She clamped her jaw tight, holding back the next words because she didn’t want to hear them out loud. Words that nevertheless screamed through her mind. The one I ripped off his throat when he was trying to choke me to death?
Gideon nodded cautiously, having no doubt noted her tension because he was watching her through eyes that narrowed. “Yes.”
Forcing herself to relax, she tilted her head to one side, watching him back. Studying his face. His very handsome face. He was far younger than he’d appeared when he’d first come through the doorway. It was the threads of silver in his crisp black hair that had her forgetting for just a moment that he’d gone to school with Rafe, so they were of a similar age. Thirty, plus or minus a year.
There was something here, she thought. Something in the set of his mouth, framed by a neatly trimmed goatee, which was also threaded with silver. Something . . . personal.
“Why?” she asked. “What’s so special about the locket?”
Other than that it was a delicate thing worn by a brute. Other than the fact it said Miriam. Other than that he’d rasped They all do in her ear as he’d dragged her into the alley.
Curiosity prickled across her skin. Or perhaps that was awareness because Gideon Reynolds was still staring at her with an intensity that left her trembling inside.
Daisy didn’t like that. It’s curiosity. Nothing more.
Go on thinking that if it makes you feel better, the snide voice whispered in her mind.
Yes. Yes, it does, she answered back. Firmly, because the snide voice had to be nipped in the bud. It was the same voice that tempted her to have “just a taste” when her anxiety started to overwhelm her. Like right now. Just a little taste. Beer. A sip of beer wouldn’t be so bad, would it? One little beer?
No. She gritted her teeth. Nip it in the bud.
He hadn’t answered her, she realized. He was still watching her and she wondered how much of that little internal chat had been broadcasted from her expression.
“Well?” she pressed. “Why is the locket special?”
A throat clearing had her turning around to where Rafe’s partner, Erin, sat waiting patiently. “Let’s get your statement, Daisy,” Erin said levelly, and Daisy didn’t miss the flicker of gratitude in Rafe’s eyes. Evidently Agent Reynolds had made a bit of a slip.
So she’d focus on that. On the locket. On the mystery. Not on the fact that tonight was her father’s worst nightmare coming to life and that he’d probably be on the next flight to Sacramento as soon as he found out. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Daisy gave them a terse nod and retook her seat next to where her bag sat on the tabletop, Brutus nestled comfortably inside. She could hear the dog’s gentle snores if she listened hard enough. It grounded her.
Rafe and Gideon took their seats, Gideon on her right and Rafe on the other side of the table. Erin Rhee was still on her left, having not moved since Rafe had stepped out, saying he’d had to make a call. Which had presumably been to Gideon Reynolds.
Because of the locket. Her skin quivering with nervous energy, Daisy reached into her bag, giving Brutus a gentle stroke before withdrawing an emery board from one of the inside pockets. “They clipped my nails in the ER,” she said, filing away the sharp edges of her newly cut nails. Because she’d scratched her attacker as she’d managed to escape.
“They’ll grow back,” Rafe said soothingly.
“I don’t think I want them to. They got in the way tonight. My nails, I mean. I did a joint lock on his hand but my thumbnail was so long that it kept me from digging in as deep as I needed to, to incapacitate him. I could be dead because I’d had a mani-pedi,” she added lightly.
She needed to stop talking. Her nerves were showing. Focus on the story. On Gideon Reynolds’s face. On anything that’s not the memory of his arm across your throat.
“You did a joint lock?” Gideon asked carefully, his doubt evident.
Meeting his eyes, she nodded. “Yes, I did. Want me to demonstrate?”
Gideon shook his head quickly, seeming unsure if she was serious or not. “No. That won’t be necessary.”
Rafe bit back a smile. “No, it’s really not. She could take either one of us down. It’s true,” he declared when Gideon gave him a disbelieving stare. “She ‘demonstrated’ on me when I questioned her ability to defend herself. Not that you ever should have needed to, Daisy.” Sober now, he pressed a button on a remote that turned on the video recorder. “Today is Thursday, February sixteenth. It is ten fifty-six. I am Detective Raphael Sokolov. With me are Detective Erin Rhee, Special Agent Gideon Reynolds, and Eleanor Marie Dawson, also known as Daisy. We are here to take Miss Dawson’s statement.”
Daisy gave Rafe a dirty look. She hated her first name and he knew it. “Thank you for that.”
Rafe’s expression remained sober, but his dark eyes softened. “What happened tonight?” he asked gently.
Daisy drew a shaky breath. “Where should I start?”
“Wherever you’d like,” Erin said. “If we need you to back up, we’ll let you know.”
“All right.” She set the emery board aside. Folded her hands on the table. Then gave up and stuck her hand back into her bag, stroking Brutus’s fuzzy ears because her anxiety was clawing at her from the inside out. She did not want to talk about this again. “My friend Trish Hart and I were leaving the community center on J Street, walking toward the Forty-niner Diner.” Abruptly she turned to Erin Rhee. “Did Trish get home okay?”
“She did,” Erin promised. “I walked her to her door myself and waited until she was safely inside.”
“Thank you,” Daisy whispered. Trish had been so shaken up, crying with her in the ER until Irina and Karl had arrived to stand vigil. Daisy had insisted Trish go home because hospitals were one of her friend’s triggers, threatening her sobriety.
Erin’s smile was steady. “You’re welcome.”
Daisy forced herself to continue, just wanting this part over with. “Trish and I walk to the diner every week.” She glanced up at the camera on the wall. Fuck it, she thought. Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her chin. “We attend AA on Thursday nights.”
Gideon’s eyes widened, but he met her gaze evenly when she wordlessly dared him to say a word in judgment. He gave her a steady nod, and that it left her feeling settled inside shouldn’t have been a thing. But it was.
“I felt someone following me a few minutes after we started walking,” she went on. “Just a tickle at the back of my neck.” She shrugged. “I thought it was someone my dad had hired. I never considered someone was actually stalking me.”