His Brother's Bride

LAUREL PUT A BOWL of chow mein in front of Scott where he sat at the table in his motel room, studying pages of notes, as though he didn’t already have all the answers drumming through his mind.

“I’m sure we’ll hear soon,” she told him, wishing there was more she could do than push food at him that he probably didn’t want any more than she did. It couldn’t take Murphy that long to make his calls and write up the report.

Why couldn’t they just go back a couple of days.

He glanced up and smiled, a weary yet warm and grateful smile. Laurel looked away. She didn’t know this man—or the things he’d been thinking all those years when she’d loved him like a brother.

She had, hadn’t she? Loved him like a brother?

Too upset to eat, too restless to do nothing, Laurel went over and washed her hands, then put a cool washcloth to her face.

“You still need to eat, even if you don’t want to sit with me.”

She jumped, dropping the washcloth. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her with the water running.

“I...” How could she tell him that this motel room was far too small for a woman who hadn’t been properly held for such a long time and a man who’d confessed he’d been lusting after her for eighteen years.

She took the bowl he held out to her, leaned back against the counter and started to eat, praying that the phone would ring and save her.

* * *

THE PHONE DIDN’T RING. And when the silence made the motel room almost more than she could bear, Laurel talked about the case.

“You know,” she finally told Scott, “I’ve never even met Cecilia, and yet, after searching for her all these days, I feel really close to her.”

She was surprised to see the frown on his face when he glanced her way. “Maybe that’s because you were so fond of William...”

“What’s wrong?” she asked him before she remembered her decision to steer clear of personal conversation.

“We might not get to her in time,” he said gently.

“I know.”

He gathered up their trash. “If you make it personal, it’ll hurt like hell if we don’t.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

His words were soothing. Intimate.

“I know,” she said again.

Scott would give his life rather than hurt her. She knew that instinctively. It was something that hadn’t changed over the years.

And that mattered to her. It mattered a lot.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

JUST A FEW MINUTES after four o’clock, Officer Bill Murphy called Scott to tell him that Dennis Arnett was dead. They’d just identified him today when Murphy went down to the morgue. Dennis had been on his way to the airport, flying under a false identification, which was why they hadn’t been able to find next of kin.

“What?” Laurel cried when she heard the news. Sinking down to the bed, she stared up at Scott. “How? When?”

“Last Sunday afternoon.” Scott’s tone was as grave as the look in his eyes. “He was killed in a car accident going to the airport. He’d reserved a seat on a flight to Bermuda. They found almost a million dollars in a suitcase on the seat beside him.”

“What about William and Cecilia? And Leslie?”

He leaned back against the dresser, his feet crossed in front of him, his arms folded. “Nothing.”