Eve’s Wedding Knight

Chapter 13

Unable to find the words, Jake gave up and kissed her.

Eve whispered, “I guess we’ll have to do this more often,” as she traced the curve of his mouth with a fingertip.

He heard her words, and his heart leapt beneath his ribs-a primitive cognizance of danger. What had they done?

He lay back with a careful exhalation, bringing her with him, wrapped in his arms. Even now, with the return of full awareness and, he hoped, a measure of sanity, he still couldn’t bear to separate from her. But, oh, what had he done?

He couldn’t imagine what had possessed him to do such a thing. It was against all his training, his professional ethics, not to mention common sense. And yet…and yet. The tousled head tucked under his chin felt so good there. Her body, thinner than he remembered, seemed to fit the planes and hollows of his own as if it were meant to be a part of it-like the yin to his yang, or the missing piece of a puzzle he’d been looking for all his life. Had he ever felt like this before? If he had, he’d surely have remembered it. What did it mean?

That question he had no answer to.

One thing he did know: the thought of sending this woman back to Cisneros made him sick to his stomach.

“Jake?” Eve raised herself on one elbow to look down at him. Her eyes had a misty, worried look, and he remembered belatedly the postcoital vulnerability of women. “You’re already regretting this, aren’t you?”

He reached up to touch her face with what he hoped was reassurance. “Yes…and no.” He looked at her for a long time, thinking how complicated it was, wondering if he’d ever be able to explain so she’d understand. He was filled with regrets, he ached with regrets…about all the years he’d spent without knowing her, what his life might have been like if he’d met her twenty years ago, the fact that he couldn’t wrap her up and take her home with him and keep her safe, make love with her every night and wake to her laughter every morning. How lonely that apartment of his was going to seem, how empty his bed, after this.

He sighed and closed his eyes, and wrapping his arms around her, pulled her down onto his chest. “I’m still having trouble believing I actually let it happen.”

She tensed in protest. “What do you mean, you let it happen? I kissed you first.”

“I met you halfway.” He let several beats go by before he said quietly, “We took no precautions.”

He felt the quick intake of her breath, the shivery tickle of her fingers stirring in the hair on his torso, then the warm flow of an exhalation. “I know. But I thought…since you’re in the FBI you probably have to be tested regularly, and I just had blood tests for the marriage license…” Her voice trailed off.

Jake lifted his head and pulled in his chin so he could look at her. “You thought of all that, did you?”

Her eyes danced up to meet his. “Well, no… It was maybe more like… instinct.”

“Instinct…” He lay back, jerking with silent laughter. A few more seconds ticked by, and then he said, “You know, that’s not the only consideration. I did tell you it was my wife who couldn’t have children.” He paused, surprised by the rasp of emotion in his voice, then added wryly, “I’ve been thoroughly tested, believe me, so I know. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

For a long moment she said nothing. Then she cleared her throat and murmured, “It’s okay, I’m on the Pill.”

She pulled away from him and sat up, keeping her back turned toward him as she searched awkwardly for her clothes. He could see only the curve of a flushed cheek, the sweep of lowered lashes, the childlike nape of her neck, but something about her seemed fragile, suddenly, and off-limits to him, as if she’d put away an essential part of herself behind glass walls.

“I have to get back,” she said huskily, hurrying. “They must be wondering where in the world I am.”

“Eve…” He reached out his hand and unable to resist touching her one more time, brushed his fingers lightly downward over the delicate bumps of her spine, the twin indentations just above the place where her buttocks began. He felt her breathing catch, and a shiver ripple through her body. Felt her hesitate… Then she stabbed her arms through the straps of her bra and pulled it around her and into position. The tiny click of the front catch was like a punctuation mark. A period. A closing.

Jake sat up and reached for his pants. He was suddenly thinking what he wouldn’t give for a shower, some cologne, a wet washcloth-at the very least, some of those little moist towelettes they give you at fried chicken places. As it was, he was going to have to crawl back into that damn van with Birdie Poole and Agent Franco, reeking of sex. And Eve…my God. He was sending her back to a houseful of people and a murderous fiancé, with his scent and the scarlet burn of his beard on her skin!

As if she’d heard his thoughts, she pressed her hands to her cheeks. “My face feels so hot,” she murmured, turning to him. “I have a whisker burn, don’t I?”

He took her by the shoulders, touched her chin and turned her face to the light. “Yeah,” he said gruffly., “you sure do. How are you going to explain it?”

Her eyes clung to his, jewel bright. “I went for a walk. A long one. I was trying to work off the calories. I got flushed…sunburned…poison ivy. I’ll explain it, okay? Don’t worry about me.” Breathless, she picked up her collar and thrust it at him. “Help me with this, will you? Please?”

He took it from her and held it for a moment in his hands while he gazed at her. Then he lifted it slowly and settled the two halves into place, one in front, one in back, once again entombing her neck-that lovely neck, with its vulnerable nape and elegant throat, vibrant pulses and petal-soft skin-in cushioned plastic. He felt as if he were strapping her in irons, or the guillotine.

“I don’t want you to go back,” he heard himself say. It was his voice, but not his voice. When had his voice scored his throat like shards of ground-up glass?

She was wriggling into her panties-not a dignified moment-but she froze and stared at him in confusion. “What are you talking about? Of course I have to go back. Considering what happened the last time I disappeared, they’d probably call the cops. Maybe have already.”

“No.” And his voice was firmer now-more his normal, confident, federal agent’s tone. “I mean, I don’t want you going back with Cisneros. It’s too dangerous. I’m pulling you out. Bringing you in. Whatever you want to call it. You’re no longer working for the Bureau-undercover or otherwise.”

At his first words her jaw dropped and her mouth opened. Unable to break in with her protest, she held it until he’d finished, then let go an outraged “Sez you!”

It wasn’t easy to look and sound authoritative with his pants unzipped and his undershirt caught in a stubborn roll around his pecs, but Jake did his best. “Now look,” he began, “I don’t think you-”

“No-you look. I don’t think you understand.” She was breathing rapidly, groping for her socks and shoes. Thinking what a funny thing it was to be doing in the middle of an argument, Jake found them and handed them to her. She muttered a breathless “Thank you” then rushed on, her words coming in jerks and gasps as she struggled into her footwear. “It’s like…I told you before. I want…my life back. The only way I’m going to get it back…is if Sonny is put away-for good. Capish?”

An incongruous bubble of laughter bumped against Jake’s sternum. “He will be,” he growled. “It might take a little longer, but we will get him. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Time…” She finished tying her shoe and lowered that foot over the side of the bed before she lifted her head and leveled a look at him-a strange, dark look full of messages he couldn’t read, challenges he didn’t understand. “How much time?” she said quietly. “Weeks…months…years? A lifetime? I don’t have that kind of time, Jake.” She reached for the other shoe.

“What’s time got to do with it?” He waved one hand in impatience and frustration; the other was caught in the sleeve of his henley. “You go in there, break it off with him-tell him you’ve changed your mind-hell, women do that all the time, don’t they? Tell him you don’t want to marry him. Then you leave, and let us take care of the rest. What’s so difficult about that? You get your life back-”

“Do you really think so, Jake?” She skewered him with a look. “Do you really think I, or anyone in my family, will ever be safe as long as Sonny’s out there? As long as he thinks we have information that could destroy him? ‘A ticking time bomb’-that’s what he called it. He knows it’s there, just waiting to be found. Do you think he’s going to just hang around and wait for that to happen? And we don’t know if he really bought it that I didn’t hear anything that day in the rectory-what if he’s just pretending to go along with this charade?” She tapped the collar angrily. “I have to go back. I have to see this through. You know that. We’ve been over this. What’s changed?”

He stared at her in furious silence. What’s changed? He wanted to shout, What’s changed is the way I feel about you. That changes everything. Perspective…priorities… everything.

For what seemed like minutes her eyes searched his face. Then she lifted her hand and laid it along his jaw, and her fingers were a warm and gentle reminder of the heat and passion with which they’d touched only a short time ago…like a breath of a soft, sweet wind when summer is long over. “Nothing’s changed,” she whispered.

She drew back the sleeper’s partitioning curtain a few inches and looked out, then opened it wide and stood stiffly upright between the seats. Turning to gather up her jacket, she paused. “You can’t stop me from going back, Jake. You can pull your surveillance and all that if you want to-that’s up to you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped.

Unable to shrug, she smiled crookedly. “I am going back. And I’m staying until the end-whatever that may be. Capish?” Her eyes seemed to brighten and shimmer, and then she quickly turned away.

“Hey,” Jake said in the raw and scratchy voice he was coming to know well as she slipped between the front seats, “don’t you want to take the plate back?”

She gave a little wave of her hand without turning. “How on earth would I explain it?” Her voice sounded breathless… almost panicky. “You can take the pie and stuff to your partner…what’s his name? Agent Poole? I have to go. So, I guess I’ll see you…” The passenger door opened and she was gone, as completely as if she’d tumbled off the edge of a precipice.

Left alone in the sleeper, Jake sat and stared at the plate in his hands. Capish? Hell no, he didn’t capish. He didn’t understand anything. Somehow, without his noticing it or being able to do a thing to stop it, his world had turned upside down.

Mirabella and Summer were the only ones left in the kitchen when they heard the bang of the screen door and footsteps coming across the back porch. Summer, who had just that second finished wiping and putting away the last piece of silverware, laughed and said, “That’s Eve-right on time.”

Mirabella, who was suffering from indigestion and less inclined to be forgiving, fixed the delinquent with a fishy stare as she came through the door. “Where’ve you been?”

Eve closed the door carefully behind her, and her eyes darted to each of her sisters with a quick, guilty look. But before she could answer, Mirabella felt a nudge in her ribs, and Summer said, “Evie? What’s wrong?” That was when Mirabella noticed Eve’s scarlet cheeks and too-bright eyes.

“What have you-?” she began, but stopped when Summer gave her arm a warning squeeze.

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong.” Eve was brightly smiling, but the smile looked as brittle and ephemeral as the leaves that scuttled across the lawn outside, as if it would crumble at a touch. “I went for a walk-farther than I meant to. I’m pooped. Where are the guys? Sacked out in the den? God, I hope so-I’m all sweaty-is it okay if I take a shower?”

“Uh…yeah, sure, go ahead,” said Mirabella with a questioning look at Summer, who returned it with an almost undetectable shrug. “Use ours-leave the other one free. Extra towels are in-”

“Thanks-you’re a doll.” She slipped past them and danced sideways through the door-not a joyful dance, but urgent-and a moment later they heard the thump of footsteps on the stairs.

“Not one word of apology for skipping out on the dishes!” Mirabella exclaimed on a gusty breath of sheer exasperation.

Summer threw her a troubled look. “Didn’t you hear how fragile her voice was? She sounded like she was going to cry any minute. And her face-Bella, she really looked upset. If I didn’t know better…” She pressed her fingertips against her lips as a pleat of worry formed between her eyebrows.

“Something is definitely wrong.” Mirabella gave the countertop a slap. “I knew it. Didn’t I tell you? There’s something fishy about that guy. She’s not happy with him.”

“But-” Summer cast a look over her shoulder in the direction of the living room and dropped her voice to a husky whisper “-how could this have anything to do with him? He’s been in there all afternoon. Wherever she’s been, whoever’s upset her, it couldn’t have been Sonny.”

Mirabella sucked in air and put a hand over her mouth.

“What?”

“Oh no-it’s too impossible. Even for Evie. She wouldn’t…”

“For God’s sake, what?”

Mirabella’s voice was hushed and horrified. “You don’t think… she’s cheating on Sonny?”

Summer let out a gusty breath. “What? Cheating-no!” Then she gave it up and closed her eyes. “Oh God…”

Now it was Mirabella’s turn to say, “What?”

As Summer hesitated, a distraught hand pressed to her forehead, a muted roar went up from the other room. The football game had just ended; in another moment the kitchen was going to be full of menfolk foraging for pie and leftovers, coffee and beer, it having been all of two hours since they’d finished stuffing themselves beyond all good sense.

“What?” Mirabella persisted, nudging up next to Summer.

“I was just going to say, I think you may be right,” Summer urgently whispered back. “Because you know that flush on her face? When I saw it, the first thing that went through my mind was that if I didn’t know better…I’d say she had one hell of a whisker burn.”

“Oh…God.”

An hour later, Mirabella and Summer stood on the front porch watching Riley, Helen and David as they loaded up the Mercedes. Or rather, the children were doing the loading while Riley supervised, and that ridiculous little Chihuahua of theirs-Beatle-frisked and danced between their feet.

Everyone else had gone home-Eve and Sonny were on their way back to Hilton Head in the limo, Troy and Charly to Atlanta with Bubba drooling in the back seat of the Jeep Cherokee. Jimmy Joe had driven his mom, Granny Calhoun, Jess and Sammi June home, and J.J. and Amy Jo had gone along for the ride. He’d probably stay an hour or so at least, visiting and talking business with his brothers.

The sun was going down in a rosy-gold blaze behind the leafless woods. A chill was in the air-there would be frost, the weatherman said, by morning. Which meant no more fresh tomatoes, Mirabella thought, and felt a pang of sadness for the passing of the season and the coming of winter.

“She’s probably not-” she started to say, just as Summer did the same. They both broke off, laughing. Summer recovered first and finished it quickly, “I’m sure she’s not…you know. Cheating on Sonny. That would be too much, even for Evie.”

“Sonny does strike me as a dangerous person to cross,” Mirabella conceded. Then, suddenly angry, “But since when has Evie ever balked at danger? You know how reckless and impulsive she is. She just…does things. Sometimes I think she does things just because they’re dangerous.”

“You know what Mom said.” Summer’s murmur was placating. A troubled frown puckered her forehead. “That Evie does those things because she is afraid.”

Mirabella waved that impatiently aside. “I know, and I find it hard to believe. What’s she ever had to be afraid of? Everything’s always come so damned easy for her.”

“Oh, well-I wouldn’t say that. Evie’s worked hard to get where she is. Filmmaking is a tough field.”

“Okay, but the point is, she’s made it-how many people can say that? Don’t tell me it’s all hard work-a lot of it is pure luck. Even she will tell you that. And think back when we were kids. She always got good grades without even trying, won every contest she ever entered, always had boys crazy about her. Everything she wanted she got.”

“How do you know? You don’t know what she wants. She hasn’t got what we’ve got.” Mirabella had no answer for that. After a moment, Summer said thoughtfully, “I don’t think it’s that things come easier for her. Things come to everybody. Evie knows how to grab on to them when they come her way.”

“That’s it,” Mirabella said, still angry. “She grabs. Evie’s greedy, that’s what she is. Greedy for…I don’t know…”

“Life,” said her sister, nodding. “Evie’s greedy for life. That’s what makes her so special. She is special, Bella.”

Mirabella didn’t say anything for a moment or two, because she had a lump in her throat; she hadn’t the faintest idea why.

Riley, the children and the Beatle-dog were coming toward them across the lawn. She cleared her throat. “Well, this time I think she’s bitten off more than she can chew.”

“I’m worried about her, too,” Summer said in a catching voice, turning abruptly to hug her. “But until she’s ready to ask for our help, I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”

Mirabella sniffed and whispered miserably, “I know.”

There was a flurry of leave-taking while everyone paid one last visit to the bathroom, traded hugs and goodbyes and promises to call, and then the Mercedes crunched away down the driveway and turned left onto the paved road. Mirabella watched, rubbing her arms against the chill, until she could no longer see the big car’s taillights in the dusk. Then she turned and went back inside.

She walked through the house, turning on a light here, turning one off there, tidying… setting things to rights. It was always a relief to have her home back to normal again. As much as she loved her family, and had come to love Jimmy Joe’s, Mirabella did cherish her space and her privacy. And order. Yes, she did like things to be orderly-organized, planned, everything in its place.

Maybe, she thought with a rare flash of insight, that was what she found hard to take about her oldest sister. Eve-and her life-were so disorderly. Chaotic, tempestuous, impulsive, spontaneous, uninhibited-qualities many found charming, Mirabella knew, but she found them discomfiting. Even alarming.

Feeling indefinably better, she was heading upstairs to check on the condition of the bathrooms when the doorbell rang. Back down the stairs she went, utterly mystified. Peepholes being all but unheard of in her part of the world, Mirabella called through the door, “Who is it?”

There was a pause, and then… “FBI, ma‘am,” said a voice-a man’s voice, and strangely familiar. “Jake Red-Sold-we’ ve spoken on the phone.”

Mirabella threw open the door and stared at the man who stood there on her front porch. She was unable to utter a single word, her heart was pounding so hard.

The first thing she thought was that he didn’t look like an FBI agent. Not at all the way she’d pictured him. He was wearing casual clothes-didn’t all FBI agents wear suits and ties?-and his hair was unruly, with a tendency to stick out in spikes, as if he’d slept on it wrong. He had a long, melancholy face and grave, deep-set eyes and a bad case of five o‘clock shadow.

But he was holding his ID up in front of his chest, holding it into the light where she could see it. She stared at it intently, then back at his face.

“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Starr,” he said in his grave voice. “May I come inside? I’d like to talk to you. It’s about your sister.”

Mirabella’s heart lurched. “Summer? But I thought that was over.”

“No, ma‘am. This is about your other sister. Eve.”

“Evie?” said Mirabella faintly. She thought, I was right I was right.

“If you’ll let me come in,” said Agent Redfield, “I’ll explain everything.”

“You want to do what?” Don Coffee shouted. “Are the two of you completely out of your minds?”

Birdie raised his eyebrows in a look that said plainly, Hey, don’t look at me.

Thanks, buddy, Jake thought as he shuffled gamely into the breech. “We believe there’d be a minimum of risk-”

“Have you forgotten,” his supervisor interrupted in a derisive tone, “what happened the last time I authorized an operation involving the use of a private residence? This particular residence? The only thing that saved us from civilian casualties, as I recall, was some quick thinking on the part of a couple of household pets.”

Jake threw up his hands and muttered, “Aw, for Pete’s sake-”

But before he could say more and maybe get himself in real hot water, Birdie interceded, saying diplomatically, “Sir, the difficulties encountered on that operation involved a hurricane. The odds against that happening a second time have got to be…way up there.” Coffee snorted. Birdie glanced at Jake and cleared his throat. “If I’m not mistaken, sir, hurricane season officially ends on the thirtieth of November.”

Coffee muttered something sarcastic about December and blizzards, and Birdie argued that Charleston, South Carolina, didn’t really have all that many blizzards, but by that time Jake had regained control of his temper.

He said patiently, “The difference here is that we have a definite time frame, and we will be on the premises the whole time. We’ll go in there in advance, have the place wired before anybody else gets there. This is a surveillance operation, nothing more. Every move Cisneros makes will be on camera. If he finds what he’s looking for, we wait until he’s clear of the premises before we make a move. If he doesn’t find it, no harm, no foul.” He glared at his supervisor, arms outstretched and eyebrows raised to add an unspoken “Well?”

Coffee glared back at him. Then exhaled and growled, “Redfield, I can think of a dozen things that could go wrong.”

So could Jake, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit it. “We’re going to be there to make sure it doesn’t.”

“There will be children there.”

“Yes, sir. We’ve factored that in. We intend to make every possible provision to ensure their safety.”

Coffee rose and disgustedly sailed a file folder onto his desk. “Ah, damn,” he muttered with a sigh, “I miss the old Mafia. At least they had rules about involving families-wives and kids. These newcomers-the Russians, Asians, Colombians, freelancers-they’re capable of anything. All bets are off.”

Jake and his partner looked at each other. Jake cleared his throat. “Does that mean-”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got your authorization. But Redfield, hear this-” and he leaned forward on his hands and drilled him with his patented cold-steel stare “-you’d better make damn sure nothing happens to make me regret it. I don’t intend for my career in federal law enforcement to end with this operation. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Jake and Birdie chorused.

“Okay. You’ve got…what is it, three weeks? I’ll expect the full details of the operation on my desk by tomorrow morning. I assume you’ve talked to all the parties involved? You have their full cooperation?”

“Yes, sir,” said Jake staunchly, “full and wholehearted.” Which was an understatement-the Waskowitz sisters had expressed delight and enthusiasm for the plan.

With one notable exception. Jake wasn’t afraid of very many things, but when he thought about how Eve was going to take to the idea of using her family’s Christmas gathering to set a trap for her fiancé, he got a bad case of the cold-and-clammies…