by Karen Rose
“We can’t think of anyone who hates us that much,” Axel said, exhausted. “I had an argument with Mrs. Rickman about her dog pooping in our yard, but that’s it.”
“Do you have any contact with Marshall University?” Noah asked.
“I’ve taken a few classes there,” Joan said, “but not in a long time. Why?”
“Mr. Girard?” Noah asked.
“I’ve driven past Marshall, but I’ve never been on the campus. Why?”
“We need to talk about tonight,” Noah said, easing the subject away.
Axel’s eyes narrowed. “What about tonight?”
“We’d like to maintain surveillance over you during the night. It would be,” Noah rushed to add when Joan opened her mouth indignantly, “the best alibi you could hope to get. Last night we had an unmarked car watching your house. We’d like to put those detectives in the house with you tonight, watching all your doors from the inside.”
“You want to put policemen in our house?” Joan asked, her teeth clenched.
“Joan,” Axel said, sliding his hand across hers. “If it will put this behind us, let them. All right, Detectives. Anything else?”
“No, that’s all for now,” Noah said. “We’ll be in touch.” When he and Jack were back on the sidewalk, Noah sighed. “Somehow I knew there wouldn’t be an easy connection between Girard and our guy.”
“I know,” Jack said, unlocking his car. “Next stop, the airport?”
“Yep. Millhouse’s plane arrives in—” Noah’s cell buzzed. He frowned at the 708 area code. “Webster.”
“This is David Hunter.”
Noah’s frown deepened. Hunter’s voice was slightly slurred, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of fear. “What’s wrong?”
“I called 911 first, you second,” Hunter said thickly. “Someone just ran me off the road. I was headed west when a black SUV came up behind me. Lincoln Navigator, maybe two years old. It’ll have a broken front right headlight. I slowed down, thinking they wanted to pass, but they pushed me off the road when we got to a curve. I fli-lipped,” he stumbled over the word. “Dammit. Hurts like a bitch.”
“How badly are you hurt?” Noah asked tersely.
“Hit my head. Can’t get out of the car. Door’s stu… stuck.” He forced the word.
A chill raced down Noah’s spine. “You’re in Eve’s car.”
“Exactly. Find her.”
“I’ll make sure she’s in class, then I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
“Fine.” Hunter’s voice sounded thinner. “Damn, this hurts. I think my arm is broken.”
“Stay on the phone with my partner while I call her. Keep talking, Hunter.” Noah handed his cell to Jack. “Somebody ran Hunter off the road,” he said, fury roiling within him. “It was supposed to have been Eve.” Somebody tried to kill Eve. Buckland, or whoever he was. “Give me your phone. I need to find her.”
They switched phones and Noah dialed Eve, but her phone went to voicemail. If she was in class, she’d have turned her phone off. If she was hurt… “I need to get to Marshall,” he said to Jack. “I need to make sure she’s okay.”
Jack hesitated, then grasped Noah’s arm in a brief squeeze. “Try not to worry. I’ll call you when I’ve talked to Larry Millhouse.”
“Thanks.” Noah took his phone back and kept Hunter talking as he headed toward Marshall where he prayed Eve was where she said she’d be.
Chapter Seventeen
Wednesday, February 24, 3:10 p.m.
That’s him,” Eve said, looking at the police artist’s computer screen.
“I’ll get this out,” Olivia said, taking a copy of the assailant’s face from the printer.
“Your sketch made my job a lot easier,” the artist said. “It’ll give us an edge.”
“If Looey’s still alive.” Eve’s blood went cold whenever she thought about the look in his eyes as he’d come across the bar. It could have been me.
Officer Michaels had found blood in the real Kurt Buckland’s apartment. He’d called it in as a possible homicide and Olivia had picked it up.
Olivia’s partner Kane was taking Rachel Ward’s picture to the late-closing area bars alone. While Eve knew the murder investigation should be the highest priority, she couldn’t help but feel relieved that Olivia was handling Kurt Buckland’s case.
“Eve.” Olivia walked across the bullpen with an ashen older man. “This is Jim Rosen, Kurt Buckland’s boss. Come on, let’s have a seat in here where we can talk.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rosen said. “The paper had no knowledge of this man’s actions.”
“You printed his story about Martha’s suicide on Monday,” Eve said. “Why?”
“Kurt called me on Sunday. Said he was following up on a tip, that there was a large police presence at the home of a woman who’d hung herself and that one of her neighbors, a Sarah Dwyer, said the police indicated it had been more than a suicide.”
That had been the article that had first pushed her across Noah’s path. “But you only printed that it was a suicide, and back in the Metro section.”
“Kurt’s Metro editor and I agreed that without formal police corroboration we’d print it as a suicide. Then Monday, Captain Abbott gave a statement that Martha Brisbane had been murdered. By then Kurt had sent me emails saying he had proof on two other victims, Samantha Altman and Christy Lewis, statements from their parents saying the police had spoken with them. I’ve known Kurt for years and I trust him. I ran the story.”
“Did he bring the story to you personally?” Olivia asked.
“No. He emailed it as an attachment. But like I said, I’ve known Kurt for years.”
“Did you talk to him after Sunday about the Brisbane murder?” Olivia asked.
“No. I thought he was sitting at his desk in Metro. His Metro editor thought he was with me. I can’t believe this.” He looked genuinely devastated. “Is Kurt dead?”
“We’re investigating,” was all Olivia would say. “Have you seen this man?” She showed him a copy of the man Eve had described to a sketch artist.
Eve’s cell vibrated in her pocket, but she ignored it, waiting for Jim Rosen’s answer.
“I don’t think so,” he finally said. “I’m sorry.”
“If he contacts you again,” Olivia said, “play along. Then call me, right away.”
“I will.” He rose and gave Eve a pained look. “I understand this man hurt you last night. The Kurt Buckland I know never would have hurt a fly. He didn’t have an aggressive nature. We certainly don’t condone tactics of that kind for any reason.”
“Thank you,” Eve said. “I hope Mr. Buckland is found, safe.”
Rosen nodded stiffly. “If you’d like, we’ll put that sketch on the front page.”
“Let’s keep it quiet for now,” Olivia said. “If he knows we’re on to him, he’ll bolt. If he thinks we still believe he’s Buckland, he’ll get bolder. If I hear anything, I’ll call you.”
When he was gone, Eve searched her face. “Buckland is dead, isn’t he?”
“Based on the amount of blood we found in his apartment? Yeah.”
Eve shuddered. “I didn’t feel scared last night at Sal’s. Not with so many cops around. But I feel scared now.”
“Good. You should feel scared. I don’t want you going anywhere alone, okay? I don’t care how much of a pain in the butt it is.”
“I’m not arguing with you. Did you get any usable prints from his business card?”
“Not yet. I asked Micki to send somebody from Latent to Sal’s to dust the bar. If he touched it, maybe we’ll get something from there.”
“I polished it last night, like I do every night. I doubt you’ll get anything.” Eve stiffened when her cell vibrated again. She pulled it from her pocket. “It’s Noah.”
“Take it,” Olivia ordered.
“Hey,” Eve said, injecting a bright note in her voice. “I’m fine.” Then everything inside her went cold once more as she lis
tened. David. “Where did they take him?”
“Northwest General,” he said. “I talked to the paramedics who responded. They say he’s stable, he just took a hard hit to the head. Eve, he was driving your car.”
Eve sucked in a breath and seemed incapable of forcing it back out. Breathe. “I know. I’m here with Olivia at the station. They think the real Kurt Buckland is dead. They found blood in his living room. A lot of blood.” Her voice was shaking and she couldn’t make it stop. “Noah, he killed Buckland. He just tried to kill me, too.”
“Let me talk to Olivia,” he ordered tersely.
Wordlessly Eve handed Olivia the phone. David was hurt. Stable, but hurt. He was in my car. He’s hurt because he was in my car. That was supposed to be me.
She could hear Olivia’s voice, steady and capable, but it had faded to a whisper, overwhelmed by the pulse pounding in her head. “It was supposed to be me,” Eve said.
Olivia squeezed her arm. “I know. Get your coat. I’ll take you to Northwest General.”
Wednesday, February 24, 3:45 p.m.
He sat drumming his fingers on the steering wheel of his own car, having parked the SUV. He’d have to get that headlight repaired forthwith.
He’d missed. It hadn’t been Eve Wilson in her car. It was Hunter. He hadn’t known until he was right up against him. He’d been so surprised, he’d jerked his hands on the wheel, keeping him from delivering the ramming blow he’d planned.
The small car had veered off the road, flipping once, but it hadn’t been the fiery ball it should have been. I missed. The only bright spot was that Hunter wouldn’t be able to identify him. The tinted windows of his SUV had prevented his face from being seen.
Now getting to Eve would be impossible. He doubted the police would let her out of their sight. So now he’d have to resort to a more tried and true method.
He’d have to shoot her. Webster wouldn’t like that. If the rumors were to be believed, there was a great deal more going on between Webster and Wilson than met the eye. Webster wouldn’t rest until her death was avenged. No matter. He’d shoot Webster, too, eventually.
But after he’d taken the sixth of his six. This would be the victim that defied everything they’d suspected. The victim who didn’t follow the rules of the game.
Wednesday, February 24, 3:45 p.m.
Olivia followed Eve and a nurse to a small room where David Hunter lay, his eyes closed. His face was bruised, one eye swollen shut, and he had a big bandage on his temple. One arm was immobilized in a splint, but other than that, he looked whole.
Olivia let herself breathe. Beside her, Eve did the same. Eve had held herself together remarkably well. Better than I might have, under the circumstances.
“See,” Olivia murmured with more calm than she felt, “I told you he’d be okay.”
“Is he conscious?” Eve whispered to the nurse.
“Yes, he is,” David said. He opened one eye, squinting. “Ow. Bright light.”
Eve grabbed the bed rail and held on. “Where are you hurt?”
“Cuts, bruises, and a fractured arm. They’re checking my back and neck, but so far, so good.” He looked past Eve and his open eye flickered with surprise. “Olivia.”
Olivia moved next to Eve, keeping her smile friendly. “Long time no see.”
“How are you?” he asked soberly and her heart did a slow twirl, as it had the first time she’d seen him.
“About the same. You, on the other hand, have looked better. Last time I saw you, you were wearing a tux with a carnation in your buttonhole, making every woman in the church wish you’d escort them to their seats and making them swoon when you did.”
“You didn’t see me the morning after Mia’s wedding,” he said. “I think my head felt almost as bad as it does now, although my face wasn’t so ugly.”
“Too much champagne will do that.” She watched his eyes shadow and wondered how much he remembered of that night, of the things he’d said. And done. “But I wouldn’t worry about your face,” she added lightly. “You were way too pretty before.”
“Thank you,” he said dryly, then glanced at Eve. “She drove you down, kid?”
Eve nodded. “She kept me calm. You had me scared. No, terrified.”
“I’m just glad I had the car and not you.”
“Oh, yeah.” Eve attempted a scoff, but it came out more like a sob. “Mr. Mario Andretti of the virtual world. More like Mario Brothers.”
He looked mildly annoyed, which was encouraging. “I’ve raced in the real world, too.”
“When you had your body shop,” Olivia said quietly. Before you gave it up for the fire department. She remembered every word he’d said that night, but she could see she’d surprised him again. “You told me you rebuilt classic cars and drove them too fast.”
“The secrets champagne unlocks,” he said gruffly. “I guess I’m lucky you didn’t cite me for speeding.” He closed his eye. “You realize he was gunning for you, Evie.”
“Yes,” Eve whispered. “I’m—”
“If you say you’re sorry I’m going to kick your ass,” David said. “After I’m able to stand up. What’s Webster doing to catch this SOB?”
“Webster’s not on this case,” Olivia said. “I am.”
David opened one eye again. “Okay. What are you doing to catch this SOB?”
“Right now I’m trying to understand this SOB’s motives. Why Eve? Why now?”
“I think he’s really gunning for Noah,” Eve said again. “I’m just in the way.”
Olivia wasn’t so sure about that. “If that’s true, I still don’t understand why Noah.”
“You don’t think that’s why?” David asked. “That Eve’s just a byproduct?”
“I might have before this. And before we found the real Buckland went missing. The guy that came after Eve isn’t a reporter. We think he assaulted the real Buckland, maybe killed him.”
David paled further than he already had. “Oh my God.”
“We’ll make sure Eve’s safe,” Olivia said. “But I didn’t want to lie to you.”
“Thank you.” He glared at Eve. “You better not go to the john without protection, kid.”
“I’ll do what they say, David. I promise.” Tentatively Eve brushed the hair from his forehead. “I’ll call your mom. Let her know what’s happened.”
“No,” David said firmly. “That will stir up the whole family. They’ll drop everything and come out here. All of them. It’ll be like Chicago, without the Cubs.”
Eve hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “All right. If the doctor says you’ll be fine, I won’t call your mom. I did call Tom. Got his voice-mail. I’ll keep trying.”
“Thanks. You’re not planning to work tonight, are you?”
“No. Callie’s taking my shift. I’m… I’ve got plans.”
David’s eye narrowed shrewdly, then his gaze lifted over their heads.
Olivia looked over her shoulder. Noah was here, making the room instantly smaller, and if she’d doubted how he’d felt about Eve before, there was absolutely no doubt now. It was written all over his face. Poor guy had it real bad. I can sympathize.
“I need to talk to David,” she said to Noah. “Can you get Eve a cup of coffee?”
“Of course.” Noah put his arm around Eve’s shoulders, tenderly. “Come on.”
Without argument Eve leaned against him. “I’ll be back later, David.”
When they were gone, Olivia pulled a chair next to David’s bed and took out her notepad. “Okay, tell me what happened. Everything you can remember.”
David’s shoulders sagged wearily. “There’s not much. I was taking Eve’s car to get a few parts. I was going to tune it up. I had Hank on the radio and I was singing along.”
She looked up, her lips curving. “You gotta sing to Hank. I think it’s a country music law or something. What next?”
“The road was only one lane each way and I was going the limit. This black SUV acted like it was g
oing to pass me, then it swerved and hit me. Just once.”
“Did you see the plate?”
“No. He hit his front right to my back left. I did see a broken headlight. I went into a ditch, rolled and ended up upside down. I want Eve to get protection, 24/7.”
“I’ll see to it. You have my word.”
“Your word is good. I… I’m glad it’s you, looking for this guy. Thank you.”
His hand lay on the edge of the bed, just inches away and she wanted to touch him. Touch that face nearly every woman he’d ever met found impossible to resist. Including me. But because she remembered every word he’d said that night, she knew the one woman who’d somehow failed to fall at his feet was the only one he’d ever wanted.
Because she had her pride, Olivia kept her hands to herself. “We’ll take care of Eve,” she said briskly. “I’ll leave my number with the nurse. Call if you remember anything.”
She’d turned to go when he stopped her.
“Olivia, wait. There’s something else you need to know.”
* * *
Eve hadn’t needed anyone to tell her Noah had entered David’s room. She’d felt him watching her, just as he’d watched her all those months. When they were in the hall, she turned to him, her hands slipping under his coat, holding on to the warmth of his back. His arms closed around her like steel bands and he held her, saying nothing.
Her cheek pressed against his chest, she rested. He laid his cheek against her head and she felt him settle. This is what I’ve missed, she thought. This is what they found. Caroline, Dana, Mia. They found a place to rest. To be safe. To not be alone.
Deep down Eve wished it could last. Deep down she let herself hope, just a little.
“I was scared to death when you didn’t answer your phone,” he murmured. “Please don’t do that to me again.”
Having someone worry over her was nothing new. But having someone like Noah worry was very new. It should feel constricting. Debilitating. But it didn’t. It felt warm, welcoming, like a cozy fire on a cold day.