Desperation in Death (In Death #55)(32)

When she sat on the side of the bed, Galahad rolled over, squiggled forward, and nudged his head under her hand.

“I should’ve held off, just let Mr. Mira level me off.”

As he passed the wand over her jaw, Roarke’s eyes met hers. “He has a way.”

“I don’t know how he just gets to the core of it, right off. And he said what I didn’t know how to explain, really. I don’t have a choice, Roarke.”

“I know it. I know it as I know you. I wonder how it is it twists me up so much more seeing you tired and hurting inside than it does seeing these bruises. Then again, these bruises heal quick enough.”

He switched from her jaw to her eye. “We’re never going to be all the way done with all the before. It made us who we are, after all.”

“I guess. Mira said … She said I understood someone like Dorian because, basically, I’ve been there. That distrust of authority? I know where it comes from.”

“And still, you chose authority. You chose the police not just as a vocation but a kind of home, and I, for a very long time, chose the opposite of that.”

“We both needed to be in charge, to take the power back. I’d be more than halfway into a burnout if I hadn’t found you. You’d probably have stolen all the art and jewelry in the galaxy if you hadn’t found me.”

“Ah, but that was meant, wasn’t it now?”

She smiled, and with the cat now stretched over both their laps, touched Roarke’s cheek. “Irish woo-woo.”

“Pure fact, and one that speaks to me. What does she say to you, this young girl? Can you tell me?”

Closing her eyes, Eve stroked the cat.

“When I stood over her today with Morris … She looked so perfect, so young and perfect except for … I could hear her think: What would I have done, who would I have been, if they hadn’t taken me? How would I have coped with what they did, if I’d gotten away? I know it’s me thinking it, but—”

“Is it?”

She let it go because the wand felt soothing now instead of achy. “They damaged her where it didn’t show, where you can’t see. But she had a foundation, she had a family, and she’d have gotten through it. Maybe not over it because you don’t. We know that. But through it. They stole that from her.”

“And the other, the one you need to find?”

“Her foundation’s cracked and rocky. I looked at—into—her mother today, and I saw Stella. Parts of her. I’m not going to beat myself up for that.”

“Nor should you. There’s a type, isn’t there? Stella, Meg Roarke, this woman. A mold that makes them vile and vicious.”

“Truman fits it—mostly. She’s not going to smack a kid around physically, like I damn well know Jewell Gregg did with Dorian more than the neighbors ever saw. She’s the type that punches the heart, the self-worth, the trust until it’s all broken and bleeding.”

It made her sick inside, the thought of it, the memories of it.

“It’s worse. She’s not required or expected to love them, right? But she has a duty, and she uses that, twists that to batter where it doesn’t show.”

“You’ll see she’s fired.”

“Absolute priority. But it’s not enough. She’s already damaged Dorian Gregg, and God knows how many others.”

Fury simmered inside her again.

“I recognized her, too, damn right I did. I had a couple like that. Like a wrong cop, they fuck it up for all the ones who do the job.”

He rose, walked to open the panel that held the bedroom AutoChef. Eve checked her ribs—definitely better. Her jaw—absolutely less swollen.

“I’m making time to dig into it, see if I can hang her up on anything illegal. She’s going to lose her job—Gregg defrauding the PPO, and Truman not verifying? Yeah, she’s gone, but unless she took a kickback, not a crime on her part. Even if I find something, it’s probably a slap on the wrist. Not enough.”

Roarke came back with two glasses filled with a peach-colored liquid.

“Is this a soother? I don’t need a soother.”

“We’re splitting one. It’s a new flavor. It should taste a bit like a Bellini.”

She knew he’d found a way to get around her with the whole splitting thing, so she took a sip. “I haven’t had that many Bellinis.”

“We’ll have to remedy that.”

“Anyway, it’s okay.”

“Not bad at all,” he agreed. “Civil suit.”

“What?”

“When you find Dorian, she can file a civil suit against Truman. CPS will get dragged in, but they should have done a better job overseeing this woman, shouldn’t they? And a good lawyer’s bound to find a few more children—perhaps adults by now—who have similar stories. Class action suit.”

The idea added a zing to the soother. “Sue her lazy, fucked-up ass.”

“I’ll wager a court would levy more than a slap on the wrist. Unlikely she has the funds to pay off a judgment, but it would make her life hell for quite some time. Then, you have a good friend who excels at exposés.”

“Nadine.” As she rolled it around, that simmering fury turned to satisfaction. “She’d lap this right up. Why didn’t I think of that?”