by J. D. Robb
"I'll take a pass at her." Boyle glanced at Spindler. "If that suits you ... Captain."
"Likes to remind me I got the bars. Not much more we can do for you. Frankly, I'd like to see you take her down in New York. I'd miss the party, but fuck if I want her dropped back in Dockport."
* * *
She was back in New York by five, and opted to head home instead of swinging into Central. She'd work there and reassure herself of Roarke's safety.
He didn't fit target profile, she reminded herself. He was too young, had no ex-wife. But he also had a wife who'd played a large part in bringing Julianna down.
She was nearly home when she made an impulsive detour and headed to Dr. Mira's.
She parked in a loading zone a half block down, flipped on her on duty light, then jogged to the dignified old brownstone. There were soft pink and white flowers in pale blue pots cheering up the entrance. A woman one door up led out an enormous dog with long golden hair decorated with red bows. It sent Eve a friendly woof, then pranced away with its owner as if they were off to a parade.
On the other side, a trio of boys burst outside, whooping like maniacs. Each carried a fluorescent airboard and zipped away down the sidewalk like rockets off a launch pad.
A man in a business suit with a palm-link stuck to his ear had to dodge clear, but rather than shouting or shaking a fist after them, he only chuckled, kept talking as he turned toward the door of another townhouse.
One more side of New York, Eve thought. The friendly, upper class neighborhood. In all probability people actually knew each other's name on this block. Got together now and then for cocktails, herded kids or grandchildren down to the park in groups, and stopped to chat on doorsteps.
It was exactly the sort of milieu that suited Dr. Charlotte Mira.
Eve turned to the door, rang the bell. Then immediately changed her mind. She had no business busting in on Mira's home time. She'd actually stepped back, thinking retreat, when the door opened.
She recognized Mira's husband though they'd rarely had personal contact. He was tall and gangly, a kind of comfortable scarecrow in a baggy cardigan and wrinkled slacks. His hair was pewter, a wild, interesting mop tangled around a long face that was somehow both scholarly and innocent.
He carried a pipe, and his sweater was misbuttoned.
He smiled, his eyes, the color of winter grass, puzzled. "Hello. How are you?"
"Ah. Fine. I'm sorry, Mr. Mira, I shouldn't be disturbing you at home. I was just—"
"You're Eve." His face cleared, warmed. "It takes me a minute. Recognized your voice. Come in, come in."
"Actually, I should—"
But he reached out, gripped her hand, and pulled her in the door. "Didn't realize you were coming by. Can't keep track. Charlie!" He shouted toward the steps. "Your Eve's here."
The protest died in Eve's throat at the idea of the elegant Mira being called Charlie.
"Come sit down. I think I was fixing drinks. Mind wanders. Drives Charlie crazy. Ha-ha."
"I'm interrupting. I'll just see Dr. Mira tomorrow."
"Yes, there's the wine. I was sure I brought it in. I'm sorry, help me out. Are we having dinner?"
He was still holding her hand, and she could find no polite way to tug free. And he was smiling at her with such amiable confusion and humor, she fell just a little bit in love.
"No, you weren't expecting me at all."
"Then what a nice surprise."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Before she could respond, Mira rushed in and Eve experienced yet another shock at seeing the consistently elegant Mira in an oversized white T-shirt and black skin-pants. Her feet were bare, the nails painted a pretty candy pink.
"Dennis? Who did you say ... Why, Eve."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here. I was on my way home, and I... I apologize for disturbing you at home. I'll just, ah, contact your office in the morning."
It was rare, Mira thought, to see Eve flustered. "We're not the least disturbed. Are we having wine, Dennis?"
"Are we?" He looked baffled again, then stared down at the bottle in his hand. "Oh. Yes, we are. I'll get another glass."
"No, please. Don't bother. I shouldn't be here. I should go."
"Don't be silly." Mira smiled at her. "Sit down. If you're on duty, we can offer you something soft rather than wine."
"No, I'm off, but—"
"Good." She crossed the room, pausing to rebutton her husband's cardigan with such simple intimacy that it made Eve feel more like an intruder than if they'd exchanged a wet, sloppy kiss. Mira chose another glass herself from a display cabinet, then simply laid a hand on Eve's shoulder to nudge her into a chair.
So Eve found herself sitting in Mira's pretty, colorful living room accepting a glass of wine.
"How was your vacation?" Mira began.
"Good. It was good."
"You look rested."
"Yeah, well, I played slug half the time."
"You needed it. Both you and Roarke. He's well, I trust."
"Yes." Eve shifted in her chair. "He's okay." And she meant to keep him that way.
Mira sipped wine, inclined her head toward her husband. "I often discuss aspects of cases with Dennis, but if you'd prefer we can talk upstairs in my office."
"No, I don't want to muck up your home time. I've got no right bringing a case into your living room. Anyway, you haven't had time to read through the data."
"But I have."
"What do you—" Eve cut herself off. "Then I'll call your office in the morning and make an appointment."
"Relax, Eve. We'll talk now. You wouldn't have come by this way if it wasn't important. And I'm pleased you felt comfortable enough, even momentarily, to do so. There was a time, not so long ago, you wouldn't have considered it."
"I've always respected your abilities, Dr. Mira."
"Respect and comfort are different matters. You're here about Julianna Dunne."
"Evil," Dennis Mira said to no one in particular, "comes in all forms, and often alluring ones." He turned suddenly clear, suddenly intense eyes on Eve. "Do you believe in evil?"
"Yes."
"Good. You can't stop it if you don't believe in it."
"Dennis is skilled at fining down a point to its most elemental level. It's helpful to me."
Mira sipped her wine again, then set it aside on a little round table before she continued. "Julianna Dunne was thoroughly tested, evaluated, examined before and during her trial. The opinion of the experts called in for these purposes was that the subject had suffered the trauma of sexual abuse by a family member, which had damaged her both mentally and emotionally. In this diminished capacity, she, as an adult, sought out other men who represented her abuser. She then punished this representative as she had been unable to punish the man who had harmed her."
She paused to tuck her pretty, shapely legs under her. "With the cold calculation of the murders and her profit from them, the defense was unable to negotiate a term in a mental health center, nor could they convince a jury that the subject was innocent, completely innocent, due to this diminished capacity. They were, however, able to keep their client out of a life sentence."
"I'd prefer your take on her to the initial profiler."
"Then here it is. In my opinion, given the data, the experts were incorrect in their evaluations and conclusions. Julianna Dunne wasn't operating under diminished capacity, not in any legal sense. She played the game perfectly," Mira continued. "Her answers were exactly right, as were her reactions, her gestures, her tone. And that was her mistake, one those who worked with her overlooked. That sort of perfection has to be calculated. She's a liar, but she's an excellent one."
"She was never raped as a teenager." Eve leaned forward, "She's not haunted, or hunted. There's no pain, no fear, no rage inside her."
Mira reached out, closed her hand over Eve's briefly. She knew they couldn't speak of Eve's childhood with Dennis in the room. "My opinion is, and I would have to test her pers
onally to be certain, that the sexual relationship was consensual. To Julianna, sex is a weapon. Man is the enemy. It's unlikely she enjoys the sexual experience. It's a job, a means to an end. And the man's enjoyment of it, of her body, a matter of both pride and disgust."
"Why didn't she turn to women, sexually?"
"She has more respect for them, as a species. And again, sex isn't an interest. She doesn't look for pleasure there. Her pleasure comes from causing pain, humiliation, from conquering and gathering the spoils."
"If I may." Dennis spread his hands, catching Eve's attention. He'd been so quiet and still, she'd all but forgotten him. "Men aren't opponents," he said. "They're victims. She needs victims in order to thrive."
"She sets out to attract them," Eve agreed. "The way you would some sort of prey. She becomes what attracts them, sliding into a personality like you might a new suit. An older man, one who has grown tired or dissatisfied or just bored with his wife, his family, his sex life is the perfect target. More easily attracted to beauty, more easily duped."
"A man of a certain age is bound to be flattered by the romantic attentions of a younger and beautiful woman. Each gender has its weak points."
"She practiced on her stepfather. She did the seducing there," Eve stated. "Sharpening her skills. He didn't testify at her trial. Prosecution couldn't take the chance of calling him, letting the jury see him. But the defense should have trotted him out. Look here, this man forced himself on this poor, innocent young girl. She was helpless, trapped. He was her father, she should have been safe with him. Instead he took her innocence, left her damaged. If anyone's responsible for the deaths, he is."
"She couldn't afford to let them call him in, under oath," Mira said. "And there she'd have dug in her heels. You'll want to talk to him yourself."
"He's in Texas. In Dallas."
"Yes, I know." Mira eyes spoke a million words. "I saw the data. Can you go?"
Not will you, Eve thought. Can you. "I don't know. I don't know," she repeated.
Mira reached out, touched her husband's hand. "Dennis" was all she said, and he unfolded the gangly length of him and got to his feet.
"If you ladies will excuse me, I've got something or other to do. You were right about her, Charlie." He leaned over to touch his lips to the top of Mira's head, then stroked a long, narrow hand over the sweep of her glossy brown hair. "But then, you always are. Nice seeing you, Eve. Don't be a stranger."
"You didn't have to send him away," Eve said when he wandered out of the room. "This isn't about me."
"Look at me. Look at me, Eve." Mira set down her glass, gripped one of Eve's hands in both of hers. "If you're not ready to go back to Dallas, send for him. Have him come here."
"I've got no cause and no authority to bring Jake Parker to New York."
"Then do the interview via 'link or holographies."
"You know it has to be done face-to-face if I'm going to push him to tell me what happened, how it happened, what she did, who she was. He's not going to want to go there. There's also a possibility from data I gathered today that he may be a target. I have to go, and I don't know if I can handle it."
"I'll go with you."
For a moment Eve could only stare, and as she stared her vision blurred. She had to stand up, turn away. "Jesus."
"I can help you, Eve. I want to. For a long time you wouldn't let me get close; you resented me. But that's changed."
"I didn't resent you. You scared the shit out of me. People who scare me piss me off."
"I'm glad I don't scare you anymore."
"Sometimes you do." She swiped the back of her hand under her nose, then turned back. "I'm not ready, or not willing to take all that was into what's now. It comes in pieces, and the pieces are getting bigger. 1 don't know what's going to happen to me when the picture's all there. But when I'm ready, I'll come to you. Okay?"
"Yes."
"Anyway." She had to take a couple of steadying breaths. "Like I said, this isn't about me. Feeney and I went to Dockport today."
She sat again, filled Mira in on the rest of the details.
"You think she may target Roarke. I wish I could tell you your instincts are wrong."
A fist jammed in Eve's throat, another clenched in her gut. "Why would she? He doesn't fit her target profile."
"Because he's yours. What Dennis said about men not being her opponents is accurate. But women are opponents, companions, tools, competitors. Her feelings toward them would have been enhanced and refined over her time in a women's correctional facility. Of the primary officers who brought about her arrest, you were the only female. The only one she asked to speak with personally. You bested her, and that impressed her. She wanted your respect and you refused to give it. It's logical that given the opportunity, she'd want a rematch, not just because you stopped her, but because you dismissed her. It answers why New York."
"And why she's still here. I know she's still here. She's cut out a step in her past procedure. She doesn't bother with the affair, the marriage. She won't try to seduce him. But if she is sighting Roarke, she'll be working out a way to get to him."
She pushed out of the chair again, jammed her hands in her pockets and paced. "Damn it, you know what's going to happen now. I'm going to go home, tell Roarke, demand he increase security and add police protection. He'll balk, tell me he can protect himself. Blah, blah, blah. Then we'll have a fight." She sighed. "Well, we haven't had a fight in a while. I guess we're due."
"If you're afraid for him, let him see it."
"I know he can take care of himself. But it doesn't stop me from worrying about him."
"I imagine he has the same conflict about you, every time you walk out of the house with that weapon strapped to your side. Whether or not you fight about it, you'll find a way to work through it together. That's marriage."
"A lot of marriage is a pain in the ass."
"Oh, it certainly is."
"You fixed his buttons," Eve murmured.
"What?"
Surprised she'd spoken aloud, Eve stopped and very nearly flushed. "Nothing."
"Buttons? What—Oh! Dennis's sweater." Mira pressed a hand to her heart and laughed. "Yes, I suppose I did. He never pays attention to his clothes or to mine, for that matter. It still annoys me when I have a new outfit, look particularly good, and he doesn't see it."
"I like him."
"So do I."
"I'll let you two get back to... things. Tell him thanks for the wine. I appreciate you taking the time like this."
"You're always welcome here." She rose to walk Eve out.
"Dr. Mira?"
"Yes?"
"What did your husband mean, that you were right about me?"
"He could have meant any number of things, but under those circumstances, I believe he meant I was right when I described you as brilliant, complicated, and valiant. Now I've embarrassed you." Gently, Mira touched her lips to Eve's cheek. "Go home and fight with Roarke."
* * *
She didn't want to fight. She just wanted him to fall into line for a change. Since the chances of that were nil, she outlined a couple of approaches on the drive home.
But when she walked into the house, there was a party going on.
She heard music, laughter, voices, and immediately felt her temples throb at the prospect of having to deal with people. Even the sound of her well-loved friend Mavis's wild giggles didn't stop the headache from coming on.
She imagined herself sneaking upstairs like a thief and hiding in a dark room with a locked door.
Valiant, my ass, she thought.
She took one cautious step toward the stairs when Summerset slithered into the foyer and caught her.
"Lieutenant. You have guests."
"What, am I deaf?"
"Perhaps your hearing is defective as you were going in the opposite direction from the gathering in the parlor."
"Maybe I was just going upstairs to change or something." Because she knew it was weak, b
ecause he simply stood with that saber-thin sneer on his cadaverous face, she hunched her shoulders. "Oh, bite me," she muttered and headed into the parlor.
"There she is!" Mavis spun across the room, a little whirlwind with bunches of purple flowers arranged in strategic points over her body. Her hair was moonbeam silver tonight, with more flowers bursting out of it. She gave Eve an enthusiastic hug, then bounced on silver shoes with four-inch flower stalk heels.
"Leonardo and I were heading down to the Down and Dirty for some action, and swung by to see if you and Roarke were up for it. And look who we found." She spun around to grin at Phoebe and Sam. "I tagged Peabody, and she and McNab are going to meet us at the D and D. Roarke said maybe you wouldn't get home in time, but here you are."
"Here I am. I've got work, Mavis."
"Hey, take a couple hours to rock." She pulled Eve into the room. "Start with my zinger. Leonardo, baby doll, where'd I put my zinger?"
At six and a half feet, the golden skinned love of Mavis's life was nothing like a baby doll. He was bare-chested but for a red satin X across his pecs that seemed to be holding up the fluid, shimmering pants that flowed from his waist to the toes of his red, crisscrossing sandals. Ruby studs forming a chevron at the corner of his left eye winked as he grinned and passed Mavis her glass.
"Good to see you, Dallas." He bent down, gave her one of his shy, butterfly kisses. "I'll get you a fresh zinger if you want."
"I'll pass, but thanks." She shot Roarke a grateful look when he turned down the volume of the music. "Sorry I'm later than I planned," she told him. "I had a stop to make on the way home."
"No problem." He came to her and under the guise of a welcome-home kiss, murmured, "Do you want me to get rid of them?"
She nearly said yes, but it seemed petty and mean. "No. We can take an hour at the D and D if you're up for it."
He tipped up her chin. "You have something on your mind."
"It'll keep."
"And a headache as well."
"It'll pass." And there was the possibility, however remote, that a few hours with friends might put him in the mood to cooperate.