Sea Haven 02 - Spirit Bound

trafficking, but not murder. And he had my brother murdered. He’s responsible.”
    She looked up at him. “I’m not absolving myself of my part in what happened, don’t think that for a minute, but I’ve taken a look at the prison he’s in, read all about it. France is supposed to be big and bad, but Jean-Claude has a cushy little cell and continues to run his operations right from there.”
    “How do you know that?”
    She shrugged and stepped back. Stefan let her go, dropping his arms to his side, his mind racing.
    “Have you visited him?”
    She scowled at him, a fierce, black expression, loathing in her eyes. “ Never. I will never give him the satisfaction of seeing me, knowing what he took from me just because he could.”
    Stefan chose his words very carefully. The intensity of emotions hammering at him had lessened just a little and he didn’t want to trigger another assault. His body actually felt bruised and battered.
    “Do you think he sent those men after you because he wanted you back? He was afraid of what you saw and that you might testify against him? Or did he give you something he wanted back?”
    Her gaze jumped to his face.
    “A wealthy man gives expensive presents. They often want them back in a fit of temper, especially if it is a family heirloom.”
    “I think he sent those men after me out of pure spite. He once told me that I could never leave him—that he wouldn’t let me. I was young enough and stupid enough to be thrilled. I thought that meant he loved me and would fix anything that went wrong between us.”
    He reached out. Judith flinched away from him. He shook his head. “Don’t.” Hard authority edged his voice. He wasn’t about to lose her, not now. “We’ve come this far, Judith, there’s no point in retreating. Look at me.”
    He held out his arms to encompass the house. “I’m still standing. You relived the entire horrible event, experienced the same intense emotions and I’m handling it.”
    Judith sighed and walked away from him, over to the window to look out at her gardens below, breathing deeply, striving for control. Stefan followed her, doing a slow sweep of the countryside from the vantage of her large bank of windows. The bright flowers shimmered in the slight breeze and at once he felt a lessening of the intensity of Judith’s emotions. Degree by slow degree, she was bringing her passionate nature back under control.
    He didn’t mind passion or fire. He could handle both. And he could handle her sorrow, her tears. She was his. It was that simple to him. She was his. Whatever she needed, he intended to provide. She shivered and he moved in close, rubbing her arms to warm her.
    “This is happening too fast. I don’t trust fast,” she murmured, shaking her head.
    “You don’t trust,” Stefan corrected gently. “Neither do I, but that doesn’t negate the fact that we’re already here. Let’s eat lunch, Judith. Show me around your house. Let’s just take a little breathing room.”
    “You think that’s the worst of me?” She looked over her shoulder at him. “It isn’t, Thomas. I wish it was the worst.”
    She was determined to drive him away, to expose her worst secrets. To her, he was Thomas Vincent, a good man. She had no idea that on her worst day, she couldn’t hold a candle to the sins of Stefan Prakenskii.
    He bent his head and placed his mouth against her ear. “Tell me then. Give me the worst, Judith.”
    “You’re a good person, Thomas. Inside, where it counts, you’re a good person. I don’t understand why you think you could ever be with someone who can’t control their emotions and others pay the price.”
    “You aren’t less than me because your element gets away from you. Never think I haven’t done far worse in my lifetime.”
    He turned her around to face him, automatically drawing her back away from the window. The habit was ingrained in him, like so many others he would never overcome even if his life changed completely. He was giving her Stefan’s truth, not Thomas’s. It was possible she would put his sentiment down to service in the military, misleading herself, but he would give her as much truth as he could, share himself with her, not his cover.
    She studied his expression, his jaw, the coolness of his stare. “I want him dead. Jean-Claude. I want him to suffer and die.” This time she didn’t look away, her gaze steady, her chin up as if she was waiting for judgment.
    “So you want