An incredulous gust of laughter blew away her tears. “The man was-is-my fiancé. You do realize what that means? He’s going to expect me to sleep with him. Can you imagine what that would be like? Nobody’s that good an actress!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jake said in a curiously acidic tone. But he checked himself, and his gaze slid past her to the side window as he jerked the van to a stop beside the E.R.’s double automatic doors. When he spoke again, it was in an altogether different voice-crisp, quiet, full of authority.
“Speaking of acting, it’s showtime. Slump down and put your head back-you’re supposed to be half-conscious, remember? One thing at a time. Right now let’s worry about saving your life. You can figured out what to do with it later.”
Eve muttered, “That’s easy for you to say.” But she did as he’d told her and slid down in the seat, closed her eyes and let her head flop to one side. She felt the driver’s side door of the van open and then slam shut. A moment later the door on her side opened, letting in a gust of damp October night.
“What are you doing?” she demanded in a squeaking whisper as an arm insinuated itself between her bare back and the seat cushion. A hand pushed roughly under her knees.
“Dammit, what do you think I’m doing?” His voice was so low, its vibrations were felt rather than heard, so near her ear, the breath that carried it was a gauzy stirring of warmth on her skin. “You’re barely conscious-what are you gonna do, walk in?”
“Oh…God.” That was all she could manage. Eve was not a small and dainty woman-five foot nine in her stockinged feet, at least; she hadn’t been carried since she was six years old.
“Holy…” Jake’s blasphemy hissed past her ear, raising goose bumps all over her body and contributing dangerously to her giddy impulse to giggle. “What do you want me to do, drop you? Put your head down on my shoulder, dammit. And relax-my God, would you just please trust me?”
Relax… trust me… With few or no other options open to her, what else could she do? She closed her eyes and buried her face in the FBI man’s warm, masculine shoulder and thought of carnival rides…roller coasters. For all her daredevil nature, she had never liked roller coasters-something to do with the surrendering of control. She hated being strapped m, powerless to do anything but go along for the ride. Like now, at this moment. She felt frightened, helpless. The sensation of motion, of being carried through space, made her queasy.
But… with her face pressed in the hollow of Jake’s neck and shoulder, as she breathed in his warmth, felt the rasp of his beard against her temple, the beating of his heart against her breasts, a certain scent began to invade her nostrils… a scent somehow familiar to her. She’d smelled it just this evening, in Jake’s bathrobe. It was the smell of safety, and she inhaled it like a drug, pulled it deep inside herself. While around her footsteps hurried and voices questioned and strangers’ hands took control of her fate, she wrapped it around her panicked soul like a security blanket. When Jake’s arms relinquished her to the cold and sterile efficiency of a gurney, she felt bereft.
“You okay?” she heard a deep voice murmur.
She opened her eyes and found Jake’s gazing down into hers, darkly brooding and only inches away. She looked into them for a long time before she nodded. “Showtime,” she whispered.
Like it or not, she was on the roller coaster. Nothing to do now but buckle herself in for the ride.
Chapter 5
The Waskowitz family’s vigil was taking place in Pop and Ginger’s hotel room in downtown Savannah. Everybody was there except for Charly, who, under her obstetrician’s strict orders to stay off her feet, had gone to her own room down the hall to lie down, taking the three older children-Summer’s two and Mirabella and Jimmy Joe’s eleven-year-old J.J.-with her. Their baby, Amy Jo, was also sound asleep, snuggled up next to her daddy on one of the two double beds with her thumb in her mouth and her bottom in the air.
Everyone else was wide-awake. However, only Mirabella was up and pacing, so when the phone rang, although everyone jumped reflexively, she was the one who got to it first.
She snatched it rather rudely from under her mother’s hand, barked a breathless “H‘lo?” into the mouthpiece, then listened for about three seconds in frozen stillness. Then she thrust the instrument at her sister, stalked angrily into the bathroom and shut the door. Whereupon she burst into tears.
When she ventured forth a few minutes later, tear-blotchy but belligerent still, Summer was sitting tense and roused on the bed with the phone pressed to her ear and one hand upraised in a futile effort to fend off the barrage of questions and instructions being lobbed at her from all sides. Her side of the conversation consisted of nods and an occasional “Uh-huh.”
While Summer was hanging up amidst a chorus of protests and raising both hands in a plea for patience, Jimmy Joe erased away from Amy and got up off the bed. He came over to Mirabella and gathered her into his arms.
“Hey, darlin’,” he murmured gruffly to the top of her head. “She’s in the hospital, but she’s gonna be okay.”
“That part I got,” said Mirabella in a testy voice.
Summer, who was on her feet now, along with everyone else, cleared her throat. “She was too groggy to say very much, but I talked to the police officer who was there-I guess to take her statement.” She flicked a sympathetic glance toward her mother, who had made a small, stricken noise. “It looks like-they think she was mugged.” Somebody-one of the men-made an outraged growling sound. Quickly Summer went on. “Somebody hit her and knocked her unconscious, took her diamond ring and her pearl necklace, then dumped her in a trash bin in the alley. Behind the church, you know? Later on-it must have been while we were all inside the church waiting for her-they think she crawled out of the bin and somehow wandered off in confusion. Anyway, she apparently crawled into a utility company van and passed out. The guy just found her and took her to the emergency room, which happens to be close to where he lives-somewhere south of here, near the airport?” She made the last of it a question.
It was Riley who answered her. “I know where it is.” He had the keys to his Mercedes in his hand, already taking charge, as seemed to be Riley’s way-something to do with being such a successful lawyer, Mirabella supposed; he was used to telling people what to do. “Pop, you and Ginger come with us. Jimmy Joe, you want to follow me, or shall I give you directions? Troy-okay if we leave the kids here with you and Charly?”
Troy said sure, and to go on ahead.
“Wait.” Summer, who’d been shaking her head and trying in vain to get someone’s attention, now succeeded in breaking into the bustle of departure without noticeably altering it. “Do you think we should go running over there now? She sounded really out of it. She said they were doing tests and things, getting her stitched up and cleaned up. They probably – aren‘ t even going to let us in to see her, and even if they do, she’ll probably be too groggy to notice. Maybe we should wait till morning.”
There was a slight break, a brief cessation of sound and motion while that option was considered, and then universally rejected. Ginger simply shook her head and began buttoning the coat Pop had settled on her shoulders; others resumed interrupted searches for jackets, purses, car and hotel room keys. “Don’t worry about the kids,” Troy sang out.
The exodus was well underway when it was again halted by a word. This time it was Ginger who said, “Wait!” and turned in the doorway to cast a concerned look upon her husband, her daughters and sons-in-law, all crushed in around her. “Shouldn’t we call Sonny?”