“No!” A cross between a yell and a sob. Tracy pointed at Alice. The tip of her index finger looked dark, probably because she’d painted herself when she’d held down the top of the spray bottle. “She’s the one who belongs in jail, not me! Not me! She’s the killer!” A scream. “A kill—”
“Stop.” Saint’s voice. Low. Commanding.
And she stopped. Tracy blinked. Looked at him. Seemed confused.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he told her.
Tracy tossed a glare at Alice. There was no missing the hate on her face. It was, after all, a familiar sight. “How long is it going to take? You were supposed to lock her away.”
Right. Like she hadn’t already known that was the master plan. After all, as soon as she’d realized that Saint worked to solve cold cases, Alice had known exactly who had reached out to him. The grieving sister. “I’m getting a restraining order,” Alice announced.
She felt all eyes on her.
“If you come near me again, I will have you arrested. I’ve put up with your accusations, your stalkings, and your defacement of my property long enough.” Because this was not the first time Tracy had gotten spray-can crazy. In fact, Alice had planned for this situation. She raised her hand and pointed back toward her building. “Smile, Tracy, you’re on camera.”
Tracy didn’t smile. She screamed and launched herself at Alice.
Alice didn’t move at all. She thought a nice hit, maybe a slap on the cheek, would play well in the video that she planned to show to the cops and then leak to the media. After all, a woman had to do what a woman had to do.
But Tracy didn’t get to make contact. Saint grabbed her. Locked his arms around her stomach and hauled her back against him. “You are not touching her,” he growled to Tracy. “Calm down.”
Alice almost told him that situation would not occur. In all the time that Alice had known Tracy, the other woman had rarely appeared calm. Or, if she did, it was just a facade. Donovan had been great at facades, too. Had to be a family trait.
“I could call the cops on you right now,” Alice said. A true statement. “You just destroyed my property. You assaulted me—”
“I did not—” Tracy fired back.
“My dress would say otherwise.” Talk about a waste. But, it had given her the evidence she needed. Some people were so predictable. “Your money won’t make this evidence disappear. I’m tired of your harassment. My goodwill only goes so far.” People like Tracy thought that they could control everyone because they had money to burn.
You can’t control me.
“There is nothing good about you!” Tracy spat. “You’re a killer! I know what you did! You hurt Donovan, and then you left him to die! He loved you, and you killed him.”
“You’re wrong.” That was all she’d ever said. Because Donovan had not loved me. Alice didn’t think that Donovan had been capable of loving anyone.
Or maybe Alice was the one not capable of love. Some days, it was hard to know for certain. Alice rolled back her shoulders and focused her attention on Saint. He still had a tight grip on Tracy. “Why don’t you take your client back to her hotel? Perhaps you can convince her that staying away from me is truly the lifestyle choice she needs to make.”
His jaw hardened. “Alice…”
She didn’t want to talk more. She needed to clean off the paint that felt too sticky on her arms. “Good night.” Alice spun toward the speakeasy.
Logan closed in right behind her. “You’re being too soft,” he gritted as he trailed after her.
All part of my master plan. But she couldn’t reassure him, not then. Not when others were watching. So she just kept putting one foot in front of the other. She reached for the building’s back door.
“Alice.”
Saint’s voice. Ignoring his call, Alice opened the door and went back inside. “Keep the spray can,” she quietly instructed Logan. “It will have her prints on it.” Something they might need later.
He caught her arm with his left hand. Tugged her around. “I get that you like your games…”
Actually, she did enjoy them. But in this particular instance… “This isn’t a game.”
“She’s getting bolder. This isn’t her parking across the street and glaring at you all night.” Anger shook each word. “What if she’d had a gun instead of the spray can? What if, when she’d turned, she’d shot you? What the hell then?”
It was a scenario she had considered—right as the spray paint hit her body. “She is not going to be a problem any longer.”
“Because you’re getting a restraining order? Yeah, I understand that you wanted proof she was causing trouble, but you need more than a piece of paper. People like her don’t care about the law. Fuck, she probably thinks she’s above the law because of her money. Probably thinks that she can—” He stopped, no doubt because Logan realized what he had almost said.
Alice exhaled slowly, then finished for him, “Probably thinks she can get away with murder?” She swallowed. “What an incredible idea. Wonder if that ever happens in real life.” Her heels tapped on the floor as she headed back to her office.
***
This was a clusterfuck. “You should not be here,” Saint snapped.
“Let me go!” Tracy heaved against his hold.
He lifted her up and carried her from the scene.
“What are you doing?” she cried. “Stop it! Put me down! Now!”
He cleared the building. Let her go.
She immediately whirled to confront him. Fury had her face—
Her eyes widened. She was staring at his mouth. They were under one of the bright streetlights on the main road, and she seemed utterly horrified. “There’s lipstick on you.”
What? His hand lifted. He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth.
“You came out with her.” Tracy seemed to be putting the pieces together. “OhmyGod, were you in there, kissing her?”
Like he was going to answer that question. Like he would admit he’d been in fucking heaven until hell came crashing down on him. “Why are you in Savannah?” Saint kept his voice low. “I told you that I’d investigate Alice.”
“Oh, right, that’s what you were doing. Investigating her.”
She may as well have said…Fucking her. But, no, he hadn’t been. Yet. “Did Alice and your brother have problems before he vanished?” A deliberate push to see how she would react.
“What? He—he loved her. That was the problem! He was blind, and he couldn’t see her for what she really was. Just like you can’t.”
He could see just fine. Twenty, twenty. “Your brother got into a lot of fights when he was younger.”
“What in the hell does that have to do with anything?”
It had to do with everything.
“Are you investigating him?” Stunned. “He’s the victim! She’s the killer! You are supposed to bring her down, not listen to some old dirty laundry about Donovan and his temper.”
And there it was—paydirt. “Your brother was noted for having quite the temper.” He thought of the scene he’d just left. “Guess it’s a family thing?”