Sucker Bet (Vegas Vampires #4)(39)
Author: Erin McCarthy

"We need to get a court order to trace Slash’s e-mail back to his true identity through his e-mail provider if we can’t find it any other way. It could take weeks until we know who he really is."

"Maybe I can make plans to meet him again."

"No, it’s dangerous as hell."

"I could meet him with you backing me up." Though she wasn’t afraid, not of being killed. It would take a cunning and incredibly strong mortal to overpower her enough to take off her head.

"Except that every time you try to meet him he stands you up. I think he’s playing you, Gwenna. And I don’t like it."

Well, she wasn’t too fond of it either. "It’s worth a go."

"No."

"Yes." Damn it, on television the police were always sending in civilians to act as sitting ducks. Why didn’t he see the brilliance of this ? And she suddenly realized that she was digging in, feeling stubborn and contrary, because Nate was assuming control, giving her orders, like Roberto. Like Ethan.

But he just sighed. "Can we not argue about this, please? I really need to get some sleep… why don’t we talk about it tomorrow? "

Ouch. So maybe she was leaping to conclusions. He wasn’t her brother or her ex, and he’d been having a couple of really brutal days. She didn’t need to contribute to his stress.

"Sure. Of course. You get a good night’s sleep and I’ll see you in the morning."

He sighed. "Yeah. Thanks, Gwenna. Goodnight."

"Good night, Nate." Gwenna hung up and stared at the phone in her hand, her heart swelling with something that she was fairly certain she shouldn’t allow.

Bloody hell, she was falling in love with him.

And Lord knew, she was absolutely old enough to know better, but it didn’t seem to matter. She wanted to go to him, comfort him, hold him, make him a sandwich—which was laughable since she hadn’t touched a cold cut in a solid nine hundred years—and love him.

Stuffing the phone back into her clutch, she turned to the door of the penthouse.

She needed a drink.

Nate had a whole new respect—and gratitude—for Gwenna Carrick. They’d known each other all of what, three days, and yet she had totally come through for him. She’d spent the entire day by his side on Sunday. The funeral mass, the cemetery internment, the reception afterward—she had been right there, with him. A silent, steady support.

He wasn’t sure he could ever explain to her how much that meant to him, how much he appreciated the sacrifice of her time to attend something so uncomfortable and sad, for someone she had never met, or how grateful he was for the buffer she created between himself and his mother. Having Gwenna with him allowed him to stand straight and concentrate on giving his baby sister a final and fitting tribute to the loving and beautiful person she had been.

Now he was exhausted and mentally drained, but he’d made it through and he would be alright. The worst was done and he could regroup, grieve, heal. But first he wanted to figure out how to say thanks to Gwenna.

They were sitting in his truck at the funeral home after the reception since she’d left her car at his place. It always struck him as odd to see Gwenna driving the massive Lexus SUV, but she had told him it was her brother’s car. At the moment she was obviously waiting for him to drive or say something, but his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth.

Gripping the steering wheel, he tried to figure out how to explain to her what he was feeling. That he was grateful, appreciated her presence, her comfort. And that he dug her. That he was completely, totally falling for her. But he was afraid it was onesided or that she’d tell him it was just some kind of stress-induced attraction. That under normal circumstances neither one of them would have ever glanced at the other.

Maybe that was true, but hell, did it matter?

He turned to her. She smiled at him and touched his knee.

Instead of saying what he really wanted to, he said, "You didn’t eat anything at the reception, did you?"

She frowned a little. "I had a sandwich."

"I didn’t see you." It was nearly four in the afternoon and he would swear he hadn’t seen her eat one bite. Her poor eating habits might explain why she always looked so pale, so thin. Not that he thought she looked unhealthy, because she didn’t. Her skin was smooth and shiny, cheeks pink, body curved in all the right places. But he never saw her eat and it was starting to bother the detective in him. "Let’s go back in and get you something. Or we could stop and pick something up on the way back to my place if there wasn’t anything you wanted at the lunch."

"Nate, I ate. I did. Trust me, I’m fine."

Her eyes didn’t meet his. A bad, bad sign. He wondered if she could have an eating disorder or something. He was no shrink, but it seemed like Gwenna would be the kind to stuff her feelings down deep and deal with them in a way that would make no sense to him. The daughter, the ex-husband, the lack of a career to distract her—she had plenty of reasons to be stressed and out of whack.

"What happened to your daughter?" he asked, with about zip for tact. But he was tired and he was suddenly really friggin’ worried about her.

Her eyes went wide. "Isabel? She died." Then she looked out the passenger window and bit her lip.

"I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up… I was just wondering how. I know today must have brought up bad memories for you, with a funeral and all."

"It’s been a long time since my daughter died," she said, her voice low, sad, her shoulders tense.

Considering she looked about a minute out of high school, Nate couldn’t believe it was that long ago, but it was clear she didn’t really want to talk about it. "I don’t guess you ever recover from a loss like that."

"No." Her head swung around and she looked at him. "You don’t."

"Was she sick?" Nate figured he should shut the hell up, but his mouth seemed determined to do its own thing.

"No. She was very healthy actually. It was just an accident. A horrible, unexpected accident. It was at our castle in England… she fell on a sword."

"A sword ? Jesus." Nate covered her hand on his knee with his and gripped her tightly. "Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up." And he felt guilty as hell that he had. A sword. God, he wanted to throw up at that image.

But she gave him a brief smile. "It’s alright, Nate. I’m actually okay, for the most part. I did have what amounted to a breakdown after, and that pain, that grief has changed me permanently, but the thing is, I’m still here, sane. Functional. I’ve been through the worst that could ever happen, and finally, I feel like I’ve regained myself as a woman. I can actually look to the future with something like pleasure for the first time in what feels like literally forever."