“No,” she shook her head, her chest rising and falling with each panting breath—he called himself ten kinds of asshole for noticing how it made her breasts press against her thin blouse. She looked around as if the world had suddenly changed shape. As if up was down, and black was white. “No,” she choked again, wrenching away from her cousin’s embrace. “It can’t be.”
“Who?” he demanded. But it didn’t do any good. She was lost in her own denial, shaking her head and whispering, “No, it can’t be,” over and over again.
“Her father,” Delilah piped up.
Eve swung on the woman, screaming, “No!”
“I heard her talking to him and—”
“No!” Eve yelled again, reaching up to fist double handfuls of her own hair.
Bill went with his gut and dragged her into his arms, ignoring the fact that Buchanan narrowed his eyes at the move. Eve fought initially, writhing in his embrace, beating his chest, but she had no more strength than a kitten. And in seconds, her struggling stopped and she collapsed against him in a sad, sobbing heap—which was so, so much worse than her pitiful fighting had been.
His hardened warrior’s heart bled for her. And once again, their sad history was forgotten, all the hurts and disappointments trivialized when compared to a father’s ultimate betrayal. He silently promised to kill Patrick Edens…slowly. But aloud he crooned, “Shh, Eve. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll figure this out. We’ll—”
“No, Billy!” she wailed, hiccupping on her tears. “It-it can’t be him! He’s my f-father. He-he loves me! He wouldn’t do this to me!”
“Eve—”
“Why?” she demanded, pushing away from him, her expression telegraphing the fact that her denial was quickly morphing into anger. “What reason would he have? None!” She sliced a hand through the air karate-chop style. “Tell him, Jeremy!” She swung on her cousin. “Tell him Dad wouldn’t do this!”
“Eve, I—” Buchanan shook his head, his eyes full of pity. “I don’t—” He stopped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
“Not you, too!” she wailed. “Just because he didn’t believe you when you said someone was trying to kill me, now you think he’s the one? No!”
“I’m not saying—” Jeremy began, but he was stopped by the buzzing of his cell phone. He slapped a hand over his hip pocket, cursing. “I’ve got to take this,” he said. His expression was tortured when his gaze landed on Eve. “I’m still on the clock, and that might be my partner calling, and—”
“Just do it.” Eve’s face was streaked with tears and red as a ripe cherry.
Buchanan hesitated a second more, and Bill felt himself softening toward the guy again. Just a little bit. Because Buchanan had done everything he’d known to do to protect Eve. But who would think to protect her against her own father. Christ! When the guy’s phone continued to buzz imperiously Buchanan was forced to spin away, quickly moving down the alley and disappearing around the corner as he answered the call.
“You’re wrong, Billy,” Eve hissed, swinging back to him. “You’re so dead wrong and—”
“Okay.” Delilah stepped into the brink. Literally. She jumped between him and Eve, and it was probably a good thing she did. Because Eve’s hands were curled into fists, and Bill figured he was about two seconds away from experiencing one or two of those self-defense moves she’d been practicing for the past year. And, yeah, he knew that she knew none of this was really his fault. But that didn’t change the fact that she needed an outlet for all her rage and denial. And since he was quite handily standing right in front of her—presto changeo—he could play the part of scapegoat.
“I have to agree with Eve that this all seems a little farfetched. I mean,” Delilah slid a placating look toward Eve, but Eve missed it since she was busy staring ice-tipped daggers at him, “what kind of father would pay a couple of Southside gangbangers to barge into a biker bar and shoot his only daughter in cold blood?”
The kind of father who’d kept his only daughter caged away in an ivory tower, never allowing her to develop any sort of social confidence. The kind of father who’d fostered his only daughter’s natural shyness and timidity so he could control her life.
Basically, a father exactly like Patrick Edens.
Of course, Bill kept all this to himself as Delilah continued, “I mean, isn’t it possible that Eve is bugged or something? Couldn’t she have been followed or located another way?”
“Yes!” Eve stopped her frantic pacing, her expression suddenly filled with so much hope it caused a jagged crack to open in Bill’s already ragged heart. “That’s it! I have to be bugged. I have—”
“No,” Mac cut her off, and Bill was glad he wasn’t the one who’d been forced to do it, forced to dash all her misplaced faith.
“What do you mean no?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at the poor guy. Bill could tell by the former FBI agent’s face that he didn’t want to be the one to crush her sudden optimism, but he cowboyed-up and did it all the same.
“There’s no way you’re bugged, Eve,” Mac said, and Bill held his breath and slid a glance toward Delilah who was listening intently…Intently? Pshht. More like she was monitoring the conversation with the dedication of a submarine sonar specialist.
Shit. This could get sticky. Er…stickier. The situation was already as sticky as the birdlime they used in anti-tank bombs.
“How can you possibly know that?” Eve asked, her eyes daring Mac to come up with something she would believe.
“Uh,” Mac made a face and scratched the back of his head, peeking over at Delilah, “because you’ve been to the shop today, and we have wall-mounted…um…call it bug-detection equipment. So, if someone had a tracking device on you, believe me, we’d know about it. The entire shop would’ve flashed and wailed like a Lady Gaga concert.”
“Aha!” Delilah pointed a blood-red fingernail straight at Mac’s face. “I knew it! I knew—”
“Excuse me.” A man in a rumpled gray suit walked up to them. He was on the downhill side of fifty and couldn’t care less, evidenced by the fact that he didn’t try to hide his receding hairline or the ketchup stain on the shirt stretched tight over his beer gut. “Hello again, Ms. Edens.” The guy nodded once to Eve before addressing the group. “I’m Detective Normandy, and I need you folks to come with me down to the station where I can ask you some questions regarding tonight’s events.”
“Oh, now you’re ready to take me down to the station to ask me some questions?” Eve was already shaking her head before Normandy finished his little speech. Bill got the distinct impression she’d found a new outlet for all her frustration and denial. And call him a lily-livered coward, but he couldn’t say he was sorry all that vitriol was no longer directed at him. “Now you’re ready? So the fire and the mugging and the cut brakes lines weren’t enough to warrant an interview, but masked men barging into a bar to point guns at my head, not to mention strangling me,” she pointed at the bruises on her neck, and once again, Bill’s rage began to boil, “are? Sheesh!” She threw her hands in the air sarcastically. “Why didn’t you just say that before, Detective?”