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“I’ll make it that easy,” I promise her.
Mila is beyond excited that she is going to a sleepover to her Aunt Agatha’s. Even more so when she discovered that Jake and Sam, Ian’s twin brothers, would also be there.
She also adores the gray tabby cat that Agatha owns.
I am starting to wonder when I will be asked for a cat.
It is about an hour later, with our daughter safely tucked in a house that has military-type security due to Ian’s weird friend who likes to get him to test run his products, that we reach Mark’s apartment.
Since I picked up Mila from there once, I know the location.
Mark greets us at the door, and I see two detectives in the living room. The gallery owner doesn’t look upset. His mouth is tight, and the look in his eyes is dangerous, enraged even.
“Ron!” Eve pushes past him into the living room where tired green eyes light up in happiness at the sight of her.
Eve all but throws herself at him. “Shit. Fuck. You’re okay!”
They hold onto each other and Mark frowns. “He’s barely out of it. Don’t suffocate him, Eve.”
“Fuck you, Mark,” Eve doesn’t even bother looking in his direction, and the man visibly stiffens.
“Do you have any leads?” I ask him.
Mark doesn’t look like any art gallery owner that I know. He seems to be struggling to maintain this persona that he can’t quite manage today.
“I took my eyes off him for two minutes, and he vanished,” Mark grits out. “He’s saying that he saw a woman struggling with a suitcase. Long blonde hair and very pale. And he went to help her. And the next thing he remembers is waking up in the toilet. There were cuts on his arms. Similar to the ones on the girl that was attacked.”
That is a very specific thing to remember or relate, I think, considering that Mark shouldn’t have any knowledge of that, and I tuck that away for future use.
“There’s a pinprick on his arm. Ron doesn’t do drugs. At all.” Mark sounds agitated, a distressed lover. And under that agitation simmers restrained violence.
“It was the woman,” Ron croaks. “The pretty one. I shouldn’t have helped her. You usually don’t expect women to go around drugging strangers at airports.”
“It wasn’t random though, was it?” Mark points out, his eyes fixated on Eve.
My tone deliberately calm, I ask, “What do you mean?”
Mark moves over to pick up a paper that was upside down on the couch.
A paper and a small polaroid picture, I realize.
He offers them to me, and my teeth clench at the contents of the photo.
The full-blown picture on the paper is of Eve and Ron, with Mila in between them. It is the same one from her office.
The second one is of Ron lying unconscious on the bathroom floor.
Eve crosses over to where I stand, and I hear her sharp intake of breath before she meets her eyes.
My tone grim, I say, slowly, “If there was ever a confirmation, this is it. You’re definitely being targeted.”
Eve gives me a stark look that conceals anger as well.
She does not appreciate being made into a victim.
She glances at Mark. “Ron will have to stay here indefinitely.” At the question in Mark’s eyes, she proceeds to tell him what happened to their apartment.
I find it interesting that the composed gallery owner doesn’t betray any sign of shock.
