that was important. Getting back to McQueen, that was the most important. Weak spot. A certain kind of man, that’s a weak spot, makes her do what’s unnatural to her. Have a child, run errands, fix a meal. Because he makes her feel like the drug makes her feel. She lives a lie, but that’s second nature. Like using and exploiting. She stole another woman’s child knowing what he’d do to her. She left me with my father and she had to know what he was, what he’d do. He’d already started doing it. But she left me with him.”
“As she left Darlie with McQueen,” Mira added.
“Yeah. I knew what she was, and I felt nothing but that contempt. Then I felt sick, then cold. Then I had to step out of it. Had to, because if we didn’t find them, find Melinda and Darlie, without her help, I’d have to work her again. Go back, knowing who and what she was and work her again. But she went to him. Killed a cop without a second thought to get to him. And when I walked into that place, his place, and saw her on the floor, the blood, the death, I felt . . .”
“What?” Mira asked her. “What did you feel?”
“Relief!” It burst out of her. “Relief. She didn’t know me, and now she never would. God, the thought that she might realize . . . I wouldn’t ever have to think of her somewhere in the world. Wouldn’t have to think someday, somehow, she might remember me, might put it together, might know. Use that against me, against Roarke, against everyone I care about. She was dead, and I was relieved.”
In the silence, she pressed a hand to her mouth, struggling to hold back sobs.
“You didn’t say you felt joy,” Roarke said quietly.
She stared at him, eyes wet, shoulders trembling. “What?”
“You didn’t feel joy.”
“No! God. He’d slit her throat like a pig for slaughter. Whatever she was, he had no right to take her life.”
“And that’s who you are, Lieutenant.”
“I . . .” She swiped at tears, looked at Mira.
“It’s an exceptional thing to have someone in your life who knows and understands you so well. Who loves who you are. A very exceptional thing. He asks the question, as I was about to do, already knowing the answer. You felt relief because a threat to everything you are, everything you have, and what you love ended. It ended in blood so you’re struggling to treat her like another victim. She’s not.”
“She was murdered.”
“And McQueen should pay for it. You need to have a part in that not because of the connection, but because she was murdered. She was murdered here, in Dallas, by a man you see as very like your father. You want to walk away from it, and you can’t. Relief won’t stop you from seeking justice for her. That conflict causes you stress, unhappiness, self-doubt. I hope by admitting what you felt, what you feel, some of that will ease.”
“I would’ve put her away, built the case to put her away. I thought there’d be some justice. Locking her up, the way she’d done to me.”
“She chose the monster, again.”
“She thought he was still alive. Richard Troy. I brought him up, testing, I guess. She thought he was still alive. I let her think he’d given us information on her.”
“Well played,” Roarke commented, then lifted his eyebrows at her frown. “Sorry, was that cold? Am I supposed to feel otherwise?”
“No.” Eve looked down at her wine. “No.”
“I wish she were alive, that’s the God’s shining truth. So I could imagine her in a cage for the decades to come. But we live with disappointment.”
“You hate her. I can’t.”
“I’ve enough for both of us.”
“I feel disgust, and—God, I wish I had the words. I feel a little shame, and there’s no point getting pissed off because I feel what I feel. I’d rather feel hate. If she’d lived, I might’ve gotten there. So maybe I feel a little cheated as well as relieved. I don’t know what that says.”
“In my professional opinion?” Mira crossed her fine legs. “It says you have a very healthy reaction to a very unhealthy situation. The two of you have been scraped raw by this, yet here you are. With your cat.”
Eve let out a weak laugh while Galahad continued to snore at her feet, all four legs in the air.
“You need sleep. If you want medication, I can arrange it.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I’ll be here if you change your mind.”
“It’s good to have a doctor on tap in case I bloody him again.”
“For now I prescribe food and rest.”
“I could eat,” Eve realized. “It’s the first time I’ve actually wanted to all day.”
“That’s a good sign. I’m just next door if you need me.”
“Stay, have a meal with us,” Roarke began.
“Another time. I think the two of you should just be together awhile. If anything breaks on the case, I’d like to be informed.”
“Sure.” Eve stepped forward when Mira rose. “It helped, a lot, you coming. Listening.”
Mira brushed a hand over Eve’s hair. “Maybe it’s the influence of my daughter—the Wiccan. While I think we have to make the most out of our life while we’re here, I believe we get more than one chance. When we get another chance, there are connections, people, recognition. I recognize you, Eve, and always have. That’s unscientific, and absolute truth. I’ll be right here.”
Roarke walked her to the door, then, leaning down, kissed Mira softly on the lips. “Thank you.”
After closing the door, he turned to Eve. “You’re loved. One day, I hope when you think of ‘mother’ you’ll think of her.”
“When I think of good I think of her. That’s something.”
“It is.”
“I’m sorry. I made this harder on you than I needed to.”
“That goes both ways.”
“It’ll probably still get screwed up before it’s over.”
“Oh, almost certainly. So why don’t we eat before it does?”
“Good idea.” But she walked to him first, wrapped her arms around him. “I’d rather be screwed up with you than smooth with anybody else.”
“Again, both ways.” He drew her back, traced his finger over the dent in her chin. “What do you say to spaghetti and meatballs?”
“I say yay.” She hugged him again, then let out a genuine laugh as Galahad wound between their feet. “In a dead sleep he hears you say spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Three plates, then. If you can’t spoil your cat, who can you spoil?”
“But no wine for him. He’s a mean drunk.”
She held on another moment, taking comfort, giving it back. “I want to say just one more thing about it, then set it aside, at least for now.”
“All right.”
“When I was a kid—after, I mean. When I was in the system, I used to imagine somebody stole me from my parents. They’d find me, take me home. Somewhere nice, with a yard and toys. And they’d be great, perfect. They’d love me.”
She closed her eyes when he tightened his grip. “After a while I had to deal with what’s real. Nobody was coming for me. There was no house and yard and toys. I did okay, and one day I did a whole hell of a lot better. I found you.”
She stepped back, gripping his hands in hers. “I got really lucky because, Roarke, you’re my what’s real.”
He brought her hands to his lips. “Always.”
20
