Jesus, he was on a fucking witch-hunt. I gritted my teeth. “It’s purchased evidence. Trent has something that puts Collin at the scene of a murder eight years ago. He’s innocent.”
“And you know this how? Based on faith in your husband?”
“Yes.” I smiled, baring my teeth, but inside, I was picking Collin’s innocence apart.
Collin told me the evidence was purchased, and I never questioned him, never doubted him for a second. My stomach twisted.
No, I refused to question his loyalties. I’d known him my entire life. My trust in him was everything. But the voice in my head reminded me that I hadn’t been completely honest with him.
“Know what I think?” He stepped into my space, staring me down with an intensity that didn’t match the gentleness in his tone. “I think he’s fucking around on you, and that’s why you cheated. How can you have faith in someone like that?”
I drew a calming breath and said quietly, “The relationship I have with my husband is none of your fucking business.”
“I don’t trust him.”
The rigid tension in his face and the resolve hardening his eyes boiled my blood. “He’s my best friend, the only person whose ever given a shit about me!”
He breathed in and out slowly as if working to maintain his composure. “I’m here to determine who’s involved and who’s not.”
“Then what?” But I knew. I knew what he planned to do. My muscles tensed, and my head spun through the implications. “We need to go to the police. You have all the evidence they need to start an investigation. Let the authorities root out all the connections.”
He pivoted away, pacing through the large office, his hand raking and tugging through his hair. “We can’t. The evidence”—he gripped the bag hanging at his hip and shook it—“all of it will lead to me.” He spun to face me, his eyes challenging. “I avenged those murders.”
A chill tiptoed up my spine. “What are you saying?”
“Trent deals with some vile people. Assassins. Men who rape and torture and murder.”
“You killed them.” My shoulders tightened, self-preservation screaming at me to run, but my gut told me he’d never hurt me. Not like that. He was telling me his secrets. Very damning secrets. That was a hell of lot of trust to put in me.
“I killed rapists and murderers, Kaci. Including the man who killed my mother.” His chin lifted, and the unapologetic strength of his gaze wasn’t one of a crazed man. More like a battle-ready vigilante who’d lived a hard life. “I stopped them from taking more lives.”
He believed he was doing the right thing, but there was a darkness in him. In the shadow of his surly glare, the turbulence of his temper, and the fierceness of his fucking.
It reminded me of the man I’d fantasied about for so long. The criminal who wore his darkness in a cloak of black leathers. Evader maimed and killed during races, a fact that hadn’t deterred me during our moment in an unlit elevator.
I didn’t know Logan Flynt or Evader enough to determine if they were the same man. But my mind had latched onto the idea and went searching for clues. Like the header on the news article he’d shown me. “Your mom was in the Motorcycle Hall of Fame?”
He gave a short nod, his eyes studying me from a few feet away.
I cocked my head. “You ride?”
“No.”
No hesitation. No emotion. Direct eye contact. Which told me absolutely nothing.
The phone on my desk beeped. I sighed. Probably Jenna calling about the morning’s schedule.
As I moved to answer it, I could feel him following. I pressed the speaker button. “Jenna?”
“Your eight-thirty meeting is waiting.”
“On my way.” I ended the call and turned.
Just feet apart, we stared at each other, the energy between us still there but different. The silent communication felt restricted as if waiting on certain conditions. But also hopeful and seeking.
He felt it, too. I saw it in the softening of his eyes and the slight tilt of his head as he regarded me. Then he stepped forward, erasing the gap in three slow strides. His hand went to the back of my head. His lips touched my brow and held there, coating my skin with warm breaths.
“Don’t kill my family,” I whispered, gripping his tie. “They’re awful, but I…” I inhaled deeply. “I need some time to think.”
After everything they’d done to me, I couldn’t justify their deaths. Not without confirming the evidence and considering the ramifications that murder would have on Collin, myself, and especially Logan. He’d killed but hadn’t murdered his own blood. His father. How could a person come back from that?
He cupped my face, angling it upward, his gaze searching. “While you’re thinking, don’t call in the cops.”
If I reported what I knew, Logan would disappear. Or worse, he’d get caught. There was also Trent’s threat against Collin. If I sent him to prison, he’d take Collin with him.