Julie Walker - Born Wild

To prove it, she held up her hand, palm down. And, sure enough, the thing was quivering like a dry leaf in a stiff breeze.

Bill felt the overwhelming urge to get up and go pound on this Dale Who-The-Fuck-Ever’s door in order to put the guy in a nice, tidy chokehold. Even if he wasn’t the person who’d jumped out of the bushes to hold a gun on Eve, the fact remained the man had stalked her and Bill needed an outlet for all the violence that was suddenly and unexpectedly coursing through his veins.

Fortunately, Mac’s cooler head prevailed. “So you don’t think this man was simply after your purse?”

Eve shook her head, then hesitated, gnawing her bottom lip—another sign of agitation Bill knew well—and shrugged. “But maybe he was, you know? Maybe that was his first robbery and what I took to be indecision about killing me was really just nerves about pulling off the heist in the first place. That’s what the police suggested. Well,” she frowned, “except Jeremy. Jeremy doesn’t buy that explanation, but what can he do about it? It’s not his case. And he’s just about gotten himself fired multiple times because he continues to hound the higher ups in the CPD to look into these incidents again.”

“Jeremy?” Mac inquired, leaning forward on the conference table and cocking his head.

“He’s my cousin,” Eve explained. “Our mothers were identical twins. After my mom died when I was seven, Aunt Betty sort of acted like a surrogate. So, really, Jeremy is more like a brother to me.” And Bill remembered the man very clearly. Well, he remembered the man’s overgrown superiority complex, that is. “He works vice for the CPD,” Eve continued. “And I’ve been staying with him since the fire in my condo.”

Now that surprised Bill. Because when he’d known her, she always run to Daddy Dearest when things got dicey.

“You’re not staying with your father?” he asked, closely watching her pretty face to catch any snippet of emotion. Eve’s expressions usually came in two forms. One was the open book form. And two was the wide-open book form.

“No,” she shook her head, not meeting his gaze. “Dad and I haven’t exactly been getting along recently. He doesn’t approve of some of the…uh…changes I’ve been making in my life or in myself.” Her subtle frown told him it was a little more than that. And, bastard that he was, he couldn’t say he was sorry Eve had had a falling out with her world-class prick of a father. Then, she added quietly, “I think he wanted me to stay his shy little girl forever.”

Because you’re easy to control that way, he thought. And Patrick Edens is the most controlling sonofabitch ever to have been born of woman.

“Let’s move on to the Vespa,” Mac said, interrupting Bill’s astringent thoughts and the vitriol they inspired. Which was a good thing. Because he felt his stomach fill with acid, and he knew if he didn’t put a check on his emotions soon, he’d be swilling Pepto-Bismol like a drunkard swilling boxed wine. “The newspaper said it was a rusted coupling on your brake line.”

And all the uncertainty that’d been in Eve’s face as she was recounting the details of the first two episodes disappeared. Her jaw firmed, her eyes sparked, and she withdrew her hand from Ace’s—praise be—and used it to plant a firm finger onto the tabletop. “No,” she shook her head adamantly. “No way. Four months ago when I bought that scooter, I had Becky inspect it from top to bottom. If there’d been a rusty coupling, she’d have found it. Someone sabotaged it. They had to have.”

And okay, now Bill was completely, totally, unequivocally convinced. Because his mechanic-extraordinaire baby sister didn’t make mistakes. “I believe you, Eve,” he blurted before he realized he even opened his mouth.

She stared at him, peach-colored lips slightly open, surprise flickering in her eyes. “You do?” There was such a note of hope in her voice and it went all through him.

Jesus. Sometimes he wanted to kick his own ass for the way he’d been treating her since their reintroduction. Was it her fault she’d done what many young girls her age and from her socio-economic station did, which was become fascinated by the poor boy from the wrong side of the tracks? Was it her fault that once he was out of the picture at BUD/S training and she was away at college that she began to realize her daddy was right about a guy like him—a guy who didn’t know the difference between a dinner fork, salad fork, and dessert fork—not belonging in her life? Was it her fault that her head had been turned by a Ralph Lauren-wearing, fancy-talking Ivy Leaguer who epitomized everything that was familiar and safe to her?

No. If he was honest with himself, no, it wasn’t her fault. After all, she’d been so very young. So very young and so very naïve. Really, looking back on it now, he realized he shouldn’t have been shocked when she cut him loose.

Then again, the way she’d cut him loose was another matter entirely…

Sighing, he pushed all that old pain and disappointment aside and allowed his expression to soften as he nodded. “Yes, Eve, I believe you. Something about this whole mess stinks.”

“And this time,” Ace smirked, “it isn’t your attitude.”

Bill frowned. “You’re really pushing my buttons today, Ace-hole.” Usually the nickname was guaranteed to wipe the smile from Ace’s face.

Unfortunately, this time it had the opposite effect. The pilot’s grin only widened. “So I’ve noticed.”

Eve glanced back and forth between the two of them, blinking in confusion.

Then, Mac cut in, distracting her from the testosterone-laden staring contest with, “I’m gonna make a call to Washington and see if I can get my hands on your case files.”

“Washington?” she asked.

“Chief Washington of the CPD,” Mac explained.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. Jeremy’s made copies of everything. He’d be happy to share anything he has with you.”

“Okay, then.” Mac nodded, and Bill couldn’t help but doubt just how happy Jeremy Buchanan would be to share anything, much less his police files. “In the meantime, I think it’s probably best if you move out of your cousin’s place and move in here with us.”

At this little announcement, Bill’s ulcer, the one he’d been so sure he’d finally beaten once and for all, raised its ugly head and took a bite out of his stomach lining. Pressing a hand below his breastbone, he grimaced and tried to ignore the uncertainty in Eve’s eyes when she slowly, hesitantly searched his face. And as much as this was going to suck gargantuan donkey balls, he said, “Mac’s right. I’ll take you over to your cousin’s so you can pack a bag. And then, once you’re back here and we’ve looked over your files, we can decide how to proceed.”

She swallowed, her eyes bright with gratitude, and he remembered the first time he ever saw her. He’d been home on an extended leave from the Navy, waiting for the time he’d be called up for the SEAL training, and he’d gone to one of his sister’s summer league track meets to pass the time…

There’d she’d been, Evelyn Rose Edens, crossing the finish line after running the women’s 3000 meters. She’d looked like a gazelle, all lithe and sleek, legs a mile and a half long. He’d asked Becky to introduce him, and Eve had been so shy she’d barely been able to meet his gaze. But when she finally did look up at him?

Total gut check.

Her flushed, delicate face had been pure perfection, and her eyes? Well, they were the deepest, most amazing blue he’d ever seen. And he’d fallen. Right then and there it was game over for him, because her expression, so sweet and innocent, so sheltered, had all his protective instincts surging to the surface. He’d wanted nothing more than to throw an arm around her shoulders and keep her safe. Forever…

Well, forever had turned out to be a remarkably short length of time. The span of one sultry, sun-and-blue-ball-filled summer.

“Th-thank you, Billy,” she stuttered, dragging his mind back to the present. She was twelve years older now. A divorcee. A well-respected and renowned marine biologist. A self-defense prodigy, by the sounds of it. And, yet…she still appeared so sweet and innocent. And, with one look, she still made everything inside him want to stand up, chest-beating, spear-waving, and protect her from the big, bad world.

How does she do that?

He shook his head, at himself, at this clusterfuck of a situation, and murmured, “You’re welcome.” Then, lest she get the wrong idea and think he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart—because, come on, when it came to her and his heart, there wasn’t much goodness left—he added, “Becky’d never forgive me if I turned you away in your hour of need.”

Whatever light had been in her eyes dimmed. She nodded jerkily before saying, “I’m going to run to the restroom. Then I’ll be ready to go to Jeremy’s to pack a bag.”

Watching her disappear down the long hall, he wondered how the hell he was going to handle the next few days when Mac looked over at him, heavy brow furrowed. “What’s that look for?” he demanded.

“You want to tell us why you turn into a total Neanderthal whenever she’s around?” Mac hooked a thumb in the general direction of the hallway.

“Now, why in the world would I do that? What are we? Girlfriends or something?”

Ace leaned across the table and patted Bill’s fingers, batting his blond lashes fervently. “Only if you want to be, handsome.”

Bill snatched his hand away but couldn’t quite control the smile that tugged at his lips. “Cut it out,” he grumbled, trying and failing to paste on a fierce frown. “Don’t you have bon-bons to eat and an episode of Glee to watch?”

“As a matter of fact…” Ace snatched up the box of chocolates, winking dramatically before sauntering over to the stairs leading to the living area on the third floor. But he stopped on the first tread, turning, his expression suddenly somber. “Seriously, though” he nodded, “if you guys need me for anything, you know where to find me. And Bill?”

Bill sighed, because he knew what was coming. It was written all over Ace’s face. “Yeah?”

“You be nice to Eve. That poor woman is starved for affection. So why don’t you try a little tenderness, huh?”

“And who the hell are you, now?” he groused. “Otis Redding?”

“No, I’m just saying from the way you amble around this place on all fours, you’re probably not one for a gentle touch.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bill asked. “Well, I’ve got some advice for you, too. I’ve written it down. It’s right here in my pocket.” He dug into the hip pocket of his jeans and came out with an empty fist and a raised middle finger.

Ace laughed, then immediately sobered. “Let me put it to you this way. If you’re mean to Eve, I might have to rearrange that pearly white smile of yours, capiche?”

And the threat would’ve been funny except for the fact that Ace was a master at Muay Thai, the most brutal form of hand-to-hand combat in the world. The guy might come off as intimidating as a glitter unicorn sitting under a rainbow at a Justin Bieber concert, but Bill wouldn’t want to find himself on the man’s bad side.

“I’ll be nice to her,” he promised through clenched teeth, because as much as he hated to admit it, Ace was right. It was time to let bygones be bygones. For Christ’s sake, it’d been twelve years!

The Knights’ resident flyboy turned his head, eyeing Bill suspiciously.

“Look,” Bill huffed with exasperation, “the thing is, I’ve never been good when it comes to lobbing around sugar and spice and everything nice. But I’m telling you I’m going to try, okay?”

Ace’s smile was victorious as he nodded once before turning to clomp up the stairs.

Then Eve reappeared at the end of the hallway, looking as beautiful as he remembered—scratch that; looking even more beautiful than he remembered—and all the old hurts came rushing back with brutal force. It made him realize just how difficult it was going to be to keep his word.

Jeremy Buchanan’s Condo

5:33 p.m.

“I could keep you safe,” Jeremy declared, hugging her tightly, and Eve felt her lower lip quiver. “I could hire bodyguards. I could take some time off work. You name it, Cuz, and I’ll do it.”

“No,” she shook her head, stepping from Jeremy’s fierce embrace, taking comfort in the unwavering look of support on his face. “I’m going to go stay at Black Knights Inc. until we can either find out who’s doing this, or at the very least convince your associates in the police department that I’m not crazy. I promise you, I’ll be safer there.”