Yeah. This is going to be a cakewalk. He snorted and followed her. Before she had taken a half-dozen steps down the end of the walk, he was in front of her. “Guarding you means you don’t go wandering off.”
“I’m not an errant child, Mr. Owens. I drove here on my own; I go to and from work every day on my own. I go—”
“No. You used to. I’ll be escorting you to and from everything for the time being.” He’d hoped that Nyx had explained the extent of his role in Eavan’s life, but if she did, Eavan wasn’t cooperating. To be sure there was no confusion, he added, “Nyx was adamant about that part of my services. I’ll be accompanying you everywhere you go, every time you leave your apartment for any reason. It’s why she rented the apartment. That way, I’ll be within reach the moment you step outside your door.”
Eavan made a frustrated sound. “What if you have other things to do? We can come up with a schedule that—”
“Eavan?” He waited until she looked at him, and then said, “This is my job. If I’m not able to keep up with your schedule, I’ll call one of my associates, but I suspect I can keep up.”
“This is going to be a pain in the ass, isn’t it?” She yanked open the passenger door of her Z3 and dropped her briefcase on the seat.
“You won’t need that.” He didn’t wince as he said it, but he did draw a deep breath, bracing himself for the next snarl that was sure to follow his clarification. “We’ll leave it here to be picked up later.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Exactly what is it that I won’t need, Mr. Owens?”
“The car. We’ll take mine.” He gestured at his car, a nondescript black sedan that looked like the same sort innumerable car services and middle-class businessmen drove. It blended. Eavan’s topaz blue BMW didn’t. “You won’t need yours for a while.”
“I won’t need my car?” Her hands were on her hips. Her lips were pressed together in a tight line.
“Look. I’m not your enemy. I was hired to keep you safe…or out of trouble…or maybe just drive you crazy so you move back home. You can go back in there and talk to her, or you can cooperate.” He wondered briefly if Eavan had the same ability to hypnotize him as Nyx apparently had. If he tried to restrain her, could she control him as Nyx had done when he’d pulled his gun? He needed more answers than he had. “You need to accept that I’m like your shadow now. You aren’t going anywhere without me. If that’s going to be an issue, go talk to Nyx while we’re still standing here.”
Eavan’s answer was a string of expletives and a glare at the close-curtained windows of her family’s house. “Talking to Nyx won’t change a thing. It rarely does.”
He nodded once. “Okay then. So, do you want to eat while we go over your schedule? Or go to your apartment?”
Cillian felt a touch sorry for her. It wasn’t an easy position she was in—not that his was much better. Now that Cillian had sent the data in to his supervisor and been told to work with—for? — his “anonymous” source, he had more than a few questions for Nyx. He just needed to get Eavan tucked into her apartment so he could go ask a few of those questions.
“It’s your choice,” he added. “We could go downtown and grab a bite or—”
“Food first,” she interrupted. “Fat Daddy’s.”
She slid into his car, slammed the door, and stared out the window.
“Right, then,” he muttered as he walked around and opened his door. “This should be great fun.”
6
Late that night, Eavan slipped out of her apartment window. She wasn’t sure if she could get out the front door without Cillian noticing. Odds were that he wasn’t staring at her door, but she wasn’t sure about video feeds. He’d mentioned surveillance in the hallway, the breezeway, the parking deck, and the back lot. Safer to slip out the window. The drop wasn’t that far. She might be predominantly mortal—and intending to stay that way—but her genetic heritage still came with a few extra benefits.
After a surreptitious glance to assure that no neighbors were out on their balconies, she hopped up on the balcony rail so she had her back to her apartment and dropped down. The impact of the landing was muffled by the grass-covered ground.
No one the wiser.
With a satisfied smile, she crossed the lot and opened her car door.
It was good that her Z was home instead of still at Nyx’s, but when Eavan thought about strangers driving her car, it felt more like injury than insult. She hated the fact that he’d had some stranger drive her car home. She slid her hand over the wheel affectionately.
She left her car door slightly open, put it in neutral, and coasted to the bottom of the hill. Once she hit the intersection, she slammed the door and popped the clutch. The squeal of tires and almost-but-not-quite-out-of-control swerve as she slammed through the gears was exhilarating.
Driving was one of the passions she could indulge. No sex. No murder. No stalking. Okay, a little stalking, but no killing anyone. A woman needed releases for pent-up energy, and there was only so much workouts and toys could do to let off stress. Sometimes speed was essential to sanity.
On this, at least, Nyx had always been tolerant. She had reduced rates on a number of vices for the local police in exchange for looking the other way on Eavan’s driving habits. It had started as a sixteenth birthday present and evolved into status quo over the last eight years.
Eavan could navigate the streets of Raleigh and Durham and a number of cities within a four-hour radius. Having the I-95 corridor, I-40, and I-85 all but at her doorstep meant that her penchant for speed was easily indulged. Finding a mechanic who disabled Nyx’s GPS tracking toys regularly added a layer of privacy the past two years that had made Eavan feel almost like a normal woman.
Not now. Not with Cillian holding a leash. Eavan made her way to the beltline and just drove for a while before she headed downtown. It helped, but the anxiety was still riding her. She took a few side streets, turning at the last possible moment each time, focusing on the importance of control and precision. It’s not going to change a thing. I am not going to change how I live. This could be a short-term problem, a test to be passed. Or failed.
That was the real problem: Eavan felt herself getting closer and closer to crossing lines that she swore she’d never approach. This business with Daniel had become an obsession. It needed to end so that she could regain control of her life. It made control of both appetites feel precarious. If she could scare him away from the drug trade or find some information to get him arrested, maybe she could stop hunting him—because she was hunting him. She knew it, even if she wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, and she needed to get it in check before Nyx found out.
Eavan parked the car down by Moore Square and headed toward one of Daniel’s warehouses. It wasn’t any trouble to let herself inside the warehouse: she’d lifted a key one night flirting with Daniel. Soft-soled shoes muffled her steps as she crossed the concrete floor. This was what she did, who she was. Every instinct she’d had told her that she was where she should be—except the ones that told her that naked with Cillian was a better plan.
Equally unhealthy urges.
She could control them though. She’d been doing so for twelve years. A glaistig’s dual needs for sex and death—preferably together—coincided with the onset of menses. It had taken her six years to learn to smother those urges until they were just a whisper. She’d slipped and hunted a few times, but she’d never killed or fucked anyone. She’d walked away from every hunt before it became an obsession.