He flinched, just thinking about the man. Then he exhaled slowly and reminded himself that he wasn’t thirteen and terrified any longer.
Her fingers brushed at his hand and he realized he’d balled it into a fist. And that he’d dropped his gaze to his empty plate. Fuck. Humiliation heated his cheeks.
I am not a child. I am not afraid. I am going to find him and . . .
And what, Gideon? the quiet voice in his mind asked. Not mockingly. More . . . curiously. I’ll make him pay. Of that fact he was one hundred percent certain.
How he’d accomplish it, he had no fucking clue.
Daisy moved his plate aside so that she could lean forward and cover both of his hands with hers. Her skin was warm, her hands so small. But so capable. This was not a woman who ran from danger or from life. She threw herself in headfirst, wore her heart on her sleeve even when it hurt.
He wanted some of that heart. Staring at her hands on his, he wondered what it would be like. To have someone to ground him when he needed it most.
“Gideon,” she whispered.
He looked up. The pity he’d feared he’d see wasn’t there. Instead there was a determination that should have come as no surprise. “I’m not sure,” he whispered back. “I don’t know where to start.” And that scared him to death.
He always knew where to start. He felt like he’d been dropped into a desert during an endless night with no compass. He never felt like this.
Not since he’d been dumped behind that bus station seventeen years before, broken and bleeding, with no family, no ID, no money. And wondering what was going to happen to him.
And suddenly he knew the answer.
“That’s where we’re going,” he murmured.
“Where?” she asked gently.
“To the bus station. In Redding.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“Because that’s where I was taken.”
“Taken,” she repeated carefully. “After what?”
“After I escaped a cult.” He closed his eyes on a sigh. Fuck it. He hadn’t intended to say that. Why was this woman able to pull words from his mind?
He opened his eyes to find her unsurprised gaze locked with his. “Eden?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes. It was a religious community.”
“That married off girls when they were twelve years old,” she said, her jaw clenched, “and allowed grown men to beat teenagers.”
Among other things. “How did you know I was a teenager at the time?”
“Because you told my father that you’d known the Sokolovs for sixteen years. If you’d met them any earlier, I’d probably have met you myself. Sasha said you met Rafe in school, and he’s thirty. I can do simple math.”
He almost smiled. “I bet you can do more than simple math. You put all that together like another puzzle.” She didn’t answer, just tilted her head, waiting for him to tell her more. “I escaped when I was thirteen. Ended up at the Redding bus station before I was . . . moved to Sacramento.” By a medevac helicopter, but he wasn’t going into that here. Not in such a public place. Not when her questions would draw out more information that he wished to keep private.
She nodded once. “Then Redding it is.”
Releasing one of her hands, he flagged down the server. “Miss? Check, please.”
TEN
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 8:00 P.M.
Daisy looked up at Gideon, the umbrella giving them the illusion of privacy as they walked back to her house. The way his arm circled her back, encouraging her to lean on his shoulder as they strolled, made her want to forget why he was actually there.
Because someone tried to kill me last night. And that someone was somehow connected to Gideon’s past by the locket.
Redding. Eden. A cult. She hadn’t been surprised to hear him say the words. He’d seemed more surprised that he’d said them.
The man was not a vault. A small part of her wanted to believe that he was only that way with her, but she couldn’t let herself believe that. Not just yet.
This was an artificial situation. They’d been thrown together at a time of high stress and vulnerability—for both of them. Getting emotionally attached to the man was not a smart thing to do right now.
Daisy wanted to believe she was smart, but deep down she knew the long glances they’d shared, the little touches that seemed to soothe them both, were not insignificant. Maybe Irina had the right idea. Maybe they would be a good fit.
Not that Daisy was going to admit that to the matchmaking woman, no matter how good her pirozhki were. Pirozhki. “Shit,” she muttered.
Gideon went on immediate alert, head whipping from side to side. Not like he hadn’t been on alert before. She’d been aware of his gaze taking in everything and everyone around them from the moment they’d left her apartment earlier. But now he was shoving the umbrella into her hand. “Take it,” he bit out and reached for his gun.
She obeyed, but countered, “Whoa, Mr. G-man. Nothing’s wrong. I just remembered that I left Irina’s pirozhki out, which sucks because now I’ll have to throw it out and I could have warmed it up for at least one more meal. So you can be at ease or whatever.”
He relaxed a bit, taking back the umbrella. “Mr. G-man?”
She shrugged. “Special Agent Reynolds takes too long to say.”
“I suppose so. Don’t worry. I put the food in the fridge so you wouldn’t get E. coli.”
The word “E. coli” was delivered in so dire a tone, she had to smile up at him. “That was nice of you. Thank you.”
“You’re w—” He paused, his jaw going hard. “You have company.”
They’d just rounded the corner to her street to find two news vans parked across the street from Rafe’s house.
“Shit,” she muttered again. “I don’t want to talk to them. The more times I do, the more likely it is they’ll figure out my day job. I was hoping to keep the two separate.”
“Why?”
“I lucked into my job at the station because Boomer got sick, but I really like it. I don’t want to be Daisy Dawson, the victim. I don’t want that to be the first thing people think of. I want them to think, there’s Daisy Dawson and she’s damn good at her job.”
He nodded, his eyes serious. “I get that. What do you want to do? We could turn around and try to run or I could push you through the gauntlet.”
“One way I look like a coward, the other I confirm I needed a bodyguard.”
He waited patiently, saying nothing as the rain beat down on the umbrella.
She squared her shoulders. “I gotta go home sometime.”
His arm tightened around her waist and he handed her the umbrella once again. “I’ll clear you a path. I don’t want any of those reporters coming too close. Especially any who are male and six feet tall.”
She understood the implication. Her attacker could hide in plain sight and she’d never know, which was why he’d freed his gun hand. “Let’s go.”
She dug the house key from her coat pocket as he led her up the sidewalk to the house, ready to make a run for it if she needed to. The barrage of questions came fast and furious as two reporters, one male and one female, ran from the shelter of their vans. The reporters were under umbrellas, but their cameramen were not so fortunate.
“I hoped the first interview would be enough,” she murmured. “How stupid was I?”
“Never stupid.” Gideon hugged her even closer so that they were pressed together, shoulder to thigh. “Maybe a little optimistic.”
She chuckled, but sobered quickly, halting on the first porch step when the male reporter called out, “Poppy Frederick, how did you escape your attacker last night?”
She allowed herself a heavy, silent sigh. Straightening her spine, she held herself taller. “Stay with me,” she murmured to Gideon.
“You got it.”
She tugged, and he followed her lead, turning them so that they faced the reporters, him keeping his arm around her waist and his gun hand free.
“Hi, guys,” she said, motioning the news teams to come a little closer. “I’m going to tell this one more time, but first I want to ask why I’m getting this attention. Yes, I was attacked and I appreciate you all getting the word out so that hopefully a witness will come forward. But I’m here. I’m okay. I’m safe. There are victims all over this city that don’t get this kind of attention from you who could use it a lot more. People who disappear and don’t come home. Prostitutes and drug addicts go missing in this city—in every city—every day and nobody pays them any attention. So yes, I’ll answer your questions, mostly in the hopes that you’ll leave me alone, but I want you guys to do better. I want your viewers to do better, too, to demand more from you.”
She quickly recounted what had happened in the alley, once again giving the description of her attacker and Rafe and Erin as the detective contacts.
“Were you being stalked at the radio station?” one of the reporters asked.
Daisy frowned, wondering for just a moment where that line of questioning had come from. But then she knew. Tad Nelson Todd, Mr. TNT himself. Bastard. “All I can tell you is that the police are investigating all leads.”