His eyes moved over her face, and though the finger under her chin hadn’t moved, she still felt as if she’d been caressed by him. “What do you mean, people are dying? Who’s dying?”

No denying it now. Time to switch tactics. “I’m being melodramatic. I was just shocked to see you. That’s all.”

Grant’s jaw hardened, his eyes narrowed in warning. “Bullshit. Tell me everything, and tell me now.”

No. She wasn’t going to cave just because he wanted her to.

She pushed his hand away, breaking the contact between them.

The best way to protect him was to get him out of town, as far away from this place as possible. If she pulled him into this mess, he’d stay, and she couldn’t have his death on her hands. Not after what he’d done to save her fourteen years ago, what he’d risked.

He’d given up his life for her, gone to jail for her. She wouldn’t repay him for his kindness by pulling him into danger—assuming she wasn’t just imagining the whole thing.

Which was entirely possible. No one else believed her.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said, plastering a bright smile on her face.

“Let me be the judge of that.” His tone came out too demanding, so he softened it with a “please.”

Maybe she should tell him everything. He was former military. If anyone could see a threat, it would be Grant. And if he looked over the evidence she’d gathered and didn’t think there was anything odd, she would at least be able to relax.

“You’re probably going to think I’m crazy.”

“Crazy chicks are hot.”

Isabelle felt the blush warm her cheeks. She hadn’t been a girl for a long time, but one minute with Grant and she was already feeling like a teenager again, insecure and uncertain. The only difference was that back then she hadn’t been able to gain his attention, and now she had every bit of it aimed right at her.

It was more than enough to make any woman squirm.

“Spill it, Isabelle, or I’ll have to show you just how much I learned about interrogation techniques in the military.”

“You don’t scare me.”

A slow, lazy grin lifted his mouth. “That’s only because I’m being very careful not to, honey. I’m still playing nice here. Want me to move on to plan B?”

Yes, a crazy part of her mind screamed—the part that was still sixteen and so infatuated with Grant she couldn’t think straight. Anything he wanted to do to her had to be better than letting him walk away. Again.

But the rest of her, the sane, rational, adult part of her, knew better. She had moved on to bigger and better things in her life. She didn’t need anything from Grant. Not anymore.

“No. That won’t be necessary. Just get in your car and drive off, and I swear I’ll tell you anything you want to know on your cell phone on your way out of town.”

“Not good enough. Start talking.”

Grant had had a powerful presence even as a teen, yet it was nothing compared to the force of will she saw blazing in the man he’d become. He was harder than he had been. More formidable. More irresistible.

“I never should have called you.” Too bad she hadn’t realized it before she’d picked up the phone. All she’d been thinking about was warning him so he’d be safe. She’d never once thought that call would bring him to her doorstep.

“But you did.”

It wasn’t the first mistake she’d made, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. The only thing she could do now was damage control. “Fine. You might as well sit down.”

Grant held out his hand for her to lead the way. She left the foyer and went into the living room. A brightly lit fish tank sat against one wall, its colorful occupants gliding gracefully through the water. A few pieces of art hung here and there, mostly paintings of flowers. The furniture looked comfortable, but it was piled with mountains of superfluous, girly pillows covered in beads and tassels and other shiny bits of fluff he couldn’t name.

Isabelle perched at the far end of the couch, well out of range of any more touching, which was truly a pity. Grant took the hint and cleared away enough pillows that he could sit on the love seat, positioned between her and the front door.

If there really was something outside to be afraid of, it was going to have to get through him first.

Isabelle fidgeted with a pillow, and Grant could see the faintest tremor running through her fingers.

Whatever was scaring her, Grant wanted to find it and kill it. He’d never been sure what it was about Isabelle that brought out these fierce protective instincts in him, but he’d always thought it was simply the fact that she’d been so small and frail.

Apparently, he’d been wrong, because she was neither of those things anymore, yet his irrational urges hadn’t died down over the years.

The knowledge was more than a little unsettling.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and blurted, “In January, I got two of the Christmas cards I sent returned unopened.”

Grant sat there waiting for the rest of her dark confession. It didn’t come. “Okay. I can tell that it bothered you, but I’m dense, so you’re going to have to fill in the why part for me.”

“I’ve been sending birthday and Christmas cards to every one of the kids that shared a foster home with me since the night you . . . left.”

Grant felt a little blush creep up his neck at the knowledge that every one of the cards she’d sent him was tucked away safely in a weatherproof bag with all of his other precious belongings. He’d never been able to throw them away. He wasn’t sappy enough to pull them out and reread them or anything. At least not very often.

“In case I haven’t said it before, thank you for that. I always look forward to hearing from you.”

“Thanks. Everyone seemed to enjoy getting my cards, which is why it was odd when those two came back.”

Grant shrugged. “People relocate.”

“That’s what I tried to tell myself, but . . .”

“But what?”

She shook her head, and some slippery strands of hair slid over her shoulder to graze her smooth cheek. Grant shoved his hands under his thighs to keep from reaching out to brush her hair back into place just so he could feel the slippery weight of it running through his fingers.

He knew what women’s hair felt like. He didn’t need to feel hers, too.

“It just bothered me,” she said. “The cards were to Sam and Linda. Remember them?”

Grant shook his head. He tried not to remember too much about the years in between the time his mom wrapped her car around a tree because she was too drunk to drive, and the time he joined the army. It was best that way. “I was only there a few days. And a lot happened in those few days.”

Sadness tilted the corners of Isabelle’s full mouth. “But if it weren’t for those few days, who knows where I’d be now? You saved me from Lavine.”

Edgar Lavine. It had been years since he’d heard that man’s name, but not a day went by he didn’t think about him—about how much he wished he could kill him all over again for what he’d done to so many children. Slower this time.

Grant didn’t let his anger toward the man show, worried Isabelle might think it was directed at her. Instead, he lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Anyone would have done the same thing.”

“No, they wouldn’t have. There were a lot of anyones around at the time, and no one did a thing to stop what was going on. You did.”

He really didn’t want to talk about Lavine. Not now, not ever. “I guess I don’t remember them. Sorry.”

“I think Sam might have already left Lavine’s place when you came to live with us. Linda was there, though. She would have been about eight at the time.”

A memory sparked in his head from his first day living at Lavine’s. A little blond girl crying in her closet, hugging herself and unwilling to come out.

A lump of revulsion in his throat. No way could he go back to that page in his life. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but as an adult, he was pretty sure that Linda’s behavior had been the first sign he’d had that Edgar Lavine was a sadistic, child molesting bastard.

Finally, after a too-long struggle, Grant was able to speak, though his voice shook. “I remember her.”

“She grew up to be a happy woman. You need to know that. What happened to her was horrible, but she overcame it. She even got married about a year ago.”

“Good for her. I’m glad she’s doing well.”

Isabelle’s gaze fell to the pillow she cradled, but not before Grant saw the sheen of tears she hurriedly blinked away. “She’s not doing well . . . anymore.”

“What happened?” he asked her, not really wanting to know, and feeling like a coward because of it.

“When her card came back, I called her to make sure she was okay. Her husband told me that she killed herself on Christmas Eve. Overdose.”

Shock slid through Grant, tightening his muscles against the need to reach for her, offering her comfort he wasn’t sure she’d welcome. “Oh, God. I’m sorry, Isabelle.”

She sniffed and straightened her shoulders, though Grant could still see a shadow of grief haunting her eyes. “I’m fine. Really. She and I ended up in different homes after Lavine’s. We weren’t that close. It’s just sad, you know? She was so young. Only twenty-two.”

Grant could barely remember what he was doing ten years ago when he was twenty-two. Raising hell and chasing women whenever he was on leave, no doubt. Same old, same old. He probably still believed he was immortal at that point.

“After finding out about Linda, it took me a while to gather the courage to look up Sam to see why his card also came back. And then when I did start looking, it took me a while to actually find him.”

“So you did find him?”

Isabelle gave a tight nod.

“Where?”

“He’s dead, too,” she said.

This was beginning to sound bad. Like more-than-two-hours-to-fix bad. “How?”

Isabelle pressed her lips together as if willing herself not to speak. Her hands shook harder, but she said nothing.

“How did he die, Isabelle?”

“He killed himself. Gunshot to the head.” Tears sparkled in her eyes again, making them glow a vibrant green. “Then a few weeks ago, my friend Beverly slit her wrists.” She swallowed hard, twice, then cleared her throat. “I found her body. Her baby was in the next room, crying. She was lying in a tub full of blood. The tears on her face were still wet. She was still . . . warm.”

She pulled in a long breath and let it out slowly. “If I’d been five minutes earlier, maybe I could have saved her. But I wasn’t, and now she’s gone, too.”

Grant couldn’t sit still any longer, not when she was shaking like that, on the verge of tears. He knelt in front of her, took her hands in his, and modulated his voice so it was calm and even. “Tell me what’s going on, honey. I can help you.”