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“I was a paper doll. Exactly a paper doll.”
“What can I say? I’ve got a way with words. You going to drink with me, or what?” She picked up my glass and all but put it in my hands. “Cheers Big Ears,” she said and touched her glass to mine and shot down another glass full of vodka. I took a sip and attempted to set down my glass, but she put her fingers against the bottom of it. Tipping the glass so I had to drink or it would spill all over.
“Good girl,” she said as I gasped and wiped my face.
“In any case,” she refilled our glasses. “I’m sorry for your loss. I always thought the senator seemed like a good guy.”
“He wasn’t,” I said without thinking. The vodka and her boldness making a mess of me. Immediately I regretted giving her that information.
“No?” She smiled at me. Like a snake. “In what way?”
“In every way,” I said.
“Isn’t that interesting? Though, probably not so much for you. How long were you married?”
“Two years. But we’re not here to talk—”
“You had two miscarriages? Sorry. That’s not easy.”
“How do you know that?” The first miscarriage was pretty public. The second one not so much.
“You think I’m going to show up without knowing who I’m meeting?” she asked like I was stupid, and maybe I was. Because I knew nothing about her.
“You’re Eden Morelli?” I asked, trying to somehow get on the offensive in this strange conversation.
“In the flesh.” She did a flourish with her hand. The diamonds on her fingers flashing in the low light.
“Who . . . who is that guy?” I asked, turning to look at the bodyguard at the door. Watching us with his dead eyes.
“Jacob?” she said. “You don’t need to worry about him. Former military.” Eden leaned in conspiratorially. “Secret ops. After the last Morelli Constantine dustup, I got myself the best bodyguard available on the dark web.”
Every single word in that sentence was terrifying.
“I’m not . . . a threat . . . to you,” I said, because I was scared of Jacob. And Eden, frankly. “I just wanted some information.”
Eden flipped her dark hair over her shoulder, her green eyes glittering. “Like you don’t know information is the most dangerous threat there is.” She lifted her glass again. “One more. Your sister was right about you.”
“What did she say?”
“That you used to be fun. Now you act like you’re allergic.”
“I’m not allergic,” I said, wounded. “Just out of practice.”
“Well, I’m a hell of a coach, let’s go.”
With the last shot of vodka warming me up from the inside, I picked up my glass and took a sip, which seemed to be enough for Eden Morelli.
“Your sister said you wanted some dirt on one of Caroline’s employees?”
“Yeah. A guy named Ronan.”
“You know. You’re pretty tight with the Constantines, seems that maybe just asking Caroline might be easier.”
“That’s not a good idea,” I said, trying to keep it vague, but it felt like I was spilling my guts about everything. This woman was watching me so carefully it was like she could see the things I wasn’t saying. “I don’t even know his last name.”
“Byrne,” she said. Ronan Byrne. Yeah. That felt . . . right.
“You know him?”
“Only by reputation and what I’ve been able to find out. Which isn’t much.”
“What is his reputation?” I asked.
“Well, no one would ever confuse him for a good guy.”
I did. That night at my engagement. And perhaps . . . perhaps at the fundraiser. Before he said all those things to me. Before he pushed me away like I was trash. Before he made me feel like trash.
“Well, his childhood is a whole Charles Dickens thing. Mom wasn’t around. Dad was in and out the army and jail. Died when he was about ten. Ronan grew up in a protestant boarding school. He has more hospital records than anything else.”
“Hospital?”
“Someone liked beating the shit out of him.”
I took a sip of vodka, the glass cold against my lips as that information sunk in.
“How did Caroline find him?”
Eden shrugged. “The Constantines have had their fingers in the oil drilling off the coast of the UK for a couple of decades. She could have met him at any point.”
“But why is he here? Now?”
“A good junkyard dog can be hard to find,” Eden said, tilting her head back towards Jacob by the door. I flinched at her language. “Too real for you, Poppy?” She said my name with all the p sounds.
“Ronan’s not a bodyguard,” I said. I really didn’t think he was. Caroline still had the same armed guards she always had. With the earpieces and the triangle formation around her.
No, Ronan was something else. Something closer. Something more trusted. He had an office outside her door. He was in her home on the weekend.
