“I don’t,” she said.
He chuckled. “Humor me. EMT training is part of my job.”
“For goodness’ sakes, you’re a pest,” she said, a note of irritation to her voice.
He chuckled. She was a feisty, independent little thing. “Aww, Ginny. A gentleman makes sure a lady gets home safe and sound, all the way to her door.”
Ginny clamped her teeth over her bottom lip. “I haven’t been with any gentlemen lately.”
He raised a brow. Her comment raised more questions in his mind. “Well, my mama and daddy taught me to be one.”
They’d reached the porch, and he opened the front door. Ginny fidgeted. “Thank you, Griff, but I’m inside now. I’ll be fine.”
“To your doorway,” he insisted.
Anger flared in her eyes, and she sighed then walked past the parlor to the staircase. He followed, scanning the entry and room in case her attacker had slipped in and was posing as a guest. If the creep who’d assaulted her had done so because of Joy’s murder, he’d probably been watching her and knew where she was staying.
Griff had also noticed her reaction when she’d looked up at the window as if disturbed by something. Was someone in Ginny’s room?
More curious than ever, he cupped her elbow with his hand and guided her up the staircase. “I’ll just make sure you’re tucked safely inside, then I’ll leave for the night.”
She shot him an annoyed look, then reached for her key. Her hand trembled and for a moment, she simply stood there as if afraid to go in. Or was she afraid he would?
Was she afraid of him?
His stomach clenched at the thought. Maybe he had come on too strong. But he was only trying to protect her.
And find out what she was hiding. If she knew who’d killed Joy, she needed to talk.
She fiddled with the keys and dropped them, so he picked them up and unlocked the door. Through the open doorway he spotted the bathroom door that had been left ajar and the bed where a red lace nightgown lay. Had she left out a gown to wear for a lover? Could that be the shadow he’d seen in the window?
Maybe she had a boyfriend back home who’d decided to join her in Whistler?
The scene in front of him certainly looked as if it had been staged for a romantic rendezvous.
A sea of rose petals trailed the floor from the doorway to the bed, then dotted the coverlet. Champagne sat chilling in an ice bucket with two flutes beside it. A box of expensive chocolates was on the pillow.
He narrowed his eyes. Not just a box of chocolates. A box with a photograph lying next to it.
A picture of a young woman who resembled Ginny.
The color drained from Ginny’s face, and she staggered sideways and gripped the edge of the doorway with a groan.
Griff grabbed her arm to steady her and caught her as her legs buckled beneath her.
What in the hell was going on? If this was a romantic rendezvous, she didn’t look happy about it.
* * *
THE PHOTOGRAPH... TESS... Her precious little sister.
Emotions clogged Ginny’s throat, and the world blurred into a fog of memories. The last few times she’d seen Tess. Christmas. Three years ago. They’d made eggnog and sugar cookies and gorged on them as they watched their favorite holiday movie.
Then the spring festival in Boone where Tess had rented a booth to showcase her paintings. She’d been so excited that day to sell three of her original pieces to people who’d been enthusiastic enough about her style to mention her to local art galleries.
With their parents gone, it was just the two of them, and they’d pinky sworn to celebrate every holiday and birthday together.
After their father’s death when their mother realized how fragile life could be, she’d made Ginny promise to take care of Tess if something happened to her.
But she’d failed her mother. Her father. Her sister.
Tess could have enjoyed a long, exciting and successful career as an artist. She’d dreamed of traveling to Paris one day and painting along the Seine River.
But all her dreams had been cut short. Her life snuffed out with senseless violence.
All because Ginny had allowed herself to fall for a slick psycho like Robert.
She should have been the one who’d died.
“Ginny, what’s going on?”
Griff’s hand at the small of her back was gentle but firm. So was his voice.
“Were you expecting somebody tonight?”
Was she? Yes. She’d known he was here.
She had to pull herself together.
Releasing a weary sigh, she stepped inside the room. Her fingers itched to pull the gun, but her gut instinct screamed that Robert was already gone. He was playing out his fantasy game of tormenting her.
“Ginny, please talk to me,” Griff said in such a quiet, soothing tone that she gestured for him to come in and to close the door.
Angry at Robert for his sick need for control and at herself for allowing him to still rattle her, she stiffened her spine.
“Were you expecting someone? A boyfriend maybe?” Griff asked.
She dropped her purse on the table by the door, then strode to the bathroom and peeked inside. Another bubble bath waiting. More rose petals. The scented soap he’d chosen for her. The one she thought was so sickening sweet it was nauseating.
Griff was right behind her and looked over her shoulder. “Am I interrupting something?”
For the first time since she’d met Griff, relief that he’d insisted on following her flooded her. Yes, he was interrupting. But apparently it wasn’t time for her to confront Robert face-to-face. The demented jerk was making a statement, indicating he would choose the time.
Just like he wanted to be in control of everything else.
A fit of anger overcame her, and she dipped her hand into the tub to release the water, then wiped her hand on the towel and hurried back to the bed. She snatched the picture of her sister and pressed it to her chest, then raked the rose petals onto the floor with one hand, crushing them beneath her boots.
Griff stepped back, hands raised, confusion marring his face. Then understanding, as if he realized for some reason she needed to vent.
She didn’t need to simply vent. She needed Robert out of her life forever.
Exhausted from the fight with her attacker and emotionally drained from Robert’s intimidation tactics, she sank into the chair in the corner. Griff stood by the door, shifting onto the balls of his feet, his steady breathing the only sound in the room.
She sat in silence, clutching Tess’s picture in her hands as she tried to gather her composure. The clock in the room ticked away the minutes. Thunder rumbled softly outside. The creak of footsteps in the hallway echoed through the doorway.