The Unforgettable Fire

NINETEEN

Eve whooped when she opened the door to her little apartment near Broadway and found Adrienne on the other side. “You made it! We were betting Gabe would’ve chained you to that fancy bed of his and set Skeet and Nig on you before he let you leave!”

In spite of herself, Adrienne let herself forget that someone was counting down the hours until he killed her—tried to kill her, she resolutely corrected; she damn well wouldn’t make it easy for the bastard—and laughed. “We argued about it,” she confessed. “Lots of yelling and cursing and Gabe muttering to himself in Italian.”

“Oh, he does that,” Eve said airily. “Don’t worry your pretty blond head over it. After all, you won, didn’t you? Now, get in here, dump your bag, and grab your purse. We’re going shopping.”

“Of course,” Adrienne laughed.

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“Oooh, let’s stop here. They have some amazing shoes.”

Isobel groaned. “For fuck’s sake, Eve, between the four of you you’ve already bought out the majority of Fifth Avenue’s shops. I want lunch,” she said fervently, and her stomach growled loudly as if concurring.

“Oh, shush,” Eve answered with a wave of her hand. “I want those,” she announced, pointing at a pair of strappy black heels. “I really want them.”

Isobel groaned more loudly, knowing that if Eve set foot inside the store, she’d spend another hour at it. “Eve, you’re a monster. Adrienne, help me out here. My stomach’s trying to eat itself from the inside out.”

“Hmm?” Adrienne replied without looking up from the pair of strappy, heeled white sandals in the window.

Ana-Li, who was considering a pair of stilettos for herself, chuckled. “You’re outnumbered, chère. As you would say, deal with it.”

Sarah glanced up from the pair of neat cream-coloured dress shoes she’d been examining, smiled at the frustration on Isobel’s elfin face. “It won’t be that much longer.”

“You said that two hours ago,” Isobel grumbled. When she saw Adrienne bite her lip and touch the clasp of her purse, obviously considering, she rolled her eyes. “Fuck,” she muttered again. “I never should have gone along with this. Adrienne’s escape from Gabe and night to kick up her heels before someone tries to kill her be damned, the next time one of you suggests a shopping spree I’m telling Neil to chain me to my desk.”

The other women couldn’t help laughing at her disgruntled tone. “He’d enjoy that too much,” Eve answered absently. “And your kids would pick the lock for the fun of it.”

Isobel considered, and scowled. “I really hate it when you’re right.”

“I know,” Eve answered with a quick, sunny smile. “Okay, I’m buying those,” she decided, and marched into the store with Ana-Li, Sarah and Adrienne following, the last of whom ducked her head to hide her grin.

Friends. She’d made friends with these women, in a matter of days. Who’d have thought?

Isobel offered all of them the same hand gesture as they filed by, and was ignored by all of them.

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Later in the evening, after Ana-Li, Sarah and Isobel had gone home to their families—each with shopping bags full of new items, useful or not—Eve snatched up Adrienne’s shopping bags and began rifling through them, muttering to herself.

Adrienne was about to ask what the older woman straightened and let out a triumphant, “Hah!” When Eve turned towards her, eyes glittering, she backed away. It didn’t help; in the next instant clothes were flying at her. Pants, tight and black; a long racer-back tank top in deep rose; underwear in the same vivid colour; finally—Adrienne yelped and ducked—shoes, specifically strappy black heels that gave her an additional three inches of height.

“What’s all this for?”

The other woman laughed and began to root through her own bags, wiggling her butt in time to the gritty rock pumping out of her first-class stereo system. “We’re going out,” Eve explained, grinning. “I know a great bar. Mostly young people—your age, I guess.” She grimaced. “Damn it, I hate being over thirty.”

“You don’t look it,” Adrienne offered, and Eve flashed that sharp grin at her again. Apparently all the Coulters had inherited that lethal smile, Adrienne decided. “I knew I liked you. Okay, go put it on and—oh, for the love of God,” she muttered when the phone began to ring. “You go change, I’ll get it.”

She offered the caller ID screen a smug smile and picked up. “Hello, baby brother.”

“Adrienne around?” Casual, Gabe told himself. She was fine; he just wanted to say hi. After all, they’d been living in each other’s pockets for a month. Why not?

“She’s getting changed. Give her a minute.”

However, she’d no sooner spoken the words than Adrienne scurried out of the bedroom, frowning, her top hastily yanked back on. “Eve, don’t tease him,” she hissed.

“Do I want to know?” Gabe drawled.

“Relax, little brother, she hasn’t made any new friends. We’re just getting ready to head out.”

“Where?” His voice had tightened just slightly. Eve couldn’t quite help the wide grin on her face and was thankful he couldn’t see her.

“A bar I know. She’ll enjoy it.”

For a moment Eve continued to grin as tense silence hummed through the phone lines. Before Gabe had finished issuing the order, she’d already decided to stop torturing him—although, as his older sister, it was her job—and handed Adrienne the phone.

“What? Wait, Gabriel, slow down, you’re speaking too fast—and I don’t understand the Italian bits.”

“Probably for the best,” Eve commented from behind her.

“I don’t want you going out to the bar,” he said flatly.

Later, Adrienne mused, she might find the overprotective attitude sweet, something like she’d thought having an older brother would be like. But just at the moment, it rankled. “Gabriel, we went over this. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. Relax, okay, Mommy?”

He sighed heavily. “You’re sounding more and more like Eve,” he muttered at length. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

She laughed. “Stop worrying so much. I’m having fun. And I guarantee I’m not the only one who’ll benefit from some of the things I bought today,” she added as she glanced at a bag bearing a Victoria’s Secret logo. Behind her, Eve snorted and pretended to throw up.

“You went shopping again? You went a few weeks ago!”

The absolute and sincere shock in his voice made her giggle. “I was dragged into it,” she claimed. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Bull,” Eve shouted so that it would carry to her brother. “C’mon, Dee, get off the phone. The bar awaits.”

Gabe ground his teeth together and told himself he trusted her enough not to grab his keys and drive like a madman for New York right this very second. “Have fun.”

Adrienne held her tongue between her teeth, then gave up, chuckled and said, “It killed you to say that, didn’t it?”

In spite of himself, Gabe’s lips quirked up. “You have no idea. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Guaranteed.”

The second the phone was in the cradle, Eve erupted into childish gagging noises. “God, he’s so head over heels he’s stupid about it—and he doesn’t even see it! I’m going to deck that boy. Maybe that’ll clear his head.”

She wasn’t surprised when Adrienne ignored her, but then she glanced over and saw the thoughtful frown on her face. The day’s levity had cleared Adrienne’s mind, at least, and temporarily lifted her troubles. But now the day suddenly slammed back into her mind. “Eve, will there even be any people in the bars? It’s Monday.”

The other woman snorted. “Please. This isn’t your small town, honey. This is New York. There’s always a party going on. Now go change, damn it!”

And with that, she shoved a laughing Adrienne towards the bedroom.

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Eve had been right. The bar she’d chosen was busy enough considering the date, and after some initial awkwardness, Adrienne relaxed enough—with the aid of enough alcohol to leave her pleasantly buzzed but still in control of herself—to dance with the men crowding up to them—who’d had considerably more than a few drinks.

Aside from easing her mind, providing her with some fun, and letting her see something of New York’s culture, the night also provided her with some insight. A man made his way through the crowd, brushed Eve, absently set a unnecessarily steadying hand on her hip with the ease and familiarity of a man who knows women.

He was pretty frigging good-looking, Adrienne decided as she forgot dancing and studied him. Tall, lean but muscled, with dark, unkempt hair, stubble shading his jaw, and eyes of a brilliant, intensely deep blue—not to mention that generous mouth and the long-fingered hands. If a woman wanted a drunken tryst, she couldn’t do better.

She watched curiously as Eve turned on him, snarled, raising her voice to be heard above the music. “Looking for a barely legal type, McDermott?”

Tyson McDermott flicked only the briefest of looks at Broadway’s baby, and was immediately annoyed by his body’s reaction to the short black dress she’d poured herself into. He knew she was pissed that he hadn’t returned her calls about the play they would both be a part of, but at the moment, he could have cared less. To irritate her as she’d inadvertently done to him, he leaned in close by her ear to answer, still maintaining an invisible, intangible distance that couldn’t be breached. The entire exchange was fascinating Adrienne, who would have had her head propped on her hands had she been sitting. “I’m warped, Coulter, but not that badly. I’m here to pick up my sister.”

Relegating Adrienne to the back of her mind for the moment, Eve snorted, tossed her hair and turned the rest of her body to face him, anticipating a good fight. “And how often does that line work for you?”

He cocked an eyebrow, moved in a little closer than the close quarters had already forced them into just because he knew it would piss her off. “Babe, if I wanted someone in here, I’d be hitting on you and we both know it. If you see Ali, tell her I’m looking for her and to go wait by the car and call me.”

“Why would I do that?” she responded coolly, with that arch of her eyebrows that made her look like a princess addressing a peasant.

Except princesses, he thought irately, didn’t usually wear little black dresses that looked as though they’d been painted on. At least, the ones in his childhood fairytales sure as hell hadn’t.

He’d been scanning the crowd, but his eyes came back to hers for a second, then two. “I told you to, didn’t I?” He started to step away, then surprised her by banding an arm around her waist and yanking her close so he could murmur by her ear, “And I wouldn’t need a line.”

Then he was gone, and she was furious and still snarling. It didn’t help that she turned back and saw Adrienne, standing just a few feet away, grinning like a fool. She’d stopped dancing and was therefore being ignored by the men in the crowd. Eve frowned.

“What’s with the sappy grin, Dee?”

Adrienne’s grin widened. Then she said in a teasing sing-song reminiscent of a bad Cheez Whiz commercial, “You waaaaaaant him.”

“Ew.” Eve rolled her eyes, thankful the music was at a brief lull. “Leave the high school mentality behind. I’m not interested in him. He’s a jerk.”

It was Adrienne’s turn to snort. “Nope, can’t fool me. Spent a lifetime watching people. You want him. Admit it.”

Over her dead body, Eve vowed silently, but outwardly she only rolled her eyes and snagged Adrienne by the arm. “Just how many have you had? Come on, let’s go. If Gabe finds out you were this close to hammered in a New York City bar, he’ll skin me alive.” She began the trek for the door with Adrienne babbling contentedly at her side. She only clued in when she heard the word sister.

“That must be his sister, right? That one there, with the same dark hair? Ohh, her eyes are nice too. Not scary intense like his, though. Yep, that’s her.”

Since she’d seen the girl—who was in fact only a few years younger than Adrienne, and ten years younger than her thirty-something brother—before, Eve knew this. In spite of herself, her lips twitched as she cast Adrienne an amused look. “Cool the babbling, drunkie. We’ll be out of here soon.”

When Adrienne obediently fell silent—though the foolish grin appeared to be pasted to her face—Eve wove them a path to the girl and her group of friends.

“Ali, your brother’s looking for you,” she called. “Said to go wait by the car and call his cell.” She eyed the girl, who’d apparently downed about as many drinks as Adrienne had. “Need a hand there?”

Ali started to deny it—then bit her lip. “Maybe,” she finally admitted, so although she really didn’t want to see Tyson McDermott again, Eve led both women out the door and to the car she knew belonged to him.

After all, a flashy black Porsche was a little hard to miss.

Because the buttons on Ali’s phone had mysteriously shrunk—or so she claimed—and she was no longer able to dial the numbers, Eve pulled out her own and impatiently jabbed at buttons.

“Yes, princess?”

She rolled her eyes and would have crossed them out of sheer irritation had Adrienne not been grinning at her and loudly smacking her lips. “Your sister and one of her friends are waiting by your car. You’re welcome.”

She heard him chuckle, heard the volume of the crowd’s voices lower, and could only assume he was working his way out of the bar. “How can I repay you, sugar?”

As always, the retort was on the tip of her tongue. “Don’t call me ‘sugar’.”

“Yeah, you haven’t been all that sweet to me,” he agreed, and she swore as his voice sounded from behind her, as well as from the phone’s earpiece. She disconnected and shoved the phone into her bag, turned, and glared at him. “Bastard.”

“No, my parents were married when I was born,” he answered easily, ignoring her snort to glance over his shoulder. “Ali, Dana, get in the car. I’ll just be a couple seconds.”

The girls obeyed, winking at each other as they left the window open a crack. Even someone who’d had a few too many could tell they were hitting on each other. They were just being stupid about it, that was all.

Tyson glanced over at Adrienne and couldn’t help but smile at the little blonde with the big smile and misty eyes. “Who’s this?”

Before Eve could answer, Adrienne was beaming and bounding forward, all sunshine and sparkles with her hand held out. “I’m Adrienne. Hi.”

Tyson chuckled, greeted her—then hugged her as her outstretched arms demanded—and then glanced at Eve. “Getting the barely legal kids drunk?” he asked, sotto voce.

“Hey!” Adrienne protested, lips smooshing into a pout. “I’m twenty-five!”

It was absolutely impossible to resist her, Tyson discovered, and flashed her a grin. “Sorry. But you’ll appreciate comments like that when you’re forty.”

“Everyone’s always saying that,” she muttered, but she couldn’t help grinning back.

“She’s a friend of my brother’s,” Eve said as if no one had spoken, in a voice that all but dripped with icicles. “In town for the night. My brother gets a little territorial, so I wouldn’t hit on her. Come on, Adrienne.”

Tyson had to chuckle to himself as the women walked away and Adrienne’s voice carried back to him: “Awww, but he’s so pretty....”

Eve Coulter, he mused, certainly knew some interesting people. He was fairly sure that had been Adrienne Hudson, a writer whose work his sister read voraciously. And to think, all he had to do where Eve was concerned was work with her without killing her.

Or fucking her brains out, whispered an irritating voice in his mind.

“Shut up,” he muttered to the voice as he slid into the car and vented his frustration by peeling out of the lot.

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-cackles evilly- Oh, I enjoyed that way too much. So, if for some reason your brain isn’t running at full capacity at the moment, let me enlighten you: yes, I’m setting you guys up for a sequel. The votes are running neck and neck—last I checked, the number of people who wanted Eve’s story were even with the people who want to see the entire family’s stories. Since I would have thumbed my nose at you and written it anyways, I’ll be writing Eve’s story next. And okay, I lied. I’m not posting again after this for now. Sorry. Deal with some more suspense. I love you guys?

It’s both exciting and a little bittersweet to say that we haven’t got that much left. Definitely a few more chapters, but I’m thinking we’ll wrap it up in about seven. Are we excited? Of course we are. Go tell me just how excited you are in—you guessed it—a review.

— Murphy

P.S. If anyone was wondering, “chère” (what Ana-Li called Isobel) means “dear”. It’s French. (Duh.)