Born Wild (5 page)

“What about the bastard?” he demanded, sitting up straighter, barely recognizing his own voice.

“He's a…” She licked her lips. “He's a volunteer firefighter. And he…he does a lot of training with the CFD.”

And just like that, rage exploded inside Bill with the force of a bunker buster. Because even though he and Eve weren't exactly simpatico, the fact remained that nobody, and he meant
nobody,
got away with attempting to turn her into a crispy critter.

“Let's go get him,” he said, his molars aching with the force of his grinding jaw.

“But…but…” Eve blinked rapidly when he pushed up from the table, ready to put an extra hole in Dale WhoTheFuck's head. “Shouldn't we bring this to the police? Or…or the fire department? Or—”

“You mean the same police who've already closed the files on your cases?” he snarled, blowing like a raging bull. Luckily no one at the table was wearing red. “Or the CFD that incorrectly identified your condo fire's point of origin? You think they're going to listen to a couple of motorcycle mechanics?”

“Oh,” Eve said, clueing in to their perilous situation. “I see.” Then she shook her head. “But you're friends with the police chief, right? Couldn't you—”

“Yeah,” this time it was Mac who cut in, “and we want to
stay
friends with him. Which means we can't have him orderin' his subordinates to reinvestigate closed cases based simply on the hunches of a couple of guys from the local motorcycle club.”

“Okay,” she admitted, “but maybe Jeremy—”

“Love, your cousin would be as useless now as he has been all along,” Ace interrupted, and a delicate muscle began to tick in Eve's jaw. “These aren't his cases. Hell, this isn't even his department.”

Used to be, Bill didn't think Eve
owned
a temper. Now he'd go so far as to describe it as, not necessarily hot, but certainly warm. And after Mac told him how she'd stood up to her father earlier? Well, for some reason it just made her all the more desirable. Like he
needed
any more reasons.
Damnit
all
to
hell…

“We're just going to go watch Dale for a while. See if he does anything hinky, anything that we can give Chief Washington as ammunition to reopen your cases,” Bill assured her, even though there was a large part of him that would've preferred storming into the man's house and shoving a pistol against his temple until he spilled his guts. Then again, he wasn't on the battlefield. This was a civilian issue that required a civilian response. Although…even in a civilian situation there was still some room for a little shock and awe if the need arose.

The anticipation of getting his mitts on Dale caused a smile to curve to his lips.

“Oh, goody.” Ace rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Anytime you get that look I know there are fun times ahead…”

Dale Pennyworth's Townhouse

9:35 p.m.

“What do you mean I'm staying here?” Eve demanded, glaring out the rear passenger side window of the Hummer at Dale's broad back as he lumbered down the sidewalk. There he was, pretty as you please, probably strolling down to the corner market to pick up milk or beer or cheese puffs like he hadn't tried to kill her on three separate occasions.

Well…maybe. She still had trouble picturing Dale pouring fuel under her door and setting a match to it. Because, sure, he was mustache creepy, but he'd never really come off as
murderer
creepy.

Then again, she'd been wrong about people before. Her ex-husband for one…

“The restraining order you have against him specifies a fifty-foot buffer,” Billy said, fiddling with something in the mid-sized black duffel bag on his lap.

“That says
he
can't come within fifty feet of
me
,” she insisted as Mac checked the clip on a…she squinted from backseat…it looked like a Glock 22 .40 caliber. And rock on! Her shooting instructor would be so proud of her! “It doesn't say anything about
me
staying away from
him
.”

“Same difference,” Billy muttered, tossing the bag into the back seat with her. Whatever was inside made a clanking noise when it landed, rattling her already frayed nerves.

“But I want to see what he's up to just the same as you,” she declared, scowling at Billy when he swiveled in the driver's seat to frown back at her. “I think I deserve that much after all he's put me through.”

That, and the fact that she was
trying
to be tough. And as far as she could figure, being “tough” meant she couldn't very well sit out here while Billy and Mac ran around doing the dirty work. That's what the
old
Eve would've done, and she'd been vigorously endeavoring to leave that milksop of a woman behind.

“Did you miss the part where we're loading our weapons?” Bill demanded. “This guy could be headed out to catch a movie, or he could be headed out to light another fire in some woman's house. In which case, we'll be required to apprehend him. And at that point, since we'll have already gotten our hands dirty with him, we might as well take the opportunity to make him confess.”

“By
make
him confess I'm assuming you mean
force
him to confess,” she said, her lips pursed.

“Naturally,” Billy nodded, thumbing off the safety on his weapon. “After all, we're the ones with the guns.”

“Ever think of just asking him?” she inquired, batting her lashes.

Billy stopped fiddling with the Glock to look up and gape at her, one brow climbing steadily up his forehead. “Just
asking
him? What are you? Canadian?”

She pursed her lips. “I just don't want to see you guys get into any trouble over this. If he does something
hinky
, as you put it, couldn't you just turn him over to the police and have him arrested for suspicious activity or something? They could question him, detain him, and keep him from being a threat to me or anyone else.”

“You mean the same CPD who have had their heads shoved up their asses since day one where you're concerned?” His tone was bland. “The same CPD that botched the fire's point of origin?”

“That was the C
F
D,” she stressed.

“Whatever,” he waved a hand. “The fact remains that they've dismissed the attempts on your life without even questioning your stalker, and—”

“Yes,” she harrumphed. “Jeremy was pretty upset about that.”

“And I can see why. It's shoddy work. So, to say my faith in doing this thing by the books is at a rock-bottom low would be putting it mildly. In case you haven't noticed, your life is on the line here, Eve. Which means I'm not just willing to
bend
the rules; I'm willing to
break
every last one.”

His words sent a surge of warmth through her entire body. “But what if Dale sees you guys? Or what if you
do
wind up questioning him—
illegally
, I might add—and he has you arrested?”

“Never going to happen,” Bill shook his head, smiling. “We've got the Chicago Police Chief on our side.”

Yep, they'd mentioned this Washington person on more than one occasion. “What's your relationship with him?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. Visions of Mac and Billy being loaded into a paddy wagon and carted off to the clink ran through her head. Although…were paddy wagons even a thing anymore?

“Let's just say he's one of the
very
few people living here in Chicago who is privy to BKI's true calling, and he owes us a couple of favors. So stop worrying. Sit tight. Stay quiet. And let us take care of this, will you? You know, you're lucky I let you come at all. I should've made you stay with Ace.”

And, boy, oh boy, all the warmth brought on by his earlier words was instantly replaced by ice-cold indignation. Because if he thought Ace had put up a good fight when he'd been required to stay back at BKI headquarters to answer any calls that might come in from the Knights currently out in the field, he'd have been shocked to his core by the fit she'd have thrown had he tried to make
her
hang back. “Oh, yeah?” she nodded, channeling a little of her best friend, Becky, and smiling sarcastically, “over my dead body.”

His face hardened, and a muscle started ticking in his wide jaw. “Yes, Eve,” he said, his voice quiet.
Deadly
quiet. “Your dead body, or the fact that we're trying to keep you from being one, is exactly why we're here. Now, you stay in the Hummer until we get back. You got me?”

She glared at him, nostrils flaring, breath sawing from her lungs. She wasn't the same girl she'd been twelve years ago. She could
do
this. She
could
. But he'd never see her as anything more than that shy, bumbling, backbone-less eighteen-year-old. And
that
bothered her even more than all the things Dale Pennyworth had done to her.

“Nod your head so I know you understand,” he demanded, reaching back to grab her knee, his dark eyes, even in the dimly lit interior of the vehicle, were diamond-bright, flashing with conviction.

All the bravado she'd donned threatened to abandon her—especially with his warm palm burning a hole straight through her jeans—but she refused to let him see it. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and jerked her chin in a quick nod. And even though she was conceding—what other choice did she have?—she made very sure the look on her face called him a stubborn, autocratic, tyrannical A-hole.

He lifted a brow, withdrawing his hand and—
dangit!
—why did she suddenly feel bereft? “Something more you want to say to me?” he asked.

“Oh, I figure you understand this expression well enough.” She pointed to her face, ignoring the tingling of her kneecap. “No reason to gild the lily.”

She thought she saw one corner of his mouth twitch, and her eyes narrowed further.

“Silence about a thing just magnifies it,” he murmured.

And where had she heard that phrase before? Where had she…Then it hit her. “Really? You're quoting
Cat
on
a
Hot
Tin
Roof
at me right now?”

“Payback's a bitch,” he smiled, his big, square teeth blazing white in his tan face. “You used to love to sling literary quotes at my head.”

She had?

“I did?” She lifted a brow, thinking back. She
had
gone through a rather annoying pedantic phase at the end of her teens. “And did you find it as irritating then as I do right now?”

“Nah,” he lifted a muscled shoulder, and she could see he was biting the inside of his cheek. “I thought you were adorable. So full of love for books, head bursting with knowledge. It was quite endearing, really.”

All her hot air left her like his words were pins and she was a balloon. Because what did a girl say to something like that?
Thank
you
for
being
nice
to
me…for once?
Or maybe…
please
forgive
me
for
not
being
stronger
back
then, for letting my dad push me around
?

But no. That last one was sure to go over like a thunderstorm at an outdoor wedding. Because Billy and her father were as compatible as oil and water. And bringing up either one in front of the other usually resulted in muttered curses and questions regarding each other's paternity.

So she said nothing. And the silence filling the Hummer grew more strained with each passing second…until Mac democratically cleared his throat. “If we're gonna do this thing, the time is now,” he said. “Dale is turnin' the corner up there, and we're gonna lose him.”

Billy held her gaze for a moment longer, and she so wished she could read whatever was written all over his face. But then he turned away, and the opportunity was lost. In the next instant, Billy and Mac were exiting the vehicle, and she had no recourse but to watch them jog across the dark street—Dale didn't exactly live in the nicest part of town and most of the street lights weren't functioning—and up the block.

They looked very professional in their pseudo-SWAT team get-ups: black body armor, black cargo pants, black combat boots, just black on black. Not to mention the matte black guns they carried at the smalls of their backs. And yes, even though Billy had told her they were just coming here to watch Dale, the outfits emphasized the fact that he and Mac had both been banking on Dale giving them a reason to jump him. And talk about
wowza
. If Dale Pennyworth caught a glimpse of them following him, he wasn't going to know what to do first, crap his pants or spill his guts. And, dangit! She was going to miss it!

She was supposed to have grown a shiny set of brass ladyballs by now, but she'd caved to Billy's domineering
stay
put
decree after only five seconds. Which meant she hadn't
really
grown that set of ladyballs after all.

Crap.

But just as she began mentally chastising herself, movement down the block snagged her attention.

What the…?

***

You
shouldn't have touched her,
an annoying little voice whispered through Bill's head as he slunk around the corner, quiet as a whisper, blending into the blackness of the shadows cast by the surrounding apartment buildings.

Mac was across the street doing a pretty stellar job of disappearing into the darkness himself. Bill could only make out the whites of the man's eyes and the motion of his hand as he tapped two fingers against his cheeks and pointed up the block, the signal for
I've got a bead on the target
.

Bill nodded, advancing up the ill-lit street one silent step at a time, skirting around an overturned trashcan that smelled of dirty diapers, warm beer, and moldy Indian food. For a moment he wished he was back in the Hummer, breathing in Eve's subtle scent. That is until that pesky voice spoke up again.
Touching
Eve
always
messes
with
your
head, man.

And, yeah, so the sonofabitching voice had a point. Although, the reality was, it wasn't necessarily his
head
that got messed with. Unless, of course, one was talking about his
little
head.

Damn, what a goatscrew.

Okay, and
that
was more like it.
That
sentiment he could agree with. Because no matter how often he reminded himself of the hurt she'd caused him, no matter how many times he assured himself he was right in his assessment of her character, there'd inevitably be a moment, like the one back there in the Hummer when she looked up at him with such conviction, such tenaciousness, that he began to doubt anything and everything he'd held true about her these past dozen years.

Uh-huh. Goatscrew about summed it up and—

Whoa. What the hell?

Farther up the block, the dark green door on a four-flat apartment building opened, and a young woman in scrubs stepped out. Bill watched in consternation as Eve's stalker, heretofore referred to as Dale Fuckwad, jumped behind a lamp post.

Uh, can you say Creepy McCreepster, boys and girls?
And, just like that, his mission went from a simple tail and observe to a full-on apprehend and secure. Because that sick sonofabitch was obviously going to try to off another innocent woman.

Instincts on high alert, Bill glanced across the street to find Mac's eyes turned in his direction. He nodded—
yeah, I'm seeing what you're seeing—
as a hard punch of adrenaline blasted through his veins, increasing his heart rate from a steady
lub, dub
into a fast-paced
thumpety, thumpety, thumpety.
The world around him snapped into crystalline focus, and the night was no longer so dark; the sounds of the city around him—a distant siren, a dog barking, and the bass of a nearby car stereo—no longer so muffled.

Motioning with his hand, he silently indicated Mac should take a position farther up the street. And once his partner was in place, Bill moved in for the kill. Or, in this case, the capture.

His combat boots made no noise as he hurriedly advanced to the next corner, keeping low and sticking to the shadows, blending into his surroundings like a specter. Then, just as he reached to unsecure his weapon, the young woman—a nurse?—skipped down the stairs of her apartment building and started off toward the bus stop on the next block.