• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“You weren’t living with him at the time of his death.”

“Doesn’t make me less of his wife, does it?”

“No, ma’am, it doesn’t. Can you tell me why you were separated from him, and your children?”

“That’s my private marital business.” Monica’s arms tightened on her chest. “Jamie had a lot on his mind. He was a great man. It’s a wife’s duty to give way to her husband’s needs and wishes.”

Eve only lifted a brow at that. “And your children? Did you take their needs and wishes into account?”

“He needed the children with him. Jamie adored them.”

But he didn’t think so much of you, did he? Eve mused. “And you, Ms. Rowan, did you adore your children?”

It wasn’t a question she needed to ask, and Eve was annoyed with herself the moment it was out.

“I gave birth to them, didn’t I?” Monica stretched her head forward aggressively on her scrawny neck. “I carried each one of them inside me for nine months, gave birth to them in pain and blood. I did my duty by them, kept them clean, kept them fed, and the government gave me a pittance for my trouble. A damn cop made more than a professional mother back then. Who do you think got up in the middle of the night with them when they were squalling? Who cleaned up after them? Nothing dirtier than children. You work your hands to the bone to keep a clean house when there’s children in it.”

So much for mother love, Eve thought, and reminded herself that wasn’t the issue.

“You were aware of your husband’s activities. His association with the terrorist group Apollo?”

“Propaganda and lies. Government lies.” She all but spat it out. “Jamie was a great man. A hero. If he’d been president, this country wouldn’t be in the mess it’s in with whores and filth in the streets.”

“Did you work with him?”

“A woman’s place is to keep a clean house, to provide decent meals, and to bear children.” She folded her lips into a sneer. “The two of you might want to be men, but I knew what God had put women on Earth to do.”

“Did he talk to you about his work?”

“No.”

“Did you meet any of his associates?”

“I was his wife. I provided a clean home for him and for the people who believed in him.”

“William Henson believed in him.”

“William Henson was a loyal and brilliant man.”

“Do you know where I might find this loyal and brilliant man?”

Monica smiled, thin and sly. “The government dogs hunted him down and killed him, just the way they killed all the loyal.”

“Really? I have no data that confirms his death.”

“A plot. Conspiracy. Cover-ups.” Thin beads of spittle flew out of her mouth. “They dragged honest people out of their homes, locked them in cages, starved and tortured them. Executions.”

“Were you dragged out of your home, Mrs. Rowan? Locked up, tortured?”

Monica’s eyes slitted. “I had nothing they wanted.”

“Can you give me names of people who believed in him who are still alive?”

“It was thirty years ago and more. They came and they went.”

“What about their wives? Their children? You must have met their families. Socialized.”

“I had a house to run. I didn’t have time to socialize.”

Eve flicked a glance around the room. There was no view screen in evidence. “Do you keep up with the news, Ms. Rowan? Current events.”

“I mind my own business. I don’t need to know what other people are up to.”

“Then you might not be aware that yesterday a terrorist group calling themselves Cassandra bombed the Plaza Hotel in New York. Hundreds of people were killed. Among them, women and children.”

The gray eyes flickered, then leveled again. “They should have been in their own homes where they belonged.”

“It doesn’t concern you that a group of terrorists is killing innocent people? That it’s believed this group is connected to your dead husband?”

“No one’s innocent.”

“Not even you, Mrs. Rowan?” Before she could answer, Eve moved on. “Has anyone from Cassandra contacted you?”

“I keep to myself. I don’t know anything about your bombed hotel, but if you ask me, the country’d be better off if that whole city was blown to hell. I’ve given you all the time I’m going to give. I want you out of my house, or