I shook my head. “You?”
“Hell, yeah.” He twisted to open the messenger bag next to him and pulled out his wedding binder. “Tell me what you think about these patterns.”
Mark raised his gaze heavenward with a long-suffering sigh. I grabbed a piece of garlic bread and leaned forward with a happy hum.
I worked on the LanCorp RFP the remainder of the afternoon.
When my day ended, I headed to my Krav Maga class with Raúl. On the way, I reread Clancy’s reply to my text saying I wouldn’t need a ride from him. He had typed back that it was no problem, but I felt the need to explain further.
Gideon wants to have his ppl with me moving forward, so you’re free from now on. ? TY for all your help.
It didn’t take him long to answer. Anytime. Holler when you need me. BTW, your friend shouldn’t have any more trouble.
The “thank you” I sent back didn’t seem like enough. I made a note to send him something that would better express my gratitude.
Raúl parked outside the brick-faced converted warehouse that was Parker Smith’s Krav Maga studio and then escorted me inside, taking a seat on the bleachers. His presence threw me off a little bit. Clancy had always waited outside. Having Raúl watching made me a little self-conscious.
The massive open space still managed to look crowded, thanks to all the clients on the mats and in one-on-ones with instructors. The noise was nearly deafening, a cacophony of bodies hitting padding, flesh colliding with flesh, and the various shouts as participants psyched themselves up while psyching each other out. Giant metal delivery-bay doors added to both the industrial feel of the studio and the heat, which even the air-conditioning and multiple standing fans couldn’t quite alleviate.
I was stretching in preparation for the grueling drills ahead when a pair of lanky legs came into my line of sight. I straightened and faced NYPD detective Shelley Graves.
She wore her curly brown hair in a bun as severe as her face, and her blue eyes assessed me with sharp impassiveness. I was afraid of her and what she could do to Gideon, but I admired her a lot, too. She was fierce and confident in a way I could only aspire to.
“Eva,” she greeted me.
“Detective Graves.” She was dressed for work in dark slacks and a red jersey top. She wore a black blazer that didn’t hide either her badge or her firearm. Her boots were scuffed and no-nonsense, much like her attitude.
“Spotted you on my way out. Heard about your engagement. Congratulations.”
My stomach flipped a little. Part of Gideon’s alibi—if one could call it that—was that we’d been broken up when Nathan was killed. Why would a powerful, upstanding public figure kill a guy over an ex he’d left behind without looking back?
Getting engaged so quickly had to look suspicious. Graves had told me she and her partner had moved on to other cases, but I understood what kind of cop she was. Shelley Graves believed in justice. She believed Nathan had gotten his, but I knew something inside her questioned whether Gideon had something to pay for, too.
“Thank you,” I replied, pulling my shoulders back. In this, Gideon and I were a team. “I’m a lucky girl.”
She glanced at the bleachers. At Raúl. “Where’s Ben Clancy?”
I frowned. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Just curious. You know, one of the feds I talked to about Yedemsky also has the last name Clancy.” Her gaze bored into me. “You think they’re any relation?”
The blood drained out of my head at the mention of the Russian mobster whose corpse had been sporting Nathan’s bracelet. I swayed a little with a sudden rush of dizziness. “What?”
She nodded, as if she’d expected as much. “Probably not. Anyway, I’ll see you later.”
I watched her walk away, her attention on Raúl. Then, she paused and faced me again. “You inviting me to the wedding?”