Page 18

Chapter 17

The sun was just cresting over the horizon as I sat on the back veranda with my phone in my hand. Now that I had a cell and access to the internet, I typed Evie Bouvier into the search engine, and my mouth dropped open at the number of results that popped up on my screen.

Now I understood what Dane was talking about when he said my abduction was “high profile.”

Tapping one from a national news site, I watched a press conference done shortly after I’d disappeared. FBI Special Agent Iris Loyola recounted what they knew, which wasn’t much. Evie Bouvier has disappeared. No, we’re not ruling out the possibility of human traffickers. Yes, we are exploring all possibilities. Blah, blah, blah.

When she was done, my older brother, Auburn, spoke passionately, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the sides of the podium, and a tear slipped down my cheek. I love you, big bro. I’m here. I’m okay. And I miss you.

Even after watching the press conference twice, I couldn’t have told you what Agent Loyola looked like. My eyes were focused on my family lined up on one side of the stage. I could tell Auburn was trying to be the strong one, but I could read the pain in his blue eyes that all three of the Bouvier offspring had inherited from our father.

Looking at my dad almost killed me. He looked at least ten years older, his handsome face haggard, and I had only been gone for weeks. My mother looked like a million bucks in an expensive white suit. Of course, she was dressed to the nines since there were cameras present, though she did dab at her eyes with a starched handkerchief a few times. Might have been faking it. Who knew with her? She was so cold, it was hard to tell.

But Monty, oh, my sweet little brother, Monty. The absolute misery etched on his face had the tears coming fast and hard down my cheeks.

Auburn, as the oldest, was the serious one, president of everything in high school. I was the quintessential middle child, the loud one who lived to make everyone around me laugh. Monty was quieter, more sensitive. He was a football player—and a damn good one—but his passion was drawing.

The three of us were going to run our family’s business as a team. Whenever I could get out of this mess I found myself in.

I clicked on another link, and my five friends appeared on-screen. They were being interviewed as a group, Juliette and Arya in the front with Madalynn, Emersyn, and Holly sitting on slightly higher stools behind them. The last picture we’d all taken together was projected on the wall behind them, and I almost didn’t recognize myself standing with my friends in that lilac swimsuit. I’d grown so accustomed to my new Eden look in the past few weeks.

Juli was taking the lead, doing most of the talking in her sweet Texas drawl. She recounted the creepy guy who had been trying to give us drinks and wondered if he could have had something to do with my disappearance. Searching my mind, I tried to picture the man’s face, but it had been too dark to see clearly. Could he have been Ethan, one of my kidnappers? The body mass was right, so… maybe?

Didn’t really matter anyway since Ethan and Felipe were both dead now. Damiano’s face that night, so cold when he stared down at the two dead bodies, sparked in my memory, and I shivered. I realized now I’d probably been in shock; otherwise, I definitely would have freaked the hell out.

My attention was drawn back to the screen when the interviewer said, “I’m sorry, Holly. I didn’t hear what you said.”

The camera zoomed in on my friend’s face, and twin tears snaked down her pretty cheeks. “I said it was… it was all my fault. I-I should have gone with her to the ice machine. I should—” Her comment was cut off by a sob that shuddered her entire body, and I shook my head back and forth.

“No, Holly. It wasn’t your fault,” I whispered to the phone. “I was the stupid one, going outside by myself. It wasn’t your fault.” But she continued to cry, her plaintive wails of pain stabbing me in the heart as Emersyn wrapped a comforting arm around her.

“Fuck,” I muttered, clicking out of the video, unable to watch it for even a second more. Then, like a dummy, I tapped on another one. My dad was being interviewed by the hosts of a morning show, looking somber in a black dress shirt and no tie. My heart ached to reach out and wrap him in a huge hug.

I watched my picture appear on the lower half of the screen as the hosts asked him questions about the investigation. The phone number for a tip line scrolled constantly across the bottom.

Then the male interviewer asked, “How are you and your family doing, Mr. Bouvier?”

His smile held no humor whatsoever. “Chloe is upset, of course. Auburn has been my rock. He’s stronger than any twenty-three-year-old has a right to be, but it’s hard for him. He adores Evie.”

“And your younger son, Monty?”

My father shook his head. “Monty and Evie are so close in age, so this has been really hard on him. He’s… not doing well at all with this.” I gritted my teeth against the ripping ache that was building inside me. My poor Monty.

The female interviewer patted his hand. “What about you, sir?”

“Me?” Dad shook his head and stared down at his lap for a long moment before looking back up with damp eyes. “I’d like to say I am doing okay, but that would be a lie. Evie has been my sunshine since the day she was born, and I—”

His voice broke, and a waterfall of emotion welled up in me and escaped in the form of tears that tracked down my face. “Daddy,” I whispered, bringing the phone closer to my face so I could see him better through the torrent.

“I don’t know what to do without my Evie,” he finished.

“I understand you’re offering a million dollar reward for any information regarding your daughter?” the woman asked, her voice kind. A hiccuping gasp escaped my lips. A million dollars?

The camera zoomed in on my father’s face, and he looked directly into the lens, speaking to the viewing audience. “Yes, I am. If anyone knows anything, please call the tip line. I’m begging you. And forget the million dollars. I will give you every last penny I have if you’ll just… bring… my baby girl… home.” The last words were delivered in a series of broken heaves as his face crumpled with raw pain.

That’s when I shattered like I was made of glass and someone had just sucker punched me in the sternum. Doubling over at the waist, I buried my face against my knees and finally let out everything I’d been holding inside. All the worry about my family had come to a head and popped with an explosion of anguish.

I cried. Hard. So hard I was worried I’d crack a rib or two. And I kind of wished I would. Maybe then my physical pain would override the pure misery inside my heart.

Heaving breaths expanded and then deflated my lungs, over and over, until I became aware of my father’s voice again. Lifting my head, I yelped when I found Dane sitting on the floor of the veranda in front of me, his gaze on the screen of my phone.

He looked up and… the fucker smiled.

“You like seeing me like this?” I snapped, rubbing harsh lines up and down my face to dry my tears. My cheeks were heated as much from embarrassment as from my crying.

“Actually, I do,” the evil spawn replied, and I huffed out a sound of outrage. “But not for the reason you’re thinking.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Then why?”

He looked back down at the phone for a long moment before turning it off and setting it on the iron table beside me. “You’re very lucky to have people who care so much about you, Eden.”

My forehead crinkled when I remembered he didn’t have a dad like mine. No, his father had tried to kill him. “I’m sorry your father is a piece of shit.”

Dane’s lips quirked up on one side. “You don’t know the half of it. Luca thinks I’m dead, yet he’s not even having a memorial service for his own son. Fiero said he told everyone I moved to Italy.”

My fingers itched to reach out and stroke his face like I’d seen Jamie do so many times to Robert. But that seemed way too intimate, and this man was not really my husband. He was a person though, no matter how much I despised him, so I reached for his hand and squeezed.

“That’s horrible, Dane. Your life should matter to him.”

“Well, it doesn’t,” he said, holding tighter to my hand when I tried to let go. Sensing he needed the human contact in that moment, I allowed it. “And I hate seeing you cry, E. But I am happy to see you finally showing some emotion. You’ve had so much shit happen to you recently, and you never cry. You needed to let all that out.”

He’d called me E, and I kinda liked it. “I feel like crying a lot, but I’m trying to be brave.” As if summoned, a rogue tear escaped down my left cheek.

Dane’s face softened and he shook his head with a wry smile. “You are brave, sweetheart. The bravest person I know.” He reached up with his free hand and swiped a thumb over the wetness on my face. “You’ve been through a kidnapping, been told you and your family are in danger, had to change your hair and your name. Fuck, you even had to learn to put contacts in to make your eyes brown.”

“That might have been the worst part,” I said with a half-laugh.

His hands were still on me, one gripping my hand and the other resting against my cheek. “The point is that you shouldn’t hold all that shit in, E. You need to release it from time to time. I promise I’m not judging you. I just don’t want you to…”

He paused, and I found myself needing to hear what he was about to say. “You don’t want me to what?”

Dane’s eyes shifted away, staring over my shoulder as his gaze seemed to defocus. “My mother killed herself.” His voice was barely audible.

Oh. God.

“I’m not suicidal, Dane,” I assured him. His attention flashed to me, and I could see the vulnerability on his face, something I hadn’t seen before from him. “I’m not. I’m just sad, and I’m angry, and I’m… frustrated as hell.”

“Then show me that,” he said vehemently, his voice hoarse. “I have no idea what you’re thinking at any time except that you hate me. You… can you please just give me something—show me what you’re feeling from time to time—so I don’t constantly worry? Please?” That last word was spoken quietly, like a prayer, and I couldn’t help but nod my head.

“Okay, I’ll try.” I watched as his shoulders sagged in relief. Then I rolled my eyes and sighed. “And I don’t entirely hate you. You’re kind of okay sometimes.”

“Thanks, wifey.” His grin was a hundred percent mischief.

“Dear god, shut up,” I whined. “I take it all back. I hate you again.”

The low, deep chuckle from his chest told me he enjoyed aggravating me, but then he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Would you please not watch any more of those videos unless I’m with you?”

This man… this man was a contradiction of the highest proportion. He was gruff, a complete asshole, and a stone-cold killer. But somehow, he seemed to actually care about me.

So I replied with one bob of my head. “Will you tell me about your mom?” Dane froze, and I could feel him shutting down, could literally see the shutters closing over his brown eyes. “It’s a two-way street, Dane. You can’t ask me to be vulnerable and then turn into a block of ice when I ask you a personal question.”

He exhaled and stood, and I thought I’d pushed him too far. “Go get dressed, and we’ll take a walk on the beach.”

Sombrero Beach was only about a block away, and we toed off our shoes and left them beneath a tall palm tree when we reached the edge. I shuffled my feet, feeling the grit scrape the soles. I’d always loved being barefoot in the sand.

Dane reached for my hand as we took a left, and I stiffened. “Married, remember?” he said, winding his fingers between mine. It was warm and strong, and I hated that I liked it.

We walked for a couple minutes before he finally began speaking. “My sister’s name was Amara. She was two years older than me. When she turned eighteen, my father arranged for her to marry a man from one of the other crime families in New York. As a kind of good will gesture.”

“That’s disgusting,” I commented.

“I agree, but I think we’re both aware that Luca’s moral compass points due south, straight toward hell.” He guided us a little closer to the water as we walked. “Her new husband, Desmond, was heavy into drug trafficking, and after about a year, I started noticing changes in my sister.”

My lips twisted to the side. “She started taking drugs?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Amara was very kindhearted and way too good for that asshole, but she was also gullible. Fiero and I both tried to tell our father that she didn’t need to be with him, but of course, he didn’t listen.” Dane stopped our progress, turning to look out over the water. “Desmond started her out with pot and then eventually got her hooked on the harder stuff. She overdosed on her twentieth birthday.”

Turning my head, I pressed my forehead against Dane’s bicep. “I’m so sorry. You were just eighteen?”

“Yeah,” came his quiet reply. “My father ordered a hit on Desmond. Didn’t even fucking do it himself, like Amara’s life wasn’t worth the effort to him.” His muscles flexed in anger. “I would have done it with a smile on my face, but he ordered one of his goons to do it instead.”

“You were barely an adult yourself,” I protested.

Dane scoffed out a humorless laugh. “Welcome to my world, Eden. I killed my first man when I was fifteen.” My stomach rolled over in my abdomen. Fifteen? I felt his hand tighten on mine. “Don’t get the wrong idea about me. I’m not saying I’m an angel, but it’s not like I walked around whacking people every day or anything.”

“So what did you do all day if you weren’t a professional whacker?”

He snorted and shook his head. “I worked in one of my father’s legitimate businesses. I managed a nightclub.” We inched forward until the cool water lapped at our toes. “You caught me on a bad day with those two piss stains who hurt you. Before that, I hadn’t gotten shooty for over a year.”

For some reason, that made me feel marginally better. We watched as a seagull swooped down and skimmed the water before rising into the air with a silver fish in his beak. Dane’s gaze followed the graceful bird until he was out of site with his prize.

With a long exhale, he spoke in a hushed tone. “My mother was devastated by what happened to my sister, and she shut down. Wouldn’t leave the house, barely talked to anyone. On the six-month anniversary of Amara’s death, she swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills.”

I had no words for that. I’m sorry didn’t even come close to being adequate, so I turned and wrapped my arms around Dane’s waist, trying to give him even a little bit of comfort. He returned the embrace, his arms warm against the slight morning chill.

He lowered his cheek to the top of my head, and we stood like that for a long time before he finally said, “You’re short.”

I chuckled and looked up at him. “No, you’re just freakishly tall.” His eyes looked soft in the early light of the day, like someone had added the tiniest splash of cream to their coffee. Something fluttered deep in my gut, and I averted my gaze. “Will you tell me a good memory with your mom and sister?”

From my peripheral vision, I saw Dane turn his head toward the water.

“My best memories of my mom are from our kitchen. The house I grew up in was just a house, not a home. It was like living in the Vatican with all the artwork and elaborate decor. As kids, we weren’t allowed to touch anything, but Mama reigned over the kitchen. That was the only room that held any warmth.”

“If my mother didn’t have to pass through the kitchen to get to the wine cellar, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t even know where to find it,” I commented, and Dane made a sympathetic noise.

“One time Amara and I were helping Mama make muffins. She helped us mix up the batter and then got a phone call. She told us to spray the muffin tins with cooking spray while she went in the other room. We didn’t know how much spray to use, so we looked at the recipe. It said to fill the muffin tins two-thirds full. Of course, it meant with batter, but we didn’t know that.”

“You didn’t!” I scoffed, looking up to see Dane’s face creased in amusement.

“Oh yes, we did. We sprayed a shit-ton of it into each opening. When Mama came back, we told her we ran out.” He jiggled one hand, as if shaking an empty can. “She laughed so hard she had to sit down.”

“That’s hilarious. I hope your baking skills have improved since then.”

His chin lifted. “I’m an excellent baker. Mama always said I should open my own bakery one day, but…” Dane’s words trailed off as he inhaled a lungful of salty air. “Family business and all that, you know?”

I nodded my understanding. “Of course Dad wants Auburn, Monty, and I to all work for Bouvier , but he would never insist on it. He’s always said we’re welcome into the family business, but he also wants us to be happy.”

“Family happiness is not a priority for my father,” he said wryly. “Do you think all three of you will work for Bouvier ?”

“For sure. Auburn is slated to take over as CEO when our father retires, and Monty plans to go to college and then become a designer for the Bouvier brand. Since I’m a people person, I’m going into marketing and advertising.”

“Does it bother you that you weren’t considered for CEO?” Dane asked.

“Nah, not a bit,” I told him with complete honesty. “Neither Monty nor I have any desire to run the entire company. That’s all in Auburn’s wheelhouse, and we’re happy to let him have it. He’s kind of a bossy butt.”

I stopped and squatted, inspecting a scrape in the sand just beyond the edge of the surf.

“What is it?” Dane asked.

“I was looking for turtle tracks. Loggerheads start nesting on the Florida beaches in April, which isn’t too far off. That’s not one though.”

“You like turtles?”

“They’re my favorite animal,” I admitted. “I know they’re not very exciting because they’re slow, but that’s what I like about them. They take their time. Turtles have this hard outer shell, but they’re softer on the inside.”

Kind of like you , I almost said but stopped myself.

“Guess I never thought of it like that.”

“Loggerheads don’t reach sexual maturity until about age thirty-five.” I told him as we continued walking. “They spend the majority of their time in the water, but females lay their eggs on land. Their nests contain an average of one hundred eggs.”

An Asian woman in a lime-green tank top and black running shorts was bent over stretching but stood when we walked by. “Are you talking about loggerheads?”

I turned to face her. “Um, yes.”

She swiped a wrist over her sweaty forehead. “You’re very knowledgeable.”

Dane released my hand and looped an arm around my shoulders, tucking me protectively against his side. “Can we help you with something?” he asked, and I could hear the wary tone in his voice.

Apparently, the woman could too because she held up both hands, palms out. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help but overhear. I have turtle radar.”

She wiggled her fingers beside one ear, and I laughed, holding out a hand for a shake. “Nice to meet a fellow Testudines enthusiast. I’m Eden.”

“Dane,” he said, also shaking the woman’s hand.

“I’m Anna Hsiao. I work for the Florida Department of Environmental Protection. Are you two surveyors?”

My brow creased. “I don’t know what that is.”

“As you probably know,” she said with a wink, “loggerheads nest primarily at night. Our surveyors walk the beaches early in the morning, looking for nesting sites. If they find one, they notify us.”

“Then what happens?” Dane asked.

“Then we’re able to limit activity in that particular area. Pesky humans can disturb nesting sites, so the F.D.E.P. does our best to protect them.” Anna rolled her eyes like she wasn’t also a human. At least not a pesky one.

“That’s really awesome,” I said, loving that there was someone out there who cared about those beautiful animals and their eggs. My voice turned wistful. “That would be a dream, getting to help the turtles.”

“Wellllll…” Anna drew out, lifting one dark eyebrow. “We actually have a training class tomorrow. It’s the last one of the season.”

Dane’s hand tightened around my shoulder, and he shocked the shit out of me with his next words. “How do my wife and I sign up?”