Beyond Business. Elizabeth Harbison
that an escort would slow her down so much she’d miss out on her imaginary date.
“Fine,” she said. “Thanks.”
“Look,” Evan said, as they walked outside into the muggy summer air. Navy Pier was alive with activity, and high above them the clear night sky shone with diamondlike stars. “I know this isn’t the ideal situation for you, working with me. And, truthfully, I never thought I’d be back here at all, much less asking you to help me save the company. Nevertheless, I think we did a good job together tonight. Maybe Helen was on to something when she asked you to work with me.”
Meredith took a short breath inward. “Do you think she knew about our history? Did you tell her anything?”
Evan scoffed. “I hadn’t talked to my father since—” he hesitated “—well, since I left, all those years ago. And probably not for a couple of weeks before that. I definitely didn’t talk to Helen. Hell, she didn’t show up until after I was gone.”
That was true. All of Meredith’s research confirmed that. Evan was merely a family member, called in at the last moment to try to salvage a company that wasn’t entirely salvageable.
At least, not under its current administration.
“Do you think it was to her advantage or her disadvantage that you and I were … previously acquainted?” she couldn’t resist asking. But she shouldn’t have asked. She knew that from years ago: never ask a question you’re not willing to hear the honest answer to.
Evan looked at her, considering. His brown eyes were warm, like melted chocolate, and Meredith figured it was the result of the beer he’d had rather than his proximity to her. “I think it was to her advantage,” he said at last. “Our advantage, the entire company,” he clarified. “You and I have a certain shorthand between us, I think. It helps in a situation like tonight’s.”
“Shorthand?” she repeated dumbly, though she thought she knew what he meant.
“We understand each other.” He must have seen something in her that resisted that idea because he added, “Just a little bit. A little better than strangers would, anyway.”
Meredith wasn’t ready to agree with any of this, so instead she just let out a long sigh and said, “Maybe. I guess whatever works, we shouldn’t justify it one way or the other.”
Evan appeared taken aback by this, but after just a fraction of a moment, he nodded. “Yup, whatever works.”
They were outside the restaurant now, close enough to hear the raucous music inside, yet far enough to feel distance from the merriment it brought most of the patrons.
Meredith turned her most confident smile on Evan. “I can get to my car myself,” she said. “But thanks for thinking to walk me out, I really appre—”
She wasn’t able to finish her sentence before a small, thin man—maybe a teenager—rushed past her like a cartoon villain, grabbing her purse and yanking it off her arm with such force that she actually fell to the ground.
“Meredith!” Evan was at her side in a moment. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, but—” she panted “—he took my bag. My license, credit cards …” The realization hit her like a ton of bricks. “He has my address.”
“Wait here,” Evan instructed, immediately on guard. “Or go back in the restaurant. I’ll come back and find you.”
“No, Evan, don’t try to catch him,” Meredith objected. “He might have friends, accomplices—”
“I don’t care if he’s got Tony Soprano himself waiting in the wings, he’s not getting away with this.”
Before she could object—and she was ready to—he had taken off, running like a thoroughbred into the night, so fast that she only saw him for a moment before he literally disappeared into the darkness.
Evan Hanson had failed her before, back when it really mattered, but now—at a time when she was at war with her memories—suddenly he was a knight in shining armor.
As soon as he was back safely and she could stop worrying that he was going to get hurt, she’d have to figure out what to think about that.
And whether she wanted to do anything about it.
It was a cheap shot.
Evan almost had him, his hand was just inches away from at least grabbing Meredith’s purse back, if not actually clobbering the guy who took it, but apparently the mugger had an accomplice waiting for him. As he approached an alleyway he shouted something that sounded like “Yo, Carmen!” and another guy—much bigger than the first—stepped out of the shadows and sank his fist into Evan’s cheekbone.
The impact stunned Evan, and he was pretty sure that for a few minutes he looked like a cartoon character, wobbling around, disoriented.
Then the guy grabbed him by the shirt—Evan heard a loud rip—and head-butted him just for good measure.
By the time he righted himself, the two assailants were long gone.
His pride might as well have been in Meredith’s stolen purse as he went back to where she still stood, wringing her hands and waiting for him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, holding his arms out to the side as he approached her. “They got away.”
“They?”
Evan nodded as he approached. “Our pal had a friend waiting for him back by some trash dumpsters behind Melville’s.”
She looked at him in horror. “Oh, Evan—”
“The guy got me when I wasn’t looking,” he said, shaking his head. “Turns out I’m not as young or as fast as I used to be.” In truth the shock on her face made him feel that much more ashamed. He should have been able to overtake one guy and get her bag back. “I’m sorry, Meredith.”
Her eyes were still wide. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up, quick.”
“Nah.” He waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a ripped shirt.” He looked down, expecting to see his shirt torn open to the navel, but instead he saw his light-blue shirt had a large dark stain down the front.
Blood.
Reflexively he lifted his hand to his cheek. As soon as he did, he felt the wide gash and the slick, warm, sticky blood running from it.
That was when it really started to hurt.
He swore under his breath.
“You can say that again,” Meredith said, moving toward him and hooking her arm through his. “My car’s just in the lot over there. Do you think you can make it?”
Her touch felt nice on him, and part of him really wanted to go with her, but it wasn’t necessary. “My car’s just a couple of blocks away,” he said. “I can get to it, don’t worry.”
“You are not driving yourself,” Meredith said firmly.
“Well, I’m not bleeding all over your car.”
“I’ve got tissues in my glove box.”
Evan laughed. “That ought to take care of it.”
Meredith gave him a stern look. “It will until we get you to the hospital.”
“Oh, no. No way. I’m not going to the hospital. This is just—” he touched his cheek again and winced at the pain “—it’s just a flesh wound. By tomorrow it will be invisible.”
Meredith snorted and pushed him along toward her car. “Yeah, because it will probably be under more bandages than Boris Karloff had in The Mummy.”
“That was Brendan Fraser,” Evan joked.
“No,