“I hate to add more fuel to the fire,” Delilah murmured as she released Mac’s hand and took a small step away. No shit, the muscle in the back of his arm actually twitched with displeasure, and his deserted fingers instinctively curled into a fist. And that was why he’d always gone out of his way to avoid touching Delilah. Because the feel of her, the feel of all that pale skin was like crack. And one hit was enough to have him hooked for life. “But isn’t it possible they’re actually working together? By each of them saying it’s the other, it muddies the waters all around. And this business deal, whatever it is, could—”

“Keystone Property Development,” Washington interrupted.

“Which is what?” Eve asked, not batting a lash at the idea that her father and ex-husband might have teamed up to have her murdered. Either she’d already considered the possibility herself, or nothing more could surprise her today. If Mac was the betting kind, he’d lay ten-to-one odds that it was probably both. “I’m sorry, Chief Washington, but I didn’t know Blake and my father were doing business together, so I’m at a loss here. Would you mind filling me in on what you know?”

“Well, right now I don’t know much,” Washington admitted. “Between the time Bill initially called me with suspicions about your father and the time he and your ex-husband turned themselves in, I had one of the detectives on the corporate investigations task force pull some quick public records. The most he was able to discover was that a few years ago, after Blake took over Parish Properties following his father’s death, he and your father teamed up on a joint venture. Parish Properties and Edens Enterprises are now one large corporation operating under the name Keystone Property Development. Apparently, they went gangbusters for a while, buying up vacant lots and old buildings all over the city. I think they were riding the wave of the building boom. Then the housing bubble burst, and they were left with squat. Contracts dried up. Demand for new construction fell through the floor. And they’ve been hemorrhaging money ever since.”

“And my life-insurance policy and inheritance would be enough to cover their losses?” Eve asked, her brow furrowed.

“We’ll find out more once we dig a little deeper,” Washington assured her. “And we will dig deeper this time. I promise you that.”

Yeah, and Mac knew these types of cases could drag on for months, sometimes years. Apparently Washington knew it too, because he added, “And who knows. Maybe the guy Miss Fairchild shot will be in the system, and we’ll be able to cut him a deal if he agrees to tell us who hired him.” Which would be the better and certainly quicker solution all around. “But in the meantime, I’m gonna assign you around-the-clock surveillance.”

Eve’s eyes widened, her jaw falling open like it was attached to her head by loose hinges. “Surveillance? Do you really think that’s necessary?”

“Whoever tried to shoot you is still out there. They might make another attempt on your life, or maybe whoever hired them will task someone else with the job. It’s time we, the CPD, were vigilant about your safety. Jesus knows we dropped the ball the first three times.” Washington’s lips turned down.

“But Billy would—”

“We have no idea how long this will drag on,” the chief interrupted. “And Reichert has other responsibilities. You can’t expect him to drop everything to be your bullet catcher for—”

“But I will,” Bill cut in. “I’ll stick to her like honey on—”

“No, Billy,” Eve touched his arm. “Chief Washington is right. It’s just that after everything that’s happened today, I was sort of hoping to get away from the city for a while. Just…” She shook her head, and her expression was so bleak that Mac could almost feel her pain and frustration and weariness—and guilt. That was definitely in there, too. But, really, how could it not be? She’d just spent over an hour going through the details of a man’s death…a man’s death that was meant to be her own. She’d likely suffer from the guilt of that for the rest of her life. Which was so goddamned sad he almost felt like crying himself.

What a goatscrew.

“Just disappear for a while,” she finished slowly.

Washington cocked his head. “And where would you disappear to, may I ask?”

“I—” She shrugged, gnawing on her lower lip and gazing out the tall windows on the western wall. The city was a mass of darkness and twinkling lights beyond. “I don’t really know. I suppose I could go down to my vacation house in Costa Rica and—”

“Out of the question,” Washington interrupted. “We need you to stay in the states. Close by, if possible, in case something comes up or in case we need to question you further.”

“Yes.” Eve bit her lip, nodding. “I kind of figured that. So maybe…I don’t know. Maybe…do you think it’s possible I could go out on my sailboat? Just drift away for a couple of days? Perhaps head over to Michigan? I could lose myself in a little coastal town there. Go where no one knows me, where no one’s trying to kill me.”

Bill frowned. “Perhaps it would be better for her to get out of Chicago for a while. In case you’re right about someone trying to make another attempt on her life.”

“Mmph,” Washington grunted, scowling at the floor with his lower lip thrust out. “I suppose.” He glanced up at Bill. “But I wouldn’t want her going alone. I could put a couple of my men—”

“No need.” Bill lifted his hand, shaking his head. “I’ve got it covered.”

Yeah, Mac thought. I’m sure you do.

“I’ve got a cabin over on the west side of Michigan, up near Ludington,” Bill continued, looking at Eve to see if she was okay with the plan so far. If the hero worship…no, not hero worship…superhero worship shining in her eyes was anything to go by, she wasn’t just on board with the plan, she’d packed her bags, waved her good-byes, and was already sitting on the deck drinking a Mai Tai. “I think we could hole up there for a while. It’d give Eve the chance to get away but keep her close enough so she could drive back to the city in three or four hours if she needed to.”

Washington’s eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth. But before he could agree or disagree with Bill’s plan, the double doors leading to the exterior elevator bank burst open and Jeremy Buchanan strolled into the room.

“Jeremy!” Eve sobbed, ducking out from under Bill’s arm to run to the man. Buchanan caught her up in a hug that lifted her feet from the station’s tiled floor.

“I came as soon as my shift ended,” he said, slowly lowering her to the ground so he could pull back and look at her. “How did it go?”

“It was awful,” Eve admitted. “But now it’s done.”

“Did you…” His expression and tone illustrated both his reluctance and his curiosity. “Did you find out anything when you met with your father?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

“Damn,” he cursed, his jaw sawing back and forth. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Because I swear to you, we’re going to find out who did this.”

“You mean Detective Normandy is gonna find out who did this. Right, Lieutenant?” Washington said. “From what I hear, you’ve got your hands full over in vice.”

“Sure. I’ll let the murder boys handle it.” Jeremy laced his fingers with Eve’s, and Mac was pretty sure that grinding noise he was hearing was Bill’s back teeth again. Too bad they weren’t sitting down at a conference table somewhere so he could kick the man in the shins. “Now that you guys actually believe what I’ve been saying to you for the last three months,” he added as he joined the group.

“Don’t push it, Lieutenant,” Washington harrumphed. “No one likes to hear I told you so.”

“Not gloating,” Jeremy was quick to explain. “Just happy to know something’s finally being done.”

“Mmph.” Washington waved him off, turning back to Bill. “Now about this little sailing trip up to Ludington. I don’t suppose it’d be a problem as long as—”

The gray door at the back of the room swung open, and Edens, Parish, and their lawyers stood on the threshold. Mac fleetingly wondered how much they’d heard of the conversation. Then he figured, not much. That was a steel door leading to the hall where Chicago’s finest interrogated Chicago’s scum. And speaking of Chicago’s finest, Detective Normandy appeared behind the group. If Mac wasn’t mistaken, there was a new coffee stain on the man’s shirt that hadn’t been there before.

Holy crow, I hope he’s better at catching crooks than he is at personal hygiene. Damn.

“Normandy?” the chief asked. “What’s going on?”

“These assho—” Normandy stopped, scratched his balding head, and rephrased. “Their lawyers have requested they be allowed to consult with their clients in a room other than an interrogation room. You know, the cameras, the two-way glass…So, I’m taking them to conference room number two. And after they’ve had a little consult,” he sneered the word, “we’ll continue the questioning. In an interrogation room.”

“Fine,” Washington said, his expression that of a man who’d just stepped in something sticky and smelly.

Normandy nodded, ushering the group toward an adjacent hallway. Then his gaze snagged on Eve’s cousin. “Oh, and I’m glad you’re here, Lieutenant Buchanan. I’ve got a couple of questions to ask you about your uncle and Blake Parish.”

“Sure thing.” Buchanan nodded, though his expression betrayed his distaste. Mac wondered how close the guy was to his uncle, and what his take on Edens was. The FBI investigator in Mac would love to poke around inside Buchanan’s brain for a minute or two. “I’ll be there in a sec,” Buchanan added, then turned back to Eve. “I think it’s good you’re getting out of town,” he told her.