Motive

by Kennedy Layne

  “Do you recall me setting my keys on my desk?” Grace asked, shifting in her seat on the couch so that she could face him. She’d taken her blonde strands out of their confinement, allowing the silky tresses to hang over her shoulder. “You were there when I closed up my credenza. I remember setting my keys down next to the vase I have positioned in the middle, but then we began talking. The next thing I remember is grabbing my purse and walking out ahead of you.”

  Rye wished he could tell her that she was wrong, but he’d be lying if he said he could recollect her setting her keys on her desk. He reached out and wrapped one of the blonde strands around his finger. He never tired of touching her.

  “I don’t remember, angel, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t. We were both preoccupied with our intentions to speak with Brandon.” Rye wondered when the time would come that their lives would return to normal, even a minor reflection of the time before he’d hired her stepbrother. “I do find it hard to believe that Detective Nielsen would allow a second arrest to happen with virtually no evidence. Someone tried to frame you for murder, so it wouldn’t come as a surprise to find that someone attempted the same thing with Brandon when your situation didn’t work out as he or she had planned.”

  “If the police would just arrest Brandon, I’d feel much better.”

  “Would you?” Rye countered, not knowing just how much more Grace’s family could take in the wake of Brandon. He’d caused them a lot pain over the years, and this early parole was his one shot to turn things around. “I think if you really believed that, you wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of writing down a list of suspects that I’m sure Detective Nielsen has already completely vetted.”

  Grace sipped her wine, but she didn’t take her gaze off him in favor of the fire. As a matter of fact, those baby blue eyes of hers were burning a hole right through him. She always did have the talent of turning a conversation to another topic with a flip of a coin.

  Rye didn’t mind in the least, because he’d waited close to twenty-four hours for this moment. Hell, make that countless of years that dragged on without her presence. He finally got her back in his life, and that was where she was going to stay.

  “I don’t want to talk about Brandon, suspects, or the case anymore,” Grace whispered, leaning in until their lips were inches apart. Her beauty never ceased to amaze him. “I said last night that I was going to let the police do their job. It’s time for me to focus on what is truly important.”

  Rye had waited a very long time to be able to tell Grace that he’d never lost a drop of the love that had grown between them, not even when she’d searched for sunshine elsewhere. One of his foster mothers had told him that Jag had almost been adopted by a couple who thought having an older child might suit them. Unfortunately, they’d changed their minds when they caught sight of a four-year-old girl in pigtails.

  He’d had been there when Jag was told of the change in plans, and neither one of them talked about the relief that had coursed through Rye’s veins. There wasn’t a need to do that when they’d still been together.

  True love never died, no matter what form it was given.

  “I’ve waited a very long time to tell you that I—”

  The chime of the doorbell cut off Rye’s overdue declaration.

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Grace muttered, throwing her head back with a small groan. “Karma hates me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you.” Rye didn’t bother to set his wineglass on the coffee table. He carried it with him to the door, though not before he made her laugh with his recollection. “And I could have sworn I heard Cynthia talking to you about karma the other day. Didn’t she say to make karma your bitch or something to that effect?”

  Rye was still cautious enough to look through the peephole regardless that the house was being watched by one of the agents from the Crest Security Agency. There were a lot of people who could have been standing on his front step, but never in a million years had he expected to see Gail Walsh.

  For just a brief moment, he debated answering the door at all. Grace had been through the wringer today, and it certainly hadn’t helped to be treated like an outsider by her own family. He honestly wasn’t sure how much more Grace could take.

  Speaking of karma…she was dishing shit out to Grace by the bucket load.

  Rye looked over his shoulder to give Grace fair warning that their visitor wasn’t here with chocolates and flowers.

  “Bring it on,” Grace murmured after draining the rest of the wine in her glass. He was glad she’d swallowed the smooth alcohol before he opened the door; otherwise, she would have spit it out all over the cushions of his cream couch. “Mom! What are you doing here?”

  Grace scrambled off the couch, but Rye had already ushered Gail Walsh into the house. After what had happened a few hours ago, Grace probably wasn’t in the mood for a lecture about wanting to speak with Brandon regarding the latest events. He’d never given Rye nor Grace anything but trouble since the very beginning.

  “I, um…I came to apologize.” Gail was dressed in the same black slacks she’d been wearing earlier. The burgundy silk blouse was tailored just so, and her jewelry definitely wasn’t from a chain store. She’d married into money and nothing—absolutely nothing—was going to break the two apart. And that included Grace. “I was rather upset when you didn’t come down to the station with me to support Brandon. He’s been through a lot, but that didn’t give me the right to treat you so rudely.”

  Heat flooded Grace’s face as she stepped forward, most likely fully intending to list the hurdles that she and Rye had been left to deal with due to Brandon’s actions. Rye had no choice but to put a hand out to stop her from raining hell down on the woman who’d given birth to her. Both would regret that type of exchange come morning.

  “Gail, that’s not much of an apology from where I stand.” Rye was close enough to the fireplace that he was able to set his wineglass on top of the mantle. Anything with liquid was safer away from Grace’s reach. The temptation to douse her mother might actually be too tempting. “Grace was framed for a murder she didn’t commit. The police are suspecting Brandon not only of doing that, but also of being the guilty party of taking a man’s life. I believe that it’s Grace who’s been put through a lot.”

  “Mom, what are you really doing here?” Grace wasn’t giving an inch. Rye had always admired that she was independent and could stand on her own two feet when facing a battle. But she’d done that enough, especially in the past. He no longer wanted to be shoved into the background. It was time she understood that she didn’t have to face anything alone. “And don’t tell me it was to come and apologize, because we both know that’s not true.”

  “But it is,” Gail persisted, her blonde brows furrowing as she pursed her thin lips. Her gaze skimmed down and caught the fact that he’d had taken Grace’s hand. A sad smile began to appear on beautiful features that gave Rye a glimpse into Grace’s future. “I wanted so badly to support Brandon back then. He was young and reckless. He wanted to be noticed, and he did something that he’ll regret for the rest of his life. I didn’t handle the situation the way that I should have, and I thought it best you not even be in the same house as him, Grace. I didn’t want to have to face what I’d done, and that wasn’t fair of me.”

  Grace parted her lips as if she were going to argue every point Gail made in her admission. Rye lightly squeezed Grace’s hand in hopes that she stopped long enough to really hear what her mother had just admitted to so long ago.

  No parent was perfect.

  Gail had handled a lot of things wrong in her quest to marry into money, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love her daughter. It was as obvious as the large diamond on Gail’s left ring finger. The problem stemmed from Gail not knowing how to express that love without diving into the materialistic side of things.

  “Brandon ruined my life, Mom.” Grace continued to hold onto Rye’s hand, and he had no problem being her rock for once. He
hadn’t been able to do so before, but they’d both promised to do things right this time around. “He ruined our lives and never bothered to show the slightest amount of regret. And you never once stopped to ask me if I was okay. Yesterday was only more of the same.”

  “Did you ever think to ask yourself why?” Gail’s eyes filled with tears that she tried to blink away. “You have always been strong, Grace. Always. Brandon is like a little lost boy who can’t find his baby blanket. All he wanted was security, and he went about achieving that goal in the wrong way.”

  “Security?” Grace asked with disbelief. “His father has enough money to see them through four generations. Don’t excuse Brandon’s criminal behavior because he thought those millions wouldn’t be enough for him.”

  “And their arguments are for the record book, down to the very threat of Richard threatening to cut Brandon out of his inheritance and—”

  Rye began to see where this was headed, so he finished Gail’s statement.

  “Your husband was able to control Brandon with the threat of leaving Grace everything should anything happen to the two of you.”

  It was more than apparent that Grace had never been a witness to those arguments. She was shaking her head in denial.

  “Mom, I don’t even get along with Richard.”

  “That’s not true,” Gail countered with a shake of her head that mirrored her daughter’s. “You’ve always treated him with respect, you’ve never come to us for money, and you’ve become a successful businesswoman. Richard admires you, Grace.”

  “And that was all the more reason for Brandon to try and build a nest egg for himself, just in case Richard ever followed through on his threats.” Rye was with Grace on this one, because nothing could excuse a grown man of consciously choosing to commit a crime. “What makes you believe that Brandon doesn’t still harbor resentment against Grace?”

  “Because all Brandon has talked about for weeks since he’s been paroled were the different ways he could make things up to both of you,” Gail shared, surprising both Rye and Grace when she closed the distance and stopped short not even a foot in front her daughter. “I thought letting you in the house earlier this evening would be a mistake because you were there to question his motives. I couldn’t stand to see him slammed to the ground after having been at the police station almost eight hours the night before.”

  It was time for Rye to excuse himself. There were times a daughter needed her mother, and this was the first time either one had been honest with the other in a very long time.

  “I’m going to go and make a few calls,” Rye said softly, pulling Grace close so that he could press a gentle kiss against her temple. “You need this, angel. Take advantage of the moment.”

  Rye nodded toward Gail, giving her the respect she deserved due to being the mother of the woman he loved. He’d yet to make that declaration to Grace, but his time would come. They’d waited this long; a little longer wouldn’t hurt them any.

  “Hey,” Grace called out softly, catching his arm before he turned to walk out of the living room. There was relief in her baby blues, and something else—love. “Thank you.”

  Rye gave her a smile, but he hoped that she couldn’t see it didn’t reach his eyes. She needed this time with her mother, and he didn’t want to take that away from her. Unfortunately, this evening had taken a turn neither of them had expected.

  If Gail Walsh was certain that Brandon hadn’t framed Grace for the murder he supposedly committed…then who had?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Rye?”

  Grace stood in the doorway of Rye’s home office. The large area was saturated with the complete essence of him in every way. The rich tones of the walnut wood ran through his desk and numerous bookcases, and the highlights of the timber were brought out by numerous leather-bound books lined up symmetrically on the shelves. Even a small hint of his cologne hung in the air as if to welcome her into his domain.

  “Are you coming to bed?”

  Grace’s mother had left a couple of hours ago, but Grace valued the much-needed time of mother and daughter. They’d both gone too long without it. Honesty was a beautiful thing, and not employed that much these days…even by family. They still had a long way to go to repair the damage done by the dysfunctional dynamics of two families brought together by marriage, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

  Grace wasn’t hiding her head in the sand that her mother placed a rather high value on the elite status of wealth. But everyone had flaws, and Gail Walsh’s character defects could have been a whole lot worse.

  The corporate world had taught Grace many things, but one stood out the most—being aware of a person’s imperfections allowed her to limit her expectations.

  “In a bit, angel.” Rye was reading over something rather intently, but he’d taken time to look at her with a tender smile. It wasn’t long before he raised an eyebrow, clearly liking the fact that she was wearing one of his dress shirts…and nothing else. “I thought you would have fallen asleep by now. It was quite a day.”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t have a problem falling asleep,” Grace shared, walking across the cool hardwood floor to the large area rug that complemented the layout of his office. She gratefully sunk her toes into the plush material. “Someone has spoiled me, though. I’m used to you playing with my hair as I drift off to sleep.”

  Grace didn’t miss the way Rye casually covered the piece of paper with his forearm.

  “Rye, isn’t that the list of suspects I created earlier this evening?” Grace wasn’t upset that he’d taken it from her office, but she did have to wonder why. “We both agreed to let the police do their job.”

  “That was before we knew that Brandon didn’t try to frame you for murder, or even worse, that he was responsible for killing Brad.”

  “What makes you think he didn’t do it?”

  “Because everything your mother said was true, right down to the fact that Brandon has daddy issues,” Rye explained with concern, leaning back in his black leather chair now that she’d seen what he was working on this late at night. “It all makes sense, but what doesn’t is that he would risk going back to prison all in the name of revenge. There’s no motive here, which makes me believe that he was being used in the same manner you were as a patsy.”

  “Why us, though? The police are bound to believe there’s a connection between Brad’s murder and my family.”

  “Someone wants Detective Nielsen to believe that scenario. Come here, angel.” Rye rolled the chair back a bit so that she could walk around his desk, using the sturdy piece of furniture to lean against as he shared with her what had him so worried. “I thought back to what you said about the security system, the building’s access, and the fact that someone had to have overheard your conversation with Laurel and Cynthia about the night Brad was murdered. You were the killer’s easy way out.”

  “And Brandon happened to be a little too convenient. Talk about a gift landing in the guilty party’s lap.” Grace was glad when Rye reached for her hand. Being in a person’s crosshairs who had no hesitation in taking a life in such a brutal fashion made her vulnerable. It also brought back memories she’d rather forget. “I’ve been used one too many times, Rye.”

  Rye would have stood to hold her in his secure embrace, but she laid a hand on the back of the seat to prevent him from doing so. She carefully straddled him until the wheels of the chair were secure against one of the bookshelves.

  “Which is why going over this list wasn’t such a bad idea,” Rye shared, reaching up and brushing her hair so that the long strands hung down her back. “You work with these people, Grace. You’re with those employees at least ten hours a day. Someone is capable of murder, and we’re going to need to help the police as much as we can to get the focus off of you.”

  It wasn’t in Grace’s nature to think of those she cared about in such a horrible manner, which was why she’d struggled with the list in the first place. Everything R
ye had said in the last few minutes was true, but she’d dealt with a lot this evening.

  Right now, she wanted to focus on them.

  She wouldn’t make the same mistakes she’d made in the past, but like he’d said…their sights were now solely focused on the here and now. The past no longer mattered.

  “What are you doing?” Rye whispered with a small smile, knowing exactly what she had in mind. He lifted his lips to accept her soft kiss, and she didn’t miss that his lashes lowered in arousal when she stroked his bottom lip with her tongue. “Those aren’t angelic thoughts racing through your pretty head, are they?”

  “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Marshall?”

  Grace rotated her hips as she leaned in even closer, blowing gently into his ear before lightly catching his earlobe between her teeth. The fabric of his dress pants rubbed against her folds.

  “I mean, we shouldn’t start something here that we can’t finish. I need—”

  “This?” Grace murmured, leaning back enough to reach into the front pocket of the dress shirt she was wearing. She held up the foiled package in victory. “I’ve got your back, Rye.”

  “You’ve got more than that, angel. You’ve got my heart.”

  Rye plucked the condom out of her fingers before pulling her in close and kissing her until neither one of them could breathe. His cock hardened even more so than when he’d caught her standing in the doorway of his office. She was downright beautiful, and he always enjoyed the sight of her wearing only his dress shirt.

  “Unfasten those buttons,” Rye directed softly, reaching down to release the leather strap of his belt. “Show me your breasts.”

  Grace inhaled deeply, her trembling fingers reaching for the first button. Rye would never tire of hearing her breath hitch during intimate moments like this.

  There were only three buttons that were fastened.

  She slowly revealed her ample sized breasts, causing his dick to twitch inside the tight confines of his clothing.

  “Touch your nipples.” Rye barely got the words out, but she understood the directive. “Gently at first.”