Page 41 of Sinner’s Game

“And are you?”

Ronan watched the two women, both standing tall, shoulders back, eyes locked. He’d been afraid this would destroy Brandy. Instead, she’d fought back her initial horror and was stepping into the fray. The woman was incredible.

“Are you sure now?” Brandy asked again, taking one step closer to Reggie.

“Yeah,” Reggie said. “I am.”

“Why?” Ronan asked as Brandy’s shoulders dipped with relief.

“What?” Reggie’s brows rose. “Now you need proof?”

“Because she knows me,” Brandy said. “She knows I couldn’t ever do that.”

“Honestly, no,” Reggie said. “People surprise me all the damn time. I’m talking about the fingernails.”

Ronan glanced at Brandy, who shrugged. “Fingernails?” he asked.

In response, she cued the file up again and ran it. “Subtle, but see? Fingernails. Brandy keeps hers short.” She increased the size of the image, losing clarity but proving her point.

“I could have worn press-ons,” Brandy said, making Reggie laugh.

“Yeah, well, I’ll lay money you didn’t. And that is because I know you.”

“And you’d be right,” Brandy said. “Thanks for that.”

Ronan stepped toward her, moving behind her and casually slipping his arms around her waist, pulling her close. She didn’t protest, and he was grateful for that. He had to touch her then. Had to feel that she was okay.

“If it’s not me, who is it?” She twisted her head to look at him, anger replacing the fear in her eyes. “And how the hell did they steal my face?”

“Money,” he said flatly. “That kind of mask used to be movie fiction, but the real thing is available now—if you have the thousands to pay for it and the time to wait for it. As for who, I don’t know. But,” he added, his voice as hard as steel, “I promise we’ll find out.”

“She shot him. Some bitch stole my face, walked into my home, and shot him. She’s setting me up. But why?”

“I don’t know,” he said gently, then squeezed her shoulders. “But we’re going to find answers. Do you trust me?”

She nodded, and the easy certainty in her response both flattered and terrified him.

Michelle had trusted him, too.

Michelle had never even known she was in danger.

His gut twisted, and he pushed the memories away, focusing instead on the woman in front of him. A scared and confused woman whose instinct was to turn to him for protection and strength and solace from her fears.

He’d failed Michelle; he wasn’t going to fail Brandy.

“—call Devlin.”

“Sorry,” Ronan said, turning to Reggie. “What did you say?”

“I said we need to call Devlin.” She stepped into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine, then took a long swallow. “Until we know otherwise, we should assume this has to do with Saint’s Angels.”

“Why?” Brandy asked. She moved out of his arms but continued to clutch his hand. “I don’t have anything to do with SA, and neither did my landlord.”

Ronan fought a scowl. “No, but Reggie’s right. Anyone watching would know you’re tight with Devlin’s new wife.”

“Exactly,” Reggie said. “Could be a way to flush out members of the team or even a misdirect for something else that’s going on. Get our resources focused on tragedy surrounding someone at the periphery over here,” she said, holding out one hand, “then run off and hijack a school bus over there.” Her two hands were spread wide, and she looked from one to the other. “Seems like a no-brainer to me.”

Brandy shook her head. “No, no, no. If we call them, Ellie will cancel.”