Born Wild (17 page)

“What the hell's the matter with you?” the chief thundered. “You swallow a parrot or something?”

“Sorry.” Bill shook his head, trying to wrangle his wayward thoughts. “My mind is all over the place tonight.”

“Yeah.” Washington's big lips twisted into what Bill suspected was supposed to be a grin but looked more like the man had a serious case of gas. “And if I had to guess, right now it's back in that interrogation room where a certain socialite is being interviewed. You got a hard-on for Evelyn Edens, Reichert? Is that why you're all rolled up into this mess? I just thought you were helping her out because she's your kid sister's friend.”

A hard-on for Eve Edens? Yeah, that was
one
way of putting it. But he sure as hell wasn't going to tell Washington as much. “Let's just say we're old acquaintances and leave it at that, huh?”

“If you insist,” Washington said, still eyeing Bill with blatant curiosity.

“I insist.” Bill mirrored the police chief's stance by crossing his arms over his chest. And then, to redirect Washington's line of questioning, he posed a question himself. “Did the…uh…did the wire help any?”

“It gave us enough reason to sequester Edens's and Parish's phone records.” Washington said. “We've got a request in to a judge right now. Currently he's at a fund-raiser, but as soon as he's done, he'll sign the writ. Then we'll send it to the respective phone companies, which probably won't have anybody on staff until work hours tomorrow morning. So that means we'll
likely
have the logs in our hands by noon at the latest.”

Noon?
“Jesus Christ!” Bill gaped at the chief then glanced around, blinking. “Was I transported through a wormhole back to 1989? Isn't everything electronic now? Don't you just need the right geek to push the right button and
voila!
The information is yours for the taking?”

Where was Ozzie, BKI's resident techno-geek extraordinaire, when Bill needed him?
Oh, yeah.
The guy was doing a four-month stint down in South America, trying to, you know, save the world or some shit.
Goddamnit.

“I work in the real word, Reichert. Not some…” Washington glanced over his shoulder at the detective still working, then turned back and lowered his voice. “Not some dick-shriveled, government blow-job factory.” Despite himself, despite the horridness of this god-awful day, Bill felt a grin pull at his lips. “So if you think you can do a better job of getting that info ASAP, be my guest.”

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Bill said, “What you said was
be
my
guest
. So why did I just hear
go
fuck
yourself
?”

“Maybe because you've got good ears,” Washington replied.

Bill chuckled. But the sound died in his throat when Washington continued, “Although, if you ask me, chances are slim-to-none the phone records will reveal anything. These guys might look like a couple of dandies, but I'm sure whichever one of them is behind this was smart enough to have covered his ass before calling in a hit.”

“You think he used a burner?” Bill asked, referring to the cheap, prepaid cell phones available in gas stations for a song.

“Yeah.” Washington nodded. “Which means, short of a confession, I suspect it's gonna take some old-fashioned police work to get to the bottom of this thing.”

“You and I both know a confession is out of the question.” Bill would like nothing better than that, but in order for a person to confess, they usually had to feel guilty about whatever it was they were confessing to. And in order to feel guilty, a person needed a conscience. As far as he could figure, Parish and Edens were each missing that essential ingredient.

“Maybe.” Washington shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

Bill opened his mouth to respond but snapped it closed again, his lungs seizing, when the gray door swung open and Eve and Delilah pushed into the room.
Sweet
Mother
Mary,
if there were ever two women who looked like death warmed over, it was those two. And one glance at Eve's ravaged, splotchy face, at the hard line between her brows and the heavy bags beneath her brilliant blue eyes, and his foolish, sympathetic,
insane
heart turned a somersault in his chest.

Wee!

Yessir, and that would be the sound of his feelings for Eve, going for yet another roller coaster ride.

Well, for shit's sake…

Watching the women make their way through the messy desks of the Chicago police station's Homicide Department made Mac's stomach ache with so much sympathy he felt nauseous. Like someone had sucker punched his happy sack. And,
sonofabitch,
but he wished he could fall into that wormhole Bill'd spoken of and go back to this morning.

If any day deserved a do-over, it was this day.
Holy
crow…

But
if
I
had
a
do-over, I'd never have taken that ride with Delilah
.

Okay, so there was
that.
Because despite everything she'd been through, despite the fact that she'd survived a gun battle where she'd witnessed one of her friends cut down in cold blood, the truth was that having Delilah Fairchild snuggled up against his back on the ride over to Patrick Edens's condo had made it onto Mac's personal highlight reel. Which probably just proved how much of a degenerate he really was, but
hot
damn!

To his utter chagrin, he'd always been a sucker for that whole pin-up girl, Sophia Loren type, and Delilah pretty much personified the category. Hell, if the woman was a mathematics discipline, she'd be Trigonometry as opposed to Algebra, because she was all curves: not a straight line on her. And even now, makeup washed away, T-shirt stained with blood, and auburn hair sticking out like she'd shoved her finger in an electrical socket, she was still in the running for the top slot in the Sexiest Woman on the Planet Contest, which…
damnit
…was
exactly
what he
didn't
need in his life right now. Or
ever
, come to think of it.

What was that thing Ozzie liked to say? You better check yourself before you wreck yourself? Well, in the case of Mac's prodigious attraction to, nah,
lust
for
Delilah, that was damn good advice.

Ripping his eyeballs away from her rolling gait took considerable effort, but he finally managed it. And when he let his gaze fall on Eve, his nausea returned with a vengeance.

Good
thing
Bill's taken to carrying around that bottle of Pepto again, because I might just have to borrow it…

For pity's sake
,
poor Eve looked like she'd been put through the wringer, taken out, dried off, then put through again…only inside-out. And in his not-so-humble opinion, she deserved a gold medal for the way she'd handled herself today. Scratch that, she deserved a parade and a whole freakin' statue erected in her honor.

Had Bill really likened her to a china doll? Had
he
really agreed with that comparison? It was hard to believe either of them could've been so far off the mark, like, not even on the same freakin' playing field. Because Eve Edens was proving to be one of the toughest, most courageous women Mac had ever met. And ol' Billy-boy didn't know it yet—or maybe the guy just didn't want to admit it to himself—but he was a complete goner where she was concerned. At the moment, the dude was literally vibrating beside him while watching Eve approach, strung tighter than a piano wire. And his expression? Well, if
possessiveness
had a particular look, then it was the one wall-papered all over Wild Bill's face.

Mac wondered if the man realized he instinctively reached for Eve when she stopped in front of him. Pulling her under his arm and tucking her in close, he asked, “Are you okay?” while bending to press his nose into her hair, inhaling the fragrance of her shampoo like nicotine addicts inhale secondary smoke.

G-O-N-E-R. What does that spell? Bill Reichert…

Eve pulled back to look up at him, and from the expression on her face, Bill wasn't the only one running for mayor of Lovey Dovey Land. In fact, if Mac listened real close, he imagined he could hear Eve making those sad, whimpering puppy dog noises. Of course, Bill
was
the big, handsome guy who'd been trying to help her and protect her for the last couple of days, so Mac could totally get why Eve was pulling the whole hearts and flowers and soft sighs routine. As far as he could figure, she'd placed Bill in the role of real life superhero, which, honestly, Mac could sort of agree with. Unlike Dale Pennyworth, Wild Bill didn't need a weird bodysuit to make him heroic. His personal attributes did that for him: courage, honor, loyalty…

Although
if
Bill's the superhero, that makes you the trusty sidekick
, a voice whispered.

Okay, so he didn't particularly like the sound of
that
. After all, everyone wanted to be the hero of his own script. And he was
totally
going to chalk up wanting to be the hero of his own script as the reason why he didn't pull away when Delilah sidled next to him, tentatively reaching for his hand. He laced his fingers with hers, giving them a squeeze as he tried to convey his support and perhaps lend a little bit of comfort. Then again, with one of her luscious boobs pressed against the back of his arm, it was kind of hard to think comforting and supportive thoughts and—

For
the
love
of
Christ. Pull your head out of the gutter, McMillan,
he mentally groused at himself,
and
stop
being
such
a
cockstain.

Delilah pressed closer.

All right, so cockstain it was, because he couldn't seem to concentrate on anything other than the fact that he thought maybe, just maybe, he could feel her nipple rubbing against his triceps.

And so much for being the superhero of his own script. Unless, of course, he was dressed as Batman in the porno movie playing in his head.
Shit.

“Is there anything I or the Chicago Police Department can do for you, ladies?” Chief Washington asked, and right, so that did it. That was enough to distract Mac from the feel of Delilah's warm hand laced with his, to take his mind—kinda, sorta, maybe—off the sensation of her breast pressing against his arm. Because if he hadn't seen it with his own two eyes, he wouldn't have believed the man standing beside him, dark face as smooth and serene as an angel's, was the same guy who'd just accused them of working for a government blow-job factory.

“You can find the thugs who shot up my bar and killed Buzzard,” Delilah said, her usually breathy, sex-star voice sounded hoarse, belying the fact that she'd been crying, freakin'
crying
her
pretty
green
eyes
out
, while she'd been giving her statement.

Right. And he'd been thinking about her boobs. He really was a degenerate. Worse than that. A shit-heel. A bona fide, grade-A shit-heel…

“We're doing everything we can,” Washington assured her. “We've got alerts in to all the local hospitals and clinics. If a man comes in with shot pellets in his leg, we'll be the first to know. And we've sent a sample of his blood for DNA testing. If he's in the system, we'll have his identity in seven to ten days.”

Okay, and shit-heel or not, Mac knew seven to ten days was probably optimistic. Because, unlike Bill, he was well-schooled on how slowly things worked outside the high-tech realm of top-tier government intelligence. So, despite the police chief's assurance, if the CPD had the results of the DNA test by the end of two weeks, Mac would be shocked.

“And my father and ex-husband?” Eve asked, staring up at Washington with those wide blue eyes of hers. They were bruised and, at the same time, so innocent looking. Eyes like that,
women
like that, were the reasons men went to war. And, yessiree. No two ways about it. Wild Bill was toast. Just cover him in butter and jelly and slap him on a plate. “What are you going to do with them?” she asked.

“We're going to question them and figure out which one of them is behind the attacks,” Washington assured her. “It appears they both have a motive to—”

“Wait,” Eve interrupted, shaking her head and looking as if the only thing holding her up was the fact that Bill had his arm around her. She lifted her hand to start gnawing on the side of her thumb. “What motive does Blake have again?”

Washington opened his mouth, but Mac beat him to the punch. “If what he said was true,” he explained, “then it's possible your father could use your life insurance and inheritance to save their bad business deal, thereby savin' Parish's ass in the process.”

“But then why would he come out and admit the business deal was a bust?” Her brows formed a perfect V. “Why wouldn't he try to keep his motive a secret?”

“Maybe to throw us off the scent,” Washington said. “Maybe he thought if he pointed the finger at your father, we wouldn't look as closely at
him
.”

“I hate to add more fuel to the fire,” Delilah murmured as she released Mac's hand and took a small step away. No shit, the muscle in the back of his arm actually twitched with displeasure, and his deserted fingers instinctively curled into a fist. And
that
was why he'd always gone out of his way to avoid touching Delilah. Because the feel of her, the feel of all that pale skin was like crack. And one hit was enough to have him hooked for life. “But isn't it possible they're actually working
together
? By each of them saying it's the other, it muddies the waters all around. And this business deal, whatever it is, could—”

“Keystone Property Development,” Washington interrupted.

“Which is what?” Eve asked, not batting a lash at the idea that her father and ex-husband might have teamed up to have her murdered. Either she'd already considered the possibility herself, or nothing more could surprise her today. If Mac was the betting kind, he'd lay ten-to-one odds that it was probably both. “I'm sorry, Chief Washington, but I didn't know Blake and my father were doing business together, so I'm at a loss here. Would you mind filling me in on what you know?”

“Well, right now I don't know much,” Washington admitted. “Between the time Bill initially called me with suspicions about your father and the time he and your ex-husband turned themselves in, I had one of the detectives on the corporate investigations task force pull some quick public records. The most he was able to discover was that a few years ago, after Blake took over Parish Properties following his father's death, he and
your
father teamed up on a joint venture. Parish Properties and Edens Enterprises are now one large corporation operating under the name Keystone Property Development. Apparently, they went gangbusters for a while, buying up vacant lots and old buildings all over the city. I think they were riding the wave of the building boom. Then the housing bubble burst, and they were left with squat. Contracts dried up. Demand for new construction fell through the floor. And they've been hemorrhaging money ever since.”

“And my life-insurance policy and inheritance would be enough to cover their losses?” Eve asked, her brow furrowed.

“We'll find out more once we dig a little deeper,” Washington assured her. “And we
will
dig deeper this time. I promise you that.”

Yeah, and Mac knew these types of cases could drag on for months, sometimes years. Apparently Washington knew it too, because he added, “And who knows. Maybe the guy Miss Fairchild shot
will
be in the system, and we'll be able to cut him a deal if he agrees to tell us who hired him.” Which would be the better and certainly quicker solution all around. “But in the meantime, I'm gonna assign you around-the-clock surveillance.”

Eve's eyes widened, her jaw falling open like it was attached to her head by loose hinges. “Surveillance? Do you really think that's necessary?”

“Whoever tried to shoot you is still out there. They might make another attempt on your life, or maybe whoever hired them will task someone else with the job. It's time we, the CPD, were vigilant about your safety. Jesus knows we dropped the ball the first three times.” Washington's lips turned down.

“But Billy would—”

“We have no idea how long this will drag on,” the chief interrupted. “And Reichert has other responsibilities. You can't expect him to drop everything to be your bullet catcher for—”

“But I will,” Bill cut in. “I'll stick to her like honey on—”

“No, Billy,” Eve touched his arm
.
“Chief Washington is right. It's just that after everything that's happened today, I was sort of hoping to get away from the city for a while. Just…” She shook her head, and her expression was so bleak that Mac could almost feel her pain and frustration and weariness—and guilt. That was definitely in there, too. But, really, how could it not be? She'd just spent over an hour going through the details of a man's death…a man's death that was meant to be her own. She'd likely suffer from the guilt of that for the rest of her life. Which was so goddamned sad he almost felt like crying himself.

What
a
goatscrew.

“Just disappear for a while,” she finished slowly.

Washington cocked his head. “And where would you disappear to, may I ask?”

“I—” She shrugged, gnawing on her lower lip and gazing out the tall windows on the western wall. The city was a mass of darkness and twinkling lights beyond. “I don't really know. I suppose I could go down to my vacation house in Costa Rica and—”

“Out of the question,” Washington interrupted. “We need you to stay in the states. Close by, if possible, in case something comes up or in case we need to question you further.”

“Yes.” Eve bit her lip, nodding. “I kind of figured that. So maybe…I don't know. Maybe…do you think it's possible I could go out on my sailboat? Just drift away for a couple of days? Perhaps head over to Michigan? I could lose myself in a little coastal town there. Go where no one knows me, where no one's trying to kill me.”