Page 40 of Kidnapping of a Myth

The FBI had assumedcontrol of the estate by the time Eamon’s truck drove onto the property, and it took both Bel’s badge and his threatening glare to grant them entrance. When they arrived at the house, Bel immediately found Griffin and Gold and recounted her interview with Pann, ending with their speculation about Hook being a nautical alias and Dale Crokes’ ownership of the Tiger Lily. The sheriff admitted the theory was a stretch, but being that it was the only one that sounded remotely plausible, he agreed to bring it to Jameson Barry, the FBI agent in charge.

“Thank you, Detective,” Agent Barry said after Bel repeated the information. “We’ll look into it.” He extended a hand, and she shook it, wincing as too much of her weight shifted onto her injured ankle.

“You were one of the officers caught in the explosion, correct?” Barry asked as he glanced down at her bloody pant leg.

“I was.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. You’ve been through a lot.” He smiled softly, and Bel instinctively knew he was both a good man and that he was about to kick her off the case. “Maybe you should go home and rest. We have your statement and all your work. Sheriff Griffin will work closely with us, but after what you’ve endured, I worry you’re too close to this situation.”

“I can still help,” Bel argued.

“I don’t doubt it,” Barry said. “But I brought an entire team with me. We won’t let The Tinker get away with this.”

“Emerson has been instrumental to this investigation,” Griffin chimed in, knowing it was killing her to be dismissed from a case she couldn’t ignore. “She’s an asset I would prefer to keep in play.”

“I understand you want to see this through. Trust me, I do. Cases like this burrow under your skin and infect your very being. But Detective Emerson was involved in an explosion that killed two police officers and injured a few others, herself included. I’m not trying to cut the Bajka Police Department out of this investigation. I’m only looking out for your officers.”

“I understand,” Bel spoke up before Griffin could argue. Everything inside her screamed to stay and fight for John, to run herself into the ground to save that boy, but in reality, the FBI was far more equipped than she was. Their equipment alone was vastly superior to anything the Bajka station boasted. “Might I ask that you keep me in the loop, though?”

“Of course,” Barry said. “Sheriff Griffin will keep you updated.”

“Thank you.” Bel turned, wondering where Eamon had disappeared to, but Wendy’s distraught face confronted her before she could search him out.

“You’re leaving us?” Wendy shrieked, and an entire kitchen’s worth of agents froze at her outburst. “No!” She lunged forward, grabbing the detective’s hand with almost childlike desperation, and Bel had whiplash from how quickly this young woman went from despising her to clinging to her like a surrogate older sister. “I need you. You have to stay.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to Bel’s face. “You can’t take the dog yet either. Michael needs him. Please don’t leave us. You brought my brother back to me, and I don’t trust anyone else to save John.”

“Okay, okay.” Bel pulled Wendy into a hug and met Henry’s eyes over her head. He’d graciously joined the Feds in the kitchen to offer any information he could, and he watched the women embrace with sagging shoulders. Exhaustion and anxiety creased his brow, and he observed them as if his inability to help his wife was eating him alive. Bel’s heart ached for him, and she offered him a small smile. Eamon had stolen her from death twice in the past days, but how tortured would he be if he was a mere mortal like Henry forced to rely on fallible humans?

“I’ll stay.” Bel tightened her hold on Wendy’s shoulders and threw Agent Barry a look. “I’ll spend the night with the family,” she said, and the man nodded, thankfully smart enough to know how important it was to keep the Darlings happy.

“Come on.” Bel pulled Wendy away from the crowd. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes.”

Bel tilted her head, staring silently at the younger woman with doubt.

“No,” Wendy conceded. “My brother did, though. And your dog too… probably too much. Michael keeps feeding him, but I can’t bring myself to stop him.”

Bel released her and crossed the lavish kitchen to the fridge. Thankfully, the staff had left a week’s worth of meals and groceries, and she assembled a sandwich while the agentsreturned to their frantic work. Armed with the food and a glass of ice water, she escorted Wendy back to the living room.

“Eat what you can,” Bel said as she crouched beside the mattress in the room’s corner. Michael was fast asleep on it, his small arms wrapped around Cerberus’ waist, and while her dog was normally filled with uncontained joy when he saw her, he seemed to understand the boy needed him. He gently wagged his tail and kissed her face, and when he finally calmed, she left him to sleep in peace.

“Food makes me sick,” Wendy said, staring at the sandwich as if Bel was forcing her to eat cardboard.

“Come here.” Bel sat on the couch and pulled her close. “You eat, and I promise to tell you anything you want to know. About the case. Myself. My kidnapping. Whatever helps you.”

“Are you dating Eamon?” Wendy blurted, and Bel glanced at her with pinched eyebrows. “I can’t talk about the investigation anymore because it’s making me panic, and hearing about your kidnapping this late at night will keep me from sleeping. I need something fun… so, are you? Because when you showed up with him, I assumed you were the previous night’s hook-up, but I’ve realized that man worships the ground you walk on, and if you aren’t dating him, I might scream at you.”

Bel smirked, watching Wendy bite an infinitely small corner of the bread, and if girl talk and blushed cheeks got the woman to eat, she was prepared to embellish every detail.

Bel woke,the dark room telling her it was the middle of the night, and she shifted on the couch, realizing that the soft yet firm support under her head wasn’t the pillow she’d collapsed upon earlier. With lazy movements, she brushed her fingersover the powerful thighs, her palm coming to rest on Eamon’s knee before she gazed up at him. He was sitting in the silence, his eyes almost glazed over, and she opened her mouth to ask what he was doing when she realized his heightened senses were listening to the investigation playing out in the kitchen.

“Cerberus was antsy earlier, so I took him for a walk,” Eamon said without glancing down. “He tried to get on the couch with you after we returned, but when he realized there wasn’t enough room, he rejoined Michael.”

Bel squinted in the darkness and stifled a laugh when she saw the boy’s mattress. Cerberus lay sideways, sprawled out and snoring, and Michael was upside down, his feet propped up on the pitbull’s ribs. They were chaotic even in their dreams, but they both wore peaceful expressions.

“Poor baby beast,” she whispered. “I see you found room, though.” She squeezed his knee teasingly, and his broad palm tightened reflexively where it rested on her stomach. Eamon finally looked down, but his eyes fixated on where his fist gripped her shirt. The fabric had shifted, allowing his pinky to brush against the scars on her belly. He didn’t say anything. He merely watched his fingers trace her skin as if he couldn’t believe that fate had brought them together, that he finally had permission to hold her close, and Bel didn’t understand how such a simple touch possessed the power to undo her.

“Hopefully, we’ll get back to normal soon.” She placed her palm on his hand, trapping him against her stomach, and he met her gaze, his death-black eyes as intoxicating as his touch. “Where’s Wendy?”

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