Cuddling the dog under her chin, Daisy stared at him, eyes narrowing in interest as soon as he indirectly mentioned the locket.
Now I’ve done it. Although he’d been prepared to tell her at least a little about the locket. It only seemed fair.
“Which is why you’re with her now,” Dawson said. “How long will you be there?”
“At least a week.”
Dawson exhaled. “I see.” He was silent for a long minute. “I imagine I’m the last person she wants to see right now.”
Gideon met Daisy’s eyes directly when he answered, “I don’t know about that. I do think your calmness in this situation would go a long way in helping her stay calm. She’s had a traumatic experience and doesn’t need to be worrying about what you’ll do or that you’ll have a stress-induced heart attack.”
There was a long moment of silence. “I’d like your badge number,” Dawson said quietly. “I need to know you’re who you say you are.”
Gideon rattled it off. “My boss is Special Agent in Charge Molina. I’ve also known the Sokolovs for sixteen years. Please call them if you want a personal reference.”
“I’ll do that. May I give you my cell phone number and ask that you call me if anything happens to Daisy? I won’t interfere with her independence, but . . .” A shuddering sigh. “I’m still her father. I need to know she’s okay.”
“I promise.” He noted Dawson’s cell phone number when the older man rattled it off. “I’ll try to text you updates regularly. Here’s my number in case you need to reach me.” He gave Dawson his number. “She’s really all right, sir. She did all the right things last night. Said you taught her how. You’ve obviously taught her well.”
Daisy’s eyes went soft. Thank you, she mouthed.
You’re welcome, he mouthed back.
“That’s . . . good,” Dawson said hoarsely.
“You want to talk to her now?” Gideon asked him, trying to sound kind.
“No,” Dawson said. “Tell her to get some rest, but to call me later, it doesn’t matter what time it is here. I’ll have my phone by the bed. And tell her . . .” He cleared his throat. “Tell her I’m damn proud of her. And that I love her.”
“Will do. Do you have someone with you? I think she’ll feel better if she knows you’re not alone, because this is stressful. For both of you.”
“Tell her that Sally is here. She makes sure everything stays okay.”
“All right. Good-bye, sir.”
Gideon ended the call and gave the phone back to Daisy, who sat staring at him wide-eyed.
“Can I say I’m impressed?” she said with a smile. “You talked him right down from the ledge. Only Taylor’s able to calm him down that fast. He and I always butt heads.”
“He said to tell you that he’s proud of you.”
Daisy sucked in a startled breath, her eyes filling with tears. “He told you that?”
“Yes.” He fought the urge to touch her face. To wipe those tears away. “Also that he loves you. And that Sally’s with him, whoever that is.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “His girlfriend. Dammit, I’m not going to cry.”
Gideon snagged a napkin from the holder and handed it to her. “I see no tears. Just allergies.”
She snorted inelegantly. “Fine. We’ll go with that.” She slid off the stool and laid a hand on his. “Thank you. For being here and for taking care of my dad for me.”
Gideon stared down at her small hand resting on his. It felt nice. Too nice. He looked up and met her serious blue eyes, still a little damp. Neither of them said a word and the moment stretched out, thinning until it snapped and was over.
Gideon swallowed. “Go to sleep.” He cleared his throat because the words had come out raspy and rough. “But not too long. I need to see the place where that pet thing is going to be held tomorrow morning so that I can plan. We’ll drive over before it gets dark.”
She nodded once, removing her hand from his, leaving him feeling cold. “All right.”
He sat unmoving as she carried the dog to the back of the small apartment that served as a bedroom, then heard her say, “Shazam, Brutus.” But he had only seconds to wonder at her words before the shower turned on, making him visualize images that were entirely inappropriate.
Stop it, he commanded himself harshly, pushing away from the kitchen counter to pace. He was here to work. To protect her. Nothing else could happen. Still, he drew a grateful breath when the water shut off, leaving the apartment blissfully silent.
EAGLE, COLORADO
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 11:45 A.M.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked the woman sitting alone at the bar. Hank had accompanied their guests on the shuttle into Vail, which was about forty minutes away. They did this route often enough that they knew the limo and shuttle drivers.
Hank always volunteered to ride along with the shuttle here in Vail, claiming it was because the shuttle driver was too “little” to haul all those heavy bags.
He doubted it, though. He’d seen the way Hank looked at the woman, like she was a pork chop and Hank a starving man. Hank looked at all the female drivers that way.
He didn’t care if Hank was being unfaithful to Barb. It was sleazy, especially with Barb being pregnant, but a lot of men in their line of work had a woman in every port. What was important was that he had two hours to kill and he knew just what to do with them.
The woman at the bar looked up at him wearily. “Look, hon,” she said in a voice that dripped of magnolia and mint juleps. “I don’t want to be rude to you, but I’m having one helluva bad day. My ex-husband is being a jerk and I have cramps to boot. You’re welcome to sit here, but I’m not going to be good company and I don’t want to ruin your day, too.”
He found himself smiling at her, which was a little disappointing. If she’d been rude, she would have been perfect. But . . . he didn’t invite nice women home to his basement. “I hope you feel better. I’ve got ibuprofen if you need it.”
Miss Mint Julep smiled back. “That’s so sweet of you, but I’ve already taken some.” She lifted her glass, which appeared to be full of bourbon with a mint garnish. She was actually drinking a mint julep. “A few more of these and I won’t care about the cramps.” She pointed to the other end of the bar, where a younger woman sat putting on lipstick. “She might be more to your liking.”
Dropping her lipstick in her handbag, the woman in question sneered at both of them. “Like I’d ever,” she snapped and hopped off the stool. “I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“How rude,” Miss Mint Julep said with a frown.
“Indeed,” he murmured. Rude, thus perfect. She was wobbling on precariously high-heeled boots. “Looks like she’s had too much. I’m going to make sure she gets to her car.”
Miss Mint Julep smiled, popping her dimples. “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?”
“I try, ma’am.” He followed Miss Rude from the bar, feeling for the sedative in his pocket. He liked this bar because it had really old cameras. And it didn’t matter anyway. He’d switched out his everyday wig for what he liked to call his “rock star” look. With a few facial prosthetics, his own mother wouldn’t have recognized him.
Miss Rude was staggering to her car, obviously tanked. He’d be doing the world a favor by getting her off the street. Hell, he could be saving lives, right now. He chuckled at that and jogged a little to catch up to her. “Miss?”
She spun on her high heels, teetering. He couldn’t have asked for a better setup.
“I said, fuck off,” she said, managing to be withering while incredibly intoxicated. She grew more perfect by the moment.
“No, you said ‘Like I’d ever.’ And that you had to catch a plane.”
She blinked. “What? Leave me alone.” She flicked her hand, as if he were a bug.
“Let me help you.” He stepped up, pulled the syringe from his pocket, and plunged it into her neck. He really hated the winter. Not a lot of visible skin, so he had to stick his needle as best he could. To any onlooker, it would appear that he was helping her to his car. Or the car he’d “borrowed” from the shuttle driver. She wouldn’t be needing it for a while since she was doing the horizontal tango with Hank.
He lowered the woman onto the backseat of the shuttle driver’s four-by-four, folding her into the large duffel bag he’d positioned specifically for this purpose. The woman fought initially, but he’d slapped duct tape on her mouth and bound her hands and ankles within thirty seconds.
He was getting better at this. Years ago it had taken him a full minute and a half. He’d learned shortcuts over the years—like positioning the duffel bag and leaving precut strips of duct tape on the seat. Choosing a victim of the right height was key. Choosing one that was drunk was good. One having consumed GHB was even better.