that we needed a break from each other.
Gideon needed to figure out what he was doing, what he was looking for, and whether I had any meaningful place in his life.
Because this roller-coaster ride we were on was going to break me, and I couldn't let that happen.
I wouldn't.
"Can I help with anything?" he asked.
I answered without looking at him, because doing so was too painful.
"Can you see if we can get Cary out here? He's got a wheelchair."
"All right."
He left the room, and I could suddenly breathe deeply again.
Ireland hurried over.
"What happened to Cary?" "I'll tell you about it while we set the table."
* * *
I was surprised I could eat.
I think I was too fascinated by the silent showdown between my dad and Gideon to notice that I was stuffing food into my mouth.
At one end of the table, Cary was charming Ireland into peals of laughter that kept making me smile.
At the other end, my dad sat at the head of the table, with Gideon on his left and me on his right.
They were talking.
The conversation had opened with baseball, as I'd expected, then migrated into golf.
On the surface, both men seemed relaxed, but the air around them was highly charged.
I noticed that Gideon wasn't wearing his expensive watch.
He'd planned carefully to appear as "normal" as possible.
But nothing Gideon did on the outside could change who he was on the inside.
It was impossible to hide what he was - a dominant male, a captain of industry, a man of privilege.
It was in every gesture he made, every word he spoke, every look he gave.
So he and my father were in the position of struggling to find who would be the alpha, and I suspected I hung in the balance.
As if anyone were in control of my life but me.
Still, I understood that my father had only really been allowed to be a dad in the last four years, and he wasn't ready to give it up.
Gideon, however, was jockeying for a position I was no longer prepared to give him.
But he was wearing the ring I'd given him.
I tried not to read anything into it, but I wanted to hope.
I wanted to believe.
We'd all finished the main course and I was pushing to my feet to clear the table for dessert when the intercom buzzed.
I answered.
"Eva? NYPD detectives Graves and Michna are here," the gal at the front desk said.
I glanced at Cary, wondering if the detectives had found out who'd attacked him.
I gave the go-ahead for them to come up and hurried back to the dining table.
Cary looked at me with raised brows, curious.
"It's the detectives," I explained.
"Maybe they have news."
My dad's focus immediately shifted.
Honed.
"I'll let them in."
Ireland helped me clear up.
We'd just dumped the cups into the sink when the doorbell rang.
I wiped my hands with a dish towel and went out to the living room.
The two detectives who entered weren't the ones I expected, because they weren't the ones who'd questioned Cary at the hospital on Monday.
Gideon appeared out of the hallway, shoving his phone into his pocket.
I wondered who'd been calling him all night.
"Eva Tramell," the female detective said, stepping deeper into my apartment.
She was a thin woman with a severe face and sharply intelligent blue eyes, which were her best feature.
Her hair was brown and curly, her face clean of makeup.
She wore slacks over dark flats, a poplin shirt, and a lightweight jacket that didn't hide the badge and gun clipped to her belt.
"I'm Detective Shelley Graves of the NYPD.
This is my partner Detective Richard Michna.
We're sorry to disturb you on a Friday night."
Michna was older, taller, and portly.
His hair was graying at the temples and receding at the top, but he had a strong face and dark eyes that raked the room while Graves focused on me.
"Hello," I greeted them.
My father shut the door, and something about the way he moved or carried himself caught Michna's attention.
"You on the job?" "In California," my dad confirmed.
"I'm visiting Eva, my daughter.
What's this about?" "We'd just like to ask you a few questions, Miss Tramell," Graves said.
She looked at Gideon.
"And you, too, Mr.
Cross."
"Does this have something to do with the attack on Cary?" I asked.
She glanced at him.
"Why don't we sit down."
We all moved into the living room, but only Ireland and I ended up taking a seat.
Everyone else remained on their feet, with my dad pushing Cary's wheelchair.
"Nice place you've got here," Michna said.
"Thank you."
I looked at Cary, wondering what the hell was
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