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“It wasn’t.”
“Would you like me to—?” My words are cut off by the sharp trill of her cell phone.
It is the way she answers the phone, a desperate look in her eyes, along with relief and a tremor of her hands that makes me realize that Ron is more than just a friend to Eve.
He is family.
“Where the hell have you been?”
I lean back into the couch and watch the expressions flit across her face from relief to anger to shock and fear.
“Are you okay? Where are you?”
After a few moments, she leans forward. “No—No! Go with Mark. Stay with him. Don’t go home. We’ll come to you.”
Whatever Ron says on the other end, she isn’t very pleased about it. “Well, then tell him to stick that up his ass. We’re coming to see you.”
We.
When she closes the phone. I eye her. “Where are we going?”
Eve runs her hands through her hair, and as she walks towards me, I grip her by the hand and pull her towards me till she is standing directly between my legs. Her hands come to rest on my shoulders.
She looks troubled but leans into my touch, which is a very promising sign.
“Somebody drugged Ron at the airport and left him in the women’s bathroom. He says it was a woman. He didn’t see her face, but he swears it was a woman.”
“Which airport?”
“Chicago Midway. He landed.” Her eyes are dark with worry and fear. “Zayn, why is this happening? First Lorraine and then Ron. People around me are getting hurt.”
I want to reassure her, but there is nothing I can say.
Just then my phone rings and I frown as I see the
caller ID.
Still holding onto Eve, I answer curtly. “Elijah.”
My father sounds cold, furious in a way that tells me that someone is going to be in a lot of pain tonight. “Where is Eve?”
“With me. Why?” I reply sharply, a hint of unease crawling down my spine.
“Don’t let it out of your sight. Her apartment’s on fire. In the parking lot, the intruder placed a bucket of blood and threw on half of hers and Mila’s clothing.”
My left hand, which is holding onto Eve’s hip, tightens as fear and fury make a bitter taste in my mouth. “What?”
“Keep her with you at all times,” Elijah warns.
I hesitate, struggling for clarity in the rage that has engulfed me before saying, “We’re going to see her roommate. He was attacked at the airport. Drugged.”
“Ron Christenson?” Elijah’s tone is sharp.
“Yeah.”
“Is his boyfriend, Mark, with him?”
I dimly wonder how Elijah knows about Mark. “Maybe. I don’t know yet.”
