Julie Walker - Born Wild

“It’s Chef,” Eve said, her voice a little shaky, no doubt from having withstood the poison-tipped barbs Wild Bill had just thrown her way.

Mac didn’t know what the history was with these two, but it was obviously ugly and painful, and it made him intensely thankful to have learned early on the lesson about that crazy little thing called love when it was combined with a beautiful woman. And Eve was certainly beautiful. Prettier than a speckled pup, as Mac’s dearly departed, born-and-bred-Texan father would say. But given her raven hair, clear blue eyes, and milky skin, Mac was more inclined to agree with Bill’s assessment that she looked more like one of those expensive china dolls than any pup, speckled or not.

“What did you say, love?” Ace asked, setting the box of chocolate truffles on the conference table and glancing around the group. He picked up on the strained emotions and frowned.

“It’s Chef on South Park who makes the chocolate salty balls, not Big Gay Al,” Eve said, her voice only marginally stronger.

“I knew there was a reason I loved you besides your smashing fashion sense and front-row tickets to all the best shows,” Ace chuckled, bending to smack a kiss on her cheek before pulling out the chair beside hers. Lowering his lanky frame into it, he hooked an arm around her shoulders. “Anyone who can appreciate the vulgarity and offensiveness of South Park is A-okay in my book.” The guy gave her a hard squeeze and, from the corner of Mac’s eye, he thought he saw Bill shift uncomfortably. Turning to lift a brow, he discovered that, sure as shit, the muscle in Bill’s jaw was ticking fast enough to beat the band.

Dude, what the hell do you think? That Ace is suddenly gonna stop likin’ long and hard and start likin’ soft and wet?

Jesus. And once again Mac congratulated himself on having the good sense to avoid these types of sticky situations. Quickly, he filled Ace in on Eve’s belief that someone was out to harm her. This also gave Bill a moment to get his sorry self under control—and the fact that he needed to get his sorry self under control was just too weird because usually, even in the middle of an all-out shit-storm, Wild Bill Reichert was cool as a cucumber.

“But who in the world would want to hurt you, love?” Ace asked, giving her another squeeze. This time Bill actually growled.

Mac rolled in his lips, glancing pointedly at the man, the look he gave was all about the pull your shit together. When Bill ignored him, Mac kicked him under the table and was rewarded with a look that promised retribution. Ace, unaware of the little scuffle, continued, “Do you have any suspicions?”

“That’s the thing,” Eve said, voice steadier now. Obviously she was unaware that Bill was a ticking time bomb, and with every one of Ace’s squeezes, kisses, and endearments, he was getting closer and closer to blowing sky high. “There’s only one person who comes to mind. But I don’t think he’s capable of violence.”

“What do you mean?” Bill demanded, sitting up straighter, his expression just this side of a death-squad. Oh, my God. You’ve got it bad, my friend. Mac mentally shook his head. “Who the hell comes to mind?”

“Dale Pennyworth,” Eve muttered, a sharp V forming between her sleek, black eyebrows. “He was my stalker.”

Stalker.

The room did a fast tilt, and Bill grabbed onto the edge of the conference table to steady himself. “You have a stalker? Why in God’s name didn’t you mention that in the beginning?”

“Had a stalker,” Eve emphasized, eyes flashing, chin raised. “Had. I haven’t seen Dale nor had any contact with him in over a year. And, like I said, I don’t think he’s a violent man. Crazy and a little bit obsessive, but not violent.”

Was she nuts or just naïve? Because stalking very rarely ended with a bouquet of flowers and a touching good-bye letter.

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart,” he said, and then felt like biting his lip when her nostrils flared delicately. He’d used that endearment with her years ago, and to pull it out now caused memories to burn as harsh and fresh as the bile climbing up the back of his throat. In an instant, a kaleidoscope of images skittered across his brain. The way she used to look at him, with such faith and conviction and…adoration glowing in her wide, blue eyes. The way she used to touch him, tentatively and curiously and so freakin’ sexily that he’d been hard-pressed not to throw her down on a horizontal surface every chance he got. The way she used to…Damnit. With a hard shove, he stuffed everything back into a mental closet and slammed the door shut before continuing, “But stalkers aren’t known to just give up and go about their business. Once you’re someone’s obsession, you remain someone’s obsession.”

Lord knew he could personally vouch for that. Because for over a decade, a day hadn’t gone by when he didn’t think of Eve, a night hadn’t gone by when he didn’t dream about her…

“Can we back up a minute here?” Mac cut in, his lazy Texas twang belying his tack-sharp mind. “Before we start discussin’ suspects, we need to figure out why Eve disagrees with the police reports claiming these events are nothin’ more than a string of bad luck.”

Eve made a face, one of self-doubt, and it took everything Bill had not to reach across the table and squeeze her hand. Then Ace did the deed for him, and an angry shade of red edged into his vision. He started grinding his molars hard enough to crack his tooth enamel and figured chances were pretty good that any second now he’d be spitting out his fillings. And, yeah, it was ridiculous to be jealous of a man who made no secret about being gay. Ace was about as far out of the closet as you could get. We’re talking shock-your-grandma, jazz-hands, out-as-in-way-out.

But that was definitely jealousy Bill was feeling. Because Ace got to touch Eve, kiss Eve, comfort Eve…

And though Bill didn’t want to do those things…he didn’t!…he still remembered how good it felt when he’d been twenty-one, stupid, and horny—the most common and most dangerous trifecta amongst human males—and he had wanted to do them. And, it was a goddamned Charlie Foxtrot—otherwise known as a clusterfuck—but he missed that. There! He admitted it!

He should’ve felt better afterward.

He didn’t.

Shit.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Eve,” Mac was quick to add. “But I want to make sure I have my facts straight.”

“I’m afraid you’ll all think I’m just being paranoid or something,” Eve mumbled, studying the nails on one hand like they might hold the answer to the origins of man. Bill wasn’t going to think about the fact that her other hand was still held tightly in Ace’s. No, he wasn’t. Sonofabitch! Now he was staring at their entwined fingers. Hers were so pale and delicate compared to BKI’s resident helicopter pilot’s. “That’s what the police thought when I told them someone’s out to kill me.”

And that was enough to snap his attention away from Eve and Ace’s interlaced hands. Because those last two words had all the blood in his body rushing to his head until it was hard to hear past the pulsing roar in his ears.

Kill her? That was a damn sight more specific than her earlier declaration that someone was out to hurt her. Sonofa—Stars skipped behind his lids when he blinked, and he realized he was holding his breath. Sucking in a slow, steady gulp of oxygen, he tried to convince himself that maybe she was just being paranoid.

Yeah, perhaps it’s just a figment of her overly sheltered imagination.

Unfortunately, the part of him that’d been honed to a razor’s edge in too many high-stakes operations to count argued that, when it came to three life-threatening “accidents” in close succession, there was no such thing as paranoia.

“According to the fire marshal,” Eve explained softly, “the blaze in my apartment started when a strong breeze through my open living room window blew my curtains onto a lit candle. But, I always make sure to blow out my candles before going to bed. And I distinctly remember doing it that night. Then again, perhaps it’s possible the wick relit itself somehow, but…” She shook her head and lifted her hand to chew a hangnail.

Bill knew it for the sign of agitation it was. Sometimes, he thought he knew her too well even though they’d only spent three measly months together. Then again, there were other times he regretted the fact that he didn’t know her well enough…

Of their own accord, his eyes drifted down her slender throat, past her little pearl pendant necklace—Yes, the woman actually wore pearls. And it drove him crazy, because the jewelry was so delicate, so feminine and classy, and it reminded him of everything about her that he’d initially been attracted to, was still attracted to as a matter of fact, goddamnit—to the gentle slope of her breasts beneath her demure, pastel blouse.

Yeah, there were a lot of things about her he still didn’t know. Like the way she’d arch beneath him when he drove into her, or sigh with completion after he’d pushed her to the pinnacle of physical release, or taste when she—

Christ, man! Get a hold of yourself.

He shifted in his chair, trying to rearrange the hard-on that seemed to be part of his SOP—standard operating procedure—whenever Eve was in the same room with him. Well that, along with a heaping helping of wariness and, okay, let’s stop beating around the bush and admit he also suffered from a pretty decent amount of hurt. Yes, he was still hurt by what had happened with her. By the way it’d all happened.

There! He admitted that, too!

And why the hell his little revelations weren’t making him feel better today, he’d never know. Wasn’t honesty supposed to be the best policy, especially when it came to being honest with oneself?

Well, so far, his personal epiphanies were only piling on the shit topping to what was turning out to be a craptastically awful day. And that was just about perfect.

“What about the mugging?” Mac’s question interrupted his ill-tempered musings.

Eve stopped chewing on her nail and shrugged. It caused her breasts to press against the delicate fabric of her top until he could see the imprint of the lace along the upper edge of her bra. But he wasn’t going to stare. No, he absolutely was not going to stare.

Ace kicked him under the table, and he realized he was staring. Jesus! And what was with everybody today? Did his shins have bull’s-eyes painted on them or something?

“It was strange,” Eve admitted, unaware of the under-the-table byplay. “I worked late at the Shedd Aquarium, and as I was crossing the parking lot to my Vespa, a masked man hopped out of the bushes and pointed his gun at me.”

That was just the thing Bill needed cool his ardor. Because the thought of the girl who’d been so painfully shy it’d taken him almost three weeks just to coax a kiss from her staring down the business end of a loaded weapon was absolutely, positively terrifying.

Then she proved how far she’d come from that quiet, self-conscious young woman he’d first fallen in love with when she continued, “I told him to take my purse. I was going to throw it away, to the side, and run in the opposite direction like you’re supposed to do. But the man just stared at me, the gun shaking until it rattled. And that’s when my training kicked in, and I executed a roundhouse that knocked the weapon from his hand. I bolted for my scooter, gunned it, and didn’t look back.”

Every single thought in Bill’s head came to a screaming stop. He fancied he could hear the errrrtttt of tires squealing between his ears because…Eve? Training? Roundhouse kick?

He knew he was gaping, jaw unhinged and hanging somewhere in the vicinity of his chest, when Eve looked at him and lifted her chin. “Ever since the pirate episode, I’ve been taking personal defense classes and shooting lessons. I’ve gotten pretty good,” she boasted, though the effect was somewhat ruined when her lower lip trembled ever so slightly.

“Hot damn,” Ace whistled. “You’re one kick-ass broad, you know that?”

Eve blushed, dropping her eyes back to the surface of the table. Now that was more like the old Eve. “No,” she jerked her chin from side to side. “It was just instinct brought on by good training. I was shaking so badly by the time I made it out to Lake Shore Drive that I had to pull over. I still shake when I think back on it.”