The Devil's Daughter (Hidden Sins #1)(7)

It set him apart from some of the local law enforcement she’d dealt with who just wanted the problem to disappear so it wouldn’t further ruin their day.

She froze in the middle of reaching for her door handle, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. “I’m not back.”

“You look back.”

The voice sent ice cascading down her spine. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to hide, to do anything but turn and face the monster at her back—which was why that was exactly what she did. I’ve dealt with scarier people in the last six years. But, as she turned around, she didn’t quite believe it. She kept her shoulders back and her hands at her side as she surveyed the man before her. “Abram.” Her mother had a habit of renaming people who became her followers, but there was something about Abram that made Eden think he could have actually been born with the fire-and-brimstone name.

The years had been good to him. She thought hard—he had to be nearly fifty by now, his hair gone silver, the lines on his face slightly more pronounced. It should have made him more approachable, or at least easier to dismiss. Instead, he looked even more menacing than he had the last time she’d seen him.

“Your mother requests your presence.”

How many times had she heard those same words from him in that exact tone of voice? Too many to count. They never meant anything good. She doubted that had changed in the intervening decade. “I’m not a minor anymore, and I’m not inclined to see her.” Though it sounded calm and reserved in her head, the words came out petulant, as if she was still the child who’d fled.

“All the same.” He didn’t so much as move, but he seemed closer, invading her space and making it hard to control the fear pulsing higher with each heartbeat.

She glanced at the police station, but if Zach saw Abram confronting her, he wasn’t rushing to her defense. And why would he? As far as he was concerned, she was a crazy person who was related to an even crazier person. This was just family business.

Except it wasn’t.

She knew how this played out. She could get in her car and drive away—Abram would probably even let her—but sometime soon, she’d turn around and he’d be there, and he wouldn’t be so accommodating in that future interaction. So she could do this on her terms or on her mother’s.

That’s a lie. Nothing was on Eden’s terms—not when it came to Elysia. There was only Martha and her indomitable will.

Bend or be broken.

Those were the only true options.

I am a damn FBI agent. I can handle this. The sooner I figure out if Martha is at the bottom of this, the sooner I can get the hell out of this town and back to my life.

She slipped her keys back into her purse. “I’m not going to Elysia.”

Abram stepped back and motioned to the coffee shop across the street. It wasn’t a Starbucks—nothing in Clear Springs was brand-name—and it looked all but deserted at this hour of the afternoon. Too close to school being out for the stay-at-home moms and teens. Apparently her mother didn’t want much of an audience. A first.

The walk across the street seemed to take forever, and yet nowhere near long enough. This was the very thing she’d spent so much time and effort trying to avoid, and she’d willingly walked back into a confrontation she wasn’t sure she was ready for. Worse, it was all for nothing.

Inside, the coffee shop looked like a thousand other coffee shops across the United States. Dim, intimate lighting, close seating, and a counter that ran the length of the back wall. There was one other customer inside, but he was packing his laptop into a backpack as fast as he could. Good to know Martha still inspires that reaction.

With nothing else to focus on, she finally looked at her mother. The years had treated her just as well as they had Abram. She might have a few extra pounds around her waist, but it made her appear happier—more like the benevolent matriarch she claimed to be.

As she always did when faced with the woman who’d brought her into the world, she went down a mental checklist of features they shared. It wasn’t long—Eden was lean where her mother was bulky, several inches taller than Martha, and she had a violinist’s hands, much to her mother’s chagrin. All of which came from the father she’d never met.

From Martha, she got medium-brown hair, though she’d lightened hers, and Martha’s was more gray than brown these days. They shared the same mouth, wide and full, the kind of mouth meant for spilling lies.

And then there were the eyes.

The rest of it she could escape. Eden didn’t smile the way her mother constantly seemed to be doing while she was growing up, the spider in the middle of a web of her making. She’d changed her hair deliberately, distancing herself from the girl she used to be.

But when she held still long enough to stare in the mirror, it was her mother’s eyes staring back. Whiskey-colored eyes, the tone too deep to be termed a mere brown.

Martha turned a sunny smile on Eden, and it was almost enough to have her heading for the door—only Abram’s presence at her back kept her moving forward.

If forced to choose between Martha and Abram, there was only one way to go. At least she was reasonably sure she’d walk away from a confrontation with her mother. With Abram, there were no guarantees.

“Martha.”

Her mother’s eyes lit up, and she half pushed to her feet. “Eden. I admit, when Abram told me you were back in town, I could hardly believe it.”