“Holy shit.” She was in love with me, and she told Nix on a voice mail.
“Yeah, holy shit,” he replied. “That was twenty minutes ago, and she’s confronting a murderer.”
Eve was going to see my father. The one man in the world I hated. Until today, for what he did to me and Poppy. And now? Now he had so many more sins. The woman I loved was going to be alone with a murderer, and I never had a chance to tell her how I felt.
“Finch is at his ranch. He’s closer than we are.”
“He’s not police,” Nix said as he ran down the hall toward the front entrance.
“Like I give a shit,” I told him, keeping pace. “We’ll call him on the way to get his ass over there.”
13
EVE
Voice mail. I’d gotten Nix’s voice mail. I should have called it in, but I knew he’d get here quick. I couldn’t believe I’d thought Shane had been with all those women, done those awful things with them. Used them. And Erin… God, how could I have thought him capable of murdering her?
It had all been right there on the films. But it hadn’t been him.
I pulled up in front of Eddie Nickel’s huge mansion. It was the biggest log cabin I’d ever seen. Two stories with wings and a separate garage with five stalls. The landscaping was buried under two feet of snow, but I was sure it was gorgeous in the summer. There was a circular driveway in front, and the pavement was heated. A rarity in Montana since it was costly, but it kept the driveway warm so it didn’t need shoveling. Something a guy like Eddie Nickel would have.
I climbed from the car, went up the front steps and rang the doorbell.
My breath was caught in my throat, and I let it out. Took another deep breath, yoga breathing, to calm my racing heart. I remembered what I saw, knew the guy I was confronting had done all that.
The door opened. No butler, but Eddie Nickel himself. I’d seen him in movies, occasionally around town, but at a distance. He looked just like in the films, although admittedly a little better. Midfifties. Black hair with a little gray threaded in at the temples. If he colored it, I couldn’t tell. If he had Botox to diminish wrinkles around his eyes and across his forehead, I couldn’t tell that either. He looked naturally good in a pale blue dress shirt and jeans.
The ring I’d seen in the films was on his finger. Adrenaline kicked in at the sight of it. That gaudy thing was his downfall. The difference between freedom and a jail cell.
A stupid gold ring.
He smiled at me, then looked me over, completely unaware he’d been caught.
Yeah, he’d used all those women. I felt skeeved out by that quick perusal. He’d never met me, didn’t know who I was, but was assessing me to fuck.
I took a deep breath, faked a smile and said, “Hi, Mr. Nickel, I’m Eve Miranski.”
“Come in.”
He stepped back and allowed me entrance, having no idea why I was here. He didn’t care.
He headed toward the back of the house, and I followed, passing a sweeping staircase and a den. Pictures of himself were all over the walls. Photos, paintings and posters of his movies covered every surface. I didn’t see one family photo.
The great room was sunken. He took two steps down to the large seating area that faced a massive stone fireplace and enormous windows with views of Montana. I could probably see to Utah from here.
“We haven’t met. I’d have remembered you,” he said, turning to face me. “Sit, please.”
He held out his hand, indicating a white sofa. I settled onto it, and he took a spot across from me, a glass coffee table the size of a car between us.
“No, we haven’t met,” I replied. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about your relationships, specifically with Erin Mills.”
His smile slipped a little, but he was a good actor. “Are you with the press? You know I love to give interviews, but usually they’re arranged with my publicist.” He shrugged and studied me. “You’re here, though, so I’ll forgive you.”
If you let me fuck you over this couch, he was probably thinking.
“I’m with the Cutthroat Police.”
He cocked his head to the side as if he were a dog and heard me say, Walk.