Resist

“And you think he killed them?”

“No, but I do think he’s responsible.” I sigh, knowing I need to explain further. “Ryan had a lot of problems back then. One of those was gambling. He owed a lot of money to the wrong kind of people. The type of people you don’t mess with. I think my mother was trying to break things off that day, and I think Ryan was followed to my house.”

“You think the people he owed money to murdered your mom because he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—pay up,” Charlotte breathes, finally connecting the dots. “And your father and sister?”

I shrug. “I think they just arrived home at the wrong time.”

“Why haven’t you told the police any of this?” she demands.

“Because I can’t prove any of it,” I say, frustrated. “Nor does Ryan have any criminal case to answer to. I need his confession for me. Until I have some proof, I’m not going to rest. Solving my parents’ murder has engulfed my life. I know Ryan was involved, and until I see him suffer like I have, I won’t give up.”

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” she says suddenly, her voice soft. “I know I haven’t exactly given you much reason to.”

“You said yourself you needed details in order to get him to confess,” I say, refusing to let my emotions show. I do trust her. I have no idea why, considering how poor my track record with women is, but Charlotte, even with the lies, is different. I can feel it.

“So how am I supposed to get to Ryan?” she asks again. She looks desperate, and I like how much she obviously wants to do this for me. If she cares enough about this, then maybe she really does care about me.

“Charlotte, can you do this or not?” I ask, my tone harsh. Her eyes widen and she looks at me with a hurt expression. “You’re obviously capable of lying. I have faith in you to pull this off.”

“Is that an insult or a compliment?” she mutters, frowning.

I shrug. “Both?” Her frown deepens. “Look, go and take your two days off. Relax, do whatever it is you do to unwind, and then come back here focused on doing your job.”

“My job description seems to change every five minutes,” she mutters. I raise my eyebrows. Her face goes red. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t meant to hear that. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“Go home, Charlotte.”

I watch her leave, ignoring the unfamiliar feeling gnawing at my stomach. Is that disappointment? Am I sad to see her go, even just for a few days? What the fuck is she doing to me?

God, trusting again is so fucking hard.

No matter how much I want to believe her when she says there’s something there, that little voice in the back of my mind reminds me just how easily peo

ple can turn around and fuck you in the ass.

People you thought you could trust. People like Ryan.

And Brynne.

Chapter 20

Charlotte

I pace around my living room, glad to be back in the comfort of my own home after so long but panicked about the road in front of me. My hands on my head, I’m trying to hold back tears as I try to figure out what I’m going to do. What the hell have I gotten myself into? I thought for sure the game was over. He knew who I was and what I was doing there. The last thing I expected was for him to still need me. I shiver. As much as I know how dangerous it is to speculate, especially with someone as damaged as Jaxon, I can’t help myself. Maybe there is something there. That spark I feel when I’m around him…

I shake my head. For God’s sake, Charlotte, focus.

Ryan’s trouble. I knew that even before Jaxon told me the full story. I fucked up fooling Jaxon, so what makes me think I can fool Ryan? God knows what he’ll do to me if he discovers what I’m doing for Jaxon. I shudder at the thought.

I need to speak to Dee and Jess. They’ll know what to do. I call Dee first and get her voicemail. Cursing, I hang up and try Jess. Thank God she answers and agrees to come over.

Half an hour later she’s standing at my door with a bottle of wine in one hand and a familiar white paper bag in the other. I begin to salivate and I realize I haven’t eaten all day.

“That better be chocolate croissants,” I warn, grabbing the bag. I open it and breathe in the sweet, buttery goodness.

“Would I dare bring anything else?” she says with a laugh. She slips her sunglasses off and deposits them in her bag, along with her keys. “Are you home for good? What happened?”

“What happened is he found out who I am.”