Brotherhood in Death (In Death #42)(102)

He looked away again, into the fire. “You believe they began this there, in that house. I see. I see why he was so cruel about it now. Why he made it clear I wasn’t part of that . . . fraternity. That brotherhood. I wish I could believe he’d been protecting me from it, but he was only protecting himself. I loved him, but I would have stopped him. I would’ve found a way.”

“He’d have known that.”

“How many did you say? How many names?”

“Forty-nine.” She hesitated. “Some are clearly a great deal older, some are . . . not.”

His gaze came back to her, horrified. “You think they were still . . . They continued, all this time?”

“Why would they stop when they got away with it?”

“Not because they were drunk or high and lost control. Not to excuse that, you see, but this is . . . calculated. What you’re telling me. Planned and done as—as a pack. Like rabid animals. No. No. No. Not like animals.”

He pressed his fingers to his eyes a moment, then dropped his hands in his lap. The devastation on his face cut Eve to the bone.

“Like men who thought they had the right. Worse, so much worse than animals.”

In the next moment, anger burned through the devastation. “Edward had a daughter. How could he do this and not think how he would feel if someone did the same to his own child? His daughter has a daughter. Merciful God. And he died for it, for his own brutality, his own arrogance.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not going to be able to save Betz, Mr. Mira. I swear to you, I’ve tried, but I don’t think we’ll find him in time. Easterday’s in the wind. I’m going to do everything I can to find him, not just to see he pays for his part of this, but if they find him first, he’s dead. Killing them isn’t justice. What was done to your cousin wasn’t just. I get you might think because of what happened to me I might see it that way, but—”

She saw his eyes change from sad and angry to shocked, then sorrowful, then so desperately sympathetic her insides trembled.

“I—I figured Dr. Mira would have told you.”

“No. Oh, no, Charlotte would never betray a confidence. My sweet girl,” he comforted. “I’m so sorry. What you do, every day, is so courageous, and so dangerous.”

“It didn’t happen on the job.” She wanted to push to her feet, get out, get away from that quiet sympathy. But her legs had gone to water. “I was a kid,” she heard herself say. “It was my father.”

It was he who moved. He rose, came to her, took her cold hands in his. Without a word, he simply drew her to her feet and into his arms where he held her so gently she felt she would break.

“I’m okay. I’m all right,” she managed even as she began to shake.

“There now. There. You’re safe here. You’re safe now.”

“It was a long time ago. I—”

“Time doesn’t heal, whatever they say. It’s how we use the time that can heal.” He stroked her back, as Roarke often did, and tears burned like embers in her throat.

“You sit now, sit right here, and wait. I’ll only be a minute.”

“I should go.”

He eased her back into the chair, touched a hand briefly to her cheek. “Sit right there.”

She did what he told her, struggled to find her balance again when he left the room. She had believed Mira would have told him. She understood the confidentiality, but they’d been married forever. Didn’t that outweigh . . . ? Of course it didn’t.

She closed her eyes, forced herself to take slow breaths.

And both the Miras would understand and respect that.

Now she’d unloaded more of a burden on a man who was already grieving. She needed to get things back on course, then get back to work.

He came back—misbuttoned sweater, house skids, and carrying two delicate cups in their delicate saucers. Tears pressed viciously at the back of her eyes just from looking at him.

“We’ll have this very nice tea, with a healthy dollop of brandy. It helps.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him she didn’t like tea, or brandy, so took the cup.

“Drink now.”

She obeyed, and discovered whatever magic he’d put into the cup was like a warm stroke on the spirit. She drank some more.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mira. This isn’t about me. I only wanted to reassure you I’ll do everything I can to find the women who killed your cousin.”

“I never doubted that. There’s no need to explain, and you don’t have to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable. I’d like to ask, if you can answer. Where was your mother?”

“She was as bad as he was. Maybe worse. She hated me. She left. She’s dead. I didn’t kill her. I killed him, but I didn’t kill her.” She closed her eyes. “Christ.”

“Do you think I’d judge you? My brave girl, I think you judge yourself far too harshly.”

“No—I—I did what I had to do. I know that.”

“But this investigation brings it back, and still you don’t set it aside. You could.”

“If I did that, he wins. If I did that, I don’t deserve the badge.”

“Far too harshly,” Dennis said quietly. “Will you tell me how old you were?”