Gideon’s brows rose. “Why would you think your father would have you followed?”
“Because he’s done it before,” she answered truthfully. “He . . . worries about me.” She considered her words, then realized she didn’t care. She wasn’t hiding anything because she had nothing to be ashamed of.
Keep on telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, honey.
Shut the ever-loving-fuck up.
“My father didn’t see the signs of my alcoholism until my sister brought it to his attention. By then, I was pretty fucked up.” She glanced up at the camera again, then flicked her gaze to Rafe. “Can I say ‘fucked up’?”
Rafe smiled at her. “You can if you want.”
“All right, then. I was fucked up. And I had to go to rehab. After that, he watched me like a hawk. Had our ranch hand follow me around everywhere. Back then it was because we were afraid and in hiding.”
Gideon’s brows shot up higher, scrunching his forehead. “In hiding? Why?”
Why? The question honestly surprised her. “You don’t know, Agent Reynolds?” She gave Rafe a side-eye. “I thought your mother would have told him already.” The woman had been trying to push them together for months now.
You must meet him, Irina would say in her brusque way, her accent thick, but her sweet nature abundantly clear in the smile that was always on her face. He’s a good man. Handsome, too, she’d add slyly. Then she’d regale Daisy with stories of when Rafe and Gideon were boys in school, always ending with a frank appraisal. He’d be good for you, dochka. Let me give him your phone number. Which Daisy had always politely declined, even though hearing Irina calling her “daughter” always made her feel so safe and included that she’d almost wanted to comply.
“My mother is actually very good at keeping secrets,” Rafe said.
Good to know. Irina had gotten the handsome part right, at least. With his perfectly combed hair and perfectly pressed blue suit that sat perfectly on broad shoulders, not to mention his perfect face, Gideon Reynolds could have walked out of a men’s fashion ad. Hopefully he was not only a good man but discreet as well, because if he didn’t know her life story before, he was about to.
“You want me to tell the whole sordid tale for the record?” she asked lightly, because she hated this part, too. Hated airing her family’s very dirty laundry. Not that it would be the first time, but still.
“Maybe just give us the Reader’s Digest version,” Rafe suggested.
Her lips twitched, which she suspected was Rafe’s intent. “Okay. I can do that. My father was convinced that my stepmother’s ex-husband was stalking her so that he could kidnap their child—my stepsister, Taylor. Dad moved us all up past Eureka and bought a ranch. All through shell corporations, because he’s cagey that way. He taught us how to shoot and defend ourselves in case Taylor’s biological father came to take her away. We lived in isolation for twelve years, doing drills every day like some kind of mini-paramilitary squad. And then my stepmother died. On her deathbed, she confessed to Taylor that she’d lied about the whole thing. Her ex had never stalked her, had never threatened her or Taylor. It had all been a lie. We lost our adolescence because of a lie.”
“And then?” Gideon prompted.
Daisy realized she’d been staring at the wall. Remembering those final days, Donna so emaciated, the cancer having eaten her up. Taylor had been heartbroken. So had her father. So was I. Until they’d learned what Donna had done to them all. And then Daisy had hated her with the power of a thousand suns. But it had been too late. The woman was gone, leaving them all broken and confused.
It had been three years since Donna’s death and eighteen months since they’d learned the truth, but they were finally regaining their lives. Regaining themselves.
She shrugged. “My father felt like shit because he’d believed Donna—she was Taylor’s mother. He’d hidden Taylor away from a very good man for all those years because of my stepmother’s lies. But then there was no reason to hide anymore. Dad moved to Maryland to live near Taylor and her bio-dad and took our youngest sister with him. Taylor’s engaged now, to a really nice guy. My sister Julie is getting the support she needs. She has cerebral palsy,” she added, then smiled, remembering the happiness on her sister’s face when they’d Skyped a few days ago. “Jules has a boyfriend now. And my father is even dating. I’m happy for them.”
“But?” Gideon prompted.
“But I wanted to see the world. So I did. I backpacked across Europe. I was supposed to be gone for six months, but around about month four I realized I was being followed. It was Jacob, the ranch hand who’d grown up with us. My father had paid him to keep an eye on me. And report back. Was I behaving myself? Was I drinking at all?” She sighed heavily. “I know Dad wanted me to be safe, but it pissed me the hell off. So I went home and . . .” She hesitated, because this part of the story was not hers to tell. It was painful and personal and it broke her heart every time she thought about it.
Her eyes burned with tears that she refused to shed because she’d already cried too much for one evening. She scooped Brutus from her bag and, ignoring Gideon’s look of perplexed surprise, cuddled her dog under her chin. “My father has his reasons for being obsessive about my safety. But even though I now understand, it’s not okay. So I made him promise never to do that again. I didn’t really think he’d keep that promise, so when I heard the man behind us tonight, I didn’t think twice.”
“What did you do?” Gideon asked softly.
She shot him a sharp glare because he was looking at her with pity. I am not fragile, she wanted to shout, but bit the words back, answering him in as even a tone as she could muster. “I sent Trish ahead to the diner and I hid, waited for him, then confronted him. Pulled his cap off. He was about six feet tall, by the way. I didn’t have to jump up as high to rip the baseball cap off his head as I would for Jacob, who’s six-two.”
“We found the cap at the scene,” Erin said. “It’s in the lab for processing. What did he look like?”
“He had dark eyes and no hair.” Daisy clenched her jaw, powering through the memory before it could pull her under. “I can’t say what his features were because he had a nylon stocking pulled over his head. He was a smoker. I smelled it on his jacket and on his breath. He kept his voice all low and raspy. Like he was trying to whisper loudly. But that wasn’t his normal voice. He wore gloves.” She frowned. “And black wingtips. With stonewashed jeans.” She made a face, sloughing off the mental image of his lower body, all she’d been able to see as he’d dragged her away. “Very bad form.”
“No hair just on his head?” Rafe asked. “Did he have eyebrows?”