Page 61 of His Ruthless Match
Brooker’s smile vanished. “Excuse me?”
“We were in her hotel room,” Eva began, her voice trembling slightly but steadying as she spoke. “A man burst out of the closet. He rushed Genevieve and knocked me into the wall.” She touched her nose briefly. “By the time I got my bearings, he was gone. And so was she.”
There was a beat of silence before Brooker’s lips quirked into a smirk. “Is this some kind of joke?”
Eva stiffened, her confusion evident. “What? No! Why would I joke about something like this?”
Brooker pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. He held it out to us, and the video playing on the screen made my blood run cold.
The image was grainy but clear enough to recognize Genevieve, laughing and carefree, doing shots off some guy’s abs.Just spotted Genevieve Witt taking body shots from a hot bartender on the West Side.
Eva snatched the phone, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the video. “When was this posted?”
“Fifteen minutes ago,” Brooker said.
Eva glanced at me, and I shrugged because I had no damn explanation for it.
“This can’t be real,” she insisted. “I saw him take her. I know what I saw!”
The detective shrugged. “I don’t know what to say, Eva, but it looks to me like Genevieve Witt is completely fine. We can still file a report on the assault, though.”
Eva looked like she wanted to argue, but the fight seemed to drain out of her. “What’s the point?” she muttered. “I didn’t see his face.”
Brooker leaned back in his chair. “We could check the hotel footage. See what comes up.”
“Please do,” Eva said tightly. “Let me know what you find.”
“It might take a day or so,” Brooker warned.
She nodded and handed his phone back to him. “Thanks.”
When we reached her car,Eva made a valiant effort to look composed, but her weary frame and faintly trembling hands gave her away. She turned toward me with a flash of her usual defiance.
“I can drive myself home,” she declared, already fishing in her bag for her keys.
Her fire was back, and I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or terrified. “No,” I said, stepping between her and the driver’s side door. “You were just attacked. I’m assuming you haven’t eaten anything in hours, and your blood sugar is probably somewhere in the negatives. I’m driving you home.”
Her lips flattened into a thin line, and for a second, I thought she’d argue. Instead, she sighed and stepped back, tossing me the keys. “Fine. Whatever.”
I took it as a small victory, though the way she sagged into the passenger seat with her eyes closed made me want to kick myself again for not being there earlier.
I glanced at her occasionally as I drove, noting the tension slowly seeping from her shoulders. The adrenaline crash had hit, and exhaustion was quickly overtaking her.
When we pulled up to her building, I parked and got out, opening the door for her before she could protest. “Go take a hot shower,” I said, gesturing toward the entrance. “I’ll order food.”
“Bossy much?” she muttered. She trudged toward the elevator, and I followed close behind. By the time she disappeared into the bathroom, I had already placed an order for Chinese food and was setting the table.
The smell of steamed dumplings and sesame chicken filled the apartment when she reappeared. Her hair was wrapped in a towel, and she wore a plush white robe tied snugly at her waist. She looked softer, more vulnerable, and I hated myself for noticing how the robe clung to her frame. I quickly dropped my gaze to the food.
“Dinner is served,” I said, clearing my throat.
Eva sat down across from me. “Thanks,” she said quietly. She picked up a dumpling, taking a small bite before glancing at me. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I did. You need to eat. And I need to make sure you’re not falling apart.”
She didn’t respond to that, and we ate in silence. It wasn’t the awkward kind, though. It was a quiet truce, both of us too drained to argue. When her plate was empty, she sat back, brushing a stray crumb off her robe.
“Okay,” she said, her voice steadier now. “You can leave. I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep.”
