by AJ Nuest
Kelly nodded, but something about the cold determination in Eden’s eyes or the stubborn set of her jaw—or hell, that fact that he knew her—told him this story wasn’t over. He took a solid guess at what came next. “And a year later, you moved in with Malcolm.”
“We did.” She dropped her head back to the chair, filled her lungs and closed her eyes. “During our time at Malcolm’s, Viv tried to forget. God help me, she tried to put the whole horrible mess behind her and move on. But I couldn’t do it, Kelly. I just couldn’t. What Adrian had done to her wasn’t right, dammit.” Her brows drew together in frustration, creasing her eyelids. “I refused to let him get away with it. Not that. Anything but that.”
Anxiety knotted his stomach. Tension crept into his shoulders and sweat popped along his brow. Shit. He knew right where this was headed. In the three years she was at Smith’s, Eden had received the model education to cut the bastard off at the knees. And by messing with Eden Smith, Adrian Pratt had screwed himself six ways to Sunday. “So you came up with a plan.”
She blinked and lifted her head. The corners of her eyes softened as she released the comforter and reached for his face, skimming her fingertips along his lower lip. “I drove myself crazy thinking about the girls Adrian might have had access to after we left.” Her hand fell to her lap, lifeless, as if all the energy had been sucked out with her words. “And then I thought about the ones prior to when we’d been stuck at his place.”
Her gaze left his, and she focused on the empty room over Kelly’s left shoulder. “Viv and I fought about it. She’d met Delroy by then and moved out of Malcolm’s, insisted I let it go, but I wouldn’t listen. I thought I knew better, so I stayed on her until she agreed to press charges.
“The thing is, I truly believed I was helping her, Kelly. That once Adrian was locked away, Viv would finally be able to see what she was doing to herself. Recognize the horrible choices she was making and the way she was ruining her life.”
Propping her elbow on the arm of the chair, Eden lowered her forehead into her hand. “It ended our friendship. When everything was said and done, Viv didn’t want anything more to do with me. Sure, I’d gotten what I wanted, but because we’d waited so long and had no evidence, the trial lasted forever. It was a total disaster, and after a few months of Pratt’s lawyer dragging us through the gutter, Malcolm had finally had enough. He stepped in and spent gobs of money on some bulldog attorney, and the guy put Viv on the stand and made her relive the entire nightmare for the jury.”
Several long moments stretched, but Kelly kept his big trap shut. What the hell could he say? Everywhere she’d turned, Eden had been handed disappointment. Her parents had failed her, the foster care system had failed her, and even when she’d gone to bat for her best friend and sacrificed that relationship as payment, the judicial system had failed her by paroling Pratt without notifying her of his release.
Christ, was it any wonder she had zero faith in the world?
“In the end, it broke her. By the time the bailiff led Adrian away in chains, the last bit of the Viv I’d known had been snuffed out.” One of Eden’s shoulders lifted in a weak shrug. “But none of that matters now, does it? This is my fault, Kelly. If I hadn’t forced Viv to testify, she and I would’ve remained friends. I would’ve been able to help her. Save her. Adrian would never have gone to prison, and she and Malcolm would still be alive.”
Oh, hell no. His internal reaction was so violent, Kelly rocked back from the chair. For Eden to take on even one ounce of responsibility for her friends’ deaths was wrong on so many levels, he didn’t even know where to start.
She’d been no more than an innocent caught in the middle of a gun fight. A kid Adrian Pratt had used to fulfill a sick, twisted game where there could be no winners. And the sole burden of culpability rested on that prick, even before he’d stabbed Malcolm and Vivian and tossed them in the lake.
“You weren’t the one who caused this, Eden.” He inched forward. “If anything, you were the only one who tried to fix it.” Curling his index finger under her chin, he urged her head from her hand until she met his gaze. “From the very beginning, you tried do the right thing. Protect your friend from a lunatic the two of you should’ve never had to face.”
Shit, the hurt, the skepticism that flooded her eyes left him grasping at straws. He’d never been good at saying the right thing in moments of crisis, but for him to be tongue-tied right when she needed him most was downright sad.
He leaned forward until his lips met her forehead. Breathed in the heady scent of her hair. There was only one thing he could think of. One small gift he could offer to let her know not all her efforts had gone up in smoke. “She got out, Eden.”
She jerked back from him so fast he almost lost his balance. Confusion crumpled her brow. A wariness that made his vision go red around the edges.
“Delroy was murdered approximately eighteen months ago and Ruby—” He checked himself. “Vivian got out from under. She cleaned herself up and approached Archer about turning informant for the department, and he made sure she was looked after in exchange for tips about any drug activity she caught wind of on the South Side.”
Eden’s shoulders deflated like air leaking from a balloon, but the suspicion remained. The guarded worry she’d be better off not believing him.
As frustrating as her reaction was, at least now he understood the reasons behind it. Scams, tricks, double-talk. Those were the obstacles she’d navigated her entire life.
But not anymore. And most definitely, not with him. “I won’t ever lie to you, Eden. There’s no point because, as far as the two of us are concerned, I’ve got nothing to hide.”
A puff of air left her lips, but the lingering doubt faded, and the corner of her mouth curved with the hint of smile.
“Believe it or not, neither do I.” She tangled her fingers through his and brought the back of his hand to her cheek. Turned her head and brushed a kiss over his knuckles. “As of fifteen seconds ago, you know everything about me.”
Well, damn. He couldn’t have asked for more than that.
His cell chirped, and Eden dropped another kiss on his hand before bumping her chin toward the kitchen. “Go. Might be important.”
Kelly crawled to his feet, crossed the living room for the breakfast bar and checked his caller ID. Archer. If there was a deity in Heaven, he was calling to let them know Pratt was officially under wraps.
He thumbed the screen and slapped the phone to his ear. “Tell me you got him.”
“Ah, no. According to Mr. and Mrs. Pratt, they had no knowledge their son had even made his parole. He was released from lock-up approximately two weeks ago, but hasn’t been in contact with them since his conviction eleven years back.” He paused. “But that’s only the first half of my bad news.”
Shit. Kelly braced for whatever incoming bomb Archer was about to drop.
“D’Avella’s patience has hit the skids. She says you have exactly three hours to produce your witness or you’re off the case.”
Wonderful. Kelly glanced over his shoulder and met Eden’s questioning frown. “I may need a little longer than that.” Convincing her to willingly accompany him into the precinct was gonna take an act of God. And the ball-busting chore of getting her to agree they share everything she’d told him with a bunch of cops was apt to kink his back more than excavating Mt. Everest with a spoon. “Tell the captain travel time is a factor.”
That should buy him a few hours. Time he and Eden would need to make sure their ducks were in a row. Her safety took precedence over everything else, and running a close second was the guarantee he be assigned lead detective on her protection detail. Christ knew, if D’Avella caught the slightest whiff he and Eden had gotten physically—or emotionally—involved, she’d disown him quicker than a red-headed stepchild.
Good thing he had an ace in the hole. He turned to fully face her. In the form of the most brilliant, conniving woman he’d eve
r had the pleasure to meet.
Alarm leaked into her eyes, and she curled her fingers over the back of the chair. “What’s the matter?” she mouthed.
No way in hell was he letting her go. Even if that meant he had to break every Goddamned rule in the book.
“Cap’s calling in everyone who’s been working the case, Kelly. Now that we know our perp’s identity, she wants us to pow-wow until we’ve formulated a strategy to bring the fucker down.”
Chapter 17
“Well.” Mocha exhaled with such force, Eden had to tip her cell phone away from her ear. “I do not like this at all.”
Ha! That was putting their current predicament rather lightly. Eden’s nerves couldn’t be more shot had they spent the entire afternoon being stretched and folded on the mechanical arms of a taffy puller. One more piece of bad news, the queasy, bottom-just-dropped sensation of reliving one more horrible memory, and she was liable to veer off the deep end straight into bat-crap crazy.
Even though she knew damn well Kelly was right.
Even though the thought of letting him down made her sick.
Even though the entire time she’d sat beside him at the breakfast bar, him laying out his concerns in a concise, logical manner, everything he’d said to her had made complete and total sense.
The idea she had to accompany him into the precinct still had her twisted in knots. That phone call had changed everything. All their options had disappeared the second he’d answered it, and she’d been left no alternative but to hit the shower so she could gear up for the performance of her career.
“Yeah, well, you’re preaching to the choir.” Exiting his master bath, she yanked her stockings off the handle of his dresser and tossed them toward her bag. One floated down and snagged on the open zipper. The other landed beside her purse and slithered halfway off the side of his bed.
Too bad her introduction to Kelly’s team was only the first phase a three-step process that was apt to push her over the brink. Each one worse than the next, with the last curdling her stomach like she’d accidently downed a swallow of sour milk.
Pretend they could barely stand to be in the same room together? Fine. She got that. Convincing everyone they disliked each other was the only way to ensure he remained in charge of the investigation. Especially once word leaked out they’d been locked in seclusion the past three days. Good God, she was not going there.
Spill everything about her life to the entire Chicago police force? Excellent. While they were at it, why not have her slice open an artery so she could just bleed all over the damn floor?
Sure, she realized the necessity. Unless everyone involved fully understood the psychotic monster they were after, they’d never be able to locate P-rat much less arrest and convict him. But that wouldn’t make sharing the details any less painful, and it certainly hadn’t stopped another, more problematic, neurosis from pinging around inside her head.
Like the ridiculous urge she had to smash Kelly’s phone against the wall, for example. What the heck good would that do? Or how about her knee-jerk response they ignore his orders and stay locked inside the safety of his house forever?
Geez, could she be any more pathetic? It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen this coming. And whether their time together ended for real or was some sort of act they faked for the benefit of others didn’t matter. In the long run, the result would be the same.
“Look, I don’t like this any more than you do, but my hands are tied.” She snatched her shoes off the floor and one heel caught on the lacy edge of her thigh high stocking as she crammed them inside her bag. “Detective Riordan has been ordered to bring me in and, if I don’t go, his captain is threatening to take him off the case.”
Plucking the second stocking off the bed, she fought the one still clinging to the zipper and the nylon shredded as she jammed the whole horrible mess inside.
Mocha sputtered. “Staring down a bunch of cops is the least of our problems at this point, baby girl. That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”
She sighed. “I know, sweetie. Trust me, I know.”
Trouble was, Mocha didn’t. Not really. Not when it came to Eden’s fears about making sure Adrian never hurt anyone again.
Enter the third and final phase in Kelly’s plan…
Letting him drive her someplace outside the city just seemed wrong. Weak. She wasn’t the type to run from a challenge and he hadn’t fully convinced her holing up like some scared little girl was the right move now.
Not that she’d been able to offer any reasonable alternatives. At least, not any she cared to voice. Besides, arguing with him over how he hoped to proceed would serve no purpose, and she didn’t want their time together to end the same way it had started—both of them at each other’s throats, her playing some stupid game only so he could catch her in the act.
She dropped to the bed with a bounce, picked up the discarded A-shirt he’d loaned her and fiddled with the sewn edge. Yeah, great. Now all she had to do was keep him from figuring out she was having second thoughts about stealing off into the night and everything should work out fine.
God. The second he looked at her face, he was bound to notice she was hedging. Hiding anything from him was like trying to conceal the mushroom cloud of a nuclear bomb.
Move along, folks. Nothing to see here.
Filling her lungs, she wadded his undershirt into a ball and shoved it to the bottom of her purse. She hesitated and then stuffed his boxers in as well. “For right now, all we can do is focus on the things we have within our control. The rest will just have to come later. As soon as we hang up, I need you to call Tanner and let her know I was able to reserve both of you a seat at the table. It’s important to me the two of you be at this meeting.”
If D’Avella was calling in her team, Eden was going to make damn sure hers was included as well. She wasn’t about to expose Dirty Deeds to the upper echelon of the Chicago PD unless the two other people who held a vested interest in the business were present.
Since she was one of a very select few who would be able to recognize Adrian Pratt on sight, and her testimony was critical to providing a motive for Malcolm and Viv’s murders, Captain D’Avella had consented without too much fuss.
Or so Kelly had told her.
Bracing her cell between her shoulder and ear, Eden tugged Scarlet’s dress off the back of the armchair and folded it over her arm. “Thank God, Kelly’s captain seems to have her priorities in order. He said she was happy to include you and Tanner given our combined efforts of locating Adrian and making sure his conviction sticks.”
“Good. Hopefully, Ms. Bossy Pants will be as accommodating in person.” Yep, Mocha got that right. “Okay, so, that leaves us just under an hour. What do you need from me?”
A small smile tugged at Eden’s lips as she crammed Scarlet’s dress in her bag. God, she was lucky to have him. Regardless of the hardships life threw at her, she could always count on Mocha, no matter what.
“To be brutally honest, I’m not really sure what the hell I’m doing.” Understatement of the year. “Give me a little while to sort out the details and, as soon as I know, I’ll let you know.”
Dead air crackled through the line. “Huh. I’m not so sure flying by the seat of your pants works for you. What’s this about?”
Yeah, right. If only describing how she felt were that easy. But Eden barely understood the confusing jumble kicking her heart around, herself. Explaining it to Mocha fell somewhere along the line of removing the traitorous organ so she could dissect the chambers and see what the heck was going on inside.
Leaving, pretending, scheming… Those things had become as natural to her as breathing. She didn’t doubt for one second she’d be able to play her part to a T.
But that was exactly the problem.
Planting her hand on Kelly’s pillow, she fisted the downy softness and yanked it onto her lap. A waft of his sandalwood-infused skin filled t
he air and she closed her eyes, losing herself in his sultry masculine scent.
Up until he’d walked into her life, taking on a different persona had been nothing more than a means to an end. A good end. A fair end she’d been proud to own. But with Kelly…she worried too much the closeness they’d shared would somehow mess him up. Blur his abnormally sharp eye.
If she followed her instincts and remained in the city after the meeting, he was bound to get angry, and folks tended not to think straight when they were upset. Deep down, he would start to doubt her. The scam they’d cooked up for the benefit of his team would become reality and, instead of parting ways as friends, she would end up hurting someone who had become her grounding point. Her touchstone for what was real.
Was wounding Kelly, was losing him for good worth repeating the same mistakes that had caused this mess in the first place?
Hell, maybe Mocha had nailed it a second time. Flying by the seat of her pants was making her lose her damn mind.
“It’s nothing.” Everything. Only her entire world. She rolled her eyes. Yep, she’d officially lost what few marbles she’d had left. “I’m fine.”
He snorted. “And I’m the Queen of England.”
“I’ve always thought you have a royally fine ass.”
His husky chuckle echoed through the line as she glanced at the clock, stood and propped Kelly’s pillow against the headboard. “Just get in touch with Tanner and I’ll see you at the station in forty-five.”
She ended the call, tossed her phone into her bag and shouldered the strap. One last survey of Kelly’s room to make sure she’d gotten everything, and she stepped for the door.
Her focus drifted back to his pillow, and she stopped in the threshold. After her shower, he’d made omelets. He’d stood in the kitchen and cooked for her like it was a regular, relaxing Sunday morning, and he was some lucky chick’s half-naked, gourmet-seasoned boyfriend.