The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [357]
“It’s destroyed her.” No, he realized, he couldn’t sit, and rising, stalked to the window to stare out at the cold afternoon. “I’ve seen her face death, her own and others’. I’ve seen her face the misery and fears of her past and the shadows that cover pieces of it. I’ve seen her terrified of her own feelings. But she stood. She gathered herself and she stood up to it. And this, this departmental procedure, has destroyed her.”
“She’ll gather herself again, and she’ll stand up to this. But not alone. She can’t stand up to this alone.”
He turned, faced her. The light streamed through the window behind him; the dangerous blue of his eyes made Mira think of a cold and vengeful angel ready to leap into hell.
“She never has to be alone.”
“What you have with her will save her. Just as it saved you.”
He angled his head, changing the slant of light and the uneasy vision she’d had of him. “That’s an interesting way to put it. But you’re quite right. She did save me, and I’d forgotten I was lost. I love her more than life, and I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”
Mira studied her hands a moment, lifted her fingers up, let them fall. “I won’t ask you questions about your methods, or your . . . connections in certain areas. But I will ask if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“How far will discounting Bowers’s accusations go toward getting Eve’s badge back?”
“It will help considerably with IAB. But until the homicide investigation is closed or the suspicion against Eve is dismissed publicly and without prejudice the department walks a firm line.”
“You can test her? Truth test, personality profile, probabilities.”
“Yes, but she has to be willing, and she has to be ready. It’s a difficult process, physically and emotionally. But that, too, would weigh on her side.”
“I’ll speak with her about it.”
“She’ll have to grieve, but don’t let her grieve too long. At some point, she’ll need her anger. It’ll be her most important source of strength.”
She rose, stepped toward him. “I’ve asked to be per-mitted to evaluate Bowers’s emotional and mental state, using the records of the last several weeks, her diaries—the content and tone—interviews with associates and acquaintances. It’ll take time. I have to be very thorough, very careful. Though I’m giving it priority status, I doubt I can furnish the department with a conclusion in less than two weeks.”
“I could take her away,” he considered.
“That might be for the best, even for a few days. But I doubt she’ll go.” She opened her mouth, shut it again.
“What?”
“I know her so well. I have such strong feelings for her. But I’m still a psychiatrist. I believe I know how she’ll react, at least initially. I don’t want you to feel as if I’m overstepping or violating her privacy by . . . analyzing.”
“I know she matters to you. Tell me what to expect.”
“She’ll want to hide. In sleep, in silence, in solitude. She may very well lock you out.”
“She won’t have much luck with that.”
“But she’ll want to, try to, simply because you’re closer to her than anyone ever has been. I’m sorry,” she said and pressed her fingers to her left temple. “Could I trouble you for a little brandy?”
“Of course.” Instinct had him laying a hand on her cheek. “Dr. Mira,” he said very gently, “sit down.”
She felt weak and weepy. Sitting, she steadied herself, waited while Roarke took a decanter from a carved cabinet and poured her a snifter of brandy.
“Thank you.” She took a small sip, let it warm her. “This suspension, the suspicion, the mark on her record is not just a matter of the job and procedure to Eve. Her identity was taken from her once before. She rebuilt it and herself. For her, this has