you,” she whispered, rolling her stiff, aching body into a sitting position. She rubbed at her tired eyes and made herself look around at the small, tired little apartment.

Abruptly, a surge of anger burned inside her and she swiped her hand out, sending the notebook, her notes, the laptop, all of it flying off the table.

Rising, she started to pace the small square of her apartment, feeling like the walls were closing in around her.

“Why am I here?” she muttered, shoving her hands through her hair, fisting them.

Paying a penance, when he’d been the one to commit the crime.