“Because you don’t strike me as a kid kind of guy,” Megan replied.
A muscle tightened in Dirk’s jaw. “You got a husband hidden out there somewhere you haven’t mentioned either?”
The atmosphere in the car went heated. “No. I’m divorced. And Charlie’s staying with my parents till I get back, so I didn’t think it was any of your business.”
“You’re right,” Dirk said darkly. “It isn’t.”
Silence fell inside the vehicle. When Dirk just kept driving, Ethan started talking. “I saw the boy in your file, Megan. Charlie O’Brien. Two years old.”
Dirk glared at Ethan in the mirror. “What, you knew about him, too?”
“Ethan’s been checking into our pasts,” Val explained, trying not to feel a sense of betrayal. She didn’t like him digging around, even if it was his job. She didn’t like that she had let him see how vulnerable she was when it came to her past. “He’s trying to find something that might connect one of us to the killer.”
“A couple of the models have kids,” Ethan said. “And while we’re on the subject, if the killer’s the fanatic he seems, he might not approve of a mother modeling sexy lingerie. Delilah might have just been a convenient target. Can you think of anyone who might be outraged at you or Caralee? Someone who strongly disapproves of what you do because you’ve got kids?”
Megan fell silent, taking time to consider. “There’s no one I can think of.”
“What about Charlie’s dad?” Ethan pressed. “He the kind of guy who’d be pissed you’re up onstage without your clothes?”
“She wears clothes,” Dirk defended her. “Just not that many.”
Val caught Ethan’s look of amusement. Clearly the two men were close friends.
“I stand corrected,” Ethan said with a wink at Val that made her grin.
“My ex-husband wouldn’t have the least objection to anything I did,” Meg said. “Jonathan started cheating on me a few days after we were married. I was just too stupid to realize the kind of man he was. He’s long gone and good riddance. And he doesn’t give a damn about Charlie or me—for which I’m immensely grateful.”
Silence fell again and Ethan let the subject drop. Val made a quick call to her parents, telling them she was safe and in good hands and that she’d call them when she had time to talk.
Then she phoned Mrs. Oakley and explained about the news cameras in front of the duplex. The older woman assured her it wasn’t a problem. Typical Mrs. O.; she was enjoying the excitement.
At the end of the call, Val took off her sneakers and put on her high heels, then settled in for the ride to the Evergreen Memorial Cemetery, south of Seattle. With each passing mile, her mood grew more somber. By the time Dirk pulled up in front of the chapel, her chest felt tight, her heartbeat sluggish.
“Just stay close to me,” Ethan said, and some of her anxiety slipped away.
A sea of reporters surrounded the funeral home, but the media was roped off, kept at a respectful distance, none of them close enough to ask questions or inject themselves into the mourners’ grief.
As the SUV pulled up in front of the gray-carpeted walkway leading into the chapel, Dirk stepped out from behind the wheel and a valet slid in to take his place.
Ethan came around and opened Val’s door. She pulled her black veil down over her face and stepped out on the carpeted walkway. Ethan moved in behind her, silently protecting her as she made her way inside the chapel.
Though it wasn’t nearly large enough to accommodate the hundreds of mourners who had come to pay their respects, a block of seats had been reserved. All of the La Belle models, Paul Boudreau, Matthew Carlyle, a few other La Belle executives, and a number of Delilah’s closest friends sat in that section.
Val recognized David Klein, the wealthy jewelry merchant who supplied the extravagant necklaces for the show, sitting next to Jason Stern, the president of the company. Undoubtedly Klein, who lived in San Francisco, had arrived in La Belle’s private jet.
Val seated herself in one of the pews and Megan slid in beside her. At the front of the chapel, a cherrywood casket inlaid with mother of pearl rested on the dais, covered by a thick blanket of dark red roses. Behind a thin curtain off to one side, Delilah’s family sat grieving.
From the corner of her eye, Val spotted Ethan standing near the wall at the end of the row, long legs splayed, hands crossed in front of him, in full bodyguard mode. His dark eyes moved restlessly over the crowd, scanning the room for any sort of threat. She felt better just knowing he was there.
The thought stirred a trickle of uneasiness inside her. She was beginning to depend on Ethan, and that was dangerous. She’d learned a long time ago, the only person she could truly depend on was herself. Even Mom and Pops wouldn’t always be there for her. They were already in their late sixties, and Pops was frail.
She sat up a little straighter in the hard wooden pew. She’d always stood on her own two feet. No matter what happened, that wasn’t going to change.
Still, until Delilah’s killer was found, her life could be in danger. She wasn’t stupid enough to deny she needed a man with Ethan’s skills to ensure her safety.
She tried not to remember the lonely young girl who had depended on her boyfriend, Bobby. The sixteen-year-old who had foolishly believed Bobby Rodriquez would keep her safe.
Bobby had tried, but instead he’d wound up dead. She’d been left to face the cops, her terrible guilt, and her awful grief. There’d been no one to turn to, no one who gave a damn what happened to her. If it hadn’t been for Thomas and Ellie Hartman, she might have ended up as dead as Bobby. Or worse.
