Page 105 of Girl Anonymous

“Really, Maarja, since when won’t apple fritters fix all our problems?” Alex teased.

Which made Maarja burst into tears. She crawled on the bed with them, cried and cuddled and gave them the rundown on what had happened upstairs in her bedroom. Amid their exclamations of horror at Jack’s intentions and their admiration for Maarja’s actions, Alex used her own rolls of gauze that rested on the end table to blot the cut on Maarja’s chin and reassured her that she needed only a few stitches.

“A few stitches are of little importance,” Octavia decreed.

“She can’t see the blood,” Alex said to Maarja. “And the pain isn’t hers. That’s why she’s so sanguine. You can cry if you want.”

Predictably, Maarja laughed. With tears on her cheeks, she laughed.

Determinedly upbeat Octavia declared, “We were knocked down. You were cut. But the only bad omen we needed to worry about on Maarja’s wedding day was the fear that the bride and groom would be married and buried within a few hours. Now due to our own darling Maarja’s fighting skills, she’s defeated the enemy.”

“Someone got away.” Maarja wiped her nose on the tissue Alex handed her.

Outside, sirens approached, their wails muffled by the fog.

“We don’t know that yet,” Octavia said. “They might be captured.”

From the doorway, Dante said, “So far, we haven’t apprehended him.” He strode in, took Maarja’s hand, pulled her close, and with gentle fingers tilted her chin. He peeled off the bloody gauze to see what had been done to her, then replaced it. “When I do, they’ll pay.”

CHAPTER 50

Dante concealed his fury with a kiss pressed to Maarja’s forehead and handed her back into Octavia’s and Alex’s loving arms. He ran up to Maarja’s bedroom. There the coroner and EMTs clustered around Jack’s body, doing the stuff they had to do for form’s sake.

If it were up to him, Jack would go in a dumpster.

Taking the arm of the EMT in charge, Dante said, “You’re needed downstairs.”

“Did you find another body?” The name badge said Zion, and he looked as weary as any guy who’d been on duty through the night shift should look.

“Not a body. My woman needs stitches.” With one finger, Dante sliced under his chin.

“Not life-threatening?” At Dante’s nod, he said, “I can’t leave this scene for that!”

“Jack’s dead. He doesn’t need you.” Dante was cold with contempt: for Jack, for daring to threaten what was his, and for himself, for not foreseeing what Jack intended. “He took a knife to my bride, she’s bleeding, she needs her wound closednow. You do know how to suture, right?”

“I’m an EMT. I’m not officially trained for that. Two hundred miles offshore I won’t get in legal trouble, but here—”

“If you know how, I’ll make sure you don’t get into trouble, legal or otherwise.” Dante used his mob-boss voice.

Zion glanced at his people working the murder, spoke to the coroner, and walked with Dante to Octavia’s bedroom.

The women wore robes and serious expressions.

Officer Guerrero of the Oakland Police Department, who was (not surprisingly) a friend of Octavia’s, had found them and was doing her preliminary questioning. She moved aside to let Zion photograph Maarja’s wound, numb the area, and suture it. He grumbled as he worked, complaining that he was a critical care paramedic, not a plastic surgeon, and his sutures were for emergencies, not for a bride on her wedding day.

Officer Guerrero seemed startled to find a homicide at Octavia’s home, but not as startled as she might have been that it had been that particular San Francisco cop. Apparently Jack had been making a name for himself around the Bay Area as the guy to avoid.

When Zion finished and Officer Guerrero requested Maarja accompany her to the station for interviews, Dante was prepared to step in. As it turned out, he didn’t have to. Octavia coaxed the officer with an account of the wedding that would take place this afternoon and the promise that they’d all be available tomorrow for questioning.

When she got a call there was a shooting on the docks, Officer Guerrero surrendered. “I’m needed elsewhere, so I’ll use my judgment and postpone correct procedures.” She eyed Dante. “Although if anyone at the station ever discovers I did that for an Arundel, I’ll be busted back to patrolman.”

“No, you won’t.” He would make sure of that. He escorted her down to the front door, providing information he knew she would need, and when he returned, Zion had finished and left, and Octavia and Alex were comforting Maarja, pressing an ice bag against her cut, assuring her the bruising could be covered with makeup, at least until after the wedding ceremony.

He felt like he was intruding on a primitive feminine pre-wedding ritual, yet when he caught a glimpse of the bond that united his wife with her chosen family, he relaxed a little more. She was his. She was theirs. That made him theirs, too. He liked that feeling of belonging, and he hated to interrupt their bonding, but when Maarja opened her arms to him, he rushed to hold her against his chest, to rock and comfort her.

Comfort himself, too. That was too close. He’d almost lost her.

He noted that Octavia and Alex stepped out to give them privacy, and he appreciated that, for they had to speak of what had happened.

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