Denver watched her, waiting, wanting to understand the awful hold Carver had on her.
“It’s me,” she said at last.
A static charge came through the silence, building in intensity until Carver sneered, “Well, well, Cherry darlin’.” Thick with malice, his laugh taunted her. “’Bout fucking time.”
Cherry said nothing to that.
“What took you so long? Your boyfriend occupying your time?”
She didn’t look at Denver when she whispered, “No.” She inhaled, straightened her shoulders. “I don’t want to talk to you, Carver. Whatever it is—”
“Did loverboy tell you Pops died?”
“Yes. You have my condolences.”
Mocking, he asked, “But you aren’t sorry to see him go?”
Before his eyes, Denver saw her getting her sass back. He wanted to hug her, applaud her and somehow emotionally protect her.
“You know I’m not.”
“You little bitch,” Carver jeered. “He took you in, he fed you, he—”
“The state fed me.” She narrowed her eyes. “Now what do you want?”
Denver smiled at the bite in her tone, encouraging her and doing his utmost to keep his presence unknown. It wasn’t easy. He wanted to spare her—but he also wanted her to understand that he’d respect her wishes. Always.
“You can start with a fucking apology for not calling me back sooner!”
“Hold your breath while you wait for that.”
He laughed. “Getting ballsy, huh? Guess I’ll have to see what I can do about that.”
Cherry’s posture showed both anxiety and anger, but her tone remained credibly strong. “I’m hanging up now.”
“If you do, I will make you so fucking sorry.”
No mistaking that threat, and Denver shifted, his muscles automatically bunching in preparation for violence.
Touching his forearm, Cherry silently willed him to be patient, to let her handle it her own way. Jesus, it was hard. He managed a nod, but didn’t even come close to relaxing.
With his promise made, she said to Carver, “If you’re not going to tell me what you want, then I’m not wasting any more of my time.”
“Janet is hurt. In the hospital.” The sound of gnashing teeth could be heard. “She’s in a bad way.”
Some vague emotion flickered over Cherry’s expression before she went deliberately placid.
For his benefit, or Carver’s?
Sounding far from concerned, she asked, “What does that have to do with me?”
Carver’s laugh this time held genuine amusement. “No soft feelings for your champion, either, huh?”
Champion? Did that mean Janet had eventually befriended her? If so, Cherry hid it well.
“Soft feelings,” she stated, “have no part in the time I spent with you or your family.”
“I told Janet you were an unappreciative little brat due some discipline, but she didn’t listen. For some fucking reason she thought you were better than us.”
That made her laugh, but not with humor. She covered her mouth, her dark eyes shadowed with memories.
Trying a new tact, Carver lowered his voice. “Pops was murdered, Cherry—much like your old man.”
Blank surprise silenced her.
With glee, Carver expounded. “Want to know how Janet got hurt?”
She shook her head without replying, making Denver frown.
“She got caught in the crossfire. Sound familiar?”
Her eyes closed, but not for long. Stiffening her spine again, she stared daggers at the phone. “You’re boring me, Carver, so get to it.”
If Denver hadn’t been looking at her, if he didn’t see her grief-stricken expression, he’d have believed her. But he knew better. Cherry was far from bored.
In fact, she looked devastated by what he assumed was a reminder of her parents’ deaths.
“Who knows if she’ll make it?” Carver prompted. “She’s suffering, more out of it than not.”
“Like you actually care? I’ve been gone from there a while, but I find it hard to believe you two hugged and made up.”
That pushed Carver off the edge. His voice shot up along with his temper. “I don’t give a shit if the bitch rots in hell for all eternity!”
“Then why bother me?” In contrast to Carver’s loud rage, Cherry’s quiet question held more clout—because it held more control.
Proud of her, Denver gave a nod of encouragement.
“I’m bothering you,” Carver ground out, “because Janet stowed certain things. Things that we need.”