Ghostwalker 04 - Conspiracy Game by authors_sort

off.”
    “I don’t need it. Try to get my pants to dry. I’ll need those when I leave.” He crossed to the bathroom, but didn’t shut the door, standing just out of sight as he tossed the towel to one side. “If I was going to harm your family, Briony, they’d be dead already.” He opened the door wider as he buttoned up the jeans. Her face had gone pale. “Was that your first dead body?”
    Briony clenched her fist. He sounded so casual she wanted to throw something at him.
    There was nothing casual about taking a life. “No. I found my parents—murdered.” She could barely get the word out.
    He drew in his breath. He was feeling her emotions now. Raw pain. A flood of sorrow mixed with guilt and fear. “That’s never going to go away, and I’m telling you that from experience. I found my mother dead. I was nine years old. I can still see every detail. All the blood. The way her face was smashed in. There was so much blood.” He shook his head. “A hell of a thing for either of us to carry around for the rest of our lives, isn’t it?”
    His voice hadn’t changed at all, still mild. Low. But she heard a vibration of menace running through her head. He didn’t show emotion at all, but he felt , and the intensity was like a volcano waiting to erupt.
    “I think someone killed them because of me.” She told him because he seemed to believe her when no one else took her seriously.
    He stopped in the act of pulling the T-shirt over his head. “Why?”
    “I don’t know. I heard them arguing with someone out in the stable with the horses. I heard my father say very distinctly they wouldn’t allow Briony to try such a thing, it was too dangerous. I heard shots. Just two shots. I ran as fast as I could, and I’m fast, but when I got there, they were both dead and whoever did it was already gone. Each had one bullet in the head, right here.” She pressed her finger between her eyes. “I never saw who did it, and the murderer had to be close, but I couldn’t find him.” She looked at him. “I couldn’t even smell him.”
    “What did they want you to do?”
    “I have no idea. I told my brothers, and they went through the messages and paperwork in the trailer, but couldn’t find anything. The police didn’t find their killer.” She looked at him. “How did your mother die?”
    Jack pulled the shirt over his head. He’d never told anyone. Never opened that particular wound. He’d had no intention of telling her either. Damn it. There was no stitching that injury closed, and he was going to tell her, but he had no idea why. “She was beat to death.
    He used his fists and then a baseball bat.”
    “Jack.” She wanted to put her arms around him. She felt his emotions now—black rage

    —ice cold. “I’m so sorry. What a terrible thing. Who would do such a thing?”
    “Her husband.” He glanced around the room. “You have a hat in here? Maybe a backpack?”
    Why had she thought he didn’t have emotions? The room was shaking, the walls undulating. “Jack.” She reached out to touch him.
    Jack knocked her hand away, clearly a reflex action. He was strong, and she felt the impact right through her body. Their eyes met. Held. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
    “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” He stepped close to her, almost protectively. “I don’t know why I did that.”
    “I’m fine.” She pulled a backpack out of the tiny closet to avoid looking at him. She had to blink back tears—not because he’d hurt her, but because his pain was so raw and his rage so deep, she needed to weep for him, because he hadn’t—wouldn’t.
    “Damn it. I don’t usually talk this much.”
    She handed him the backpack and rummaged through the drawers for a hat.
    “You actually put your clothes in the closet?”
    She glanced at him, knowing he needed to change the subject. He would never be comfortable with personal revelations. “Of course. What do you do with your clothes?”
    He looked around the small