His Brother's Bride

If she was holding William and Cecilia hostage...

He had no right to dictate Laurel’s life.

“Remember, if it gets dangerous, you do exactly as I say,” he instructed, more for his own benefit than because he had any doubts about her.

“Of course.”

“Here’s Murphy.”

Getting out of the Blazer, they both watched the police car pull into the drive. At Scott’s request, Murphy accompanied them inside. There still was no police investigation, no evidence other than an accidental death and hunches put together, no crime committed.

As they entered the unrenovated side of the house Arnett had been calling home for the past month, following behind Murphy, Scott grabbed Laurel’s hand.

She fell so naturally into step, taking his lead without hesitation.

She might not respect him anymore, but she still trusted him.

In all likelihood that trust was going to be the last thing she ever gave him.

Inside, the house was as bad as he’d expected. Plaster hung from the walls, and there were gaping holes in the floor. It smelled like someone had forgotten to take out the trash. With the windows boarded up, the front room was dark and gloomy as they slowly picked their way behind Murphy.

The police officer told them the landlord had described a boiler room in the basement that had cement walls and no windows. They were going to check there first.

“Please, God, let them be okay,” Laurel whispered. Her breath tickled the back of his neck.

She was so close to him he felt her words like impressions in his mind rather than heard the sound. He felt her desperation. It was as though they were one, creeping stealthily through the night. One being. One body. One energy.

If determination could make things happen, they would get William and Cecilia out of this mess alive.

Unless they were already too late—a possibility he couldn’t ignore.

He didn’t respond, except to squeeze the hand he held. As much as he hated taking her into whatever hell lay ahead, he was glad to be sharing this with her. To be making this memory.

Assuming it turned out well.

It had to turn out well.

As they neared the basement stairs, Scott felt a tug on his hand. “Scott?”

Murphy started down the stairs without them as Scott turned, his face almost touching hers.

“If anything happens down there...”

He shook his head, holding her gaze in the shadowy house. Because the light was so dim, he wasn’t certain what he read in her expression. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

So he was not at all prepared when her mouth moved closer.

Caught completely by surprise, Scott opened his lips to hers, taking hungrily what she seemed to be offering him. The urgency of the moment left no time for gentle coaxing. For asking—or waiting for an answer. His tongue met hers ardently, demanding and giving in equal fervor. Her taste was still so new to him, and yet his body felt right at home, connected to hers.

“Laurel,” he whispered. There was so much he needed to say, yet he knew it had already been said.

She shook her head and reached up to kiss him one last time. A soft, lingering kiss. Without a hint of passion.

The impact of that gesture shook Scott more than anything that had gone before. The air left his lungs, and for one crazy second he wondered if he could take another step, go on to do the job that awaited him.

Taking his hand, Laurel positioned herself behind him again, ready to face the future—the one that had become defined in those short moments.

He might not yet know the fate of William and Cecilia, but he knew his own. Laurel had just said goodbye.