The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 by David Carter (best finance books of all time .txt) 📕

rage I felt when I learned about what Grace and Randolf did to my father. It wasn’t Marinda’s fault, but she was an accomplice.

I lock my glare on hers so she can see the rage swirling in my eyes. “So, don’t for one second take this for granted. Am I understood?”

“Yes, of course. I just want a moment to talk with her, just to try and explain. I was wrong. My husband made bad choices, and I followed him. There’s no excuse, and I kept those secrets of theirs as well, I’m as guilty as they are, but I’ve always loved my daughter even if I couldn’t show it like I should’ve.”

“The moment Scarlett tells you to leave, you’ll be escorted from this property,” I inform her before stepping back. She nods, and I turn to my wife, taking her hand in mine. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Thank you,” she mouths with a small, grateful smile, and I press a kiss to her lips before Darius and I leave. I don’t close the door, because I still don’t trust Marinda. And if Scarlett needs me, I’ll be in there within seconds.

“Time for a drink, brother,” Darius says as he follows me into the connected living room so we’re not too far from Scarlett.

“Time for you to apologize for fucking shooting me,” I bite back, and he chuckles.

30

Scarlett

My mother.

I watch her as she settles on the chair on the patio. Anger doesn’t cover what I feel for her. I’m not sure I can explain it. All my life I wanted someone to show me that I’m worth more than what I can offer them. The only person who’s given me that is him—the wolf in a tailored suit—Lycan Shaw.

I settle opposite her, needing to be as far away, but also as close as I can be to her. She watches me for a long time. Her gaze flitting between me and the garden. Her nervous energy makes me anxious, and I wonder what she’s about to tell me. Probably something I don’t want to know.

“For a long time, I thought I had struck it lucky. There were times I looked at your father and convinced myself he was a good man,” she speaks, her voice soft, but I can hear her. “I wanted nothing more than to be someone.”

When she lowers her head, I take in her hunched back, her slumped shoulders, and I wonder how a woman who was always so obsessed with what everyone thought of her has come to this. Perhaps it makes me cold, but I feel nothing. There’s no sadness, not even an inkling of pity.

“When he told me what he had done,” she starts again, her voice raw, and that’s when I notice her crying. In all the years, I’ve never seen this woman shed her emotions. Even when they used to fight, she never allowed herself to show weakness. Because that’s what crying is, at least, what she believes.

When I was younger, she taught me to be hardened to the world. She explained how when you’re weak, people take advantage of you, but now that I’m learning more about her, I realize, she wasn’t offering advice from naivety, she was speaking from experience.

“I wanted to be a woman who could show the world I made it. Coming from nothing, I learned early on that there are those who only care about what they can see. Which is why I was always so hard on you.”

“One thing is for sure, mother, you made sure I wasn’t the same as you,” I inform her. “No man will treat me the way dad treated you.”

“You think a man like Lycan Shaw can give you happiness? Love?” This time, when she looks at me, I see the doubt swirling in her eyes. “He has money, he can buy you anything your heart desires, but there will never be connection.”

Her words make me laugh out loud. The muscles in my body tense and tighten as anger warms my stomach. “My husband has given me more in the few months I’ve known him than yours has in the years you’ve been married.” My words are confident, fierce, and my fingers tremble to smash something.

“You truly love him,” she murmurs, her eyes wide as she takes me in.

Looking at her, I nod. “I do. And he loves me, more than you or anyone else can ever imagine. He’s swallowed down his own needs, shoving them in a box in order for me to explore who I am as a person.” I don’t tell her more than that, because she doesn’t need to know. All she needs to hear is that I love the man who’s probably giving his brother an earful because of our wedding day.

“I wanted what was best for you.”

“So, you allowed Father to sell me to someone? To lose me in a bet while he was drunk and partying with girls who were my age?” The disgust is clear in my tone, and it makes her wince. I should care that I just hurt her, but I don’t. I push to my feet as her hands shoot out to grab onto mine.

“Don’t go yet,” she pleads with me, the tears dancing on her lashes as she regards me. The touch of her fingers on mine has me wanting to rip myself away and tell her to leave, but I swallow down the anger, and I don’t move.

“Give me a reason to feel anything for you but pity?” I ask, even though nothing is currently flickering through me. Nothing but the need to escape from her, from the lies of the Bardot family. If I’m going to make a name for myself, to finally have a family filled with love, I need to walk away.

“I love you,” she says, and it is one of the very few times those words have ever left my mother’s mouth. I don’t remember a time she didn’t say it loud enough