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Matt didn’t say anything.
“Are you going to get in trouble for killing Ric?”
His jaw tightened again at her familiarity with the kidnapper. Why couldn’t she just call him a psycho.
“Trent said it’s going down as self-defense. I did stab that motherfucker with his own knife which he intended to use on me. Add to the fact we have one dead deputy and a couple more injured. No one’s sorry to see The Reaper gone, but Trent will still need to take my official statement.”
“Matt, about Ric …”
“Not here,” he growled. He kissed the back of her hand before letting it go to resume his grip on the steering wheel.
“But …”
“I need to get you safe—”
“But Ric is dead and the Carillo Cartel should be thankful to you—”
“From me, Grace.”
“Wh-what?”
“I’m a hair trigger away from losing it, gypsy,” Matt said quietly. “He nearly succeeded in taking you away from me. I can’t talk about him while I’m driving.” His face hardened as he glanced her way. “But make no mistake, once we get back to the loft, we’re talking about what happened.”
“Matt, maybe we should wait for a few days to discuss this.”
“No.”
“What if I can’t talk about it just yet.”
Fuck!
Instead of pulling sharply to the shoulder, Matt slowed down before he parked the SUV on the side of the road. He slammed out of the vehicle though and walked to its front. He stared back into the car and could have kicked himself for putting the troubled look on Grace’s face. But dammit, she had to push the issue.
Fuck!
She opened the door and jumped down. Matt was grateful to whoever gave her a new shirt because he would have ripped The Reaper’s shirt off her, and fuck knows what else he would have done.
“Get back in the car,” he ordered.
“What’s wrong with you?” Grace snapped.
“He took you from me!” Matt roared. “The heat cams on the drone,” he broke off as a wounded growl escaped from his throat. “I saw what he was doing to you and I was helpless to stop it!”
Grace eyes widened, all color leaching from her face. “Nothing happened,” she whispered and his eyes drilled into hers. She looked away. Some shit definitely happened.
Matt paced the front of the vehicle like a caged tiger, his voice turning guttural. “Don’t lie to me Grace. Don’t fucking lie to me.”
He stopped walking, rested his hands on his hips and stared at the night sky. He exhaled deeply. Getting those troubling thoughts out of his head had restored a measure of equilibrium within him, but he was far from okay.
“You’re right,” Grace concurred. “We need to talk about this at home. Not on the side of the road.” Without another word, she climbed into the vehicle.
Matt saw Millie’s vehicle slow down beside them, but he waved the diner owner through, indicating that everything was fine. He got in beside Grace and they resumed their drive back to the loft in charged silence.
When they arrived in Misty Grove, he felt her stiffen, and when he pulled up at the garage, her breathing had become ragged.
“Roger?” she asked, her voice muffled as if clogged with tears.
“His funeral is the day after tomorrow.”
