by J. D. Robb
“I don’t have family,” Eve shot back. “And I’ve got murder on my mind. If you want to report to the commander that I’m unfit for duty, that’s just fine.”
“When are you going to trust me?” There was impatience, for the first time in Eve’s memory, in the careful voice. “Is it so impossible for you to believe that I care about you? Yes, I care,” Mira said when Eve blinked in surprise. “And I understand you better than you wish to admit.”
“I don’t need for you to understand me.” But there were nerves in Eve’s voice now. She heard them herself. “I’m not in Testing or here for a therapy session.”
“There are no recorders on here.” Mira set her tea down with a snap that had Eve jamming her hands in her pockets. “Do you think you’re the only child who lived with horror and abuse? The only woman who’s struggled to overcome it?”
“I don’t have to overcome anything. I don’t remember—”
“My stepfather raped me repeatedly from the time I was twelve until I was fifteen,” Mira said calmly, and stopped Eve’s protest cold. “For those three years I lived never knowing when it would happen, only that it would. And no one would listen to me.”
Shaken, sick, Eve wrapped her arms around her body. “I don’t want to know this. Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I look in your eyes and see myself. But you have someone who’ll listen to you, Eve.”
Eve stood where she was, moistened her dry lips. “Why did it stop?”
“Because I finally found the courage to go to an abuse center, tell the counselor everything, to submit to the examinations, both physical and psychiatric. The terror of that, the humiliation of that, was no longer as huge as the alternative.”
“Why should I have to remember it?” Eve demanded. “It’s over.”
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“The investigation—”
“Eve.”
The gentle tone had Eve closing her eyes. It was so hard, so trying, to fight that quiet compassion. “Flashbacks,” she murmured, hating herself for the weakness. “Nightmares.”
“Of before you were found in Texas?”
“Just blips, just pieces.”
“I can help you put them together.”
“Why should I want to put them together?”
“Haven’t you already started to?” Now Mira rose. “You can work with this haunting your subconscious. I’ve watched you do so for years. But happiness eludes you, and will continue to do so until you’ve convinced yourself you deserve it.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“No.” Mira touched a gentle hand to Eve’s arm. “No, it wasn’t your fault.”
Tears were threatening, and that was a shock and an embarrassment. “I can’t talk about this.”
“My dear, you’ve already begun to. I’ll be here when you’re ready to do so again.” She waited until Eve had reached the door. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You always ask questions.”
“Why stop now?” Mira said and smiled. “Does Roarke make you happy?”
“Sometimes.” Eve squeezed her eyes shut and swore. “Yes, yes, he makes me happy. Unless he’s making me miserable.”
“That’s lovely. I’m very pleased for both of you. Try to get some sleep, Eve. If you won’t take chemicals, you might use simple visualization.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” Eve opened the door, kept her back to the room. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Visualization wouldn’t be much help, Eve decided. Not after a rescan of autopsy reports.
The apartment was too quiet, too empty. She was sorry she’d left the cat with Roarke. At least Galahad would have been company.
Because her eyes burned from studying data, she pushed away from her desk. She didn’t have the energy to seek out Mavis, and she was bored senseless with the video offerings on her screen.
She ordered music, listened for thirty seconds, then switched it off.
Food usually worked, but when she poked into the kitchen, she was reminded she hadn’t restocked her AutoChef in weeks. The pickings were slim, and she didn’t have enough of an appetite to order in.
Determined to relax, she tried out the virtual reality goggles Mavis had given her for Christmas. Because Mavis had used them last, they were set for Nightclub, at full volume. After a hurried adjustment and a great deal of swearing, Eve programmed Tropics, Beach.
She could feel the grit of hot, white sand under her bare feet, the punch of the sun on her skin, the soft, ocean breeze. It was lovely to stand in the gentle surf, watch the swoop of gulls, and sip from an icy drink that carried the zing of rum and fruit.
There were hands on her bare shoulders, rubbing. Sighing, she leaned back into them, felt the firm length of male against her back. Far out on the blue sea a white ship sailed toward the horizon.
It was easy to turn into the arms that waited for her, to lift her mouth to the mouth she wanted. And to lie on the hot sand with the body that fit so perfectly with hers.
The excitement was as sweet as the peace. The rhythm as old as the waves that lapped over her skin. She let herself be taken, shivered as the needs built toward fulfillment. His breath was on her face, his body linked with her when she groaned out his name.
Roarke.
Furious with herself, Eve tore off the goggles and heaved them aside. He had no right to intrude, even here, inside her head. No right to bring her pain and pleasure when all she wanted was privacy.
Oh, he knew what he was doing, she thought as she sprang up to pace. He knew exactly what he was doing. And they were going to settle it, once and for all.
She slammed the apartment door behind her. It didn’t occur to her until she was speeding through his gates that he might not be alone.
The idea of that was so infuriating, so devastating, that she took the stone steps two at a time, hit the door with a fresh burst of violent energy.
Summerset was waiting for her. “Lieutenant, it’s one twenty in the morning.”
“I know what time it is.” She bared her teeth when he stepped in front of her to block the staircase. “Let’s understand each other, pal. I hate you, you hate me. The difference is I’ve got a badge. Now get the hell out of my way or I’ll haul your bony ass in for obstructing an officer.”
Dignity coated him like silk. “Do I take that to mean you’re here, at this hour, in an official capacity, Lieutenant?”
“Take it any way you want. Where is he?”
“If you’ll state your business, I’ll be happy to determine Roarke’s current whereabouts and see if he’s available to you.”
Out of patience, Eve jammed an elbow in his gut and skirted his wheezing form. “I’ll find him myself,” she stated as she bounded up the stairs.
He wasn’t in bed, alone or otherwise. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that, or what she would have done if she’d found him twined around some blonde. Refusing to think about it, she turned on her heel and marched away toward his office, with Summerset hot on her trail.
“I intend to file a complaint.”
“File away,” she shot back over her shoulder.
“You have no right to intrude on private property, in the middle of the night. You will not disturb Roarke.” He slapped a hand on the door as she reached it. “I will not allow it.”
To Eve’s surprise, he was out of breath and red-faced. His eyes were all but jittering in their sockets. It was, she decided, more emotion than she’d believed him capable of.
“This really puts your jocks in a twist, doesn’t it?” Before he could prevent it, she hit the mechanism and the door slid open.
He made a grab for her, and Roarke, who turned from his study of the city, had the curious surprise of watching them grapple.
“Put a hand on me again, you tight-assed son of a bitch, and I’ll deck you.” She lifted a fist to demonstrate. “The satisfaction would be worth my badge.”
&n
bsp; “Summerset,” Roarke said mildly. “I believe she means it. Leave us alone.”
“She’s exceeded her authority—”
“Leave us alone,” Roarke repeated. “I’ll deal with this.”
“As you wish.” Summerset jerked his starched jacket back into place and strode out—with only the slightest of limps.
“If you want to keep me out,” Eve snapped on her march toward the desk, “you’re going to have to do better than that flat-assed guard dog.”
Roarke merely folded his hands on the desktop. “If I’d wanted to keep you out, you would no longer be cleared through gate security.” Deliberately, he flicked a glance at his watch. “It’s a bit late for official interviews.”
“I’m tired of people telling me what time it is.”
“Well then.” He leaned back in the chair. “What can I do for you?”
chapter nine
Attack was the emotional choice. Eve could justify it as the logical one as well.
“You were involved with Yvonne Metcalf.”
“As I told you, we were friends.” He opened an antique silver box on the desk and took out a cigarette. “At one time, intimate friends.”
“Who changed the aspect of your relationship, and when?”
“Who? Hmmm.” Roarke thought it over as he lighted the cigarette, blew out a thin haze of smoke. “I believe it was a mutual decision. Her career was rising quickly, causing numerous demands on her time and energy. You could say we drifted apart.”
“You quarreled?”
“I don’t believe we did. Yvonne was rarely quarrelsome. She found life too . . . amusing. Would you like a brandy?”
“I’m on duty.”
“Yes, of course you are. I’m not.”
When he rose, Eve saw the cat spring from his lap. Galahad examined her with his bicolored eyes before plunking down to wash. She was too busy scowling at the cat to note that Roarke’s hands weren’t quite steady as he stood at the carved liquor cabinet pouring brandy from decanter to snifter.
“Well,” he said, swirling the glass with half the width of the room between them. “Is that all?”
No, she thought, that was far from all. If he wouldn’t help her voluntarily, she would poke and prod and use his canny brain without mercy and without a qualm. “The last time you’re noted in her diary was a year and a half ago.”
“So long,” Roarke murmured. He had regret, a great deal of it, for Yvonne. But he had his own problems at the moment, the biggest of which was standing across the room, watching him with turbulent eyes. “I didn’t realize.”
“Was that the last time you saw her?”
“No, I’m sure it wasn’t.” He stared into his brandy, remembering her. “I recall dancing with her at a party, last New Year’s Eve. She came back here with me.”
“You slept with her,” Eve said evenly.
“Technically, no.” His voice took on a clip of annoyance. “I had sex with her, conversation, brunch.”
“You resumed your former relationship?”
“No.” He chose a chair and ordered himself to enjoy his brandy and cigarette. Casually, he crossed his feet at the ankles. “We might have, but we were both quite busy with our own projects. I didn’t hear from her again for six weeks, maybe seven.”
“And?”
He’d brushed her off, he recalled. Casually, easily. Perhaps thoughtlessly. “I told her I was . . . involved.” He examined the bright tip of his cigarette. “At that time I was falling in love with someone else.”
Her heartbeat hitched. She stared at him, jammed her hands in her pockets. “I can’t eliminate you from the list unless you help me.”
“Can’t you? Well, then.”
“Damn it, Roarke, you’re the only one who was involved with both victims.”
“And what’s my motive, Lieutenant?”
“Don’t use that tone with me. I hate it when you do that. Cold, controlled, superior.” Giving up, she began to pace. “I know you didn’t have anything to do with the murders, and there’s no evidence to support your involvement. But that doesn’t break the link.”
“And that makes it difficult for you, because your name is, in turn, linked with mine. Or was.”
“I can handle that.”
“Then why have you lost weight?” he demanded. “Why are there shadows under your eyes? Why do you look so unhappy?”
She yanked out her recorder, slapped it on his desk. A barrier between them. “I need you to tell me everything you know about these women. Every small, insignificant detail. Damn it, damn it, damn it, I need help. I have to know why Towers would go to the West End in the middle of the night. Why Metcalf would dress herself up and go out to the patio at midnight.”
He tapped out his cigarette, then rose slowly. “You’re giving me more credit than I deserve, Eve. I didn’t know Cicely that well. We did business, socialized in the most distant of fashions. Remember my background and her position. As to Yvonne, we were lovers. I enjoyed her, her energy, her zest. I know she had ambition. She wanted stardom and she earned it, deserved it. But I can’t tell you the minds of either of these women.”
“You know people,” she argued. “You have a way of getting inside their heads. Nothing ever surprises you.”
“You do,” he murmured. “Continually.”
She only shook her head. “Tell me why you think Yvonne Metcalf went out to meet someone on the patio.”
He sipped brandy, shrugged. “For advancement, glory, excitement, love. Probably in that order. She would have dressed carefully because she was vain, admirably so. The time of the meeting wouldn’t have meant anything to her. She was impulsive, entertainingly so.”
She let out a little breath. This was what she needed. He could help her see the victims. “Were there other men?”
He was brooding, he realized, and forced himself to stop. “She was lovely, entertaining, bright, excellent in bed. I imagine there were a great many men in her life.”
“Jealous men, angry men?”
He lifted a brow. “Do you mean someone might have killed her because she wouldn’t give him what he wanted? Needed?” His eyes stayed steady on hers. “It’s a thought. A man could do a great deal of damage to a woman for that, if he wanted or needed badly enough. Then again, I haven’t killed you. Yet.”
“This is a murder investigation, Roarke. Don’t get cute with me.”
“Cute?” He stunned them both by flinging the half-empty snifter across the room. Glass shattered on the wall, liquor sprayed. “You come bursting in here, without warning, without invitation, and expect me to sit cooperatively, like a trained dog, while you interrogate me? You ask me questions about Yvonne, a woman I cared for, and expect me to cheerfully answer them while you imagine me in bed with her.”
She’d seen his temper spurt and flash before. She usually preferred it to his icy control. But at the moment her nerves had shattered along with the glass. “It’s not personal, and it’s not an interrogation. It’s a consultation with a useful source. I’m doing my job.”
“This has nothing to do with your job, and we both know it. If there’s even a germ of belief in you that I had anything to do with slitting the throats of those two women, then I’ve made even a bigger mistake than I’d imagined. If you want to poke holes in me, Lieutenant, do it on your own time, not mine.” He scooped her recorder off the desk and tossed it to her. “Next time, bring a warrant.”
“I’m trying to eliminate you completely.”
“Haven’t you done that already?” He moved back behind his desk and sat wearily. “Get out. I’m done with this.”
She was surprised she didn’t stumble on her way to the door, the way her heart was pounding and her knees were shaking. She fought for breath as she reached for it. At the desk, Roarke cursed himself for a fool and hit the button to engage the locks. Damn her, and damn himself, but she wasn’t walking out on him.
He was opening his mouth to speak when she turned, inches from t
he door. There was fury on her face now. “All right. Goddamn it, all right, you win. I’m miserable. Isn’t that what you want? I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. It’s like something’s broken inside me, and I can barely do my job. Happy now?”
He felt the first tingle of relief loosen the fist around his heart. “Should I be?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? I’m here because I couldn’t stay away anymore.” Dragging at the chain under her shirt, she strode to him. “I’m wearing the damn thing.”
He glanced at the diamond she thrust in his face. It flashed at him, full of fire and secrets. “As I said, it suits you.”
“A lot you know,” she muttered and swung around. “It makes me feel like an idiot. This whole thing makes me feel like an idiot. So fine; I’ll be an idiot. I’ll move in here. I’ll tolerate that insulting robot you call a butler. I’ll wear diamonds. Just don’t—” She broke, covering her face as the sobs took over. “I can’t take this anymore.”
“Don’t. For Christ’s sake, don’t cry.”
“I’m just tired.” She rocked herself for comfort. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“Call me names.” He rose, shaken and more than a little terrified by the storm of weeping. “Throw something. Take a swing at me.”
She jerked back when he reached for her. “Don’t. I need a minute when I’m making a fool of myself.”
Ignoring her, he gathered her close. She pulled back twice, was brought back firmly against him. Then, in a desperate move, her arms came around him, clutched. “Don’t go away.” She pressed her face to his shoulder. “Don’t go away.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Gently, he stroked her back, cradled her head. Was there anything more astounding or more frightening to a man, he wondered, than a strong woman in tears? “I’ve been right here all along. I love you, Eve, almost more than I can stand.”
“I need you. I can’t help it. I don’t want to.”
“I know.” He eased back, tucking a hand under her chin to lift her face to his. “We’re going to have to deal with it.” He kissed one wet cheek, then the other. “I really can’t do without you.”