Brotherhood in Death (In Death #42)(104)

She shuffled that to the side for now.

Easterday, she thought as she drove. He’d be panicked, desperate, looking to both survive and escape.

Forgive me

His last message to his wife told Eve he knew what he’d done, what they’d all done, would come to light.

Where would he run?

Reo had it right—he hadn’t had much of a lead. Unless he’d run straight out of the city, he’d have a hard time getting out, and with only whatever cash he’d taken from the safe. He couldn’t use credit or debit or it would throw up a flag.

And he hadn’t used a card to book a shuttle, a train, a car, or any other mode of transpo.

He didn’t seem the type to hole up in a flop. A hotel, possibly, but that didn’t ensure privacy. She had every property owned by any of the men under watch. If he had a property she didn’t know about, Eve felt certain Petra would have told her.

The woman was terrified, only wanted her husband back and safe.

Would she forgive when she learned why he’d run?

Not your problem, Eve told herself and nearly wept again from the relief of driving through the gates of her home.

She ordered herself to pull it together. She had to get through Summerset and upstairs. And she didn’t want to break down on Roarke.

She didn’t have time to lose it again.

She got out of the car, took the bank bag out of the back—asked herself again if she should’ve made the trip downtown to take the hair to the lab rather than give that task to Reo.

Quicker this way, quicker was best.

She strode to the door, told herself to just keep walking.

The relief she felt when the foyer was Summerset-free dried up any threatening tears. She took the stairs two at a time, heading straight for her office.

Then slowed, stopped, when she heard Summerset’s voice.

“I haven’t seen one of those for thirty years or more.”

“I boosted one like it when I was a boy—before you. It was old even then, but you never knew what might bring in a few punts. So I lifted it and a stack of discs with it. Turned out to be very old porn, which gave the lads and myself quite an education. I traded it off to Mick—no, no, I’m wrong, it was Brian I traded it off to, years later. He may still have it, as far as I know.”

“I take it this one came without the porn.”

“Sadly, it did.”

“How did you come by it?”

“One of my R & R men is known for hoarding everything,” Roarke told him. “He swears it will work, good as new. But the problem, as you see, is the hookup.”

“You’ll jury-rig it there to the comp, and then program it to screen.”

“That’s the plan. Bugger it. Hand me the small spanner there. It’s the wrong size plug, but I can swap it out, I’m thinking.”

She considered backtracking to the bedroom, doing that bowl of ice water. But she’d taken too much time on herself already.

She squared her shoulders, strode straight in to see Roarke at her desk, hunkered over her comp and some black box thing with Summerset peering over his shoulder.

“There you are,” Roarke said without looking up. “I’m just working out how to merge the antique with the contemporary. Nearly there.”

“Great.”

When Summerset glanced over, she realized the shades fooled no one. She saw him lay a hand on Roarke’s shoulder, give it a small squeeze as he himself straightened.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said as Roarke lifted his head, looked at Eve.

She supposed she owed him for leaving the room rather than mortifying her.

“What happened?” Roarke asked.

“A whole bunch of stuff.”

“You’ve been crying.”

“A little meltdown, I guess. Look, what you’re doing there’s really important. I’ll bring you up to date, meltdown included, but I need you to keep doing whatever that is. I’ll get coffee.”

“What you need is sleep.”

“Maybe, but it’s not what I’m going to get. The ground’s still a little shaky under my feet, okay? Give me a chance to steady up.”

“All right.”

He reached for another tool as she went to the kitchen to program a pot of black coffee.





19


She told him all of it, from the time he’d left her that morning until she’d left Dennis Mira.

“I really did assume Mira had told him—like the Marriage Rules take over everything else after—what—three decades. I wouldn’t have . . .” She shook her head. “I wanted to reassure him, I guess, that no matter what, I’d do the job. And I ended up telling him. An abbreviated version, maybe, but all the high points. Or the low ones.”

“There’s no kinder shoulder to lean on, to my thinking.”

“I didn’t go there to lean on him. But I did.” The tears stung her eyes again. “And he was kind. I brought him grief, mine and more of his, and he was kind. I’m going to give him more grief, because everything I do is a step closer to bringing all this out. It’s his family name.”

“A man isn’t a name. Who knows that better than I? It’s he himself makes it. I’ve no worries on that count for Dennis Mira. Nor should you.”