The Sinner (Notorious 1)

I ducked farther into the shed, grabbing the hand tools.

“I’m not going to leave this alone,” she said, from the doorway.

Of course not. Of course she’d make this hard.

“It’s none of your business.” I growled the words, stomping past her to the cypress.

“You’re right,” she said. “It’s not. But—”

“How about we talk about Katie’s father?” I asked, shifting to offense, my temper lit. “Where is he?” She went pale and I arched my eyebrows, waiting. I wanted to hammer on her like the ghosts hammered on me.

A mourning dove cooed and a dog barked someplace close by and I waited. I waited and I watched her, remembering the way she tasted. The way the inside of her thighs felt against my body. The sound of cries around the fingers I’d shoved in her mouth. And I wanted it all again.

Ferociously.

“Go to hell, Matt,” she snapped. She spun on her heel and left.

I already am.

Nine hours later, I put the tools away, my work for the day done. The heat had been relentless today. So thick, so heavy it dragged at my limbs, sucked at my head. Katie’s mid-afternoon water balloon shower had been a fantastic relief. I’d thanked her, which got me the scowling of a lifetime.

I shut the door to the shed and my vision swam, the earth dipped under my feet. Luckily, the shed was there to hold me up.

“You’re eating with us tonight.”

I forced the world to right itself and my vision to clear. When I was sure I wouldn’t fall over, I turned.

Margot looked regal in pressed linen, a red scarf around her hair. Diamonds sparkled at her ears.

“Is that an order, Margot?”

“Damn right it is. I didn’t ask you to stay so you could kill yourself.”

“For a group of women so angry with me, you’re awfully concerned about my welfare.”

“And I’m tired of living with martyrs. We’re eating in an hour.” Margot’s eyes raked over me. “Clean yourself up.”

SAVANNAH

I could not leave it alone. Matt and the Elements Building tragedy were like a sore tooth from which I couldn’t keep my tongue.

Hours passed in a few clicks of my mouse.

With each story I read, my pendulum regarding Matt swung back and forth between hero and bad guy, lingering more and more on hero.

He didn’t know about the floors. Research rarely lied and the research proved it.

During the final push of the construction, he’d been in Moscow, then Nebraska. Peter Borjat, who’d died in the accident, was also the sculptor whose work was being shown in that fatal corner. He was supposed to be showing a piece made of glass and pine at the opening, but it had sold two weeks before the party.

Instead, they subbed an iron-and-steel piece of his that weighed a literal ton. The contractor, wasn’t informed until two nights before the event.

It was a small detail compared to the thousand bigger ones the men were handling leading up to the gala. It had been dealt with by assistants and subcontractors, and by the time word got to Matt it was too late.

The contractor, as he said in his deposition, had crossed his fingers and prayed. Clearly, it hadn’t worked.

Peter’s family hadn’t pressed charges against Matt, but the cleanup and recovery costs had bankrupted the contractor, who, even before taking on the Elements Building, had been having a tough year.

In the six months since the tragedy, Matt had opened a fund for Peter Borjat’s family. Given a few more hours, I’d probably be able to find out how much he’d donated.

I closed my computer. I didn’t want to feel this way about Matt. Sympathy, empathy, whatever this was, I didn’t want it.

It made my chest hurt.

Asking me about Katie’s father had been a low blow, but considering the depth and breadth of his guilt I would have done the same thing.

“Mom!” Katie cried from the bottom of the stairs. “Dinner!”

Ugh.

I twisted my hair up on my head in a sloppy bun. It was almost too hot to eat.

Rising reluctantly, I pulled on a clean tank top and changed from cutoffs to a light pink skirt. It wasn’t quite dressing for dinner, but at least Margot wouldn’t lecture me.

I met Katie at the bottom of the stairs.

“He’s here,” Katie said, with a scowl fit for any bad guy in the movies, which was a pretty good indicator of who he was. “Margot invited him.”

“Then we will be polite,” I said, rubbing a hand over Katie’s head. My little girl continued to scowl. “I don’t know why you’re so mad at him.”

“Because you are,” Katie said. “Or you were.”

“Let’s try to keep an open mind,” I said, tucking my arm around Katie and heading toward the dining room. Something that felt like excitement tingled along my skin.

It wasn’t the prospect of being close to Matt again. It was this mystery that was so thrilling. His grief was fascinating.