He closed the door and Eve dragged in a ragged breath.
Normally she was prepared before he came through the door, defenses ready.
Today he’d taken her by surprise.
“I’d say that’s a yes,” Callie said softly.
“Yes, what?” Eve asked, her gaze hungrily following
Noah, who was striding across the bar toward Jack’s table. He was angry. She
could feel it from where she stood.
Apparently Jack did, too. Eve watched the briefest
shiver of alarm pass through Jack’s eyes, followed by sly calculation, then
wide-eyed surprise. He frowned at his cell phone and Eve remembered seeing him
check it, three times.
SOB
. His partner needed him and here he’d sat,
showing off his sexual prowess with his bimbo
du jour
.
“Yes to number six,” Callie murmured. “Do you believe
in love at first sight?”
Eve jerked her eyes to Callie and saw she’d flipped
the magazine open to that damn quiz again. “Will you cut it out? The answer is
no. N-O.”
“Lust then. Can’t say that I blame you. He’s a lot
more potent in person, all burly and broody.” She turned to the article and the
picture of Webster. “Doesn’t do him justice.”
Eve refused to look. It didn’t matter. She’d seen that
picture hundreds of times. At home. In private. That Callie had seen her
reaction to Noah’s entrance
in public
was bad enough. But who else had
seen? And worse, pitied her adolescent fascination with a man who’d never said
more than please or thank you?
Her face heated, making it worse. She knew the scar on
her cheek, almost invisible under her makeup, was now blazing white against her
scarlet face. Out of habit, she turned her face away, reaching for his bottle
of tonic water. Then she put it back. From the look of their conversation,
Webster had come to fetch Jack. He wouldn’t be staying.
She busied her hands, pouring coffee into two
Styrofoam cups, adding spoonfuls of sugar. “Can you just put that damn magazine
away?”
“Eve, I only could see it because I’m your best
friend. Nobody else noticed a thing.”
Eve’s laugh was bitter. “You’re just saying that to
make me feel better.”
Callie smiled wryly. “Did it work?”
“No.” Eve lifted her eyes, saw Jack Phelps putting on
his coat. “But on the upside, Phelps is leaving. I won’t have to ask him to
sign that damn cover for Sal.”
“Unfortunately, he’ll be back.”
As will his partner.
Next time I’ll be ready. And
next time I won’t even look
. Eve snapped lids on the coffee cups. “Do me a
favor. Take these to them. It’s cold tonight.”
“Thank you.” Noah took the cup of coffee from Sal’s
new weekend bartender. The men had been talking about her. Curvy and blonde,
she was quite a package.
But she wasn’t the woman he’d been coming to see for
months. The one he thought about long before walking into Sal’s every week, and
long after leaving. That would be the tall, willowy brunette quietly standing
behind the bar, dark eyes wide.
Watching me
.
Watching everyone. Eve Wilson reminded him of a doe,
head always up. Always aware. He wondered what had happened to make her that
way. There was a fragility, a vulnerability her eyes didn’t always mask.
Whatever had happened, it had been bad.
Which hadn’t taken a detective to figure out. Up until
six months ago, she’d borne a visible mark of past violence, a scar on her
cheek. Rumor had it that a surgeon had worked magic with his knife, because now
it was barely visible. Rumor also had it that the black leather choker she wore
around her neck covered another scar, much worse.
Noah had lost count of the number of times he’d been a
mouse click away from finding out what had put that wary guard behind the
façade of calm. But he hadn’t. He wanted to believe he respected her privacy,
but knew he didn’t want to know. Because once he knew, it would change…
everything. The knowledge rattled him.
Conversely, very little seemed to rattle Eve, even the
clumsy advances of drunken customers. More than once in the last year Noah had
been tempted to come to her aid, but she always managed—either on her own or
with the help of one of the other cops.
The men took care of her. They liked her. They lusted
after Callie, but liked Eve, which left Noah grimly reassured. He would’ve had
a much harder time sitting with his damned tonic water week after week had it
been the other way around, because long before he walked in every week and long
after he left, he wanted her. But he had only to look at the mugs of beer and glasses
of liquor surrounding him to know he couldn’t have everything that he wanted.
Some things, like Eve, were best left untouched.
However difficult she was to rattle, Eve had been
startled tonight. Her dark doe eyes had widened. Flared to life. And for that
undefended split second, his heart stumbled, the hunger in her eyes stroking
the ego he’d tried so hard to ignore. But he’d come to get Jack. And it didn’t
matter anyway. That Eve was interested didn’t negate any of the reasons he’d
vowed to keep his distance. If anything, it underscored them.
He pulled his eyes back to Callie, who still stood in
front of him, studying him. “Eve thought you might want something to keep you
warm when you went back out,” she said, shivering in a skimpy black dress that
left little to the imagination.
“Tell her I appreciate it. You should get away from
the door. You’ll catch cold.”
Callie’s smile was self-deprecating. “The things we
women do for fashion.”
Looking over his shoulder, Noah watched Callie take
the other cup she held to Jack. She spared his partner no conversation, simply
leaving the cup on the table. Jack wouldn’t have heard her anyway. He was
soothing Katie, who was pouting because he had to leave. Noah bit back what he
really wanted to say, about both Katie’s pout and Jack’s idiotic song and dance
about no cell phone reception in the bar.
Noah pulled out his own phone. Just as he’d thought,
strong reception. He wasn’t sure if Jack believed his own excuses, thought Noah
was stupid enough to believe them, or just didn’t care if anyone believed him
or not. Regardless, Noah was going to have to report him soon. Jack had missed
too much work.
The thought of turning in his own partner made him
sick. When Jack focused, he was a damn good cop. If he could just keep his fly
zipped, there would be no issue.
“Noah. Over here.” His cousin Brock was waving from
his table along the far wall. “You found him, I see,” Brock said quietly when
Noah approached.
Noah nodded. “I need his eyes on the scene.” He
thought about Martha Brisbane, still hanging from her ceiling, eyes wide open.
“This is going to be a bad one.”
“Call if you need me.” Brock glanced to the bar where
Eve was shaking a martini, her gaze constantly roving the bar. “On
any
subject,” he added, accusingly.
“I will,” Noah said and Brock shook his head in
disgust.
“That’s what you always say. You gotta fish or cut
bait, man. This has gone on long enough. You’re playing with fire, every damn
time you walk into this bar.”
It was true. “I know.” Still he shrugged. “When I
close this case.”
Brock’s jaw hardened. “That’s what you always say.”
That was true, too. Noah always promised that this
time would be the last he’d walk into Sal’s, but he always came back. He’d
spent ten years battling one addiction, only to find another. Eve Wilson was
his weakness, dangerous in more ways than one.
“I know,” Noah repeated, reaching for the four packets
of sugar he took in his coffee.
Brock pushed the sugar container away. “I’d taste it
first if I were you.”
Noah did and drew a quiet breath. Eve had added it
already. He’d ordered coffee maybe twice in the last year, and had added his
own sugar each time. She’d not only watched, she’d remembered. The look on
Brock’s face said he knew it, too.
“She’s a good bartender,” Noah said. “I bet she
remembers what you always order.”
Brock rolled his eyes. “You’re a goddamn fool, Noah.”
Noah sighed. “Yeah, I know that, too. Tell Trina
thanks for dinner. I have to go.”
Jack had just left, Katie clinging to his arm. He’d said
he’d go home and change, then join Noah at the scene where they’d focus their
full attention on finding out who’d killed Martha Brisbane. They’d do their
jobs. For Noah, the job was all. When he’d hit rock bottom, the job was what
led him out. He’d do well to remember that.
But Noah felt Eve’s steady gaze as he made his way
toward the door and he stopped. He wouldn’t be coming back. Wouldn’t see her
again. He hadn’t come within fifteen feet of the bar in six months, Jack eager
to get their orders once Eve’s scar disappeared, shallow jerk that he was.
And
you? What are you?
He’d sat there, and watched.
I’m a fool.
Deliberately, he turned to the bar. Her eyes were quiet as he approached, but
he could see the pulse hammering in the hollow of her throat beneath the choker
she wore, and knew he hadn’t been wrong about that flash of hunger he’d seen
before. He lifted the cup, a million things he wanted to say stampeding through
his mind. In the end, he said the only thing that he could say. The only thing
that made any sense.
“Thank you.”
She nodded once, swallowed hard. “It’s just a cup of
coffee, Detective.”
But it was more. It was kindness, one more in a string
of many he’d witnessed over the months, most when she thought no one was
watching. But he’d seen.
Turn around and go.
But he didn’t say anything, nor did he go, his eyes dropping to her
hands. Her left cradled the right. A jagged scar wrapped around her thumb and
disappeared up the sleeve of a black sweater that matched her short hair and
dipped just low enough to be considered modest, yet still make a man look
twice. And wish.
Calmly she splayed her hands flat on the bar as if to
say, “Nothing to see here, please move along.” But for a brief moment her eyes
flickered, and he glimpsed a yearning so profound it stole his breath. As
quickly as it had come, it was controlled, gone, and she was back to guardedly
serene. “Stay safe, Detective,” she said quietly.
He touched the brim of his hat. “Take care.”
And
good-bye
.
Noah gulped a mouthful of the scalding coffee as he
walked to his car, the sweet liquid sour on his tongue.
Fish or cut bait
.
It would be the second one. As long as he’d clung to the belief that he was
only hurting himself, he could go to the bar, just to see her. But tonight
she’d nibbled, just a light tug on the line, but a tug nonetheless.
He’d reel in his line before he hooked her.
And
hurt her
. Whatever she’d been through, it had been bad.
I won’t make it
worse by dragging her down with me
.
Sunday, February 21, 7:15 p.m.
Lindsay Barkley woke screaming.
Dogs
. Snarling,
baring their teeth, chasing.
Run.
But she couldn’t run. She was tied and
couldn’t run. They were on her, teeth ripping…
She screamed and the jagged teeth disappeared, the
snarling abruptly silenced.
A dream
. She
was panting, gasping for breath.
Just a bad dream
. A nightmare, she
thought, as her mind cleared. She tried to move and the terror returned in a
dizzying rush.
This is no nightmare
. The bed to which she’d been tied
was real, as was the dark room. Ropes bit into her wrists and ankles. The air
was dry. Her mouth was like chalk and the pillow beneath her head smelled of
sweat and vomit. Her eyes burned like fire.
She tried to blink, but her eyes merely stared
straight ahead into the darkness. Her eyes were glued open. She was naked. And
so cold.
No. This can’t be happening.
“Help.” What in her mind had been a shrill scream
escaped from her throat in a hoarse whisper.
Dry.
Her throat was too dry
to scream.
He’s going to kill me.
No. I’ll get away. Think. Think.
The last thing she remembered was being pushed to the
backseat floor of his black SUV and the jab of a needle on her neck.
He’d looked so… respectable. Clean. Trustworthy. When
she’d quoted her price he’d smiled politely. So she’d gotten into his SUV. She
didn’t like getting into cars with her johns, but it was cold outside, so she
had.
I’m so cold. Somebody help me.
He said he had a hotel, that he’d take her someplace
warm. Nice. He’d lied. He’d pulled over, dragged her from the front seat to the
back, holding a gun to her head. Then he’d jabbed a needle into her neck. And
he’d laughed, told her when she woke, she’d be torn apart by wild beasts, limb
from limb. And that she’d die tonight.
He’d been right about the dogs.
I don’t want to
die. I’m sorry,
she prayed, hoping God would still hear.
You can’t let
me die. Who will take care of Liza?
Upstairs a door opened, closed, and she heard the
click of a dead-bolt.
He’s coming
. He flicked on the light and she could
see. And her thundering heart simply stopped.