“An hour. Maybe two.”
She took a step back. “So while we were eating sandwiches and looking at logs and worrying about Kurt Buckland and trying to find her right address…”
He nodded again. Swallowed hard. “Yes.”
Too late she realized he’d already put himself through this. He’d discovered Rachel, experienced the horror firsthand. She was just adding to his pain. “I’m sorry.”
She wasn’t sure who moved first, but she was in his arms and he was holding her much too tightly. Except she held on just as tightly, fists pressed into his back. He was hard, he was hurting. And he was here. “Why did you come back?” she whispered.
He drew a deep breath that pressed her breasts into his chest. “I went home first,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear. “But there wasn’t anything for me there.”
Oh, Noah. Eve held on for another moment, then pulled away. The words stuck in her throat. She forced them out. “There isn’t anything for you here either. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said fiercely.
She shook her head, wearily. “Believe what you want. Doesn’t make it any less true.”
He closed his eyes. “Why did you call me then?”
Her chest hurt. “I think I found another one. Her name is Amy Millhouse.”
He opened his eyes and they were blank, like all those times at Sal’s. “Show me.”
He followed her into the kitchen and looked at the graph, at the obituary, and his shoulders sagged. “MPD would have responded to this suicide. I must have read this report. I didn’t find any scenes remotely resembling Martha and Samantha’s.” He went too still and she could see he’d thought of something he didn’t like.
“But?” she asked.
“But Jack read half of them. I couldn’t find him tonight. Rachel was a mile from his house and he didn’t answer. Said he didn’t get my calls. Said he’d fallen asleep.”
“Sunday night, at Sal’s, he checked his phone three times before you came.”
“I know. Brock told me.”
“Will you report him?”
His shoulders sagged further. “I already did. I had to.”
“I’m sorry.”
He jerked his head around to glare at her. “Stop saying that.” I hurt him.
I never wanted to hurt him. “Sit down, Noah. I need to explain something to you.”
The kitchen chair creaked under his weight. She sat, folded her hands.
“Well?” he said sharply.
“I’m trying to figure out what to say,” she snapped back. “I could say, ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ but you won’t buy that. I tried ‘I’m broken,’ but you didn’t accept that either. You read about what happened to me, with Winters.”
“Yes.” He bit the word. “And if a con hadn’t killed him in prison, I’d be tempted to.”
“You’d have to stand in line, I think. He was a very bad man. But very handsome. He had… charisma. Most people in his hometown liked him. He was a cop.”
“I know. I read that. You said he was looking for his wife and son.”
“Caroline and Tom. They’d escaped, started a new life. Tom and I became friends and he was never supposed to tell anyone what happened to him, but he had to talk to someone. He told me everything, every slap, every burn… Tom hated him.”
“I can understand that.”
“They ran away, came to Chicago. Dana, my guardian, helped women like Caroline start over.” She hesitated, then shrugged. “Dana faked IDs, procured Socials.”
His brows lifted. “She really put herself out there. And Hunter?”
“Knew it all. Never participated in any of the borderline illegal stuff, but he did his part, odd jobs. Kept the shelter physically functional.”
“Fixed the roof?”
She smiled sadly. “Yeah. But that was long after Caroline first came. By the time I met her, Caro had her GED, a job at a university, was working on her degree. I worked for her, in the history department’s office. She always made me feel like I belonged.”
“Then?”
“Our old boss died and David’s brother, Max, came in to replace him.”
Noah was frowning. “Max Hunter. I know that name.”
“Played for the Lakers, eons ago. Tall, handsome, tortured soul.” Like you, she thought, but kept that to herself. “Max was in an accident that ended his sports career. He went back to school, became a professor, and years later, our department chair. And I did what any normal red-blooded eighteen-year-old girl would have done.”
“Fell for him?”
“Like a rock. But Max only had eyes for Caroline. When I realized that, I said some things I really shouldn’t have to both of them, things that with anyone else would have burned my bridges to the ground. But Caroline loved me.” Eve had to clear her throat.
“What we didn’t know was that Caro’s ex had found her. He wanted Tom back and he wanted Caroline to pay. I’d gone to Caro’s to apologize for the things I said, and Winters was there, searching for Tom. Tom was gone for the weekend. Camping trip, as I recall. Winters sized me up, saw I was young, stupid, and very vulnerable. He pretended to be a maintenance guy named Mike. He pretended to have sympathy for my faux pas with Max. He pretended to think I was attractive.”
“You were,” Noah said fiercely. “You are.”
“I was. He asked me out, got me drunk. No, he bought the beer. I willingly drank every drop he poured in my glass. I was so not legal and so didn’t care. I willingly took him home and… willingly entertained him.”
A muscle twitched in Noah’s cheek, but he said nothing.
“Next morning he tried to go. I tried to keep him with me, tried to get him to want me again.” She closed her eyes, this part as clear as if it were happening right now. “I put on his coat, danced a little, and a picture fell out of his pocket. A baby picture of Tom. I knew Caro had left Tom’s baby pictures behind when she’d run years before.”
“And then you knew,” he said quietly, and she opened her eyes to see he’d paled.
“And then I knew. The rest you know. Stab, stab, slice, slice, strangle with twine, and left me for dead. I did die. Twice. I’m damn lucky to be here.”
He tried to speak, pursed his lips. “Eve…”
“It’s all right, Noah. It’s past. But I need you to understand. No one can live through something like that and not be changed. Hell, I was screwed up enough before I ended up in Dana’s shelter. My mother was an addict, would sell her soul for a hit.”
“And her daughter, too?” Noah asked, hoarse.
“No. Because I ran. Got caught, stuck in foster. Ran again, different foster. Ran again and made it to Chicago. I would have had a hard enough time forming attachments, having a normal relationship with any man, but now… It’s just not possible.”
He met her eyes. “Why? I still don’t understand.”
Her cheeks heated. “Fine. After Winters, I had a hysterectomy. Everything’s gone.”
He exhaled. “That’s it?”
She glared at him. He looked immensely relieved. “No, that’s not it. But it’s enough.”
“So? You can’t have kids. I don’t care, Eve.”
“You say that.”
“I mean that.”
She smiled at him, trying to lessen the sting. “You think you mean that. And if that were ‘it’ then I’d give you the opportunity to find out for yourself. But that’s only part of it. Noah, I…” She shrugged, her smile gone. “I wake up at night, screaming like it’s happening all over again. And I’m… violent. Really violent.”
“You’re worried you’d hurt me?” he asked incredulously.
“I know I would. Sometimes I walk in my sleep. I’ve woken up in the kitchen, a butcher knife in my hand. I used to lock myself in my bedroom at the shelter so that I didn’t hurt anyone by accident. Most of the time I just didn’t sleep. I became a creature of the night.” She forced a smile. “Slept odd times during the day. Still do.”