The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [254]
“It’s nice,” Mira said easily, “to have someone worry.”
Vaguely embarrassed, Eve waited until the street was clear to climb out. Inside, she nodded toward security, then logged Mira in. “Any movement upstairs?” she asked the woman on duty.
“None reported.”
“She order any food?” At the security woman’s raised brow, Eve spoke casually. “Just want to make sure she’s taking care of herself. Also, if my men have been hitting room service, I need to keep tabs for the budget.”
“I can check on that for you.”
“Thanks.” She moved to the elevator, got on with Mira. “Just want to see how well she’s taking care of herself,” she said to answer Mira’s unspoken question. “Be interesting to see what she’s been eating.”
She acknowledged her man on the door. “I want transportation for the witness to and from the hospital, but I want a delay. I don’t want her leaving for thirty minutes after I do. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
Eve knocked, waited. Zana opened the door with a quick, tremulous smile. “I’m so glad you’re here. I just talked with Bobby’s nurse, and she said he’s awake, so . . . Oh.” She stopped when she spotted Mira. “I’m sorry. Hello.”
“Zana, this is Dr. Mira. She’s a friend of mine.”
“Oh, well, it’s nice to meet you. Please come in. I can, uh, get some coffee?”
“That’s all right, I’ll take care of that in a minute. Dr. Mira’s a counselor. I thought, under the circumstances, you might want to talk to someone. Maybe Bobby, too. Mira’s the best,” Eve added with a smile, laying a hand on Mira’s shoulder to make it seem more friendly than official. “She’s helped me a lot with . . . issues.”
“I don’t know what to say. Thanks so much for thinking of me, of us.”
“You’ve been through some hard knocks. Survivors of violence don’t always understand the full extent of the stress they’re under. Talking to me, well, even though Bobby and I go back, you’re still talking to a cop. But if you think it’s out of line, then—”
“No, God. It’s so thoughtful of you. I’ve just been wandering around here, most of the night. No one to talk to. I’ve never talked to a counselor before. I don’t know where to start.”
“Why don’t we sit down?” Mira suggested. “Your husband’s condition has improved?”
“Yes. They said he’ll need to stay in the hospital another day, maybe two, then we can go to out-patient status. I don’t really understand all the medical terms.”
“I can help you with that, too.”
“Look, I’ll be in the kitchen. I’ll get the coffee, get out of the way.”
“I don’t mind if you stay,” Zana told Eve. “You know everything.”
“I’ll get the coffee anyway, give you a minute.”
Eve moved across the room, into the narrow alcove. And gee, she thought, if she pushed the wrong buttons on an unfamiliar AC unit, who could argue?
She could hear Zana’s voice, the thickness in it of suppressed tears. Oh, you’re good, she decided. But I’m better.
She ran a quick scan, replaying orders over the last twenty-four hours.
Cheese, raspberries, popcorn—extra butter. Bet somebody watched vids last night, Eve thought. And a hearty breakfast this morning: Ham omelette, toast, coffee, and orange juice.
She programmed for coffee, then eased open the minifriggie. Bottle of red wine, she noted. Maybe two glasses left in it. Soft drinks. Frozen nondairy dessert, double chocolate—half gone.
Trauma and tragedy didn’t seem to be affecting Zana’s appetite.
When she came back with the coffee, Zana was mopping at her face with a tissue. “It’s just one thing after the next,” she told Mira. “I can’t find my balance, I guess. We were coming here to have fun. Bobby wanted to treat me to a trip, to somewhere exciting I’d never been. Part of my Christmas present since his mama was so hot to come, you know. To talk to Eve, after all the years. And then, everything’s been so awful.”
She began to shred the tissue so pieces of it fell like snow into her lap. “Poor Bobby, he’s been trying to be so strong, and now he’s hurt. I just want to make it easier