Should I tell her about William? Anne wondered. It might help to unburden herself, but strictly speaking, it wasn’t a good idea to share details of a case with a civilian.
“Okay. It is a big deal. You don’t have to make that face at me,” Michelle said.
“I wasn’t making a face,” Anne protested.
“You were making Mom-face,” Michelle said flatly. “Mom-face at Evie; don’t Mom-face at me.”
Anne smiled a little. “Well, I didn’t mean to. I’m just preoccupied.”
“Is it a nasty one? The deep evil?”
Anne rubbed circles on Evie’s back. She was getting sleepy. Anne tossed a toy on the couch aside and sat down.
“No, not deep evil. Just personal.” Anne pinched her lips to the side. “You remember how I told you that William got out on appeal?”
“Yeah?” Michelle’s eyes went round. “Oh, God, did someone, I mean, is he…?”
“No! No, he’s fine. He’s just, you know, a suspect.”
Michelle’s mouth hung open. “Oh, my God.”
“Yes.” Anne gave a nod and looked down at Evie’s face. Out cold. It was late. She should’ve stopped obsessing over the case in her office an hour ago and put Evie to bed.
“Do you think he did it?”
Anne ran a hand over Evie’s curls. “I’m not sure. I can’t really talk details, but there’s a connection for sure. I just wish I could trust that he would tell me the truth. Or that I’d be able to know when he’s hiding something from me.”
Michelle sucked in her lower lip and raised a brow.
“What?”
“I mean, between the two of you, I dunno how either of you could guess when the other one was lying.” She held her hands up. “Not that I blame you for not telling him about Evie, but he’d for sure want to know.”
“That’s not an option.” Anne scowled. “He was in prison, and I know he did everything they said, no matter what witchcraft his lawyers pulled. Even worse, his father? God. If I don’t trust William, I sure as hell don’t trust that man. Anthony Spencer is the worst crime lord in Europe.”
“Point. But still. William’s around now. What if he finds out?”
“Then, I take a cue from him and lie my ass off. He’s not the only tall, gorgeous man with golden hair in Vegas.”
Michelle laughed and nodded.
“And if he comes around—” Anne started.
“I won’t say anything.”
“I was going to say, don’t let him anywhere with you alone.”
Michelle flipped her hair. “Hey, he always liked me. He acted like I was his little sister.”
“He’s dangerous. No matter how nice he seems, he’s a criminal. I want you to be careful.”
“Fine, fine, Mom-face.” Michelle rolled her eyes and then flopped on her stomach to finish her homework.
Anne pointed at her with mock judgment before rising from the sofa to go put Evie to bed. As much as Michelle teased Anne about the “mom-face,” she had essentially been Michelle’s parent for almost six years now. Ever since their mother had died of cancer, the two of them had been on their own, and Anne had been determined to keep the two of them together. That meant getting a job, forgetting whatever she might have planned for her own life, and making sure no one could have a reason to take her little sister away from her.
Michelle had been young when their mother had passed, but not so young that she couldn’t take some responsibility for herself. It had been a challenge for Anne to go from an older sister to the single mom of a thirteen-year-old, but in the end, it had been worth it. No matter how stressful, even with the surprise addition of Evie, Anne’s family was her life. She would never do anything to jeopardize that.
Anne placed Evie into her bed, on her back, and locked the side rails into place. Evie, now slightly awake, caught Anne’s sleeve and murmured, indignantly, and without opening her eyes, “‘Mm, not sleepy, Mommy!”
“No?” Anne suppressed a laugh. “Well, obviously. Would you like me to read to you until you are?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay then. Snuggle in, and I’ll get you a book.” Anne looked through the books piled on Evie’s nightstand and selected one about a plucky narwhal that wanted to be a dolphin. “For all intents and porpoises,” Anne read. “This is a completely true story.”
Evie opened her eyes and, holding onto her blanket, leaned over so she could see the pages. Anne was about seventy percent convinced that the girl was memorizing the stories because sometimes she would “read” them back to Michelle to impress her.