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been
gone either. And none of that matters does it? You’ll grasp any excuse you can
to refuse to trust me. What are you hiding, Grace? Why is trusting me so
damned hard?”
    I shake my head, gritting my teeth. Score one for Walker. No
way in hell am I going there and he knows it.
    “Okay, you’re right. The past doesn’t matter. But I’m not
likely to trust you as long as you keep up the secrets.”
    He finally moves, stalks around me but pauses in the
hallway.
    “That’s a two-way street, baby. I’ve played the last six
months by your rules, giving you what you want while you ignore what we could
be, what we should be. Fuck that. When you’re ready to grow up and let
this relationship become what it’s supposed to be, you know where to find me.”
    He disappears down the hall--to pack I presume--I leave the
condo ignoring the knife of pain and anger twisting in my heart. He isn’t really abandoning me…I want him to leave, and I have work to do.

 
    Grace

 
    Carlos Beaumont paces around my office, his loud tirade
bouncing off the walls. I ignore him until he stops in front of my desk and
plants both palms flat. He is a big, beefy man but for some reason I just get
the impression of a weasel when I look at him.
    “Ms. Monroe, are you even listening to me?”
    I force a smile, not caring that it probably appears brittle
with my resentment of his intrusion into my personal space. Client or not, I
don’t have time for him.
    “Of course. You want frequent updates on the progress of the
investigation into your father’s murder,” I answer, trying to inject a level of
soothing commiseration into my tone. And failing miserably.
    “And yet, no contact for two weeks.”
    I sigh. I’ve been home just over a week, only back in the
office three days. And in that week my life has begun to spiral out of control.
First there was the awful fight--and the insulting questions--that had Walker
storming out of my condo three days ago. Then there is the office. It wasn’t
tossed and nothing is missing, but someone has definitely had a good look
around. There are other little things. Slashed tires on my rental. An attempted
break-in at my house. And then, the piece de resistance --the mail.
Specifically, the sealed police files of the murder of one Hugo Beaumont,
Walker’s own arrest record and a separate envelope I apparently mailed to
myself from Birmingham with my case notes. There are no return addresses. That
day in Birmingham, the day of the shooting, is still a blank in my mind and now
I have even more questions.
    I’m more upset over the fight with Walker than the rest,
even the revelations about his past. It’s not like I didn’t already have
suspicions. I always assumed the years he doesn’t speak of were times he is
less than proud of. And he is a proud man, one I didn’t have any qualms about
attacking during that fight. Questioning where his money comes from is pushing
him too far and I know it. He’s not going to tell me about his illegal
activities anymore than Trace will tell Lynn. This will probably cause a
permanent rift. He hasn’t called me and I’m afraid to call him. I see in these
arrest records the violence he’s capable of. I know he’d never hurt me, but
years of mistrust and suspicion are hard to overcome, right? I sigh. Denial. It
is all about denial when it concerns my feelings for Walker, isn’t it?
    Funny how he seems to be part of all the pivotal moments of
my life. We sat across the aisle from each other at Trace’s trial. I went to
Birmingham at its conclusion to hold Lynn’s hand through her sorrow and
distress as she blamed herself for her father’s actions. I decided then and
there love isn’t for me, and it is all the Graham boys’ fault. Because
apparently when you love one of them it is all-out, and if they return that
love? Nothing in the world will get in their way. It is obvious to me that Trace
loves Lynn at least. I have no idea how Walker feels about me. He’s