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Except for one unavoidable truth.
There was still one person who deserved to know exactly what kind of woman he’d nearly sacrificed himself to save.
*
Ronan watched as she pulled into his driveway. The text from her had arrived a short while earlier: Where are you?
Home, he’d replied.
Lissy-love: Need to talk.
He frowned when she climbed out of the van. “Everything okay?”
“No.”
Something in her voice had him moving to the top of the steps.
She held up her hand “Stop. Stay there. Don’t … don’t come down. Please.”
It was the please that stopped him. “Felicity?”
She walked nearer, within easy hearing distance. “I need to tell you something.”
The words landed like a punch to the gut. “You’re scaring me.”
She looked away. “I know.”
“It’s cold. Come inside.”
She shook her head. “Here’s good.”
He didn’t argue. Something in her expression warned him this wasn’t a conversation he could steer.
This was it.
He’d known drugging her would cost him.
He’d simply hoped that, in time, she would understand, accept his part in it.
“I went to see the sheriff this morning,” Felicity said.
Ronan stilled.
Sheriff.
Not Beau.
“And confessed.”
His fingers curled against his thigh. He’d known his role in Vasily’s death could carry consequences. He’d accepted that long ago.
Something must have shown on his face because she gave a dry laugh. “This isn’t about you, Marine. Your secret is safe.”
Relief never came. “Then what did you confess?”
She swallowed. “Murder.”
The word hung between them.
