Born Wild

Had Bill really likened her to a china doll? Had he really agreed with that comparison? It was hard to believe either of them could’ve been so far off the mark, like, not even on the same freakin’ playing field. Because Eve Edens was proving to be one of the toughest, most courageous women Mac had ever met. And ol’ Billy-boy didn’t know it yet—or maybe the guy just didn’t want to admit it to himself—but he was a complete goner where she was concerned. At the moment, the dude was literally vibrating beside him while watching Eve approach, strung tighter than a piano wire. And his expression? Well, if possessiveness had a particular look, then it was the one wall-papered all over Wild Bill’s face.

Mac wondered if the man realized he instinctively reached for Eve when she stopped in front of him. Pulling her under his arm and tucking her in close, he asked, “Are you okay?” while bending to press his nose into her hair, inhaling the fragrance of her shampoo like nicotine addicts inhale secondary smoke.

G-O-N-E-R. What does that spell? Bill Reichert…

Eve pulled back to look up at him, and from the expression on her face, Bill wasn’t the only one running for mayor of Lovey Dovey Land. In fact, if Mac listened real close, he imagined he could hear Eve making those sad, whimpering puppy dog noises. Of course, Bill was the big, handsome guy who’d been trying to help her and protect her for the last couple of days, so Mac could totally get why Eve was pulling the whole hearts and flowers and soft sighs routine. As far as he could figure, she’d placed Bill in the role of real life superhero, which, honestly, Mac could sort of agree with. Unlike Dale Pennyworth, Wild Bill didn’t need a weird bodysuit to make him heroic. His personal attributes did that for him: courage, honor, loyalty…

Although if Bill’s the superhero, that makes you the trusty sidekick, a voice whispered.

Okay, so he didn’t particularly like the sound of that. After all, everyone wanted to be the hero of his own script. And he was totally going to chalk up wanting to be the hero of his own script as the reason why he didn’t pull away when Delilah sidled next to him, tentatively reaching for his hand. He laced his fingers with hers, giving them a squeeze as he tried to convey his support and perhaps lend a little bit of comfort. Then again, with one of her luscious boobs pressed against the back of his arm, it was kind of hard to think comforting and supportive thoughts and—

For the love of Christ. Pull your head out of the gutter, McMillan, he mentally groused at himself, and stop being such a cockstain.

Delilah pressed closer.

All right, so cockstain it was, because he couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything other than the fact that he thought maybe, just maybe, he could feel her nipple rubbing against his triceps.

And so much for being the superhero of his own script. Unless, of course, he was dressed as Batman in the porno movie playing in his head. Shit.

“Is there anything I or the Chicago Police Department can do for you, ladies?” Chief Washington asked, and right, so that did it. That was enough to distract Mac from the feel of Delilah’s warm hand laced with his, to take his mind—kinda, sorta, maybe—off the sensation of her breast pressing against his arm. Because if he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes, he wouldn’t have believed the man standing beside him, dark face as smooth and serene as an angel’s, was the same guy who’d just accused them of working for a government blow-job factory.

“You can find the thugs who shot up my bar and killed Buzzard,” Delilah said, her usually breathy, sex-star voice sounded hoarse, belying the fact that she’d been crying, freakin’ crying her pretty green eyes out, while she’d been giving her statement.

Right. And he’d been thinking about her boobs. He really was a degenerate. Worse than that. A shit-heel. A bona fide, grade-A shit-heel…

“We’re doing everything we can,” Washington assured her. “We’ve got alerts in to all the local hospitals and clinics. If a man comes in with shot pellets in his leg, we’ll be the first to know. And we’ve sent a sample of his blood for DNA testing. If he’s in the system, we’ll have his identity in seven to ten days.”

Okay, and shit-heel or not, Mac knew seven to ten days was probably optimistic. Because, unlike Bill, he was well-schooled on how slowly things worked outside the high-tech realm of top-tier government intelligence. So, despite the police chief’s assurance, if the CPD had the results of the DNA test by the end of two weeks, Mac would be shocked.

“And my father and ex-husband?” Eve asked, staring up at Washington with those wide blue eyes of hers. They were bruised and, at the same time, so innocent looking. Eyes like that, women like that, were the reasons men went to war. And, yessiree. No two ways about it. Wild Bill was toast. Just cover him in butter and jelly and slap him on a plate. “What are you going to do with them?” she asked.

“We’re going to question them and figure out which one of them is behind the attacks,” Washington assured her. “It appears they both have a motive to—”

“Wait,” Eve interrupted, shaking her head and looking as if the only thing holding her up was the fact that Bill had his arm around her. She lifted her hand to start gnawing on the side of her thumb. “What motive does Blake have again?”

Washington opened his mouth, but Mac beat him to the punch. “If what he said was true,” he explained, “then it’s possible your father could use your life insurance and inheritance to save their bad business deal, thereby savin’ Parish’s ass in the process.”

“But then why would he come out and admit the business deal was a bust?” Her brows formed a perfect V. “Why wouldn’t he try to keep his motive a secret?”

“Maybe to throw us off the scent,” Washington said. “Maybe he thought if he pointed the finger at your father, we wouldn’t look as closely at him.”

“I hate to add more fuel to the fire,” Delilah murmured as she released Mac’s hand and took a small step away. No shit, the muscle in the back of his arm actually twitched with displeasure, and his deserted fingers instinctively curled into a fist. And that was why he’d always gone out of his way to avoid touching Delilah. Because the feel of her, the feel of all that pale skin was like crack. And one hit was enough to have him hooked for life. “But isn’t it possible they’re actually working together? By each of them saying it’s the other, it muddies the waters all around. And this business deal, whatever it is, could—”

“Keystone Property Development,” Washington interrupted.

“Which is what?” Eve asked, not batting a lash at the idea that her father and ex-husband might have teamed up to have her murdered. Either she’d already considered the possibility herself, or nothing more could surprise her today. If Mac was the betting kind, he’d lay ten-to-one odds that it was probably both. “I’m sorry, Chief Washington, but I didn’t know Blake and my father were doing business together, so I’m at a loss here. Would you mind filling me in on what you know?”

“Well, right now I don’t know much,” Washington admitted. “Between the time Bill initially called me with suspicions about your father and the time he and your ex-husband turned themselves in, I had one of the detectives on the corporate investigations task force pull some quick public records. The most he was able to discover was that a few years ago, after Blake took over Parish Properties following his father’s death, he and your father teamed up on a joint venture. Parish Properties and Edens Enterprises are now one large corporation operating under the name Keystone Property Development. Apparently, they went gangbusters for a while, buying up vacant lots and old buildings all over the city. I think they were riding the wave of the building boom. Then the housing bubble burst, and they were left with squat. Contracts dried up. Demand for new construction fell through the floor. And they’ve been hemorrhaging money ever since.”

“And my life-insurance policy and inheritance would be enough to cover their losses?” Eve asked, her brow furrowed.

“We’ll find out more once we dig a little deeper,” Washington assured her. “And we will dig deeper this time. I promise you that.”

Yeah, and Mac knew these types of cases could drag on for months, sometimes years. Apparently Washington knew it too, because he added, “And who knows. Maybe the guy Miss Fairchild shot will be in the system, and we’ll be able to cut him a deal if he agrees to tell us who hired him.” Which would be the better and certainly quicker solution all around. “But in the meantime, I’m gonna assign you around-the-clock surveillance.”

Eve’s eyes widened, her jaw falling open like it was attached to her head by loose hinges. “Surveillance? Do you really think that’s necessary?”