Jan grasped Roman’s forearm. “I still believe Stan Marshall meant to meet me before he died.”
The deadly serious expression on Jan’s face raised gooseflesh on Roman’s arms. “Which is why you arranged an autopsy.”
“Yeah,” she said without energy. “An autopsy might hurt me legally if it shows a brain tumor or a chemical imbalance and my half-brothers use that information against me. Still, I have to know.”
“Know what, Jazz?” Roman asked, even if he’d guessed her answer.
“The obvious? Whether he had any genetic health issues that he could pass on to me.”
“That makes sense. What else?”
“I’ve fainted two times in one week, Roman. That says something.”
Roman’s heart kicked up a beat. “And the faint dreams.”
“Ugly. Scary.” Color drained from her complexion. “I can’t breathe. I’m dying.”
“Oh, baby.” He touched her cheek, wanting the color to return.
She pulled in a breath to steady herself, her hand gripping Roman’s arm for support. In a voice so soft he had to watch her lips move to track her words, she said, “If Stan changed because of me, he’d want to meet me. Like I said, I need to believe he was a good man, brave enough to face me, know me.”
“So suicide is out.”
“What else is there?”