Page 179 of Capturing You
“You okay?”
“I’m alive, thanks to you.”
He chuckled. “I was about to say the same thing.” His gaze flicked to Rosie. “And thanks to you.”
She didn’t smile back. “You’re here because of me. This is my fault.”
Forbes squinted as if he was trying to figure her out.
Brooklynn asked the question. “What do you mean? How is this your fault?”
“Why are you here, Forbes?” Rosie asked.
“I got… Did you send it?”
“Send what?”
“I got an anonymous note, a letter.”
Her lips pressed closed a moment as she thought about that. “I told Grandmother the smugglers were operating again. I told her to keep you away from here. I told her?—”
“Wait. Grandmother knows you’re alive?”
“Don’t be angry with her. She was trying to protect me. I was trying to protect you. All these years, though, she wanted… She needed to know who killed them. I think… I was trying to keep you safe, but I think she must’ve sent the note.”
“Gran wouldn’t…” But the protest died on his lips. He blinked, looked up at the house. The flames weren’t out, but the firemen were winning the battle. “She wanted to know.”
Brooklynn couldn’t make sense of that. “She wouldn’t have sent you into danger, though. Would she?”
“To find out who killed her son? Maybe.”
Rosie laughed, though the sound held no amusement, “Yes. She would have. She did. I told her to protect you, and she dangled a carrot instead.”
Brooklynn couldn’t fathom.
And then Forbes’s lips tipped up at the corners. “She trusted me to figure it out and stay alive.”
That was giving the old woman more credit than Brooklynn would have.
“She’s too much like me,” Forbes said. “Desperate for justice, no matter what the cost. She knew she couldn’t get it herself, but she thought I could.” He stared at the remains of his childhood legacy. “And I did.” He squeezed Brooklynn’s hand. “We did.”
There were still unanswered questions, not the least of which involved the living, breathing woman standing beside them, a woman thought dead for twenty-five years.
The danger was past, but there were still plenty of questions.
CHAPTERFORTY
At the hospital, Brooklynn’s ankle had been X-rayed, confirming the sprain she’d self-diagnosed. She’d been treated for smoke inhalation and given oxygen. Hers wasn’t as bad as Forbes’s—she’d been on the floor, below the worst of it, whereas he’d been up and moving. She’d only needed oxygen for a short time, but he still had a little tube running below his nose, feeding it to him.
Now, she dozed on a chair, her head resting on the bed where Forbes slept. Half awake, half asleep, memories of the terrifying ordeal morphed into nightmares that had startled her awake every few minutes since the orderlies had finally brought him in from surgery.
The nurses hadn’t told her much, only that he’d lost a lot of blood—not exactly news to her—and was out of the woods.
Out of the woods. Ironic, considering how much they’d needed the cover of the woods. But in this case, it was a good thing.
A gentle hand brushed hair away from her face, and she sat up.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” Forbes’s voice was rough with sleep and fatigue.
