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“It means that fear registers only as rage to Eden. That’s all she seems to be able to acknowledge. Swear to Christ, she was trembling like a leaf right there in front of me, yet she looked like she wanted to take an axe to this asshole. Even now, I’m sure she has no idea that in reality she was scared out of her mind.”
“So,” Steele said after taking a moment to digest this odd personality quirk, “you kissed her to make sure she didn’t pop off like a maniac and go on some bloody killing spree?”
“I kissed her because she was trembling, and I was not fucking having that. Not when I was standing right there to make sure she was safe.”
“You’ve dealt with frightened protectees before, man. Hell, that goes with the territory. But never once have I seen you plunge into a full-fledged body clench and kiss a woman like you needed her more than your next breath.”
“Goddamn it.” Maybe I should have told him that it had all been a ruse, the way I’d told Eden. Hell, a small part of me had even bought that shit at the time. But Steele knew me too well, so he wouldn’t let me get away with lying, even to myself. “I went with my gut, okay?”
“Your gut?”
“Yeah, my gut.” I dug my hands into my back pockets, trying to find the right words. “What if Essie’s attacker—the man who brutalized your wife so badly she was unrecognizable to her own parents… What if he was suddenly back out on the streets?”
Steele’s expression turned savage. “That’d be a neat trick, seeing as that piece of shit’s roasting his nuts in hell.”
“But just imagine that he wasn’t dead, and that for some reason that rabid bastard was being let back out on the streets. Then imagine Essie’s reaction. Imagine her fear, even with you standing right the fuck there to take on the whole world for her. If she started shaking, it’d piss you off, wouldn’t it? Piss you off so much you’d do anything to distract her, even kiss her so she’d focus on you, and not her fear. Right?”
“Yeah, but Essie’s my whole world, along with our kids. You, on the other hand, just met this woman. Or are you saying you’re a victim of love at first sight? Cupid got you with his bow? Eden Steadfast makes your widdle heart go pitty-pat?”
Shit, this guy… “Do you remember that part where I told you to fuck off? You should probably get on that.”
“Look, dude, we’ve been friends way too long to bullshit each other about this kind of thing,” Steele offered with a chuckle, returning to the task of packing up the boxed food into a plastic bag. “Our protectee got scared because her stalker got close enough to leave her a rose. Arose, Luke,” he added with great meaning before he tied the handles of the bag together and looped it around his fingers. “Some swinging dick left a hot chick with perfect teeth a rose on her car. You took one look at it, and your knee-jerk reaction was to stake a bold claim on that woman—a claim that even a blind man would’ve understood, much less this stalker asshole. I may not have your education in reading people, but I know caveman tactics when I see ‘em. Hell, being a caveman was how I won Essie over. Think about it. Have a good night.”
The urge to flip him off as he headed out of the conference room was almost overwhelming, but even as he disappeared down the hall I had to face facts. I wasn’t mad at Steele. Well, I was, but it was because Steele was right, and I hadn’t even noticed that I’d turned into a caveman until he all but rubbed my frigging nose in it.
Clearly, my friend could be a real smug prick when he wanted to be.
And just as clearly, I was losing my perspective when it came to this case.
Not good.
A flicker of movement beyond the conference room’s glass walls had me looking up just as Cap swung through the door. “Kythe got a license plate number from the restaurant’s security cams, but don’t get too excited,” he said even as I began to surge forward. “The plates are stolen. They trace back to a sweet elderly couple up in North Lake Forest who go for a drive once a week. They have no idea how long their plates have been missing.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck… “The truck is his. The plates… he knew they wouldn’t be missed. That’s why he hit those specific people for their license plates. He knows them, or at least knows of them and their day-to-day habits.” I looked up at Cap and had to consciously try to unclench my jaw. “You said they drive once a week? Where? Did anyone ask?”
“Yep. Once a week they head out to a senior-citizen ice cream social and sock-hop up at—wait for it—the House of Enlightened Greatness. Apparently they’ve got a strong senior-citizen outreach program, which this elderly couple loves so much they moved all the way from Calumet Park to Lake Forest so they could live within a couple miles of their favorite conman.”
I stared at him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Nope.”
“This is no coincidence, Cap.”
“I know that.”
“I need to talk to Eden.” With renewed determination I headed for the door. “Nix didn’t drive her back to get her car yet, did he?”
“No, she’s hanging with Mary Jane up at the front, talking about fitness routines and building up her calf muscles. What’s so urgent about talking to her?”
“Roughly eighty percent of all stalking victims know their stalker. She might know something without even being aware that she knows it. If anyone can ferret out what that something is, it’s me.”
*
Eden
Mary Jane was really something. If I wasn’t careful, I’d have a total girl-crush going on before the night was through.
A true military brat, Mary Jane had lived multiple years in Japan, South Korea, Germany and Saudi Arabia. Every place that her family had been stationed, she and her father had a competition as to who could become fluent in the language the fastest. As such, she became a multilingual genius who eventually met her husband while she was a translator at the U.N. Then her father had retired, started up Private Security International, and asked if she’d be interested in helping him build it up to what it was today. It was clear she loved PSI just as much as anyone who worked there and saw it as her second home.
