That makes him grimace. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, apparently she’s got a weakness.”
Sean nods thoughtfully and then looks up at me. Our eyes lock and I can’t help but notice the massive amount of worry in his. “Thank God that’s her only weakness.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have to tell you something.” His voice sounds like he doesn’t want to tell me at all. “The police know the woman found in my room was a call girl, and that she was killed with a knife—one stab in her side, and then another, fatal, slash across her throat.” Sean’s voice is so still and devoid of emotion. I know what he’s trying to tell me, what he means, but I don’t want to admit it.
Shaking my head slowly, tears form in my eyes. “No, she couldn’t have—she didn’t…”
“She did, baby.” My breath catches in my throat and I lean into his shoulder as the tears start to fall. “Mel killed that woman and we need to find out why.”
CHAPTER 10
Sean and I stay like that for what seems like hours. His hands run down the back of my head and smoothes my hair as he whispers soothing words into my ear. At first I’m not sure why I’m crying, but then the images float through my mind and I know. After everything Mel’s been through—after fighting tooth and nail to climb out of the slum she grew up in, getting that scholarship, selling her body to pay the bills—it was all for nothing. She’s back where she started. If the cops catch her, there’s no way they’re going to call it self-defense, not with the wounds Mel inflicted. The thought makes me cringe even more. What would make her so frightened that she’d respond that way? She had to realize that she was giving up everything the moment she drew the blade across the woman’s throat. I close my eyes and hold onto Sean tighter.
“Do they think you did it?” I ask the question that I’ve been dreading. Everyone hates him, even his own family seems to have a distaste for Sean, but I can’t see why. Jonathan stormed off, but from the look of things Sean was trying to help him, the same way he helped Peter. Why can’t Jonathan see that?
There are more things at play in the Ferro family than I can see, issues that lay far beneath the surface. Even Peter, who for all practical purposes seems normal, is far from it. What the hell happened to them?
Sean’s chest rises and falls in a steady motion as he holds me close. His voice is soft and strained. He kisses the top of my head. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
Fuck. “So they didn’t clear you? They think you’re a suspect?” Pulling back, I look up into his tired eyes. “How? You were with me the entire time.” Sean presses his eyes closed and steps away, turning his back to me as if he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s losing his composure. “Sean, talk to me.” I reach for his shoulder and touch it gently.
He doesn’t shake me off, but he doesn’t turn. Sean runs his hands over his face and speaks softly, making sure no one else could possibly hear. “I’m not a suspect, not yet, but close enough and it’s because of Amanda.”
A chill runs through me and settles in my stomach. The sensation is so horrible that I want to cry and I know that it’s only a fraction of the emotion surging through Sean. I don’t wait for him to look at me. Instead, I step around and look into his face. There’s a glassy sheen on his eyes and he evades my gaze.
I say what I know, the thing that no one else realizes and the one thing that Sean is desperate to forget. “You’re a good man, Sean. No matter what they say, no matter what they see.” I touch his cheek and smile warmly at him. “You hide it so well that even you forget at times.”
He touches my hand, smoothing his fingers over the back of it. “You scare me more than anything I’ve ever encountered, and at the same time, I love you for it. You see through me, Avery Stanz, down to my mangled soul, and you stay. Every time, you stay.” Sean’s voice is uncharacteristically soft and he closes his eyes for a moment, and presses my hand more firmly to his cheek.
I don’t worry about shattering the moment this time. I’m sure of myself—and even more certain of us. I know what he needs, but I can’t give it to him here, so I take his hands and pull him to a clearing backstage. Sean follows without protest. When I stop, I take his hands and slip them around my waist and place my hands around his neck.
We dance slowly, saying nothing, until Sean bows his head and rests it on my shoulder. We stay like that for a long time, occasionally stepping as if we’re still dancing. It doesn’t escape me that Sean is letting me comfort him. He’s given up control for the moment and is relying on me to hold him together. This is so unlike him that it worries me. I don’t know if he’s growing emotionally or falling apart. Sometimes those things look identical.