“There’s my girl.” He picked me up in a hug that had my feet dangling above the floor. “I’ve missed you like crazy.”
I started crying. I couldn’t help it. Being with him again was the last emotional straw.
“Hey.” He rocked me. “What’s with the tears?”
I wrapped my arms tighter around his neck, so grateful to have him with me, knowing all the other troubles in my life would fade into the background while he was around.
“I missed you like crazy, too,” I said, sniffling.
We took a cab back to my place. On the ride over, my dad asked me the same sort of investigative questions about Cary’s attack as the detectives had asked Cary in the hospital. I tried to keep him distracted with that discussion when we pulled up outside my building, but it didn’t do any good.
My dad’s eagle eyes took in the modern glass overhang attached to the brick facade of the building. He stared at the doorman, Paul, who touched the brim of his hat and opened the door for us. He studied the front desk and concierge, and rocked back on his heels as we waited for the elevator.
He didn’t say anything and kept his poker face on, but I knew he was thinking about how much my digs must cost in a city like New York. When I showed him into my apartment, his sweeping gaze took in the size of the place. The massive windows had a stunning view of the city, and the flat-screen television mounted on the wall was just one of the many top-of-the-line electronics on display.
He knew I couldn’t afford the place on my own. He knew my mother’s husband was providing for me in ways he would never be able to. And I wondered if he thought about my mother, and how what she needed was also beyond his means.
“The security here is really tight,” I told him by way of explanation. “It’s impossible to get past the front desk if you’re not on the list and a resident can’t be reached to vouch for you.”
My dad exhaled in a rush. “That’s good.”
“Yeah. I don’t think Mom could sleep at night otherwise.”
That made some of the tension leave his shoulders.
“Let me show you to your room.” I led him down the hallway to the guest room suite. It had its own bathroom and mini-bar with fridge. I saw him noting those things before he dropped his duffel on the king-size bed. “Are you tired?”
He looked at me. “I know you are. And you have to work today, don’t you? Why don’t we nap for a bit before you have to get up?”
I stifled a yawn and nodded, knowing I could use the couple of hours of shut-eye. “Sounds good.”
“Wake me when you’re up,” he said, rolling his shoulders back. “I’ll make the coffee while you’re getting ready.”
“Awesome.” My voice came husky with suppressed tears. Gideon almost always had coffee waiting for me on days when he’d spent the night, because he got up before me. I missed that little ritual of ours.
Somehow, I’d have to learn to live without it.
Pushing up onto my tiptoes, I kissed my dad’s cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here, Daddy.”
I closed my eyes and clung tightly when he hugged me.
I stepped out of the small market with my bags of grocery ingredients for dinner and frowned at finding Angus idling at the curb. I’d refused a ride in the morning and again when I’d left the Crossfire, and he was still following and shadowing. It was ridiculous. I couldn’t help but wonder if Gideon didn’t want me as a girlfriend anymore, but his neurotic lust for my body meant that he didn’t want anyone else to have me-namely Brett.
As I walked home, I entertained thoughts of having Brett over for dinner instead, imagining Angus having to make that call to Gideon when Brett came strolling up to my place. It was just a quick vengeful fantasy, since I wouldn’t lead Brett on that way and he was in Florida anyway, but it did the trick. My step lightened and when I entered my apartment, I was in my first really good mood in days.
I dumped all the dinner stuff off in the kitchen, then went to find my dad. He was hanging out in Cary’s room playing a video game. Cary worked a nunchuk one-handed, since his other hand was in a cast.
“Woo!” my dad shouted. “Spanked.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Cary shot back, “taking advantage of an invalid.”
“I’m crying a river here.”
Cary looked at me in the doorway and winked. I loved him so much in that moment I couldn’t stop myself from crossing over to him and pressing a kiss to his bruised forehead.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Thank me with dinner. I’m starving.”
I straightened. “I got the goods to make enchiladas.”
My dad looked at me, smiling, knowing I’d need his help. “Yeah?”
“When you’re ready,” I told him. “I’m going to grab a shower.”
Forty-five minutes later, my dad and I were in the kitchen rolling cheese and store-bought rotisserie chicken-my little cheat to save time-into lard-soaked white corn tortillas. In the living room, the CD changer slipped in the next disk and Van Morrison’s soulful voice piped through the surround sound speakers.
“Oh yeah,” my dad said, reaching for my hand and tugging me away from the counter. “Hum-de-rum, hum-de- rum, moondance,” he sang in his deep baritone, twirling me.
I laughed, delighted.
Using the back of his hand against my spine to keep his greasy fingers off me, he swept me into a dance around the island, both of us singing the song and laughing. We were making our second revolution when I noticed the two people standing at the breakfast bar.
My smile fled and I stumbled, forcing my dad to catch me.
“You got two left feet?” he teased, his eyes only on me.
“Eva’s a wonderful dancer,” Gideon interjected, his face arrested in that implacable mask I detested.
My dad turned, his smile fading, too.
Gideon rounded the bar and entered the kitchen. He’d dressed for the occasion in jeans and a Yankees T-shirt. It was a suitably casual choice and a conversation starter, since my dad was a die-hard Padres fan.
“I hadn’t realized she was such a good singer, as well. Gideon Cross,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand.
“Victor Reyes.” My dad waved his shiny fingers. “I’m a bit messy.”
“I don’t mind.”
Shrugging, my dad took his hand and sized him up.
I tossed the dish towel to the guys and made my way over to Ireland, who was positively glowing. Her blue eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” I said, hugging her carefully. “You look gorgeous!”
“So do you!”
It was a fib, but I appreciated it anyway. I hadn’t done anything to my face or hair after my shower, because I knew my dad wouldn’t care and I hadn’t expected Gideon to show up. After all, the last time I’d heard from him had been when he’d said he would meet me at Dr. Petersen’s office.
She looked over at the counter where I’d dumped everything. “Can I help?”
“Sure. Just don’t count calories in your head-it’ll explode.” I introduced her to my dad, who was much warmer to her than he was to Gideon, and then I led her to the sink, where she washed up.
In short order, I had her helping to roll the last few enchiladas, while my dad put the already chilled Dos Equis Gideon had brought into the fridge. I didn’t even bother to wonder how Gideon knew I was serving Mexican food for dinner. I only wondered why he’d invest the time to find out when it was very clear he other things to do-like ditch his appointments.
My dad went to his room to wash up. Gideon came up behind me and put his hands on my waist, his lips brushing over my temple. “Eva.”
I tensed against the nearly irresistible urge to lean into him. “Don’t,” I whispered. “I’d rather we didn’t pretend.”
