Eve’s Wedding Knight

Chapter 5

The Waskowitz family’s vigil was taking place in Pop and Ginger’s hotel room in downtown Savannah. Everybody was there except for Charly, who, under her obstetrician’s strict orders to stay off her feet, had gone to her own room down the hall to lie down, taking the three older children-Summer’s two and Mirabella and Jimmy Joe’s eleven-year-old J.J.-with her. Their baby, Amy Jo, was also sound asleep, snuggled up next to her daddy on one of the two double beds with her thumb in her mouth and her bottom in the air.

Everyone else was wide-awake. However, only Mirabella was up and pacing, so when the phone rang, although everyone jumped reflexively, she was the one who got to it first.

She snatched it rather rudely from under her mother’s hand, barked a breathless “H‘lo?” into the mouthpiece, then listened for about three seconds in frozen stillness. Then she thrust the instrument at her sister, stalked angrily into the bathroom and shut the door. Whereupon she burst into tears.

When she ventured forth a few minutes later, tear-blotchy but belligerent still, Summer was sitting tense and roused on the bed with the phone pressed to her ear and one hand upraised in a futile effort to fend off the barrage of questions and instructions being lobbed at her from all sides. Her side of the conversation consisted of nods and an occasional “Uh-huh.”

While Summer was hanging up amidst a chorus of protests and raising both hands in a plea for patience, Jimmy Joe erased away from Amy and got up off the bed. He came over to Mirabella and gathered her into his arms.

“Hey, darlin’,” he murmured gruffly to the top of her head. “She’s in the hospital, but she’s gonna be okay.”

“That part I got,” said Mirabella in a testy voice.

Summer, who was on her feet now, along with everyone else, cleared her throat. “She was too groggy to say very much, but I talked to the police officer who was there-I guess to take her statement.” She flicked a sympathetic glance toward her mother, who had made a small, stricken noise. “It looks like-they think she was mugged.” Somebody-one of the men-made an outraged growling sound. Quickly Summer went on. “Somebody hit her and knocked her unconscious, took her diamond ring and her pearl necklace, then dumped her in a trash bin in the alley. Behind the church, you know? Later on-it must have been while we were all inside the church waiting for her-they think she crawled out of the bin and somehow wandered off in confusion. Anyway, she apparently crawled into a utility company van and passed out. The guy just found her and took her to the emergency room, which happens to be close to where he lives-somewhere south of here, near the airport?” She made the last of it a question.

It was Riley who answered her. “I know where it is.” He had the keys to his Mercedes in his hand, already taking charge, as seemed to be Riley’s way-something to do with being such a successful lawyer, Mirabella supposed; he was used to telling people what to do. “Pop, you and Ginger come with us. Jimmy Joe, you want to follow me, or shall I give you directions? Troy-okay if we leave the kids here with you and Charly?”

Troy said sure, and to go on ahead.

“Wait.” Summer, who’d been shaking her head and trying in vain to get someone’s attention, now succeeded in breaking into the bustle of departure without noticeably altering it. “Do you think we should go running over there now? She sounded really out of it. She said they were doing tests and things, getting her stitched up and cleaned up. They probably – aren‘ t even going to let us in to see her, and even if they do, she’ll probably be too groggy to notice. Maybe we should wait till morning.”

There was a slight break, a brief cessation of sound and motion while that option was considered, and then universally rejected. Ginger simply shook her head and began buttoning the coat Pop had settled on her shoulders; others resumed interrupted searches for jackets, purses, car and hotel room keys. “Don’t worry about the kids,” Troy sang out.

The exodus was well underway when it was again halted by a word. This time it was Ginger who said, “Wait!” and turned in the doorway to cast a concerned look upon her husband, her daughters and sons-in-law, all crushed in around her. “Shouldn’t we call Sonny?”

There was another silence, broken by Mirabella’s snort Summer elbowed her hard in the ribs, so it was Pop who answered, in his brusque way, “Hon, I imagine she’s already done that.”

“But,” his wife argued, “Summer said she was out of it, and they were running all those tests. What if she didn’t? It would be terrible, wouldn’t it? To let him go on thinking…”

Mirabella heaved an ungracious sigh. “All right-anybody have his number?” Everybody looked at everybody else.

“Evie’s probably got it in her purse,” said Summer. “It was with her things we brought from the church. It’s all still in the car. You don’t want us to look for it now, do you?”

Ginger gave in with a shrug as she moved on through the doorway. “We can call from the hospital, once we’ve seen Evie.”

In the hallway, Riley and Jimmy Joe took the lead, setting a brisk pace which Mirabella, short-legged and pregnant, didn’t even try to keep. Summer lagged behind with her, and as soon as they were out of hearing range of their parents and spouses, caught at her hand and hissed, “What’s the matter with you? I know you don’t like Sonny, but the man is practically a member of the family. You don’t have to love him just because Evie does, but you don’t have to act like he’s some kind of evil villain. What have you got against him anyway?”

“I don’t know,” moaned Mirabella, so dejectedly that Summer half turned, stopping her there in the middle of the hallway.

“Bella?”

Mirabella couldn’t look at her sister’s face. How could she explain to a face so full of compassion, love and finally, finally happiness, that whenever she looked at Sonny Cisneros she felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach? That when he spoke to her she got the shivers? That all she wanted for their sister was the same kind of love and joy they had each already been blessed with, dammit, and she knew-somehow she just knew-that this wasn’t going to be it! That in some vague, formless way, she was frightened. She could not explain, because it made no sense even to her.

And because Mirabella’s temper had a tendency to rise in direct proportion to her levels of fear and frustration, she lashed back at her sister with a furious “I don’t know! I’m worried for Evie. Something’s not right. It’s just not right.”

To her great surprise and even greater unease, Summer didn’t say a word as they walked on together toward the elevator, holding hands as they had when they were very small children, and afraid of the monsters in the dark.

“How do I look?” Eve asked in a low voice.

“Like hell,” Jake replied in his federal agent’s monotone.

She was incomprehensibly annoyed that he didn’t bother to look at her when he said it, his edgy frown trained instead on the hustle and bustle in the corridor outside the treatment room curtain, and the uniformed police officer pacing nearby. But she muttered a dry “Thanks-I think” as she shifted her eyes and their silent question first to the doctor standing with folded arms at the foot of her bed, then to the intern at her elbow.

Their answering smiles seemed tentative, for which Eve could hardly blame them. Supposedly this was a routine mugging, but there were undercurrents… A bride in her wedding dress? And the guy who’d brought her in-who was he? Definitely not the groom, supposedly just a Good Samaritan, but she’d asked-begged-for them to let him stay… Obviously they weren’t being let in on the whole story.

“You’ll do fine.” The doctor, prematurely balding, impossibly young and trying hard to hide his baby face behind a wispy goatee, came around the bed and leaned close to inspect the bandage wrapped around her head. “Linda does good work. Shouldn’t be any scarring, but you might have a little bit of a black eye, here. Hard to say. And,” he added in a warning tone, “once the Novocain wears off, that lip is going to be a little uncomfortable. Now-that bump on the head… Since you were unconscious for a pretty considerable amount of time, we’re gonna want to admit you for a day or two, okay? Just to be on the safe side. And we’re gonna want to get some X rays, probably a CAT scan.” He started to say something to the intern, then said, “Oops,” in response to something he’d evidently heard over the loudspeaker, and instead nodded abruptly to her and went out Beyond the curtain Eve could hear running footsteps, the swish of opening doors, voices calling incomprehensible instructions in tensely efficient tones.

The intern, a stocky woman-also impossibly young-with wiry, cinnamon-colored hair, freckles and a wicked glint in her green eyes, winked at Eve as she rolled back her stool and stood up, taking her tray of instruments with her. “Don’t worry, hon, you’re gonna be fine. Right now you look like you just went a couple rounds with Mike Tyson, but that’ll pass. Your poor mama might have a heart attack when she sees you, though.”

Eve’s eyes flicked to Jake’s somber face. “Is she here?” And suddenly, for reasons she couldn’t begin to fathom, she was dangerously close to tears.

“She sure is,” the intern answered cheerfully. “Your whole family, it looks like. They’re out there in the waiting room.”

“Can I… see them?”

“Don’t see why not-looks like it’s gonna be a little while before we can get those X rays. Just had an MVA come in-multiple victims. I’ll go tell ‘em they can come in for a few minutes.”

“Thanks…” Eve felt unnervingly trembly. She caught a breath and held it, trying to steady her voice. “Is Sonny-”

The intern’s eyes were bright and curious. “Sonny-is that your husband? Uh…fiancé? I don’t believe he’s here yet, but I’ll let you know the minute he gets here, okay?” Eve nodded; her throat had locked up tight. “I’ll send your family right on in,” the intern said, and was on her way out when Eve stopped her with a hoarse sound that was meant to be “Wait!” The intern paused and looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“Could I just have a few minutes?” Eve whispered. Her eyes slipped away, found Jake and then came back to the woman again. “I’d like to…you know, say goodbye to him. He’s been with me through all of this…” And inexplicably, now she was crying.

The intern’s freckled face held nothing but compassion. “Sure, hon,” she said gently. “He can just let the desk know when he leaves, and they can have somebody send your folks on in. How‘ll that be?”

Eve murmured, “Thank you,” and the woman went away.

Seconds ticked by. Then Jake came slowly toward her, hands in his pockets, brows lowered, darkening his somber gaze to a frown. “Helluva performance,” he said dryly. “And you were worried about being a good enough actor?”

Eve just looked at him. She felt as if something heavy had come and sat on her chest.

He gazed down at her, and she glared back at him, furious with herself for crying in front of him, indefinably hurt that he’d so cynically dismissed her tears, and completely bewildered by the contradiction.

“What about it? Ready to take a test drive?”

She made a swipe at her cheeks and looked away. He came closer, bracing his hands on the bed as he leaned down and looked into her eyes. His voice was soft and very near; she had to stop breathing in order to hear it. “You have to be ready for this. I know this is just your family, but it’s as important to convince them of what happened as it is Cisneros.”

“I know,” Eve muttered, “I know…”

“You’ve got to believe this. Live it.”

“I know.” One more tear surprised her by escaping over the barrier of her lower lashes and sneaking away like a thief down her unmarked cheek. She slapped at it furiously. “I know what I’m supposed to do. Don’t worry about me. I said I’m ready.”

Jake’s eyes had shifted dispassionately, first to watch the tear“s progress, then to travel over her face, touching briefly on each of her injuries. It struck Eve that there was something oddly intimate, almost proprietary about the scrutiny. As he straightened, he brushed the tear’s track with an index finger, and she felt a flash of something almost like disappointment. A sense of something glimpsed but not quite realized.

He paused to look down at her once more. “The tears-it’s a nice touch. You’ve been through a trauma. You’d be expected to show some emotion.”

And Eve, furious, surprised herself by thinking, What about you, Mr. Jake Something-Mr. Iceman? Do you ever show emotion?

Already turning to leave her, he paused as if she’d spoken the words aloud. He looked at her for a moment, then away, as if there was something more he ought to say to her if he could only remember what it was.

What about telling me it’s going to be all right? Eve thought. What about a big ol’ thumb’s-up? A “Break a leg” and a smile for luck? Hey, Mr. FBI-are you even genetically capable of smiling?

She touched the strips of butterfly bandage that crisscrossed the bridge of her nose. “Where’re you gonna be?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be watching you. Out of sight, but I’ll be watching.” His gaze was heavy-lidded, veiled.

It occurred to Eve that his lashes were unusually long and thick, that his eyes slanted down slightly at the corners, and she wondered if that was what gave him that melancholy look. Maybe, she grudgingly thought… but only partly.

“Hey, Jake-” It had also occurred to her that she knew almost nothing about him-not even his last name. How old he was. Whether he had a wife… children. The town house he lived in was definitely a bachelor’s quarters, and probably temporary at that, the only personal items anywhere in evidence being the old-fashioned turntable, the crate of LP’s and the cardboard box she’d spotted under the coffee table, containing an assortment of paperbacks. A lonely existence, she thought. But did he have a home somewhere? A wife and a dog, a lawn waiting to be mowed?

He was waiting now, one hand on the curtain, for her to finish it. But with all she would have liked to ask him, she limited herself to a smile, lopsided and apologetic-a peace offering he wouldn’t even know she owed him-and a lightly curious “When do you sleep?”

There was no answering smile, not even one of irony. No chuckle, not even the dryest snort, heavy with sarcasm. Instead he replied, very softly, “When Sonny Cisneros is behind bars.”

Then he slipped out of the room like a shadow, leavmg her with the chilled feeling that he’d meant it literally.

Sonny… behind bars. Sonny-the man she’d planned to many, the man she’d…well, if not exactly wildly loved, at least chosen to be the father of her children-was a vicious crimmal.

There was no one to distract her now-no doctors and nurses with their needles and bandages and slightly off-color banter, no dour FBI man with his somber warnings and instructions, nothing to keep the reality of that from crashing in on her. For the first time since waking half-naked in a strange man’s bed with her soiled wedding gown on the floor beside her, she was alone, just her and her thoughts. And since there was no one to see, instead of pushing her thoughts away in instinctive, gut-level defensive panic, she gave them the okay to come and stay in her mind, and let the full horror of them seep into her soul.

Fear and loathing enveloped her, like the nightmare terrors of long-ago childhood when the miasma of nameless evil rising from under her bed, seeping in from under doors and out of closets and cupboards would send her, shivering with fear, to seek comfort in one of her sisters’ beds. What a time of sheltered innocence that had been, when terror could be banished by a warm body, the smell of baby shampoo and a sleepy “Evie’s havin’ a bad dream?”

“Eve? Oh, Evie…oh my God-”

“Mom…? Oh, Momma, I’m so sorry…” All right, so she was forty-three years old. And yes, she’d been on her own, a world traveler and successful filmmaker, for years and years. But she had just come from that childhood nightmare, had been longing for a time when all it took to banish terror was to be gathered into those familiar arms. Perhaps she could be forgiven-and was most definitely not acting-when she burst noisily into tears.

And then her mother was bending over to kiss her and oh, so carefully touching her bandages, then tenderly cupping her cheek and whispering, “Shh…it’s all right, sweetheart… you’re all right, that’s all that counts,” and enveloping her in the familiar scents of Jergens lotion and talcum powder that in a way held more comfort than either the words or the touch.

Beyond her mother’s shoulder, through a shimmer of tears, she saw her father’s face hovering, flushed red and set in a mask of grief and anger. She could only imagine the frustration he must be feeling, that he, her father and a police officer, had yet been unable to protect his little girl from harm.

“Pop?” she squeaked, reaching for him with one hand as her mother moved aside to make room, “it’s okay…I’m okay.”

And her father was squeezing her hand, brusquely kissing it and then turning away, grumbling and harrumphing in the garbled and gravelly voice he used to camouflage fierce emotions, about talking to the officer in charge, and what was being done to ensure that the low-life scum that had done this to his little girl was found and brought to justice. And all the while wiping at his eyes and furtively blowing his nose on his familiar white pocket handkerchief, as if he seriously thought no one would notice.

Her sisters were there, too, crowded into that curtained space, and so were their husbands-Riley, the newest member of the family, and Jimmy Joe, hanging back a little as if they understood their purpose was mostly to provide backup-their faces, too, wearing the dark, set look of male outrage.

Eve murmured an abashed “Hi, guys. Some wedding, huh?” and gave her sisters a wry shrug and touched her lip in a way that said she’d smile if only she could. When they didn’t say anything back, she gave a careful, whispering laugh and said, “Come on, I know what you were thinking. You were thinking, Boy, Evie’s really done it this time! Right? Am I right? You know you were…” Summer and Mirabella both laughed then, but in a funny way that had more than a little of tears in it.

And then they were moving up, one on either side of her to form a protective phalanx around her just as they had when they were children and still believed that the three of them together were invincible, impregnable to any threat from near or far, grown-ups, other children or things that go bump in the night.

There was Mirabella, white as a sheet, puffed up like a little red bird spoiling for a fight, brushing and fussing at the bedclothes as if any imperfections in them were a personal affront. And Summer, the vet, forehead furrowed, sky-blue eyes misty with compassion, her strong, long-boned hands already resting on Eve’s shoulder, gently stroking her arm, touching her hair, as if just their touch could make things better.

My family, Eve thought. And whether it was lack of sleep, the residual effects of too much champagne or simply a reaction to all the stresses and traumas of the past twenty-four hours, suddenly the love she felt for them seemed almost too much to bear. I don’t want to leave them! she thought, terrified both of dying and of the separation from those she loved so much that would be like a kind of dying.

If this charade didn’t work, if she couldn’t convince Sonny she posed no threat to him, he would kill her. It was as simple as that. Or, to prevent that certainty, the FBI could whisk her away into some sort of Witness Protection Program, cutting her off forever from all those she loved. But even then there was no guarantee Sonny wouldn’t then turn on her family as a way to force her to come back! Eve was accustomed to taking risks, but never before had she been asked to risk so much. Her life? Even that seemed insignificant. What was really at stake was all there with her in that cubicle-the love… the people… her family.

It has to work, she thought. It has to.

And right on the heels of that thought came another. I have to stop Sonny. Put an end to him. I have to put him away. No matter what it takes. I must. It’s the only way…

The only way she or any of the people she loved would ever be safe again.

With that realization neon bright in her mind, she heard a new commotion, voices raised in the corridor outside the exam room. One voice in particular.

“Hey, what’re you talkin’ about-family? I’m tellin’ you I am family. If this hadn’t happened, she’d be my wife right now!”

Sonny. Oh God, she thought, I’m not ready! I can’t do this! Jake… where are you?

Beyond the curtain there were murmurs, low and adamant, and Sonny’s voice rolling over them. Jimmy Joe and Riley were already moving to form a protective blockade, if need be, looking over at Eve to see if that was what she wanted. And it was-oh, it was. But how would she explain? Sonny was her fiancé, the man she supposedly loved enough that a few hours ago she’d been ready to pledge to honor and obey him until death-

Her heart skipped. She drew a catching breath, then nodded. But her eyes darted among the faces gathered around her like a panic-stricken mouse looking for a hiding place-Bella’s and Pop’s, so much alike, both gray and stormy; Summer’s more like Mom’s, sky-blue but clouded with compassion and worry.

And what about Evie’s eyes? What do they show?

She thought, He’ll look into them and know. How could she hide what she felt for him now-the fear, the loathing?

But the curtain was pulling back… and he was there. Sonny Cisneros, her fiancé-multimillionaire, loud and gregarious, bigger-than-life Sonny Cisneros-broad-shouldered and powerful looking in his expensive suit, no tie, expensive shirt open at the neck, showing gold chains and a thick nest of hair. He moved toward her like an emperor through a throng, sparing quick handshakes for the brothers-in-law, a little longer one for Pop, a one-armed hug for Mom…and then he was beside her bed, looming above her, bending over her… Reaching out to touch the bandage on her head, oh, so gently. Saying, with what sounded like a genuine break in his voice, “Evie…baby-look at you.”

Eve drew a shuddering breath, held it and heard herself squeak, “I’m sorry, Sonny, I’m sorry!” And once more and, please God, for the last time that night, burst into tears.

“Hey, what you got to be sorry for?” Sonny crooned; leaning close, brushing her forehead with his fingertips. His breath smelled like Scotch and breath mints. Eve’s stomach heaved, and she fought to control it. “You’re the one got beat up. Hey-they catch the miserable slimeball that did this, I’m gonna kill ‘im with my bare hands.”

“He took my engagement ring… the pearls you gave me-”

“Hey, what’s a pearl? Oyster poop, that’s all. I’ll buy you all the pearls you want. I’ll get you another ring, too. A rock is a rock. Important thing is, you’re gonna be okay. This is never gonna happen to you again, I promise you. I’m gonna make sure of that.”

“Honey-” Eve’s mother was patting her shoulder “-I think we should go now-leave you two alone. Don’t you think so, Pop?” She squeezed Eve’s hand and rubbed her arm as she moved away from her side, pausing to smile tearily at her past Sonny’s broad shoulder as she grabbed at Summer and made shooing motions at Mirabella. “Come, girls-we can come back tomorrow.”

“They’re going to keep me here a couple of days,” Eve said, sniffling. “I guess they’ll be admitting me soon-I’m just waiting for X rays.”

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” her mother assured her, “after you’ve had time to get some rest.” And she was herding everyone out of the exam room amidst foot-shufflings and hand-squeezings and awkward little pats on whatever part of her sheet-shrouded anatomy was closest. Eve caught a glimpse of her sisters’ faces, set and pale, clinging to hers until the last second, until the curtain swished back and she was alone… with Sonny.

It was strange. She could feel her heart pounding, feel her body trembling, feel the sticky dryness of fear in her throat-and yet there was a part of herself that felt detached from all that, as if she were sitting somewhere apart from the scene but watching events with a critical eye-the director, perhaps, judging her own performance. Fear… Okay, the fear is real, so go with that. Make it work for you…

“Sonny, the wedding, our beautiful wedding… all our plans-”

“Shh… Hey, what’d I tell you? It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know what happened. The last thing I remember, I’d opened the champagne-I had this bottle I’d been saving, you know?-and I was going to find you. There was a little time before the ceremony, and I thought we could…” Sickness rose suddenly in her throat. Sonny was leaning down, his face blocking out the light as he pressed his lips to her undamaged cheek, then to the top of her head. The smell of his hair spray and aftershave almost made her gag.

“Shh…it’s okay, baby. We’ll make up for it, I promise you. As soon as you’re outa here-”

“It must have been so awful for you…” Shaking like a leaf, she felt herself lift her arms and twine them around his neck…

In a windowless room not far away, Jake watched the scene on a hospital security monitor. He had a knot the size of a baseball in his gut, but his face betrayed only a slight frown of concentration, nothing that would have given him away even if the other two people in the room had been looking at him-which they weren’t. Like his, their eyes were glued to the monitor.

“Scared to death,” Jake’s partner, Burdell “Birdie” Poole, muttered into his knuckles. He had one arm folded across his barrel chest, the other bent at the elbow, the hand fisted and pressed against his mouth, and as he spoke leaned slightly away from the screen, as if by distancing himself from it physically he could disconnect emotionally, as well. Birdie looked, with his buzz haircut, slightly harassed look and gradually expanding waistline, like the family man he was. He kept a picture of his patient wife, Marjorie-a saint, in Jake’s opinion, and probably the only genuinely happy cop’s wife he knew-and their four chubby children on his desk and carried snapshots of them in his wallet When it came to women and kids he had a soft spot a mile wide. And a pit bull toughness when it came to the bad asses of the world that made Jake glad they were on the same side.

Now Birdie exhaled through his nostrils. “She’s shakin’ like a leaf-you can see it from here. She’s gonna blow it…

“Maybe not… maybe not.” His supervisor, Don Coffee, was leaning toward the bank of monitors, his weight on one forearm while the fingers of the other hand beat an erratic tattoo on the countertop, eyes riveted on the screen. Without turning his head, he said, “Redfield, you know the man-is he buying it?”

Jake snorted. The fact was, he did know Sonny Cisneros-just well enough to know there was no way in hell to know what the man was thinking. The guy was a sociopath-a man without a conscience. He played by nobody’s rules except his own.

Aloud, he said, “Why wouldn’t he buy it? Sure she’s shaking-she gets beat up and thrown into a Dumpster on the way to her own wedding, leaves the guy standing at the altar, no explanation, and now she’s facing him for the first time? Hell, be strange if she wasn’t shaking.” He knew his voice sounded like a junkyard dog’s growl, but didn’t make any effort to clear it or ease the tension in his jaws. The two men in the room with him were used to him tightening up whenever Cisneros’s name came into the conversation.

Right now, though, there was a lot more going on inside him than just the usual teeth-clenching edginess. There was that brassy tang at the back of his throat, for one thing-he wanted this to work so badly, he could taste it. And something else-that knot in his belly, which was something he didn’t remember feeling before. Cold-no, not cold…white-hot, as if it would burn right through him. He’d felt it back in his apartment, when his witness had put it into words-the fact that she’d slept with Cisneros.

What the hell was the matter with him? Of course she’d slept with the man-she was marrying him, wasn’t she? But whenever the thought came into his mind, he felt the knot… the cold fire in his belly. Right now, watching the two of them together, seeing that blond, bandaged head next to Cisneros’s and those slender arms twined around his thick neck, those big, dark-blue eyes closed…he felt the fire eating its way through his guts… into his chest… all but eating him alive. He knew he should probably stop watching for the sake of his own mental health, if nothing else, but he didn’t. For some reason he couldn’t take his eyes from the screen.

“You really think she could pull this off?” Coffee asked, swiveling to look at him. “It’s a hell of a risk-you know that, don’t you? Are you sure she’ll even agree to go along with it? What we’d be asking her to do would be dangerous even for a trained agent. She’s a civilian and she’s vulnerable-”

“She’ll go along with it.” Jake’s eyes burned in their sockets as he watched Cisneros pull back from the bed, watched his hand, winking with gold and diamonds, slide lingeringly across the woman’s breasts. He felt her shrinking in the depths of his soul. “She’s tougher than she looks,” he growled.

Cisneros was leaving, finally. Jake watched as he moved to the curtains… watched Eve give him a wan and teary smile…blow him a kiss. And then she was alone, and he saw her body shudder with revulsion, and her eyes, wide-open and staring, now, darken with rage until they looked like two holes burned into marble.

“She’ll go along with it,” Jake said softly, his heart quickening within him.

“Seems to me she’s between a rock and a hard place,” Birdie said. “She’s got to go back to the guy-how’ll it look if she doesn’t? But can you imagine what it’s gonna be like for her, knowing what she knows?” He shook his head.

“That’s why she’ll do it,” Jake said. “Because she’s got no choice.”

“I think you’re jumping to conclusions, Bell,” Summer said in an undertone as she and Mirabella hurried across the hospital parking lot, once again bringing up the rear. The night was moving along toward the wee hours and the low-country fog was already coming in, swirling around the light posts and settling like crystal dust onto the hoods and windshields of parked cars. “Of course she’d be upset-”

“Not upset-afraid. You saw her face.” Mirabella’s voice was low-pitched, as well, but staccato with impotent fury. “I’m telling you, she’s scared of him. Scared to death. We have to do something. We can’t just let her-”

Her sister’s hand clutched her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “You can’t mean you think he did that to her. Bella, that’s just ridiculous. On their wedding day? And even if he did, Evie would never put up with such a thing-never. She’d have him in jail so fast, it’d make your head swim!”

Mirabella grudgingly conceded, “Maybe not But some-thing’s not right, I can feel it. You saw her face, Sumz. She didn’t want us to leave her alone with him. I just wish I knew what the hell’s going on. If she’s in some kind of trouble-”

“If Evie was in trouble, she’d tell us,” Summer said in a shaky voice. She was hugging herself against the dampness and chill, but shivering anyway. Her face looked pinched and unhappy. “I’m sure she would. We’re her family, after all.”

“Would she?” said Mirabella, her tone softly accusing. “You didn’t.”