Understanding far more about tragedy and violence and not being able to protect herself and her loved ones more than she’d ever wanted to, Rosemary brushed aside the escaping wisps of her copper-red hair and leaned forward, pressing the argument. “Dad wouldn’t have wanted you to commit murder. I didn’t even know that woman. That’s what doesn’t make any sense. What kind of threat was she to me?”
Stephen groaned at her repeated demands for a straightforward explanation. He slumped back in his chair and nodded toward the family’s current attorney standing outside the window behind her. “Why did you bring him?”
Fine. She’d let him change the topic. Although it was good to see Stephen clean and sober, he looked exhausted. Her younger brother had aged considerably in the months since he’d pleaded guilty to second-degree murder and been incarcerated, and she didn’t want to add to his stress. She glanced over her shoulder to the brown-haired man in the suit and tie and returned his smile before facing her brother again. “Howard insisted on coming with me. He didn’t want me driving back to Kansas City at night by myself. It was a kind offer.”
The drumming started again. “He reminds me too much of his brother. Are you sure he’s treating you right?”
She flinched at the remembered shock of Richard Bratcher’s open hand across her mouth putting an end to an argument they’d had over a memorial scholarship she’d wanted to set up in her parents’ names. Seven years later, she could still taste the metallic tang of blood in her mouth that reminded her she’d made a colossal mistake in inviting the attorney into their lives, falling in love with him, trusting him. Rosemary inhaled a quiet breath and lifted her chin. Richard was dead and she’d become a pro at setting aside those horrible memories and pasting a facade of cool serenity on her face.
“They may look alike, but Howard isn’t like his brother. Howard’s never laid a hand on me. In fact, I think he feels so guilty about how Richard treated us when I was engaged to him that he goes out of his way to be helpful.”
“He’s just keeping you close so you won’t sue his law firm.”
“Maybe.” Initially, she’d been leery of Howard’s offer to take over as the family’s attorney. But he knew more than anyone else about the wrongful death and injury suit Richard Bratcher had filed against the aerospace manufacturer that built the faulty plane her father had flown on that fateful trip, and she couldn’t stand to drag the suit out any longer than it had already lasted. Plus, he’d been nothing but a gentleman and rock-solid support through the continuing upheavals in her life. “Howard makes it easier to get in to see you. And he’s responsible for keeping you in the infirmary wing to do your rehab instead of you being sent back to general lockup with the other prisoners.”
“Don’t stick with him because of me. I can handle myself in here. I don’t trust him, sis.”
Rosemary’s smile became genuine. “You don’t trust anybody.”
Stephen sat up straight and reached for her. At the last second, he remembered the guard at door and raised both hands to show they were empty. Rosemary held up her hands, as well, and got a nod of approval before reaching over the battered tabletop to hold her brother’s hands. “I trust you. I’m okay being in here because I know you’re safe now. You are safe, right?”
Stephen’s grip tightened, as if somehow sensing that all was not well in her life. But Rosemary clenched her jaw and continued to smile. The last thing he needed was to worry about her on the outside, when he couldn’t do a thing about it. “I am.”
She was right now, at any rate.
The assurance seemed to ease his concern. He eased his grip but didn’t let go. “That bastard Richard is dead. But it’d kill me if I thought his brother or anyone else was hurting you.”
“I’m fine.” What were a few obscene phone calls, anyway, after all they’d been through? Her hope had been to find a few answers for herself, not raise doubts in her brother’s mind. “As much as we both wanted Richard out of our lives, I know you didn’t kill him.” Stephen had been in a rehab facility in the middle of a forty-eight-hour lockdown the morning she’d discovered her fiancé dead in bed at his condo, poisoned sometime during the night. She, however, had had no alibi and had spent several months as KCPD’s number one suspect until the trail of clues went cold and Richard Bratcher’s murder had been relegated to the cold-case files. Rosemary squeezed her brother’s hands. “Whoever poisoned him did us a favor. But if you’re protecting someone who wanted that reporter dead, or you’re taking the blame for her murder because you wished you’d been the one to kill Richard... Please, Stephen. Talk to me.”
His eyes darkened for a split second before he shook his head and pulled away. “I was using that night. I pulled the trigger. Now I’m done talking about it. You should be, too.”
“Why?”
“Rosemary—” He bit down on a curse and folded his hands together, his finger tracing the marks he’d left in his own skin back in the days when he’d been too stressed-out to cope or on a manic high.
“It’s okay, Stephen,” she quickly assured him, alarmed by the frantic, self-destructive habit he’d worked so hard to overcome. “I won’t mention it again.”
This visit, at any rate.
Reluctantly, she acquiesced to his demand and sat back in her chair. She knew there had to be more to Stephen’s motive for killing an innocent reporter than simply being high as a kite and not knowing what he was doing, as he’d stated in court. The monster in their own home had been the real threat, and, in her heart, she believed there was a connection between the two murders—a logical reason her brother was going to spend half his adult life in prison and she was going to be alone. But if Stephen wouldn’t talk, she wasn’t certain how else she could get to the truth about the two murders and finally put the nightmares of the past behind her.
Yet, until that revelation, Rosemary stuck to the role she’d learned to play so well, dutifully taking care of others. “Is there anything you need? I brought the books you asked for, and two cartons of cigarettes.” She curled her fingers into a fist, fighting the instinctive urge to reach for the neckline of her dress and the scars underneath. Instead, she arched an eyebrow in teasing reprimand. “I wish you’d give those up. You know they’re not good for you.”
That earned her half a grin from her brother. “Let me kick one addiction at a time, okay?”
“Okay.” A high sign from the guard warned her their time was nearly up. Rosemary blinked back the tears that made her eyes gritty and smiled for Stephen’s sake as he stood and waited for the guard to escort him back to his cell. “I wish I could give you a hug.”
“Me, too.” But that kind of contact wasn’t allowed. “I love you, sis. Stay strong.”
As if she had any choice. She fought to keep her smile fixed in place. “I love you. I’ll keep writing. And it wouldn’t hurt you to pick up a pencil every now and then, either. Be safe.”
He nodded as he shuffled to the door in front of the guard. “You, too.”
Rosemary was alone for only a few seconds before another guard came to the door to walk her out to the visitors’ desk. But it was long enough for the smile to fade, her shoulders to sag and her heart to grow heavy. How was one woman supposed to endure so much and still keep going on with her life? She followed the rules. She’d done everything that was expected of her and more. Why wasn’t it good enough? Why wasn’t she good enough?
“Ma’am?”
With a quick swipe at the hot moisture in her eyes, Rosemary nodded and got up to accompany the guard out that door into an antechamber and then out the next one into the visitors’ waiting area. She jumped at the slam of each heavy door behind her, which closed her off farther from the only family she had left. With every slam, her shoulders straightened, her heart locked up