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“Eve.” My voice is a command, one not meant to be ignored, and she looks up, a lost look on her face as if she needs me to tell her what to do now.
This look on her face scares me.
She is so fiercely independent, so strong, and to see her like this, it tears at me like someone is carving me up from the inside out. Instead of letting my feelings show, I channel it into control. She is struggling to surface from this bottomless ocean she is tossed into and if she needs me to help her out, then I will.
I crouch in front of her, my eyes steady. “Eve, you’ve done everything you can. It’s time to go. Mila will want to see you.”
We were
at Philip and Charlotte’s house with Mila. Mila insisted to stay longer and play with Agatha’s cat. When Mila insists on something is hard to let go. So I let her stay there and came to pick Eve up.
But right now, Eve needs to see Mila, to hold our daughter, be surrounded by that innocence.
The mention of Mila rouses Eve from whatever darkness hovers inside her mind.
She blinks and utters one word. “Mila.”
Philip and Charlotte were waiting for us, their faces grim.
One glance at the wan look on Eve’s face has Charlotte embracing her, offering silent comfort. And while Eve’s met Charlotte only once, she stiffens for few seconds before giving in and accepting the affection, the compassionate shoulder.
“I’ve asked Henry to take a look at this himself,” Philip tells me as Charlotte leads Eve into the bedroom where Mila is asleep. It is past eleven so I am not surprised that she was tuckered out.
I shove my hands in my pockets, composed and thoughtful. “This was targeted at someone. Either Eve or that girl.”
Philip gives me a sharp look. “Are you certain?”
My brows knit over eyes that hold lethal anger, sharp as a blade. “He could have waited till Eve and Lorraine were gone. But he didn’t. Instead, he waited till the two were alone. He didn’t even wait for Lorraine to leave. The wound in her throat wasn’t completely unsteady.”
“Your man’s had practice.” Philip sits down on the chaise, fingers steepled under his chin. He glances up at me where I stand, still as a statue.
“More than practice. He’s a hunter,” I say, my tone cold. “He scoped out the place, has been in and out, recognized the exits, the entrances, escape routes, where everything is. Bastard probably memorized the staff schedules as well.”
“Not that hard to do considering they’re up on the website,” Phillip adds. When my eyes move to him, surprised, he shrugs. “I came to the same theory. After you told me, I did some research.”
“A hunter, then,” I say, softly.
Philip makes a sound of agreement. “But who was he hunting?”
Neither of us have the answer to that, so we let the strained silence fill in the gap.
The sound of footsteps has me turning around to watch Eve carrying a sleeping Mila in her arms, our daughter’s small head nestled in the crook of Eve’s neck.
We stare at each other briefly, and the room fades around us. After such an emotionally wringing day, she is stripped of her defenses completely. Vulnerable and uncertain, she is looking to me, and my protectiveness surges.
“Let’s go.”
The car ride is silent and Eve leans her head back against the seat, staring at the roof, her eyes dry.
I send a sharp look her way wondering when she will realize just where I am taking her.
It is around the third stop sign that she blinks and looks around, dazed. “This isn’t the way home.”
The light turns green, and I change gear. “We’re going to my place.”
She opens her mouth in protest, and I cut her off. “It’s just for tonight. I don’t want you to be alone tonight.”
I can see her thoughts jumping over each other, and it pleases me that she is gathering her wits about her, enough to fight me on this. However, a niggling feeling at the back of my neck tells me that her apartment might not be the safest place for her tonight.
