“Yes, ballistics confirmed it. It’s a match. No question.”

“And?”

“Ray Martin’s house. They found it inside Martin’s house. No fingerprints, though. The weapon had been wiped clean.”

“But the police had already gone through that house from top to bottom. How could they have missed anything? And how did they know to search again?”

“A guy called. He didn’t give a name, just identified himself as a neighbor. He said his son and some of his friends had gone into the abandoned house and found it.”

“So, it was Martin after all. A simple motive: revenge,” she said. “I was sort of hoping Simmons had done it. He could have found out about Jorguson and Martin and planted the gun. I was hoping my father’s sleazy partner would never see the light of day again.”

“Your wish may come true anyway,” he told her. “We picked him up at his D.C. office. He was just beginning to shred documents when we got there. We’ll not only indict him for his part in your attempted kidnapping, but if we find what we think we’ll find in those files, we’ll be able to get him for his part in your father’s Ponzi scheme as well. Unfortunately, he’s already posted bail so he’s free for now, but he’s got a lot of prison time ahead of him.”

“You didn’t think it was Martin who shot me, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” he admitted. “But finding the weapon . . .” The sentence trailed off, and he shook his head.

“Do you know what this means? With Martin locked up, the case is closed. My case anyway. No more bodyguards.”

She was smiling until he reminded, “And all the death threats on your phone?”

“Oh.” The burst of optimism was gone. How could she have forgotten the calls?

“That’s right,” he said. “The bodyguards stay.”

“Maybe for a few more days,” she conceded. “Surely, all the anger about my father will die down soon.”

“It’s going to take longer than a few days.”

She knew he was right. “I’m paying the bodyguards.”

“No, you’re not.”

She counted to ten. It didn’t help. “I’m going to insist.”

The set of his jaw told her he was going to be stubborn. “Insist all you want.”

She decided to table the discussion since she wasn’t winning. Besides, her asthma was kicking up. The cold night air had triggered the wheezing. She opened her purse and only then realized she didn’t have her inhaler.

“Grayson . . .”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an inhaler. “Here you go.”

She used it and, without thinking, handed it back to him. It wasn’t until he drove into his garage that she realized where he was taking her.

“You should have dropped me at my building. There’s a guard right inside the door.”

“I can’t take you home yet. We haven’t had dinner.”

He parked the car and came around to open her door. “McDonald’s is open,” she said.

“I’m going to prepare a gourmet dinner for you.”

“Really?”

“How do you feel about hot dogs?”

TWENTY-NINE

Olivia tried to say good night to Grayson at her door, but he was having none of it. He backed her into her apartment, kicked the door shut, and jerked her into his arms.

“I want you.”

From gentleman to caveman, she thought. The transformation was extremely arousing. She tried to remember why she shouldn’t go to bed with him. Oh yes, they needed to talk. “Grayson, I need to tell you—”

“Now. I want you now.”

He didn’t give her time to argue. He kissed her hard and then proceeded to tell her in the most graphic detail exactly how he was going to make love to her. By the time he finished, her legs had turned to Jell-O.

He was waiting for her permission. She wrapped her arms around his neck and spread her fingers up into his hair. “You do have a way with words,” she whispered.

Just tonight, she promised herself. Just one more night. Then she would make him leave.

Their need for each other was fierce, and their lovemaking was wild. Grayson wasn’t gentle, nor was she. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, and his shoulders wore scratches from her demanding touch. When Grayson finally summoned enough strength to move away from her, he was panting for breath, and his body was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration. Her scent mingled with his, clinging to the air around them.

“Oh my.” Olivia sighed.

“Your voice is hoarse,” Grayson told her.

“I might have screamed.”

“Might have?” he asked, grinning. “You were . . . demanding. I got a little rough, didn’t I?”

“I got a little rough, too.”

Now or never, he thought to himself. It may not be the best timing, but he was going for it regardless, while she was still recovering. He moved so quickly, she didn’t have time to react. Pinning her to the bed, he said, “I have something to tell you.” He cupped the sides of her face with his hands, holding her captive.

She looked wary. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

Tears came into her eyes. “No. You can’t love me. I should have—”

“I love you,” he repeated firmly.

“Grayson . . .”

He kissed her forehead. “You love me, too.”

She pushed against him. “That doesn’t matter,” she cried out.

“I sure as hell think it does.”

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. She tried to get up, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. She landed on top of him. Holding her prisoner with his arm wrapped around her, he forced her head down on his shoulder and said, “Calm down, sweetheart. It’s going to be all right.”

The irony in the situation wasn’t lost on him. He was having to soothe her because he’d told her he loved her.

Olivia was desperately trying not to cry. “I let this go too far,” she whispered against the side of his neck. “I shouldn’t have. I knew better. I really did, but you’re so irresistible, and I’m weak when I’m with you.”

He decided to ignore her ramblings. “I want you in my bed every night,” he said gruffly. “I want to wake up with you beside me.”

“No, I can’t . . .”

“I love you,” he repeated. “Will you marry me?”

Her reaction wasn’t what he would consider an encouraging one. She bolted upright and in a near shout said, “Oh God, no.”

At the very least he should have been insulted. The appalled look on her face did smack at his ego. He didn’t get upset, though, because he was pretty sure he knew what was going on inside that wonderful, but decidedly warped, mind of hers.

“Tell me you love me,” he demanded. His hand moved to the nape of her neck, and he tugged on her hair, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me. I know you do. I want to hear you say the words.”

“It won’t matter,” she said. A single tear escaped and slowly trailed down her cheek. “I don’t understand why you want—”

“I just do,” he snapped. “Tell me.”

“I love you.”

The tightness in his chest immediately eased. Although he already knew how she felt, he needed her to acknowledge it. The rest was up to him.

“I won’t marry you, Grayson. I can’t marry you. You need to move on without me.”

“What about Collins and Jane and Samantha? Can they ever get married? Will they?”

“What do my friends have to do with this conversation?”

“Everything,” he answered. “They have everything to do with this. And so does Dr. Andre Pardieu. Your friends were in the same experimental program under his supervision.”

She couldn’t look at him. She dropped down beside him. “Yes.”

He began to stroke her back and could feel how tense she was. “Your aunt told me a little about that period in your life. You were in the hospital a long time, weren’t you?” She refused to answer. He wasn’t deterred. “I know your family didn’t come to see you. You were all alone.”

“I was glad of it,” she blurted. “I saw what my friends’ families went through. It was horrible for them. I can still see their faces, their anguish.”

She remembered what Sam had once said after her family had visited. They’d all been crying, and Sam told her that maybe it would be better if she died because then they would be at peace.

“You think it’s going to come back,” he said very matter-of-factly. “And you don’t want anyone you love to go through that agony. Right?”

She kept silent.

“Do your friends share your fatalistic attitude?”

“They’re realists like I am.”

“I see.” His fingers gently trailed down her spine. “So you are willing to live your life waiting for death? What the hell, Olivia? Do you not see how crazy that is?”

She was suddenly furious. She pushed away from him and got out of bed.

“I don’t care if you understand or not,” she cried. She grabbed her silk robe and put it on. Her hands were shaking so, she could barely get the sash tied. “Fatalist? Ask Jane how she’s feeling these days.” She threaded her fingers through her hair in agitation. “Of the four of us, she’s the most optimistic, but what good does that do? It’s come back. I know it has, and oh God, poor Logan. He’s only just become her brother again, and now he’s going to go through hell. All those years he drank and used drugs, he was so horrible to her, and he’s desperately trying to make up for the past, but it’s too late. I don’t know what will happen to him when she dies.” Tears streamed down her face. “And Henry. What about him, Grayson? He’s already lost his mother. Do you want him to watch me die?” She put her hands up. “I’m done talking about this.”

Grayson wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but in her nearly hysterical state, he knew she’d fight him. He sat up, casually leaned against the headboard, and said, “Okay. My mistake. Never mind.”

His blasé tone confused her. She took a step toward him. “Never mind what?”

“The proposal. Never mind. Forget I mentioned it.”

“Oh.”

“Come sit with me. I have a favor to ask.”

She slowly walked over to the side of the bed. He put his hands on her h*ps and pulled her onto his lap. A wary look in her eyes, she faced him with her hands on his shoulders.

“I want you to give Dr. Pardieu permission to talk to me,” he said.

Her grip on his shoulders tightened. “Why? I thought you understood what I just said. Now that you have the right man locked up, my case is closed. You must move on.”

“Yeah, right. I’m moving on,” he agreed a bit quickly. “I still want to talk to the doctor, and he can’t tell me anything unless you give permission.”

“I don’t know why you need—”

“You’re going to do this, Olivia. First thing in the morning,” he ordered, leaving no room for negotiation.

She glared at him.

“Are you going to call me a dumb ass?” he asked.

“No, but I’m thinking it,” she muttered. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because we had our talk, and I understand. You aren’t going to marry me, and you hope that I’ll get on with my life . . . my life without you.”

“Yes,” she said defiantly. “When you leave here, that’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“Okay. You give Pardieu permission to talk to me about you, and after that conversation, you’ll never see me again. That’s my condition.”

Never see him again. The thought made her sick.

“Yes, all right.”

Grayson untied her belt and opened her robe, uncovering her beautiful breasts. She was so lovely. His fingers caressed her soft, flawless skin.

Olivia was confused. She didn’t want him to stop touching her, and yet she wanted him to go.

“Everything will change when I leave here. I know that’s what you want,” he told her. He pushed the robe off her shoulders. “But I haven’t left yet.”

THIRTY

Grayson had been up half the night working at his computer. It was amazing how much confidential information was available when one had the right credentials and knew where to look.

Olivia had said that it would have been easy for Simmons to find out about her connection to Jorguson and Martin, and that was true. Her entire life was there with a push of a button, including the names of her employers. Simmons had obviously gained access to that information because he’d called them to try to discredit her.

Yes, it would have been easy for Simmons to plant the gun in Martin’s house. He considered the possibility while he showered and got dressed. It was Sunday morning, and he was getting ready to leave for the office. He knew Ronan was already there, catching up on his own reports.

In the kitchen, Henry was having breakfast with his grandfather and Patrick. The two men were getting a blow-by-blow of what had happened the night before. Grayson heard Henry boast that Olivia had come to the hospital and had insisted on holding his hand while he got stitches. He also mentioned once again that she was his very own attorney, which the men knew was his segue into the story of what had happened in the principal’s office.

Grayson poured himself a glass of orange juice and pulled out a chair across from his nephew. “Has there been any change in plans?” he asked.

Henry nodded. “Grandfather is going to take Ralph and me to the movie, but Ralph has to go home after because”—he glanced at his grandfather before continuing—“because he can only take so much of Ralph.”

“I get that,” Patrick said, smiling.

Grayson nodded. Ralph was a little on the wild and loud side, but then, so was Henry. Together they sometimes sounded like a tornado.

“Henry, how would you feel about me marrying Olivia?” Grayson asked.

Henry’s eyes clouded with worry. “Will you move away?”

“No, she would move in here with us.”

“With me and Patrick?”

“Yes, and with me,” he said.

“Will you have a wedding?”

“Yes.”