Page 38 of Savage Protector

Scarlet: What???

I left it there, letting her wonder if I meant it or not while I continued working with the detectives and a handful of officers assigned to the case, being brought up-to-date on Dominic’s movements as of late. I was doing everything I could to avoid an errand I’d been putting off for days, ever since getting back to town.

I still didn’t have it in me to go to the morgue and claim the body. What should I do for Jack? It wasn’t like we ever discussed final plans. It never occurred to me.

By the time I texted Scarlet to let her know I was on my way back to her, it was closing in on nine o’clock. I had lost track of time riding around town, staking out a few of Dominic’s favorite hangouts along with the detectives. I wasn’t about to step back and let this one go, and they knew it. Now it was time to compartmentalize and push that shit aside for Scarlet’s sake. If I walked into the suite looking as ready to kill as I felt, it would only scare her. She couldn’t see the hatred or the darkness swirling in me.

Room service was on my mind as I rode up in the elevator, greeting the guard on duty once I reached the door to the suite. Everything was in place. My guys knew what they were doing. I had guided them well because Jack had guided me well. And I didn’t have the balls to claim his body.

“Hello?” I called out once I entered the suite. The television was off, the living room empty, so was the kitchen—I could see it from where I stood. Maybe she was in the shower. The idea stirred interest below my belt and led me in the direction of the master bedroom’s en suite bathroom.

Before I could reach it, I found her sitting on the king-size bed I’d left her in this morning. She sat cross-legged in the center, surrounded by photos. It was the empty liquor bottles on the nightstand that held my attention, though, and half a slice of cake with a candle lying beside it on the plate.

“Did you throw a party without me?” I asked. Was it her birthday? Why wouldn’t she have told me?

She raised her head, her bleary eyes meeting mine. There were tear stains on her cheeks. “Sort of. A birthday party.”

“Not yours, I hope.” Approaching the bed, I added, “I’d feel like a piece of shit for not treating you to anything special.”

She shook her head, then pointed to one of the photos in front of her. “It’s Mom’s. Today would’ve been her fifty-fifth birthday.”

She continued, “She would’ve hated turning fifty, much less fifty-five. Always trying to look younger than she was. She was so pretty,” she whispered, smiling fondly as I leaned down to study the picture she held.

“She was.” In fact, she looked a lot like her daughter with the same hazel eyes, same peaches and cream skin, and brilliant smile. She could have been a model.

“Not that it never got her anywhere. She ended up hooking up with the wrong guy once again, and she ended up dead.” Running a hand under her nose, she added, “You know what the worst part is? I don’t even know exactly why. I mean, I know how, but I don’t know why she was there or how she ended up getting killed.”

Looking up at me through bloodshot eyes, she explained, “They had to use dental records to identify her. But I guess maybe I was too young to get an explanation.”

It knocked the wind out of me. “Jesus Christ.” What the fuck happened to her?

Scarlet’s head bobbed slowly while she held up four fingers. “That’s how many days I waited for her to come home. I tried getting help from the police, but nobody wanted to listen to me. I tried calling the hospitals, but she wasn’t there. Then somebody finally contacted me and told me they identified her.”

“And you told me before you were fourteen at the time?” I asked, stunned. Fourteen years old. All alone in the world. How the hell did she get through it?

“That’s right. No relatives, not even any close friends of Mom’s to take me in. Lucky me.” Slowly, she leaned over until she was lying curled on her side. “Lucky Scarlet.”

This was turning into a very different evening from the one I had in mind. Taking in the sight of her limp, pajama-clad body, there was only one thing to do. “Why don’t we get you tucked in?” I suggested, already rolling her to her other side to pull the duvet free for her to sleep under.

“It’s not fair I didn’t get to say goodbye,” she whispered once her head touched the pillow.

“You’re right,” I agreed. “It’s not fair. It’s fucking bullshit, so long as I’m being honest.” I barely recognized myself as I sat on the bed, careful not to harm any of her mementos. She looked so small in such a big bed, curled in a ball, already half asleep.

She snuggled under the blanket while I stroked her hair, imagining the hell she had been through. “That’s nice,” she whispered, her eyes drifting shut. “Why don’t you get in with me?”

“I have a few things I need to do first.” Like eating, for one thing, and showering after spending hours in the back of Cameron’s cramped car.

“But you’re staying?” Her eyes open, finding me, brows pulling together.

“I’m staying,” I assured her, watching relief take hold before she relaxed and sank deeper into the bed, closing her eyes again. This time, they stayed closed as she drifted off to sleep.

“What am I going to do with you?” I whispered. Hell, but I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had no defense against the desire to give her everything she needed, no matter what it cost.

Once I knew she was asleep, I gathered the things she had strewn over the bed during her trip down memory lane. There was an accordion folder nearby, so I opened it and carefully placed everything inside. Photos, mainly, one of which included a smiling little girl with missing front teeth and blonde braids. There was a sprinkle of freckles across her nose that had faded with time, but her sunny smile hadn’t.

I couldn’t seem to make the image match up with the woman now snoring softly in bed. The poor little girl. She was happy then, but only because she didn’t know what was coming down the line.

There was something else beneath one of those photos, a carefully clipped article from the newspaper. Strange, but I recognized the photo in the center of the newsprint immediately. I had stared at it countless times, especially in the weeks after the fire, after that night.