Gated Prey (Eve Ronin #3)(47)

“How do you know all their names?”

“Because I went and said hello.”

“And you remember their names?”

“I also remember where I parked my car,” he said, “and that was even longer ago.”

“I’ve already forgotten their names,” Eve said, wishing she had another Red Bull within reach.

“Good, then you’ll appear genuinely unprepared when you go and say hello. Quick, you have an opening now that the mayor is leaving.” He gave her a shove and she reluctantly straggled over to Grayson and his family.

“Pardon me for intruding, I just wanted to say hello,” Eve said, catching Grayson’s eye, “and to thank you again for what you did.”

“I was just doing my job,” Grayson said. There was something stiff and rote about the line now. Eve wondered how many times he’d said it over the past seventy-two hours.

“He keeps saying that,” his mother, Karen, said, as if reading Eve’s mind. “But he went above and beyond. Too far, if you ask me.”

Eve felt the same way. She wasn’t convinced that Paul Colter had to be shot, that she wouldn’t have been able to talk him down.

Bill Mumford turned to his son. “They better give you a fat bonus or a promotion to a command position.”

Eve nodded toward Ethan Dryer, who was sucking up to Sheriff Lansing, who was smiling but clearly scanning the crowd for someone more important to talk to. “You should talk to the guy who is with the sheriff. He runs the security company and writes the checks.”

“I’ll do that.” Bill offered his hand. “I’m Bill Mumford, this is my wife, Karen, and daughter, Emily.”

Eve shook hands all around. “I’m pleased to meet all of you. I’m Detective Eve Ronin. I was in the store that day.”

Emily didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, she drew Eve close. “I know who you are. I’ve seen all your videos. I’m a big fan.”

The compliment made Eve uncomfortable. Emily talked about the videos like they were episodes of a show, or advertisements, that Eve had produced. But they were neither. Eve had nothing to do with the production or posting of the videos.

Having a fan also bothered Eve, who believed that real cops didn’t have fans. Only the fictional ones did. But then she remembered the Ronin script sitting in her hotel room and realized that soon she might be real and fictional, which only made her more uncomfortable.

Bill Mumford took out his phone and gestured to Eve and his son. “Could I get a picture of the two heroes together?”

Eve moved beside Grayson and they turned to face Bill. But before he could take the picture, Karen stepped up to Eve, blocking his view. “When I said I wished Grayson hadn’t done what he did, I didn’t mean to imply I’d be happier if you’d been shot.”

“I didn’t take it that way,” Eve said. “I also wish he’d run out with the customers and employees.”

“But you would have been killed.”

“I could have been,” Eve said. “But I’m paid to take those risks. Grayson isn’t. If one of us was going to risk their life, it should have been me.”

“Move, Karen,” Bill said. She did, and he gave Eve and Grayson some direction. “Smile and look this way.”

He took a few pictures, then Emily handed her dad her phone.

“Can I get a picture, too?” She didn’t wait for an answer—instead she stood beside Eve and took her hand.

Bill took some more pictures, and then Emily whispered to Eve, “I’m going to crop Grayson out.”

Eve turned to Grayson. “Could I talk to you alone for a minute?”

“Sure,” Grayson said.

Eve smiled at his family. “Please excuse me, I’m going to steal your son for a minute.”

She led him into the library, where they’d have some privacy. As soon as the door was closed, and she was sure nobody was around, she said, “I want to apologize for not reaching out to you after the shooting. I got swept up working some cases. How are you feeling?”

“It’s been kind of a whirlwind for me, too, no time to stop and think. I’ve been on all the local news shows, plus a bunch of radio interviews,” Grayson said. “I’ve been reliving what happened, but not dwelling on it, if you know what I mean.”

It had become a story that he told, not an experience that he’d lived, and with each telling, he distanced himself from the reality of it even more. Or, as he’d put it, the horror. Perhaps it was a good thing, she thought.

“Are you sleeping?” Eve asked.

“Not much, mostly because of all the interviews. They leave me pretty cranked up afterwards.”

“I know the feeling,” she said. “I also know what comes later. When the whirlwind dies down, and it will, and it’s just you and your thoughts, it can be tough. If you need to talk to someone, you have my card. I meant what I said. Call any time.”

“Thanks,” Grayson said. “What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

He looked her in the eye. “You saw him die, too.”

Eve met his gaze. “I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger.”

“But still, you must feel something.”

She didn’t. She’d been in a different whirlwind, one of constant work. There was no time to think about spattered brains or butchered wombs. Perhaps that was intentional, Eve thought. She was avoiding the gruesome loop.