Bill had just enough time to wonder uneasily at the direction of his thoughts—Someone he cared about?—when the handcuffs disappeared and his mind blanked because…heaven. She was safe in his arms, warm and alive and breathing his name into the space where his T-shirt ended and his chest began.
“What happened here, Eve?” He dipped his chin to whisper against her ear, the delicate shell felt baby-soft against his lips, and the subtle smell of her lotion elicited an ill-timed response from the imbecile housed behind his zipper.
For the love of God, nuclear bombs could be exploding around me and being this close to Eve would still have me springing a chubby.
She pulled back, and he recognized the look on her tear-soaked face. He’d seen it plenty of times in the killing fields of this war or that conflict. It was a combination of shock and horror…and guilt. And it was enough to take the edge off his unrepentant libido.
“Th-that was s-s-supposed to be me.” She nodded toward the ambulance, her expression caving in on itself, her slender form quaking like a rickety telephone pole on the edge of an immense fault line. “They c-came here for m-me.”
Supposed to be her? What?
“What do you mean?” he demanded, instinctively thumbing away a glistening tear from her smooth cheek, growling when he noticed the circle of angry bruises darkening up around her neck making the white of her pearl pendant stand out in harsh contrast. He’d seen that before, too. Some sorry sonofabitch had tried to strangle Eve. Some sorry, dead sonofabitch should Bill ever find him and get his hands on him…
“Th-the men who killed Buzzard,” she choked. Buzzard? He glanced toward the ambulance, then closed his eyes as a wedge of remorse briefly invaded his mounting rage. The rascally biker had been an annoying, charming, and licentious old fart by turns. But he’d been a decent fellow, all things considered. And he’d certainly deserved a shitload better than whatever violent end he’d obviously met. “He caught a stray bullet,” she went on, and once again his heart stopped cold because…bullet. There’d been fucking bullets involved? Jesus Christ. “But it was a bullet meant for…for me.”
Her voice rose with each syllable, and he knew the sounds of hysteria and shock when he heard them. Soon, she was very likely to either completely lose it or go catatonic. He’d seen both, experienced both, and he wasn’t sure which was better. One allowed the horror to spill out in a vile, endless stream. The other allowed it to slowly simmer until the terror coagulated and hardened into something awful that you carried around inside yourself for life.
Sweet Jesus, how he wished he could take it all away. Just pluck the experience from her psyche and take it into his own, lock it in the box where he kept all his unspeakable memories…
“H-he…he said,” Eve stammered, and he could tell she was becoming more and more unstrung with each passing second. “He said, there she is and pointed his gun at me. I dove for him. We…we struggled. So…so—” She couldn’t go on, and he did the only thing he could think to do. He pulled her against him again, holding her as tight as he could.
So, whoever wanted to kill her had found her here at Delilah’s? But how?
Confusion and rage warred inside him for supremacy. But he knew neither of those emotions was what Eve needed from him now. So tamping down his desire to ask more questions or just begin to arbitrarily kill everybody she knew for good measure, he cupped the back of her warm head in his palm and tried his best to hold her together because she felt like she was about to blow apart.
Then, she did something so shocking he could only stand there like a friggin’ idiot.
She kissed him.
One second the woman’s nose was buried in the crook of his shoulder, and the next second she grabbed his ears and slammed her mouth—her open mouth—over the top of his.
And unlike that girl he’d known years ago, this one didn’t hesitate. There was no slow, tentative tasting, or gentle foray of her tongue into his mouth. Hell, no. This was the kiss equivalent of zero to sixty in less than a second, and all he could do was blink at her blurry face in cross-eyed confusion for a long moment during which time she kissed him so passionately he was surprised he didn’t just melt into a puddle of lust around his biker boots.
Eventually, however, instinct and bone-deep hunger took over, and he reached up to palm her tear-wet cheeks, angling her head so he could join in on the two-tongued fun fair they had going.
And, it was confession time again. Because, he didn’t give a rat’s ass that this was undoubtedly one of those instances when a person had mistaken grief for lust. He didn’t give a rat’s ass that she’d likely regret this in about two seconds flat…that he’d likely regret it, too. Because for one blessedly passionate moment, the past was forgotten. For one brilliant instant, it was just the two of them, locked together, giving in to the flame of desire that’d burned in them since the moment they first locked eyes on each other.
She moved against him, her whole body sinuously sliding, and she was sultry and hot when he pushed his thigh between her legs. And then sanity returned. For her, not for him. He’d have probably laid her down right there in the parking lot if she hadn’t suddenly pulled back, blinking up at him with over-bright eyes and an expression of…
What was that? Confusion? Regret? Horror?
He didn’t have time to figure it out, or to contemplate the ramifications of what it meant to have lost his control around her yet again, because movement out of the corner of his eye snagged his attention. He looked over to find Delilah standing in the doorway of the bar, dried blood streaked down her T-shirt.
She looked like an extra in a slasher film. Scratch that, she looked that the slasher in a slasher film, because her expression was straight-up, undiluted I’m-shithouse-crazy-enough-to-kill-someone-right-now. Nostrils flaring, jaw grinding, fists clenching and unclenching, she stepped into the parking lot and started marching stiffly toward Mac.
Oh, damn.
Bill knew what was coming before the loud smack of Delilah’s open palm meeting Mac’s hard jaw echoed around the block. The former FBI agent’s head snapped back and to the side, emphasizing the strength of the blow. But no sooner had he shaken off the harsh strike than Delilah was grabbing the collar of his light-weight motorcycle jacket and screaming into his face, “How dare you bring whatever bullshit you’re involved in to my doorstep, you bastard!”
Chapter Twelve
Eve pushed away from Billy’s warm, reassuring, oh-so-deliciously-solid chest—she could not believe she’d just kissed him or, considering their talk this morning, that he’d actually kissed her back—when she heard Delilah’s words explode into the noisy city air. All the blood that’d been sizzling through her veins because of Billy’s scorching kiss instantly froze into solid red rivers of ice.
No. Oh, no! Delilah couldn’t blame this on Mac. She just couldn’t. This wasn’t Mac’s fault. It was her fault. All her fault…
Without a second thought, she turned and raced toward the tussling couple. Through her tears—was she crying?—she could see Mac dragging Delilah around the corner and into the alley where he wrapped her in a reverse bear hug, seizing her from behind by securing her wrists low across her waist as he bodily lifted her from the ground until all she could do was kick ineffectually as she screamed profanities hot enough to blister the ears off a sailor.
“Delilah,” she breathed. Was that her voice? Why did it sound like that? Like it was being pushed through water. “It’s n-not Mac’s f-fault.”
But her words were too hoarse and too quiet for Delilah to hear, and before she could swallow and try again, Billy stopped a group of police officers from moving in to investigate the commotion. “Gentlemen, my friend back there doesn’t need any help. He’s man enough to handle what she’s dishing; don’t you worry.”
One of the officers eyed him skeptically, and Billy made a face. “She’s hurt and grieving,” he expla
ined, and Eve knew all about that, didn’t she? “And she needs to take it out on someone. She’s decided to take it out on him.” He pointed his chin toward the alley where Mac and Delilah had moved out of sight. “And like I said, he’s man enough to handle it.”
The policeman nodded once before motioning for the rest of the officers to follow him to the ambulance.
The ambulance…
Eve winced when the loud thunk of its door slamming shut ricocheted around the parking lot. Holy moly, if there was ever a sound of absolute finality, then that was definitely it. Instantly, her blood thawed, rushing through her system and pooling in her head until she was dizzy.
Don’t look. Don’t look.
But she couldn’t help herself. Turning, she saw a medic hop into the passenger seat of the ambulance. A heartbeat later, the vehicle’s lights began flashing accompanied by…silence. Deafening, head-splitting, soul-shattering silence. There was no blaring siren or honking horn, just the sad rumble of a big engine turning over and the quiet crackling of tires rolling over rock-strewn pavement.
Which, dear God, was so much worse.
It emphasized the fact that this was no emergency. That the life this ambulance had raced in to rescue was beyond salvation. That the life had been cut short because somehow, in some way, she had done something to someone that was so horrible they were determined to see her dead.
This is all my fault…
Again, the sentence circled through her overwrought brain, and the shaking she thought she’d finally gotten under control returned with brutal, teeth-clacking force. The urge to scream her frustration and regret and guilt overwhelmed her. It built in her chest, burning like a jellyfish sting as it seared its way up her throat, singeing the tissue in its path until she wondered if she’d ever speak or swallow correctly again. But just before she opened her mouth to let loose with all the dark emotions bubbling and seething inside her, Billy was there, wrapping a steadying arm around her shoulders and bending to whisper in her ear.
“This isn’t your fault, sweetheart,” he crooned in his deep, smooth baritone. “The men who did this are the ones to blame. No one but them, you understand me? No one killed Buzzard but them.”
And more than his words, it was the feel of his warm breath against the side of her jaw, the smell of him, all buttery leather and strong soap, that gave her enough strength to swallow down the scream burning at the back of her throat.
Keep it together, Eve, she coached herself as she rolled in her lips, the world around her nothing but a hazy kaleidoscope of colors through her tears. She wanted to believe Billy. Oh, how she wanted to believe him. Keep it together for Delilah’s sake…
And suddenly she remembered where she’d been heading before the police and the ambulance’s departure distracted her. “We have to go help Mac,” she said.
“Like I told the police, Mac can—”
“No,” she shook her head vehemently. “Delilah thinks this is Mac’s fault.” And there was no way she could allow Mac to take the fall for something she’d done. Once upon a time she might have taken that coward’s way out. But not anymore. And if she had any say in it, never again. Eve Edens was done being a coward.
Grabbing Billy’s big hand, she stumbled across the lot and around the corner of the building to the shaded alley where a set of metal stairs led to a back door on the second story of the bar. The air smelled dank and musty, likely due to the four green trash bins pushed up against the building on the opposite side of the narrow space. Mac was standing in front of the nearest one, still holding Delilah in a reverse bear hug, and the poor bartender was still whipping around like a sea snake caught by the tail.
“And you!” she shrieked the instant she saw Billy. “You’re as much to blame! Buzzard’s dead because—”
Billy dropped Eve’s hand in order to step up to Delilah. Gently, he placed a palm on each of her red, splotchy, tear-soaked cheeks.
“No,” he told her quietly. Just that one word.
But it was that one word, spoken with absolute conviction, that had the fight abandoning Delilah. The kicking and the thrashing stopped, and she hung limp as a rag doll in Mac’s big arms, quietly sobbing.
“Delilah, I’m so sorry,” Eve whispered quietly, stepping up to the woman, nodding at Mac to lower the poor creature to the ground. And though the words were heartfelt, they sounded hollow, even to her own ears. Because nothing she could say would ever accurately convey the depth of her remorse.
A man was dead from a bullet intended for her. It was that simple. And that horrible. She knew she’d always carry the guilt of it with her.
When Mac lowered Delilah to the ground, the grief-stricken woman crumpled into Eve’s arms, and Eve choked on the sobs she could no longer hold at bay. It didn’t matter. They were women, so they clung to each other and cried together, taking strength and lending it in the way only the females of the species could do.
Then, after a time, their tears slowed, and Eve blubbered out the truth, “It’s my fault. D-don’t blame Mac and…and Billy. It has nothing to do with them. I brought this to your doorstep. Th-those men came to your bar to k-kill me.”
Delilah pushed out of her embrace, rubbing a forearm under her runny nose to blink at her blearily. “I know they did,” she nodded, wiping away her tears with a perfunctory swipe of her hand. “I h-heard what that one said when he saw you.”
There she is…The words were etched on the back of Eve’s brain with a carving knife.
“But after Bill told me he was leaving you in my care, I just…” Delilah shrugged miserably. “I just figured it must have something t-to do with whatever shady dealings they’re involved in out on Goose Island and—”
“We’re not involved in any shady dealings,” Mac muttered, brow furrowed in a deep scowl.
Eve wiped away her own tears as she slid the man a look of utter disbelief. How could he say that with such conviction when their business was the definition of shady? Then again, he probably thought Delilah meant shady as in illegal, so maybe that’s how he could pull off that whole hook-me-up-to-a-lie-detector-right-now-and-see-I’m-telling-God’s-honest-truth expression.
Delilah narrowed her eyes, the very picture of skepticism. “You’re involved in something out there,” she maintained, and even through the riot of her emotions, Eve had to give it to the woman. Delilah’s instincts were spot-on. Unlike hers. Because she hadn’t believed Becky about the true nature of the men of Black Knights Inc. until the moment she saw Billy, dressed from head to toe in black, sneaking up behind a Somali pirate in order to point a rather terrifying machine gun at the man’s head. Then she’d believed. Boy, oh boy, had she ever. Kind of hard not to when the truth was wearing black and green face paint and staring you smack-dab between the eyes. “It’s in the way you carry yourselves, always on alert,” Delilah continued, underscoring her astuteness. “So, what is it? Drugs? Guns? Forgeries? Money laundering?”
Holy smokes, honey, you’re way off.
“We carry ourselves like a group of guys who’ve seen the darkest side of life and who’ve learned not to trust their fellow man,” Mac insisted.
Delilah didn’t try to disguise her look of disbelief. “Fine,” she spat. “So whatever side business you have going,” Mac growled like a grizzly bear, but Delilah ignored him, “may not be a contributing factor to what happened in my bar tonight.” And saying the words must’ve reminded the woman of the one she’d lost, because her chin trembled, and Eve’s immediately threatened to follow suit—the stupid sympathetic thing! But Delilah kept it together, which helped Eve to do the same. And after dragging in a steadying breath, Delilah continued, “But the questions remain,” now she turned to pin a pointed look on Eve, “why did they come here to kill you and who were they?”
“Those are the questions, now aren’t they?”
Eve spun when she heard her cousin’s voice. He wa
s marching down the alley with his badge clipped to the waistband of his jeans and murder written all over his handsome face. She’d never been so happy to see him in her entire life. “Jeremy!” she choked, running to him.
He caught her in a fierce embrace. “Jesus Christ, Eve! I came the minute I heard it over the radio. Are you okay?”
“It w-was awful,” she sobbed, pressing her nose into his light blue button-down shirt and dragging in the familiar smell of his cologne.
“Yeah,” he nodded, gently pushing her back so he could run his eyes over her from head to toe. “I heard that, too.” And if she thought he’d had murder written all over his face before, then mass murder was written all over his face now that he saw the bruises on her throat. He hooked a thumb under her chin to tilt her head back, but she batted his hand away.
“It’s nothing,” she assured him. “I’m fine.” His lips twisted, his eyes calling her bluff. “O-okay,” she admitted. “I’m not fine. But I’m alive. And that’s more than I can say for s-some.”
Dang it! Her lower lip started to wobble again, which caused Jeremy’s jaw to saw from side to side.
“This isn’t your fault, Cuz,” he assured her. And, yep, everybody kept telling her that, but somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to believe it. “Nod your head so I know you heard me,” he commanded. She nodded just so he’d hush up about it. Her guilt and culpability weren’t anything she wanted to talk about. At least not right now. “Good.” He threw an arm around her shoulders, leading her back to the group where his attention immediately turned to Bill and Mac. “So, the CPD knows why they came here. To off Eve.” The way he said it had tears once more pricking behind her eyes. She must’ve shaken or something, because he squeezed her closer to his side, his fingers firm on her shoulder, offering her the comfort of his strength. “But the jury is still out as to who they were.”
And now they’d come full circle, hadn’t they? Because that was the question Delilah had posed before Jeremy arrived on the scene. She met Delilah’s red-rimmed gaze head-on. “I swear to you, I have no idea.”
Born Wild Page 13
