Page 29 of Sweet Revenge
Reaching for one of the apple slices Cait set on the table, Evie tried to picture it. “I imagine it’s not far off from the look his father used to get.”
“Maybe not, but it feels different.”
“How?”
“With Patrick, it scared me.” Cait grinned. “And now it’s just a little sexier than it should be when I see it on Finn.”
Evie laughed. God, she missed this. She missed having friends. She missed this friend and the way Cait had always been able to make her laugh. When a twinge of guilt surfaced, she pushed it down. Guilt was a wasted emotion. Certainly not one that would help her find her parents’ murderer.
Evie took another bite of apple, chewing it carefully while Cait got up to refill her mug from the pot. “How come he never got married?”
Cait did a slow turn, eyebrows raised. Evie would have found the exaggerated gestures amusing if she wasn’t so busy regretting that she’d even asked the question.
“That’s an interesting thing for you to ask.”
“Let’s forget I did.” What did she care if Declan was or wasn’t married anyway? He was a grown man capable of making his own choices. One day, probably soon, he’d settle down with a nice syndicate woman and pop out a couple of kids. And if her chest burned at the thought, it was probably just the coffee.
The front door opened then, the chime of the alarm ringing out and saving Evie from any follow-up questions Cait might have been devising.
“Not expecting anyone?” Evie asked when she saw Cait’s frown.
“No. Evan is at swim class with the nanny and won’t be home for another thirty minutes or so. Finn would come in through the garage.” She peeked over her shoulder.
Evie sat up straight in her chair, kicking herself for leaving the gun she’d brought back from New York in her bedroom at Glenmore House. She was fairly good at hand to hand, though, if the occasion called for it.
“Hello!” a familiar voice called from the hallway.
Evie shot an accusing glare at Cait, who held her hands up in defense.
“This is not a setup. I swear.”
“Cait, I know Evan will be home soon, but I wanted to drop off that song list for the wed—” Maura stopped when she rounded the corner into the kitchen and saw Evie sitting at the table. “Oh. I didn’t realize you had a guest.” She said the last word like an insult. “I’ll come back later.”
“Stay,” Cait replied, her voice hopeful. “Have some coffee.”
Maura’s gaze slid from Cait to Evie, and as much as Evie saw disdain there, she saw hurt too. That oily feeling of guilt coiled in her stomach again. Where Cait had always been soft and forgiving, Maura had been rigid and protective. It made her a great friend. And an even greater enemy.
“I don’t have the time or the energy to deal with this.” Maura flicked a dismissive hand at Evie. “I have too much going on with planning this wedding and then the honeymoon. I’ll have to come back another time.”
Except she didn’t turn to leave. Instead she locked eyes with Evie, chin raised in defiance.
“Maura—”
“No,” Evie said, laying a hand on Cait’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I should get going. Thanks for the coffee.”
Evie rose to leave, pausing next to Maura. She wanted to say something, anything, to erase the anger and pain that swirled in her friend’s eyes. Only what was there to say? No explanation, no apology could make up for the way she’d left things, for disappearing for ten years.
So instead she said nothing, slipping quickly and quietly out of the house and jogging down the driveway and across the street to Declan’s. Walking up the drive, she paused next to her car. She wasn’t a prisoner. She was a grown-ass woman, and if she wanted to go out, she would damn well go out.
She looked up at the house and noticed Declan’s car wasn’t in the garage. Perfect. She let herself in, jogging up the stairs for her purse, and then out again. The growl of the engine made her smile, and she rolled the windows down before pulling around the circle drive and gunning it on the straight stretch of road.
She might need Declan’s help, but that didn’t mean he got to dictate her every move.
ChapterSixteen
Declan pulled his phone out of his pocket when it signaled an incoming text. Helen had gotten her hands on the guest list for the mayor’s fundraiser. He opened the document and scanned through it. Most of the names he recognized, but he was only looking for one in particular.
A grin crept across his lips. DiMarco was invited. Declan didn’t know the man personally, but they ran in the same business circles. DiMarco owned a small chain of restaurants in Pennsylvania as a front for his dealings with the Italian mafia.
