Hell Is Burning (11 page)

“Honestly, no. I want to get married. We just can’t find a day to do it where everyone is available.”

“I thought you were eloping,” he asked.

“We are, but Emma and Greyson are our witnesses, and they’ve been busy lately.”

He wouldn’t know. There was zero personal communication between them. Yes, he still reported to the man, but there was nothing but professionalism there. Greyson asked for a case update, and he nodded.

Nothing more.

Nothing less
.

To Curtis, that said it all.

It looked like the man, he once called brother, had moved on. Could he really blame him? Curtis said some pretty horrible things in his tirade filled outbursts.

No--that wasn’t true.

They were beyond horrible. His words had crossed the line, and he knew it.

Had he known Brynn was going to emotionally bail on him, he wouldn’t have put his neck on the line for their relationship. He missed having people who cared about him. Again, that was bullshit.

He missed them.

The idea that they’d moved on without batting an eyelash stung. Deep down, he hoped they’d feel the same pain he was feeling.

Curtis wanted them to miss him.

“Well, I’m sure it’ll be a nice wedding. I don’t recall mine. Apparently, tequila, a drunken woman, and no common sense make a horrible mix when it comes to getting hitched.”

She patted him on the arm. “You can fix it, Curtis. When Paris was upset over me having a new partner, we fought, I cried, but then we fixed it. If you want to make it better, you can, just like you can always make it worse. It’s a matter of choice.”

She had a point.

All he had to decide was what he wanted.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m going to talk to Brynn tonight. We’ll try and work it out.”

A part of him didn't buy it, but it was nice to have his partner give him the benefit of the doubt. Tessa Brass was a good person, and he was grateful she was his partner.

She smiled at him. “I knew you would. My money’s on you, Curtis. You’re badass.”

As they headed back in, he finally asked where they were going.

“The boss wants to see us.”

Curtis tensed. “Can’t you handle him? I don’t want to deal with Croft right now.”

Since Greyson advised her that it was top priority, Tessa wasn’t going to let him out of the meeting. She was convinced that if they sat down, hashed it out, or even had a brawl, it would be better.

When she and Paris fought, they always talked about it. It was about getting it off your chest.

“He said both of us. You know he’s avoiding you as much as you’re avoiding him, so this has to be important.”

Curtis felt bad.

He didn't want to avoid the man. What he wanted was to be back in the family. Now that Brynn was bailing on him, he was all alone.

“Yeah, I hear you. Maybe you’re right.”

       
                         
* * *
  Croft & Croft  * * *

Once at the office, she led him through the throngs of media to the door. At one time, Curtis was someone they’d swarm, trying to get the inside scoop. When he was part of Emma and Greyson’s lives, he was also in the media spotlight.

Now he was ignored.

That spoke louder than words, and Curtis found it incredibly painful. Even the media had cut him out of their lives. It was sad, and made him want to do something he swore he’d never do.

For the first time in a long while, Curtis wanted to apologize. Unfortunately, he truly believed that boat had sailed. Everything that had happened the last two months was entirely his fault.

It wasn’t the Crofts he hated. No, even though he was angry and blamed them for a killer’s actions, he knew who was at fault.

It was him.

Shit!

With his luck, Greyson was going to get rid of him, and it would serve him right. He was losing his wife, he already lost a man he considered a big brother or father, and now his job was in jeopardy too.

Great.

Tessa led Curtis to a conference room. Inside, Greyson sat at the head of the table, and he looked…troubled.

Uh oh.

This didn't bode well. He must have been right. Curtis was about to get shit-canned.

“Come in, Special Agent Briggs.”

His tone said it all.

“Tessa, can you head to my office? Paris and the team are waiting for you. They’re already starting to work. You have a new case. They’ll brief you.”

“Sure thing, boss,” she said, closing the door behind her. If Curtis wasn’t with her, she would have asked if he was okay. Instead, she knew it was best to escape.

“We need to talk,” Croft stated.

Curtis crossed his arms defensively. He was waiting for this day. The man before him had been avoiding him, and he knew it wouldn’t last forever. Curtis was a realist. There would only be so much leeway given, and he’d worn out his welcome under the man. It wouldn’t surprise him if he was transferred to the outer reaches of Mongolia on some shitty assignment.

Payback was a bitch.

“Please have a seat. This isn't going to be easy, Curtis.”

He sat, but the entire time his eyes never left Croft’s.

“What do you want, Director?” he asked. “Have you decided to transfer me?”

Greyson only wished it was that easy. This was going to be brutal. In all honesty, Croft didn't know how to do this. Yes, he was a pro at delivering bad news. Hell, he could do it in his sleep, but what he was about to tell this man was going to forever change his life. He tried to put himself in Curtis’s shoes.

“No, son. I’m not.”

Curtis flinched at the term of endearment. At one time, he was his son. At one time, he had been loved by this man, and now it was all cold and dead, just like Greyson Croft’s icy stare.

God!

He missed his family.

“Emma pulled a case the other day, and today something bad has happened.”

Curtis leaned forward. “Is Emma hurt?” he asked, his eyes filled with emotion. “Oh, no!” He loved the woman, and always would, despite the anger between the men. She was everything sweet and gentle in the world, and once his life.

Shit!

Greyson wished the man was cold about it. Then he wouldn’t feel so bad about stabbing him in the heart with the bad news. Right now, he could use some of Curtis’s anger and hate. It would make it that much easier to deliver the crushing blow.

“No, she’s fine, but she and Mace pulled a new victim. I was notified this morning, and that’s why you’re here.”

He waited, unsure where this was going.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Curtis. I wish I did, but this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.”

He didn't understand. “Just say it. It can’t be that bad.”

“Brynn’s dead.”

He dropped the bomb because it was better not to pussyfoot around it. If it were him, this is how he’d want to know.

Cold.

Fast.

No one spoke.

Then the change happened. There was a metamorphosis across Curtis’s face. Gone was the worry about Emma, and in its place was nothing more than hate.

Anger.

Rage
.

Curtis stood. “Take that back!”

Greyson wearily got to his feet.

Here it came.

This was what he’d expected, and he wasn’t going to fight the man. He couldn’t. He’d already hurt him enough. What happened from here on out, he’d carry too.

“I can’t, son. As much as I want to do just that, Brynn was found this morning. We have her downstairs in the morgue.”

Curtis couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t think.

The entire world just fell out from under him. There was this sick feeling of freefalling as his stomach bottomed out. This couldn’t be true!

Yes, he was pissed at Brynn, but this?

NO!

He couldn't believe it. This was Greyson’s way of getting back at him. This was his sick and twisted way of breaking him for what he’d done.

“Fuck you!”

The second the words were out of his mouth, he charged the man. Curtis swung out, his fist meeting its mark. When Greyson stumbled back, slamming into the wall, Curtis kept wailing on him. It was shot after shot to his body as the wounded man tried to make someone pay.

Finally, Greyson stopped him. When his ribs ached, and he couldn’t take another shot, he had to end it.

Forcing him to the table, Greyson overtook the man and pinned him beneath his larger frame. As blood dripped from his nose, he spoke, “Curtis, I’m so sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

At the tone of his voice, and how he let him strike him, Curtis was getting sick.

Surely, he couldn’t be serious.

“It’s not her.”

“I’m sorry, Curtis, but it is.”

“You’ve made a mistake. Grey, you made a mistake. Please say it. You have to say it.”

Again, he wished that was true. Here was the typical response from the family of a victim. Greyson had heard it many times before, and here it was again.

He couldn’t blame the man.

“Get off me!”

When he set him free, he grabbed a tissue to stop his nose from bleeding. Croft hoped it wasn’t broken. The media would pick up on it, and somehow, it would be about Emma and him on the skids. He didn't doubt it.

There was a sob.

Greyson looked up. He saw a man he cared about as he broke in front of him. All that was holding him together was that last hope that they were all wrong.

He saw it in Curtis’s eyes.

He’d seen this before too.

It never ended well.

“I want to see her. Take me to my wife! I’m going to prove to you that you’re wrong. Then I’ll never speak to you again for this stunt. You were dead to me before, but this is worse!”

Greyson didn't speak. Deep down, he wasn’t worried. He knew what was coming. He’d vowed to be this man’s punching bag, and so be it.

He’d follow through.

There was nothing he could say that would ease the man’s pain, or keep him from dying inside. In five minutes, life, as he knew it, was about to end.

He was going to be a widower.

“You’re lying! You want to make me bleed!”

If the man thought he was capable of this, it was probably a good thing they weren’t friends or family anymore. Greyson wouldn’t inflict this pain on his worst enemy, let alone a man he loved.

“She’s downstairs,” he offered.

“You’re a dick for doing this!”

The man sounded like a child, and he couldn’t blame him. This was where he’d rally against anyone to not have to be privy to the truth.

His wife was gone.

She wasn’t coming back.

Curtis needed to face that.

“Let’s go,” he stated, striding toward the door. When he pulled it open, he glared at the man. “I hate you.”

Yeah, well it was too late.

Curtis would have to take a number because he hated himself too. No one enjoyed breaking someone, and if they did, they deserved a trip right to hell for being cold.

There was silence as they headed down to the morgue. Outside the door, Greyson keyed in the code, and that should have been Curtis’s first clue that something was definitely going on.

Only, it wasn’t.

Inside the cold room, he stormed toward the ME. Steele Bentley was standing in front of the table, protecting the body with his own. He could see that the man was coming apart.

He couldn’t blame him.

“Let me see!”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Agent,” he stated. “If there’s anything we can do for you, please let me know.”

Curtis pushed past him, nearly knocking the doctor over. When he reached the table, he whipped back the sheet in an effort to prove them all wrong.

That’s when he saw her.

He couldn’t breathe.

It appeared Greyson wasn’t lying.

There Brynn was, and she looked horrible. There was a vicious red ring around her throat where a rope had cut into her flesh, and her skin was pale and gray.

And her eyes…

They were open, but already beginning to cloud with the haze of death. They, alone, told the tale. His wife had died brutally.

“Brynn…” he hissed, struggling not to throw up.

There, lying cold and motionless on the table, was the woman he’d married. She was already autopsied, and he wanted to be sick. They’d cut into her.

Damn them!

They cut into her body!