you waited inside, Etain, out of sight.”
“Good idea.” Her chest tightened with the knowledge that at least one person had managed a picture of her; she’d felt it. She wondered if the early Native Americans had a similar awareness, if that’s why they’d thought the white man’s cameras stole pieces of their soul.
She didn’t want more media attention. She was lucky the lid seemed to still be on when it came to her being taken by the Harlequin Rapist. But sending the Elves looking for whoever had managed the picture didn’t seem wise.
In the gathered crowd Anton had slipped away, leaving his Harley pock-marked by bullets, its tires flat and seat lined with holes. The remaining pictures lay scattered on the asphalt like litter, but the steely clamp of Eamon’s hand around her arm prevented her from picking them up.
She noticed his car as he guided her past it and into the shelter. It hadn’t escaped the spray of bullets.
Blinds allowed them to see out but not be seen as the first patrol car arrived, lights flashing and siren screaming. There was no point in trying to make an escape, though she contemplated it. A second patrol car arrived, followed by a TV van.
“Peordh,” Eamon said. “Where did you hear the word, Etain? Why did you ask about it when you did?”
His voice was smooth, cool, water without a ripple in it, but she sensed the riptides beneath the surface and shrugged, preferring no answer than to struggle with a lie.
The hand on her arm tightened while his other cupped her cheek, the heat of it offset by the chill in his eyes and the frost in his voice. “You’ll answer the question I’ve put to you, Etain.”
He touched his forehead to hers. “It was not a rational decision, Etain. In the end, it may well cost more than one Elf their lives.”
“Your people?”
Mention of the unmet Elf gave her an excuse to continue avoiding talk of Peordh. She turned her attention to the dark-haired man—one as mouth-watering as all the other Elves she’d seen.
“Thanks for the save,” she said.
He gave a small bow. “Lady.”
“Peordh, Etain,” Eamon repeated.
“It popped into my head.” True enough.
Through the window she saw Justine speak with a policeman, and that policeman speak into his shoulder mic before heading in the direction of the shelter door. Etain had never been so glad at the prospect of being interrogated. “Looks like they’re ready to talk to us.”
He didn’t say more about the rune. She hoped the reprieve wasn’t temporary. He didn’t protest when the uniformed policeman entered and led her away, but with Liam present, hidden in some obscure shadow, why would he.
Detectives joined the uniformed cop. What she had to say took only a few minutes. She’d seen nothing. She knew nothing. She could only offer a guess, that Anton was the target given what had happened at the Cur’s hangout. But they kept her, making her repeat herself, a stalling tactic she understood as soon as the captain stepped into the room, dismissing the other cops.
She tensed at being alone with him, tried desperately to blockade her heart against a rush of hope. But that hope crashed easily through the barrier she’d erected when he crossed to her with quick strides, hugging her fiercely.
“Christ, Etain. Enough of this. Enough. You could have been killed.”
Impossible with Eamon at her side but she couldn’t give her father that reassurance. “I’m okay.”
“For now. I’m putting you into protective custody.”
“No.” It wasn’t even a remote possibility. “Eamon’s got top-notch security. He’ll keep me safe.”
Her father pulled away. “For how long? Until it no longer suits the Dunnes?”
“Despite what you think, Eamon is not involved with Niall and Denis any more than Cathal is involved in their business.”
“I’ll cede you Eamon, but not Cathal. I’ll believe you didn’t knowingly become an accessory to murder, but he made you one regardless. Don’t let the Dunnes destroy you. It’s not too late, Etain. I can help you out of this mess. The first step is going into protective custody.”
The burst of warmth she’d felt at his greeting and hug faded. Ugly suspicion crept in.
If she was in protective custody, rumors could be circulated, making her bait, a target for Cathal’s father and uncle, a trap set. Or the prospect of having those rumors circulated, and the possibility of an ordered hit, could be a threat used to get her to admit to having touched Brianna then drawn the scenes from her memories and given them to Denis.
Etain couldn’t forget those moments of fear and horror when the police had arrived at her doorstep, dropping her to the floor and cuffing her. Of being taken to a place that held remembered terror and locked in a small confined space, as if they’d known it could break her. As if they’d been told that by the man in front of her, or by Parker. The captain had never been shades of gray when it came to the law and his duty to it.
She jammed her hands into her pockets, because she couldn’t risk touching him. “I don’t want to argue with you. Am I free to go now?”
“Etain.” He swallowed, and her own throat tightened at the tears she thought she heard in his voice.
Reaching out, he gripped her upper arms, and though it wasn’t skin-to-skin contact, it seemed as though his fear was real, pulsing into her, creating a fist around her heart that squeezed and released in time to the subtle tightening and release of his hands. “You’re going to get yourself killed. It’s a miracle you didn’t die today. You can’t count on surviving the next time.”
“There won’t be a next time. Today I was in the wrong place with the wrong person. I admit it. Okay. Satisfied?”
“No.” He shook her to emphasize the point. “This drive-by may have had nothing to do with the slaughter in Oakland. The Dunnes killed four boys, one of them was a Brazilian diplomat’s son. You can’t know that boy’s family didn’t have ties to one of the South American cartels. You can’t be certain this drive-by wasn’t retribution. Accept the offer of protective custody. Please, Etain. Right now. We leave immediately.”
“I can’t.” She nearly added Dad, but knew that’d only make what she had to say next even worse. “I
The hands on her arms fell away. “This is just the beginning of the trouble, Etain.”
He left the room first. She followed, searching the shelter and finding Eamon and Cathal together after passing the officer who’d apparently been making sure they remained at the far end of the building while she was taken into protective custody.
They came instantly toward her, emotions rising like a tidal wave and slamming through her at their approach. She wrapped her arms around their waists the instant they arrived, closing her eyes and savoring their heat and strength.
There hadn’t been time for this after the shooting, with the rush of witnesses and the need to get out of sight of cameras and reporters. “My fault,” she admitted. It seemed her past was coming back in a dark rush.
“Bullshit,” Cathal said, slamming his mouth down on hers, tongue surging past quickly parted lips to rub and twine with hers. He didn’t care who saw. Who knew he was sharing her with Eamon, because Eamon’s kisses along her neck made it plain they were both her lovers.
Jesus. They’d all come close to dying.
Not the truth. Not today with Eamon and the other Elves present. Intellectually he understood there’d never been any possibility of it, but that didn’t prevent his body from believing otherwise.
He wanted to take her back to his place and make love to her. More than that, he wanted to keep her there, safe from her own choices. And the fierceness of that desire, and that it was so similar to Eamon’s, was enough to bring him up short.
