He said something she couldn’t understand over the wail of another police cruiser pulling into the already cramped space. The ambulance driver leaned out his door, gave a piercing whistle even Natalie would envy and shouted, “Move! We gotta go!”
“This isn’t real, Eve,” he finished, picking bits of gravel out of her knees like each one was a tiny bomb requiring precision handling.
“Last night was as real as you’ve ever been with me, Matt,” she said bluntly. “I can handle that. I can handle more.”
“It’s not real,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “You can’t trust your feelings in a situation like this. Close proximity, stressful circumstances, and sex all combine to create an unreal environment. You can’t trust it.”
“How do you know whether or not you can trust your feelings if you don’t let yourself feel anything at all? You use protecting as a way to push people away. You wall us off, say you’re keeping us safe, but you’re really keeping yourself safe from the messy emotional reality of life and love.” When he didn’t respond she slapped his hands away from her abused knees. “Stop taking care of me! Stop hiding behind duty and honor and feel what’s between us!”
At that urgent command he looked up and met her eyes. She saw the implacable wall going back up, shutting her out, then he said the word he’d never, ever used before.
“No.”
She blinked at him, not believing her ears, but just then Lieutenant Hawthorn and Officer McCormick strode up. “Jesus, Eve,” Ian said. “Are you all right?”
“Ian,” she replied, just as formal if a little more hysterical, “I’m fine.”
“She’s not fine. She needs x-rays and maybe an MRI,” Matt said as he flung another bit of gravel to the side.
“And you, Detective Dorchester, need to go with Officer McCormick and report in to Captain Whitmore,” Hawthorn said implacably.
Eve followed his glance to a group of uniformed officers, clustered around Sorenson and Carlucci, all watching Matt as he knelt in front of her. He dropped the tweezers on the ambulance floor and stood up. Her face throbbed as she tilted her head back to look up into his eyes. “Don’t go to work for Lancaster Life. You are right where you’re supposed to be. You are who you’re supposed to be. Without you, Lyle sets up shop on the East Side, the neighborhood loses the business park, and the bad guys win. No one else could have done what you’ve done over the last few weeks. Don’t let anyone tell you different, and don’t let anyone guilt or bully or pressure you into becoming anyone else.”
Then he turned and walked away.
*
Eve woke up in a hospital bed. A pair of sneaker-clad feet rested near her own, covered by a white sheet and blanket. Very, very carefully, because her head felt like it had been split in two, she turned and looked up the long, denim-clad legs to Caleb’s solemn face.
“Hello, sister mine,” he said, relief flashing in his green eyes.
“Hey,” she said, but her throat was too dry and tight to get the words out. Caleb sat up and poured a glass of water, competently folding a bendy straw and dropping it in the glass, then offering it to her.
“Nice technique,” she complimented after she drank. They’d spent more than their share of time in hospital rooms.
He leaned an elbow on the bed and considered her. “How are you feeling?”
“My cheek hurts,” she said. The throbbing worsened as her attention found it, like a bad-tempered troll and his rough-hewn club had taken up residence, lumbering and grumbling under her eye.
“I’m not surprised,” Caleb replied. “From what I gathered from Detective Sorenson’s terse yet colorful description, Lyle hit you so hard you went airborne.”
“I … I vaguely remember that.” All she really remembered was the explosion of light and pain, then lying in the dirt next to her father. She listened to the silence in the corridor, looked at the old-fashioned clock, then the window. “It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing here?”
“Sitting with the sick, comforting the afflicted,” he said casually. “It’s better than my other option, which is to find Ian Hawthorn and beat the shit out of him.”
She laughed, then regretted it when the troll took a big swing at her cheekbone with his club. “It’s not Ian’s fault. I went into this with my eyes wide open.”
Caleb was silent. Eve figured Ian could hold his own. “I have good news,” he said.
“I could use some good news.”
“Nobody showed up to make payment for the property behind Eye Candy. It’s yours.”
“That is good news,” she said, but really, she couldn’t feel much of anything. In a day or two she’d get excited about it. “How’s Dad?”
“Down the hall and scheduled for bypass surgery,” Caleb said.
“What?” she exclaimed, regretting it as the troll added a vicious kick.
“I guess one side benefit from all of this is that the doctors took a really good look at his arteries. They’ve been clogging faster than expected. You make an impact, no doubt about it.”