It was then, Detective Marker arrived.
Eddie stood with me while Detective Marker talked to me, again.
The only good news Jimmy Marker gave me was that Shirleen was okay. She sustained a blow to the head. She was taken to Presbyterian/St. Luke’s Hospital and admitted for observation only, a minor concussion.
“Do you know where Dad is?” I asked Detective Marker.
He looked at me.
“Usual y that’s my line,” he returned, trying to joke.
I stared at him.
He sighed, looked at Eddie, then back at me.
“We got witnesses who say he was taken by Slick, he was alive but looked injured. No word, no sign. We’re lookin’ and we’l keep lookin’,” he promised me.
I felt his words slice through me like a knife.
Eddie’s hand went into my hair and, very gently, he pressed the uninjured side of my head against him.
“I’m okay,” I lied, looking up at him.
He looked down.
“You’re so ful of shit.”
That got him a grin.
* * * * *
He took me to his place, helped me undress and stepped into the shower with me. He turned me away from the spray and used the showerhead on me, and, careful to avoid the dressing at my temple, he shampooed the blood out of my hair. We patted ourselves dry, I combed out my hair and Eddie put me to bed na**d and held me tight. After awhile, his warmth seeped into me and I started to feel safe again.
“I’m worried about Dad,” I whispered as if I was admitting to a grave sin. “I know I shouldn’t be but I am.”
“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” he replied, his voice gentle and, I swear, maybe even a little bit affectionate (or maybe even a lot).
I lay there awhile, suddenly feeling even warmer.
“Eddie?”
“Sí, mi amor?”
“I’ve got to tel you something and you have to promise me you won’t get mad.”
He was silent.
“Promise?”
He sighed. “You’re kil in’ me,” he muttered.
I pressed into him. “You have to promise.”
“I promise.”
He may have promised but he clearly wasn’t happy about it.
I told him what happened, in detail, with Vince and Mace.