This Love Hurts (This Love Hurts 1)

The soft knock on my door is welcome, stealing me away from these thoughts and the trails my mind is leading me down. At first I think it’s the security detail, wanting to know if I have an ETA for when we’ll be home. Evan’s already asked twice. It’s not, though. It’s Claire.

“What’s going on with you?” Claire asks as she shuts the door, her black silk blouse reflecting the yellow light as she does. “Still shaken about the threat?” she asks with the soft click of the door shutting. A friend is what I need now. Thank God for Claire checking in on me before I lose it all.

Shaking my head no, which oddly enough is true, I answer, “Just focusing on Brass.”

“The four murders?” she questions, touching on the cases he walked on.

“And the note. The threat I got.”

“You really think Herman and Brass are connected? That Brass was behind it all?”

Yes. I do. Only because of Marcus. If I tell her I do… well, a good lawyer wouldn’t jump to conclusions. “It’s a hunch. I just want it solved.”

“Understandable. Threats shouldn’t be taken lightly,” Claire answers easily as she gracefully takes the seat across from me. She adds, “A man like him doesn’t stay out of trouble… so we’ll nail him one day. Speaking of, did you hear Herman was found dead this morning?”

“Yeah, Walsh told me.”

I don’t miss the way her head tilts slightly and her arms cross against her chest when I admit that Walsh told me. It strikes me as odd. Why wouldn’t he tell me?

She questions, “You think Brass did it?”

No. I think Marcus did. I think he did it for me. It’s only a hunch, but I feel it deep in the marrow of my bones. Every time his name comes up, Marcus, a deep need runs over me to close my eyes. To remember the way his scent and his heat wrapped around me. If I’m not thinking about the details of the case… I’m thinking about him or pleading with Cody to keep me occupied.

I’m desperate to know how Marcus became the man he is. Did he really do everything everyone claimed he did? The questions bombard me once again and with them screaming in my head, I look back up at Claire and try to remember her question.

I’m fairly certain Marcus killed Herman. That’s not what I answer, of course, and another lie slips out. “I think so. I think Brass knew the kid would ID him and he wanted to make sure Herman couldn’t rat.”

Claire nods. Her eyes are discerning though when she says, “It’s a decent theory.”

I can hear the questions she’d typically rattle off. Questions to get me thinking. They all start with the other man from that night. The man with the blue eyes who called himself Marcus. Ross Brass doesn’t have blue eyes or fit the physical description.

She doesn’t ask a single question, though. Not one and that knowledge makes my skin heat with the sense that she knows I’m hiding something.

Or maybe that’s just guilt.

I pause, leaning back in my chair, wishing I could tie Brass to Herman’s death. It would be so easy. It would be justified. “The only thing we have is the ID of a kid,” I tell her, breathing in deep and racking my brain for some evidence from the secretary’s murder that would tie Herman and Brass together more closely. That’s all I need and we can bring Brass in.

“And the dead body,” Claire comments.

“Right, and a dead body.”

“What about the note at the scene? Did Walsh tell you about that?” Her questions come back-to-back, berating me. I understand she’s a bit overbearing given everything that happened. But she can back off of whatever trail she’s on. She’s dead wrong.

“No. He didn’t. What note?” She doesn’t answer me; instead she searches my eyes for something and whatever it is she’s looking for, I don’t think she finds it.

“To be frank, the only thing keeping you from being a suspect in his murder is your alibi with Taylor.”

What? My eyes widen with both contempt and disbelief. “I know you wouldn’t do something like that. But the fact that it came up at all as a theory… That’s a little too close for my liking. Especially given it was only a month ago that the article came out and the animosity there. We don’t need any more heat. You,” she says while she points directly at me and I want to snap her finger off, “you don’t need any more heat.”

“I don’t have anything to say to that.” It’s all I can respond, ignoring her and the pissed-off feelings seeping through me.

“You’re too close to this case.” Claire’s voice is gentle and I understand why, but it doesn’t matter. She can’t take me off this one. I know it better than anyone else here.