Frailty of Things

by Schultz, Tamsen

  “Water, my dear?” Marco asked, stepping forward with a glass of water for her—a glass Garret hadn’t even seen him pour, he’d been so fixated on Kit.

  She murmured a “thank you,” glanced at Garret, then took a sip.

  “Do you need to sit down?” Garret managed to ask.

  Her eyes darted to him and lingered for a moment. He thought she might argue for the sake of arguing, but after a moment, she inclined her head.

  “Yes, thank you,” she said.

  He moved aside as she walked toward the sofa at edge of the room. As she sat at the far end, she closed her eyes for a second and he could see fatigue wash over her body. The walk to the bay and back must have been her self-prescribed physical therapy, and though she was obviously proud of herself for doing it, there was no doubt it had exhausted her.

  A little unsure where to go from there, he cast Marco a look.

  “I think you two need to talk,” Marco said. He dropped a kiss on Kit’s head and made his way up the stairs without another word. Leaving them alone.

  Rather than sit on the couch with her, Garret took a seat on a well-worn wingback that sat at a ninety-degree angle from where Kit had perched. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he contemplated where to start. And not finding any brilliant answer, he just started.

  “Caleb told you where I went?”

  For a long moment she said nothing. Her eyes were cast down, focused on her fingers playing with the drops of condensation on her glass. Then she nodded.

  “I also read about Louis Ramon in the paper yesterday. About his overdose. Did you have anything to do with that?” she asked.

  His gut clenched, but he nodded. “I told Rosa Salazar what was happening—what he’d done to the young ballet dancer and what he’d done to you.”

  “You had a man killed because of me.” It wasn’t a question. But stated so baldly, it made him wonder if he and her father weren’t so different after all.

  “I know Drew told Mossad about him as well, so it’s possible that what I told Rosa had nothing to do with what happened to him. But it’s also possible that it had everything to do with it.” He wasn’t going to lie to her about this. Even though he desperately wanted to.

  “So, he definitely killed her?” Kit asked.

  Garret nodded. That much they knew was true.

  “And me? Was there any chance it was anyone other than him who came after me?”

  “No, it was him. His blood was collected from you, from when you fought him, along with DNA that was collected from the car he drove to Windsor. The car that he used to run you over,” he added.

  Kit was silent for another long moment and he wished like hell he knew what was going on in her head.

  “There was no way to extradite him?”

  “It wasn’t likely. Indonesia has no extradition treaty with the United States. And though it’s possible he might have eventually landed in a country where the US could have extradited him more easily, the truth is, he knows just enough about his uncle’s business that the Salazar cartel would never have allowed it. He’s not particularly useful to them though, so they would have killed him themselves before the ink was dry on the extradition agreement.”

  Her fingers tightened on her glass as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to think or feel, Garret. I’m trying, I am, but I just don’t...” Her voice cracked as she stopped.

  He reached for her hand, and though she didn’t return his grip, she didn’t pull away. They sat that way for several minutes, and he gave her time to gather her thoughts. He desperately wanted to ask her how she felt about him. Even more so, he wanted to tell her how he felt about her. However, some tiny but strong, rational part of his brain knew they needed to have this conversation first.

  “I don’t like it, Garret. I know what he did and I know what happened to him is probably the best we can hope for—the best the family of the young girl he killed could hope for. But I don’t like it.”

  He didn’t either, which was why, he suddenly realized, his new job had come at just the right time. He stood behind everything he’d done in his career, but that didn’t mean he had to be the one to keep doing those things.

  “But then again, I can hardly judge, can I?” she asked. “I mean, look at what I did to my own father.”

  He didn’t want her going there, but he knew he couldn’t stop it. Her father had been a nasty piece of work, and she had most definitely done the world a favor when she’d precipitated his car accident. But taking a life, even when it was justified, had a way of killing the soul just a little bit. Because it was almost as if you were admitting to having no hope—no hope in the justice system, to be sure, but more importantly, no hope in humanity, no hope that good could triumph over evil without becoming just a little bit evil itself. Hope, like life for people like he and Kit, was a frail thing. And if it shattered, there was no knowing just what would remain.

  “Kit,” he said, rubbing his thumb over her palm.

  She looked up, held his gaze for the first time since she’d come into the room, and asked, “You love me, don’t you?”

  He wasn’t sure where her question had come from, but he was sure of his answer. “Yes, very much.”

  “And if something happened like what happened last week, would you leave again?”

  He wanted to say no. He wanted to assure her that he would never leave her again. But he’d done that. He’d said all those things to her and then left anyway. And so he told her the truth.

  “Leaving you was the hardest thing I have ever done. Not because of what I was leaving you to do, but because I knew what it would mean to you that I did. I’d promised you I wouldn’t do that anymore and I broke that promise. But if it happened again? I don’t know, Kit.” He’d had a reason—a good reason—why he’d left and they both knew it. But still, he’d made a promise to her and broken it.

  He paused, took a deep breath, then continued. “I had a choice. Someone was trying to kill you. Someone who had already killed another woman. Someone who had already successfully tracked you down, attacked you, and nearly killed you. I knew who that someone was and I knew how to stop him. My choice was to stay and wonder every day while you were in that hospital if he was going to try to kill you again. Wonder if one day soon he would succeed. Or I could break your heart by breaking a promise to you and stop him. I made a choice to break a promise to you and ensure your safety and the safety of other women who came into his life. I don’t like that I had to do it, but I don’t regret it, Kit.”

  She looked at him with a thoughtful expression on her face. He tried not to get too excited by the fact that he was beginning to be able to read her again.

  “I’m sorry, Garret,” she said.

  The comment came as such a surprise that he drew back and frowned. “For what?”

  She leaned forward, pulled their joined hands onto her lap, and wrapped her other hand around them. “I’m sorry that was the choice you had to make. Please don’t misunderstand—I’m still not sure how I feel about everything that happened. But I do know that the choice you had to make, between breaking a promise to someone you love and living indefinitely in fear that she’d be killed, isn’t one anyone should have to make.”

  He had not thought of it that way, because in his mind there was no real choice. Oh, there was a choice, per se, but there was no way he would have been able to live with himself, or her, if he hadn’t done everything he could to protect her. He hadn’t lied when he’d said that walking away that day, leaving her lying in the hospital, was the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he’d had to do it. Even if it had meant she would never let him into her life again. At least she’d have a life to choose whom to let into. And that was what had mattered to him.

  “I’m sorry too, Kit. I wish it could have happened differently. I wish it was something we could have talked about. I wish—”

  She cut him off. “But it wasn’t different and we couldn’t have talked. It
was what it was, Garret. What are we going to do from here?”

  At her words, at her use of the word “we,” the grip on his heart that had held him so tightly for the past week eased. They may not be okay, and they most definitely weren’t going to go back to the happy-new-couple phase they’d been in before, but wherever it was they were going, they were going together.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, Kit, but maybe it’s something we can figure out together?”

  For the first time in what felt like ages, he saw her smile at him.

  “I don’t know either, Garret. But maybe we could go to your place in Mexico for a little while. Maybe find some of the humanity we’ve both lost over the years. And then afterward, we can figure it out together.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This is the fourth book in the Windsor Series and my fifth in publication. Through all of them, I have had an editor that I feel lucky to continue to work with. So, Julie, thanks for sticking with me, even when you’ve had to patiently remind me like six hundred times that when I’m writing about a female, “blonde” is spelled with an “e” (and I won’t say anything about when you have to remind me about which perspective I’m supposed to be writing from at any given time). My new beta reader, John Kurtze, also provided invaluable feedback—I know he’ll notice some of the changes he suggested in this version. As always, I want to acknowledge the hard work of my awesome Booktrope team, and I’d also like to welcome my new marketing manager, Stephanie Konat.

  My mountain movers continue to be a source of inspiration and joy; without them life wouldn’t be nearly as fun. Of course, they are also the ones who assured me that I didn’t need a graphic sex scene in this book, so you know who to go to if you disagree. Also, my ladies on the Eastside—Sarah, Jere, and Lisa—distance will never make a difference.

  And last but not least, I want to acknowledge and thank my family for supporting me in the many, many ways they do, such as feeding me, making me laugh, buying me whiskey, promoting my books to their friends as well as random strangers, and just enjoying this journey we call life with me (not necessarily in that order).

  PREVIEW OF

  AN INARTICULATE SEA

  BY TAMSEN SCHULTZ

  Rules. Everyone has them and everyone lives by them. Sometimes they’re our own and sometimes they are someone else’s. But when Deputy Chief of Police Carly Drummond finds a woman tortured, killed, and dumped in her town, she’s forced to play by rules she doesn’t understand that were put in place by someone she doesn’t know. If she doesn’t, life in Windsor—life as she knows it—could experience a sea change no one is prepared for.

  Order. Drew Carmichael is man who likes order. He doesn’t just like it, he requires it—it’s the only reason he’s been able to lead the double life he’s been living for almost twenty years. But when he can’t pull himself away from the secrets, uncertainties, and dangers swirling around Carly, his orderly life takes a dive and he finds himself swimming in waters he’s never before encountered.

  Chaos. Control is what Drew and Carly both want—control over their futures, over their growing feelings for each other, and most of all, over the situation that is threatening to throw their lives into chaos. But it is within this chaos that the opportunity to set a new course, to find a new horizon, can be found. If only they can stem the tide of the coming storm.

  CHAPTER 1

  “IT SHOULD BE YOU,” Carly Drummond said to her partner, Marcus Brown, as they climbed out of their newly issued police SUV.

  “Actually, it should be Ian,” Marcus countered calmly. He was right, of course. But his logic did nothing to assuage her agitation, as unfounded as it might be.

  Roughly, she zipped her jacket against the chill of the fall morning and started toward the door of her friend’s home.

  It had been just over a year since Marcus had been seriously injured in a near-fatal incident. And twelve months since Carly had been appointed to his former position of deputy chief of police. Three months ago, after being deemed fit for duty, Marcus had come back to work. Two months ago, Carly had requested that Vic Ballard, Windsor’s chief of police, reinstate Marcus as deputy chief of police, but he’d refused and, much to her irritation, left her in charge. Two days ago, she’d had to mostly miss a big fall leaf-peeping party she’d been looking forward to for months—a fundraiser thrown by two of her friends, Kit Forrester and Garret Cantona, to help raise money for one of the orphanages they supported—because duty had called. And to top it all off, just twenty minutes ago, Carly had received a call from Ian McAllister, the county sheriff and her good friend and mentor, telling her that some of Kit’s lingering houseguests had found a dead body.

  Yes, a dead body.

  The last year had not been easy for her—and this day wasn’t shaping up to be much better.

  Marcus came up alongside her as they reached Kit and Garret’s front door, and Carly paused to scan the area. Technically, the house was in county territory, so Marcus was right in that Ian, as sheriff, should be the one leading the investigation. But he’d been tied up with a multi-car accident in the southern-most part of the county, so he’d called in a favor—a favor she couldn’t have turned down even if she’d wanted to.

  “It will be fine, Carly,” Marcus said.

  “Says the man who has significantly more experience than I have,” she retorted as she rang the bell.

  She actually wasn’t too concerned about whatever would come next; she was good at her job, had a solid—if small—team, and decent relationships with the assisting agencies. But she was tired—not physically, but mentally—from the last year.

  “I’ve been out of the game for over a year, Carly. If anyone is rusty, it’s me,” Marcus countered.

  She was about to point out that nothing had happened for her in that year, investigation-wise, when the door swung open to reveal a striking blonde woman. Carly knew that Kit and Garret had left the day before for Rwanda, and she recognized the woman at the door as one of the people who had attended the fundraiser. But as she hadn’t been able to stay very long, she hadn’t actually been introduced to any of the guests.

  “I’m Carly Drummond, Deputy Chief of Police,” she said, holding out her hand.

  The woman smiled then opened the door wider. “Dani Fuller, please call me Dani,” she replied, extending her hand somewhat out to the side to accommodate her rather large, rounded belly. Something must have shown in Carly’s expression because Dani laughed. “I’m having twins, I’m actually only six months along, so you don’t have to worry about me going into labor any minute, despite appearances to the contrary.”

  Less than a minute into the investigation and already she’d lost her “cop face.” Taking a deep breath, Carly pulled on her metaphorical “big girl panties” and straightened her shoulders.

  “Congratulations,” she said. “This is Officer Marcus Brown. Dispatch reported a call about a possible body?”

  “There’s no ‘possible’ about it,” came a voice from behind Dani. A voice Carly remembered more easily than she ought to. This Monday morning just keeps getting better, she thought.

  Drew Carmichael’s tall, lean frame appeared behind Dani’s shoulders. He was tugging on leather gloves while his knee-length black jacket hung open, revealing a button-down shirt that was just about the same blue as his eyes and a pair of dark gray wool slacks. She’d met Drew a handful of times before: four or five times while investigating an attack on Kit that had happened outside Carly’s old apartment, and then again, several months later in New York City, when she and Kit had gone out for a girls’ night and randomly run into him while he was on a date.

  Carly knew Drew hailed from a wealthy family that ran several businesses out of a New York City headquarters and that he was a man who wore his wealth and power as comfortably as an old pair of jeans, even though she was pretty sure he wasn’t ever likely to actually wear an old pair of jeans. And not that she’d given it any thought—or at least not much—Car
ly imagined that if he were a character in one of her regency romance novels, he’d most certainly be the cool, aloof duke who commanded everything and everyone within his domain. And possibly outside his domain as well. But in modern life, the word that most came to her mind to describe him was “urbane.”

  Although, she conceded to herself, he also had an odd sort of edge she hadn’t quite figured out—he wasn’t all “Mr. Smooth-Tycoon.” Back when Kit had been assaulted, he’d inserted himself into the investigation like he’d had every right to be there. That alone wasn’t a surprise, given his personality, but what had surprised her was that he’d seemed to know what he’d been talking about. And why a businessman from New York would have understood the intricacies of a criminal investigation was something she had yet to figure out.

  “Deputy Chief Drummond.” As he spoke, he gave a curt nod in her direction; then his eyes darted to Marcus.

  “Mr. Carmichael.” Carly responded with her own nod. “This is Officer Marcus Brown. I assume you’re the one who called it in?” Which didn’t bode well. Before knowing Drew was involved, she’d held some hope the “body” would turn out to be nothing more than an animal decomposed beyond easy recognition. Now, that thin thread of hope had vanished, because if there was one thing she’d learned from her interactions with Drew, it was that if he bothered to make an assertion, it was only because that assertion was true.

  “Call me Drew,” he all but ordered. He’d issued the same command several times before, but so far, she hadn’t quite brought herself to follow it. “And no, it wasn’t me,” he continued. “It was Ty, Dani’s husband, who called. We were out for a morning walk when we saw her. He stayed with the body; I came back to show you the way.”