The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [358]
He only lifted a brow at that. “She won’t have any luck with that whatsoever.”
Mira gave a quiet, shaky laugh. “You’re a very stubborn man. That’s good.” She sipped more brandy, studying him. And what she saw eased some of her own worry. “At some point, you may find yourself having to put your sympathy for her situation aside. It would be easier for you to coddle and pamper and let her drift. But I think you’ll recognize the point where she’ll need you to make her take the next step.”
She sighed then, set the brandy aside. “I won’t keep you from her any longer, but if there’s anything else I can do. If she wants to see me, I’ll come.”
He considered her loyalty, her affection, and wondered how they weighed against her duty. He never minded playing the odds. “How long will it take for you to complete a full-level search and scan on Bowers?”
“The paperwork is being rushed through on the orders for it. It shouldn’t take more than another day, perhaps two.”
“I have the data now,” he said simply and waited while she stared at him.
“I see.” She said nothing while he helped her into her coat. “If you transfer the data to my home unit, my personal unit,” she added with a glance over her shoulder. “I assume you have no trouble accessing my personal unit?”
“None whatsoever.”
She laughed just a little. “How very terrifying you are. If you transfer what you have, I’ll begin work on it this evening.”
“I’m very grateful.” He saw her off, then went back upstairs to watch over Eve.
chapter fifteen
Dreams chased her, memory bumping into memory in a chaotic race. Her first bust and the solid satisfaction of doing the job she’d trained to do. The boy who’d kissed her sloppily when she’d been fifteen and had surprised her because she’d felt no fear or shame, but a mild interest.
A drunken night with Mavis at the Blue Squirrel with so much laughter it hurt the ribs. The mutilated body of a child she’d been too late to save.
The weeping of those left behind and the screams of the dead.
The first time she’d seen Roarke, that dazzling face on-screen in her office.
Then back, always back to a cold room with a dirty red light pulsing against the window. The knife in her hand dripping with blood, and the pain shrieking so wild, so loud, she could hear nothing else. Could be nothing else.
When she woke, it was dark, and she was empty.
Her head throbbed with a dull, consistent ache that was the dregs of weeping and grief. Her body felt hollow, as if the bones had slipped away while she’d slept.
She wanted to sleep again, to just go away.
He moved through the dark, quiet as a shadow. The bed shifted slightly as he sat beside her, found her hand. “Do you want the light?”
“No.” Her voice felt rusty, but she didn’t bother to clear it. “No, I don’t want anything. You didn’t have to stay here, in the dark.”
“Did you think I’d let you wake alone?” He brought her hand to his lips. “You’re not alone.”
She wanted to weep again, could feel the tears beating at the backs of her eyes. Hot, helpless. Useless. “Who called you?”
“Peabody. She and Feeney were here; so was Mira. McNab’s called several times. And Nadine.”
“I can’t talk to them.”
“All right. Mavis is downstairs. She won’t leave, and I can’t ask her to.”
“What am I supposed to say to her? To anyone? God, Roarke, I’m stripped. The next time I go into Central, it’ll be to interview as a murder suspect.”
“I’ve contacted a lawyer. You’ve nothing to worry about there. If and when you agree to interview, it’ll be here, in your own home, on your own terms. Eve.”
He could see her silhouette, the way she turned away from him and stared into the dark. Gently, he cupped her face, turned it toward him. “No one you work with, no one who knows you believes you had anything to do with what happened to Bowers.”
“I don’t even care about that. It’s nothing but form. No physical evidence, no clear