Motive

by Kennedy Layne

  “I’m surprised you’re not at the office making calls after the breaking news about our relationship and what happened with Brandon.” Grace picked up her fork and used the side of the prongs to cut into her omelet. He noticed that she didn’t take a bite as he poured them both a glass of red wine. “I’m sure that kind of salacious news story has reached your clients by now.”

  Rye lifted the glasses from the counter and joined her at the table. They were treading on shaky ground, though it was pulverized soil they’d already covered a time or two. He decided another vehicle was best for the terrain.

  Without a word, he gently took the fork out of her hand and lifted the small amount of food to her mouth. Grace hesitated before parting her lips and taking his offering. Their stares remained connected as she slowly chewed and swallowed the only meal he was good at making.

  “You’re more important to me than any of my investors, Grace.” Her blue eyes dilated as she inhaled a deep breath through her nose. It was clear she hadn’t thought he’d steer the conversation to their relationship. But wasn’t that where all roads led to in the end? “I’m not sure if I ever told you that. I thought you should know that up front.”

  “Rye, you don’t have to—”

  “Tell you the truth?” Rye cut off another bite of the omelet and ate it, giving himself time to say what he should have said years ago. “This morning, once we began arguing, it was like being taken back in time. We used to fight over what the other wanted to do or say before storming off and not giving a damn about the consequences. You joined me today, though I figure you believed you didn’t have much of a choice. The thing is, angel, none of this matters—not Brandon, not your mother, and certainly not our careers.”

  Grace was about to reply when he slipped in another bite of the omelet. He grinned when she grabbed the napkin and pressed it against her lips. He’d bought himself maybe ten seconds, tops.

  “We let outside influences dictate the directions of our lives. Aren’t you about ready to open the sunroof and take the wheel?”

  Grace surprised him when she remained silent. She reached for her wineglass, taking a healthy sip and leveling him a curious stare over the rim of her glass.

  “You can let the past slide away as if nothing happened? The news coverage doesn’t bring up bad memories?”

  “I can let the past fade into oblivion, and what the media is currently covering is old news,” Rye replied, leaning back in his chair and taking her lead by reaching for his wineglass. “I hate to break this to you, angel, but you’re the only one standing in our way.”

  Grace continued to drink her wine while studying him, allowing the soft jazz music he’d put on in the living room to make its way into the kitchen. He’d bought the Victorian style home around two years after Grace had left him, though he hadn’t recognized at the time that he’d decorated the place with subtle designs and color schemes that she would appreciate. The two-story home even had the wraparound porch she’d always admired on other older homes they would drive by on the way to visit her parents.

  “What if I were to tell you that—”

  The light melodic ring of Grace’s cell phone drifted from its place on the table, preventing her from finishing her sentence.

  “You should get that,” Rye encouraged, easily recognizing the offended look on her face. The only person who could ever garner that type of distaste was Gail Walsh. “Seriously, find out what your mother has to say and why she felt the need to keep Brandon’s release from prison a secret from you.”

  “This isn’t a conversation that’s going to go well, especially once I throw my own two cents down that well.”

  Grace sighed in agitation, but she grabbed her phone and took both it and her wine into the living room. Her sweet perfume hung in the air as her bare feet silently made their way across the kitchen tiles. A quick glance at her plate told him that she hadn’t eaten nearly enough to keep her healthy, but he doubted she would finish her meal after the conversation she was about to have with her mother.

  Rye finished his omelet before he wrapped her plate in saran wrap and set it on the middle shelf in the refrigerator. He hadn’t yet heard Grace raise her voice, nor did he hear her crying…both a good sign.

  He was about to grab the bottle of wine and join her in the living room, thinking maybe she needed more sustenance in the alcohol department, when his own cell phone rang.

  “Jag. Is everything okay? I thought you were overseas.”

  Jag Douglas. His brother in every way it counted except blood. But blood meant nothing in the long run. Loyalty trumped everything else in Rye’s book.

  The two of them had grown up in foster care, learning faster than most that they only had each other to rely on. No family, no matter their good intentions at adopting a child, was going to take two eleven-year-old boys into their home when infants and toddlers were available from either their own area or another country.

  “I heard about Brandon Walsh.” The connection that had been established for this call wasn’t that clear, and static cut off some of Jag’s words. The mention of Brandon was enough for Rye to know that this was a checkup call. “…you okay?”

  “Let’s say I was surprised to find out he was released, but things are fine on my end. There’s been no attempt at contact.” Rye hadn’t spoken to Jag in quite a few months. Hell, the last time Jag had reached out from some ship in the middle of the Indian Ocean, it was before Rye and Grace had gotten reacquainted. “Listen, Jag. You should know something.”

  “That you and Grace Dorrance are back together?” The signal had suddenly become clear, as had the doubt lacing Jag’s worried tone. He’d been there when things had gone to shit. “You sure you want to go down that road again, brother?”

  It was funny that he’d compared the path he and Grace were on to rough terrain earlier, and here Jag was pretty much referencing the same image. That’s how similar the two of them thought. It was a fact that would never change, and that particular constant meant the world to Rye.

  “I’m more confident about Grace than I was when we were staying at Mrs. Lagasse’s place in St. Paul and I told you it was a bad idea to take her car to Cocoa Beach. You didn’t listen to me back then. Hell, you’ve never listened to me.”

  “Well, I’m hearing you loud and clear now,” Jag said, rich laughter following his words. “You and Grace, back together again. Go figure. Don’t be a fucking idiot this time. Talk to her, spend time with her, and for the love of God…don’t let that prick come between the two of you ever again.”

  “That’s advice I can willingly take, brother.”

  These phone calls that Jag made from a deep-sea exploration out in the middle of nowhere didn’t last long, so Rye switched the topic back to Jag and when his ass was due back on land. The last minute of the conversation was spent talking about the renovations of Jag’s newly acquired fixer-upper and what equipment and supplies were needed to be delivered to the warehouse property they both had an interest in. Rye promised he’d take care of it, knowing it was too hard for Jag to set up from a vessel halfway across the world.

  “I’ll see you next month. Email me the specs on those parts.”

  Rye had been leaning against the counter when he disconnected his call, giving him the ideal location to notice Grace standing in the doorway. Her glass of wine was empty, her arm dangled at her side with her cell phone in hand, and the color had drained from her face.

  “What’s wrong?” Rye asked in immediate concern, wondering what the hell Gail Walsh had said during that phone conversation to cause such a reaction. He took a step forward but stopped midstride when the doorbell rang. Her disbelieving expression told him she was fully aware of who was at the front door. “Grace, what is it? What’s happened?”

  “Brandon was brought in for questioning tonight in the murder of Brad Manon.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “How did you know Brandon had been brought in for questioning?” Grace took the winegl
ass Rye had refilled into the living room, joining Laurel on the couch. Both she and Smith had shown up at the door the moment Grace had told Rye the most recent news. “I appreciate you coming to tell me in person. Unfortunately, my mother beat you to the punch in her own way.”

  “Smith received a courtesy call from Detective Nielsen. They have an arrangement.”

  “It certainly pays to have the family connections, doesn’t it?” Grace asked, though her sincerity came through loud and clear. Smith’s father was a well-known and respected judge, giving Smith an inside track to this investigation. “Does Cynthia know?”

  “I gave her a call on the way over here.”

  The roaring fire Rye had built in the fireplace was flickering in all its glory, but Grace couldn’t feel the warmth of the flames. She’d been cold ever since her mother asked if she’d go down to the station to show her support for Brandon. Gail Walsh truly believed in her stepson’s innocence in spite of everything, but Grace had already reached a guilty verdict hours before.

  “You’re not going to believe this, but when I discovered that Brandon had been out on parole for over a month…my first reaction was that he could have murdered Brad. I mean, no one else I could possibly imagine would have a reason to frame me for murder.”

  “I wish I could say I’m glad the investigation is over and that we can return to our lives, but that’s not the case, is it?” Laurel reached over the middle cushion and rested her palm over the back of Grace’s hand. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to let the police handle the case and figure out where my future is headed from here.”

  Grace hadn’t realized it before tonight’s events, bit it was Rye who had lucked out in the family department. He had Jag Douglas…a brother Rye could trust with his life. They’d both grown up in foster care and only ever had each other to rely on.

  Who did she have, besides her two best friends, who she considered closer than family? Her mother had invested all her time and energy into a marriage that had been based more on money and security than love. Nothing Richard Walsh or his son did could take Gail’s eyes off the prize—more wealth than she’d ever dreamed of in her entire life with Grace’s birth father.

  “Is Rye part of that future?” Laurel asked, her approving gaze skipping over to the entrance of the kitchen. “It’s obvious that he loves you very much.”

  “You know, we used to say those three words to each other all the time back before our lives were blown to pieces by the very man who just tried to pin a murder on me.”

  “I don’t know if this will help or not, but Brandon is claiming innocence.”

  Laurel rested an elbow against the back of the couch, seemingly giving Grace’s stepbrother a shadow of a doubt.

  “Are you kidding me?” Grace understood that it was impossible to describe in minute detail the hurt and anger that Brandon had put her through with his past history of criminal activities. There was no remorse back then for doing what he did, and there wouldn’t be now. Only excuses and claims of innocence. “Laurel, Brandon Walsh made my life a living hell. He all but destroyed Rye’s career.”

  “Hey, girl, I’m behind you one hundred percent. You know that. All I’m saying is that the police made a hell of a mistake when they arrested you yesterday morning. And wouldn’t it be better if Brandon was actually innocent? You don’t want this crap destroying what little of a relationship you have with your mother. She won’t have anyone.”

  “My relationship with my mother was left in tatters when she sided with Brandon the first time this kind of behavior surfaced.” Grace took another healthy sip of the red wine, contemplating going to get another bottle. But alcohol wouldn’t help erase the sense of abandonment she’d experienced during the call with her mother. “I’m beginning to realize how much I hurt Rye when I left him high and dry after the trial.”

  “And you’re wondering how he can so easily forgive, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Grace replied softly with recognition she should have acknowledged months ago. “I am.”

  “Then I’ll take that as our cue to leave. You two need to talk.”

  Laurel collected her wineglass and the red high heeled shoes she’d worn to the office that day and walked around the coffee table. As if on cue, Smith appeared and the only woman he had eyes for was the beautiful brunette walking his way. Their intimate connection was palpable, and Grace couldn’t be happier that her friend had found someone who considered Laurel his entire world.

  Rye was quietly standing off to the side, but his dark gaze wasn’t on the couple in the small foyer. He was observing her with a quiet stillness that took her breath away. A round of goodbyes commenced until Laurel and Smith had taken their leave, leaving only the rhythmic clicking of the antique clock tucked into the corner of the living room.

  “Why did you allow us a second chance?”

  Rye’s question came out of nowhere.

  Had he and Smith been listening in on her conversation with Laurel? It was doubtful. Neither one of them were the kind of man to do so, and they both held their sense of personal honor over just about anything else.

  Either way, Grace wasn’t sure how to respond. Anything she said in this moment would give him the upper hand. Her emotions were raw and tattered, and she was likely to say things she couldn’t take back…like the truth.

  There was only one thing left to do until she was ready to sever the last string to her heart before she surrendered her will to his.

  Grace slowly unfolded herself from the couch and gently set her wineglass on the coffee table in front of her. One by one, she began to unfasten the buttons on her blouse as she gradually walked toward the blazing fire. The sheer curtains most likely weren’t enough to prevent someone from seeing what was taking place inside the house, which was why she couldn’t stop the small smile from spreading on her lips when Rye killed the lights. That one simple action reduced the atmosphere around them to dancing shadows of yellows and oranges cast off from the flickering flames.

  They both wanted each other all to themselves.

  The tempo of the flames seemed to synchronize with the barely discernible music, encasing them in a small circle in the center of the room. Someone would have to be literally standing at the window to catch them in such a compromising position.

  The security agency Rye had hired was still in position somewhere just beyond the visual line of sight with the house. Professionals were paid to keep out of view. They surveyed the likely avenues of approach once they’d secured the primary residence. They wouldn’t be looking this way. The agents would almost certainly be released from their duties tomorrow morning, seeing as Brandon was about to be behind bars for the murder of Brad Manon and his failed attempt to frame his stepsister.

  Grace allowed all of those thoughts to disappear the instant her blouse hit the floor. There was no room for the past in this moment. She and Rye had been given a second chance, and she wouldn’t allow herself to throw it all away like she had the first time.

  No, she was going to savor every word, every touch, and every moment.

  This was their time, and no one could take it away from them.

  “This is the second occasion today that you’re using sex to avoid talking about the past.” Rye leaned against the doorframe, not even attempting to reach for the buttons on his dress shirt. The fact that his gaze had lowered to the pink lace covering the ample flesh of her breasts told her that he wasn’t too bothered by the delay. “I’m beginning to feel manipulated.”

  “If you come over here, I’m sure I can comfort your bruised ego.”

  Grace slowly unzipped the pencil skirt she’d worn to the office today. Within seconds, the matching lace and delicate silk of her underwear were visible. This particular set of lingerie were among his favorites.

  She lowered herself to the plush rug in front of the warm fire, relishing the heat that emanated from the hearth in waves. The logs crackled and threw embers into the air, rem
inding her of the electricity between the two of them. Not even the years that passed had diminished their attraction for one another.

  “You’re playing with fire.”

  “I believe you already set one,” Grace reminded him, not referring to the contained inferno beside her. She laid down on the rug with one raised knee slightly open to let him know that she was his for the taking. “Don’t tell me that you’re afraid to get burned.”

  There was something beyond sexual to watch a man take the time to unbutton the cuffs of his dress shirt with measured patience. Power and wealth were aphrodisiacs, but to then add confidence to an exceptionally gorgeous specimen of a man…well, it could cause a woman to melt with one longing glance.

  “When have you known me to be afraid of anything?”

  And then you ran away from me.

  The weight of his words from earlier this morning reverberated in her head, but she quickly dispelled them. She’d hurt him, but she wasn’t blind. They both had the ability to destroy one another.

  Love was more powerful on a battlefield than hate, but it was trust that evened out their playing field.

  He had trusted her enough to take her back, and she trusted him not to seek revenge for her ill-conceived premise that they could escape the fire they created.

  “I’m afraid,” Grace admitted softly, raising her arms above her head with her wrists together in complete surrender. He would understand the significance of her gesture. They’d always played around in the bedroom before, vying for dominance. But this time, she was completely his. “Be gentle with me, Rye.”

  Grace held her breath when he began to unbutton his dress shirt, revealing his broad shoulders and defined biceps. Seconds later, his undershirt was gone. Her gaze settled on the contours of his chest. Those types of muscles weren’t acquired in a gym. They were from hard work he’d put into restoring his beautiful home, which he’d claimed he bought with her in mind.