“I have two broken fingers.”
“How did you break them?”
“I had the misfortune of running into someone who wanted information I was unwilling to provide and—”
“Someone did this to you?” Ab exploded, then glared at Gil. “Was it him?”
“Of course not,” Ivy snapped. “Ab, this is Gil.MyGil. He would never hurt me. He’s taking care of me.” Ivy stopped talking as the two men reacted in completely different ways to her statement.
Ab looked like someone had sucker punched him.
Gil looked like he’d won the lottery.
She retraced her words.MyGil. She’d said that out loud. She couldn’t take it back, and she wouldn’t if she could. Although maybe she wouldn’t have been quite so blunt in front of Ab. She knew he still cared about her, and she tried to be sensitive to that. But after days of fear and fatigue, her filter had failed her.
Ab recovered and grumbled, “Did you catch the guy who broke your fingers?”
Ivy wasn’t sure if Ab was asking her or Gil. Gil nodded at her in what she assumed was his way of saying she should answer Ab’s question however she saw fit.
She went with the simplest and most honest answer. “Yes.”
Ab made a show of checking out Gil’s badge and gun. “You the one who caught him?”
“After Ivy shot him, it didn’t require much effort.” Gil delivered the line as if Ivy went around shooting people every day.
Ab didn’t try to hide his shock and returned his full attention to Ivy. “You shot him?”
“Yes.” There was no way she was going to volunteer the information that her attacker had been approaching Gil and she didn’t know if Gil knew he was there or not, so she had to shoot him to save Gil.
“You shot him,” Ab repeated, no question in his voice. “Well, then I assume he’s in jail?”
“No.”
“Did he escape?” Again, Ab looked at Gil as if this was all his fault.
Ivy glanced at Gil’s badge. Not being an expert on all things law enforcement, if she hadn’t already known he was with the Secret Service, she probably would see the badge and assume he was a detective. Maybe Ab assumed the same?
“I don’t make a habit out of putting dead people in jail, Ab.” Gil’s accent—which was typically subtle, hinting at his Southern roots but not screaming them—had thickened and the words came out in full drawl.
What was Gil doing? Why was he doing it?
Ab glared at him. “Dead?”
“Heart attack in the hospital.”
“So what happens now?”
“Raleigh PD is working the case.”
“You aren’t Raleigh PD.” Ab stated this as fact. Maybe he did know the difference in badges.
“I am not,” Gil confirmed without detail.
“What’s the Secret Service got to do with Ivy?” Ab recognized the badge.
“The Secret Service is investigating an unrelated matter involving Hedera, Inc.”
“And that investigation requires around-the-clock protection?”
