The in Death Collection Books 11-15 - J. D. Robb [641]
If Dwier wasn’t already a member of Purity, he was a prime candidate for application.
When Eve walked back into the house, Mira was coming down the stairs.
“Eve. I thought I’d miss you.”
“Did we have a consult scheduled?”
“No, though I did drop off the profile you’d wanted.” Mira stopped at the base of the steps, one pretty hand on the gleaming wood of the banister. Her warm brown hair was a soft wave around a soft, feminine face. Her mouth was a pale creamy rose, her eyes a clear summer blue.
Her suit had a fluid drape and was the color of sunflowers. It was, Eve supposed, stylish in some classic sense, and was matched with Mira’s favored pearls.
She looked perfect, essentially female, utterly comforting. And was one of the top criminal profilers in the country as well as the psychiatric specialist attached to the NYPSD.
“Thanks, but you didn’t have to go out of your way.”
“I was coming by anyway. I wanted to see McNab.”
“Oh.” Instantly Eve’s hands sought her pockets. “Well.”
“I wonder if I might speak with you for a few minutes. There’s that lovely garden terrace off the parlor. I’d love to sit outside.”
“Ah.” Eve’s mind strained toward her office, toward her work. “Sure. Fine.”
“Would you care for some refreshment, Doctor?” Summerset lurked at the edge of the foyer. “Some tea? Perhaps some wine.”
“Thank you. I’d love a glass of wine.”
Before she could comment, Mira slid an arm through Eve’s and walked toward the parlor. “I know you have work. I promise not to keep you long. You’ve had a difficult day. The media conference couldn’t have been pleasant for you.”
“That’s a master understatement.” Eve opened the terrace doors, stepped out.
Like everything of Roarke’s, the spot was beautifully planned and executed.
The terrace itself was constructed of stones, various shapes, sizes, tones all smoothed into a fluid curve that blended into garden paths. There were two glass and iron tables set among pots where flowers flooded or dwarf trees speared. Beyond the curve, gardens exploded with summer.
The evening sun spilled pale gold onto the stones and through a trellis wild with vines and vivid blue blossoms.
“Such a charming spot.” Mira took a seat at one of the tables. Sighed. “I’m afraid I’d find myself sitting out here every chance I got, daydreaming.” She smiled. “Do you ever daydream, Eve?”
“I guess.” She sat, wondered if she should read Dwier’s file again. “Not so much, really.”
“You should. It’s good for you. When I was a girl, I used to curl up on the window seat in my father’s library. I could dream away an afternoon if left to myself. He’s a teacher. Did I ever tell you that? He met my mother when he sliced his hand cutting tomatoes for a sandwich. He’s always been a bit clumsy. She was a young resident, doing her ER rotation. And he hit on her.”
She laughed a little, lifted her face to the sun. The heat baked through her skin, into her bones. “So odd to think of that. And sweet. They’re both semiretired now. They live in Connecticut with their ancient dog Spike and have a little vegetable garden so they can raise tomatoes.”
“That’s nice.” And it was. It was also baffling.
“You’re wondering why I’m telling you all this. Thank you, Summerset,” she said when he set two glasses of wine and a small tray of canapés on the table. “How lovely.”
“Enjoy. Just let me know if I can bring you anything else.”
“No particular reason,” she said to Eve when Summerset went back in the house. “I suppose the tranquility of this spot made me think of them, appreciate them. Not everyone has such a steady, undemanding childhood.”
“I don’t have time for a session,” Eve began, but Mira covered her hand.
“I wasn’t speaking only of you. The children who were damaged by these people will have a great deal to overcome. You understand that.”
“And I’d understand killing what hurts you?”
“This is a different matter, and I wondered if you’d been able to separate it. What you did was done in pain and fear and immediacy. To protect yourself, to save yourself. What’s being