Burn (Steel Brothers Saga 5)

“All right. We should have your results in soon.” She picked up her supplies and left the room.

“Thank you for staying,” Melanie said to me, smiling tiredly.

“It was the least I could do.” The very least. God, if she only knew.

“So tell me, what have you been up to for the past couple of days? I need to hear about something normal.”

I had to stop myself from laughing. Normal? My life hadn’t been normal for decades. It certainly wasn’t normal now. I had a brother who was hell-bent on finding the truth about his abductors, a housekeeper whose fingerprints were found at a crime scene in the main ranch house, a best friend whose father was probably a psycho child molester and murderer… Normal? Hell, I could use a little normal too.

But Melanie didn’t need to hear all my baggage right now. “Talon and I took a trip to Denver, the night after…”

God, why had I started out that way?

“It’s okay,” she said. “You mean the night after I left your house. The night they took me.”

I inhaled, bracing myself. “Yes. That night. We went to Denver to talk to that news correspondent we told you about, Wendy Madigan.”

“Did you find out anything new?”

We’d found out some new information that I wasn’t sure was accurate, but I didn’t want to burden Melanie with any of that. “Sweetheart, that can wait. Right now, you need to get some rest if you’re going to get out of here today.”

“I need to go to the police station when I leave. They have my purse and my cell phone. They recovered them from my loft.”

“You’re not going anywhere without me by your side today,” I said. “I’m going to take care of you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

For as long as she’d let me, before she found out the truth.

* * *

Melanie got a clean bill of health two hours later, and her release papers were signed. I wanted to take her straight home, but she insisted we go to the police station to retrieve her personals first. When we finally got to her loft—accompanied by a police officer since it was still considered a crime scene—we found her living room, kitchen, and bedroom in shambles—from the intruder or from the cops, neither of us knew.

“Oh my God,” she said.

“Just take the few things you need, ma’am,” the officer said. “I’ll give you some time in the bedroom.” He went to the living room.

I thought quickly. “Just grab a change of clothes. You’re coming home with me.”

“No, I can’t. I don’t want to impose.”

“For God’s sake, Melanie. You’ve seen the size of my house. I live alone. You’re not imposing.”

She gave me that soft smile. “Are you insisting?”

“I am.”

“Oh, good. I know I can’t stay here tonight, and I’m not sure…”

“What?”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever feel safe here again.”

“You don’t have to worry about that for now.” Forever, if I had anything to say about it. But she wouldn’t feel the same way once I told her the truth, that I’d neglected to take her phone call on purpose.

“I need to call my insurance company.”