Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(86)

“You could’ve given me back to him, left with Marlena. He’d have had nothing.”

“He’d have had you,” Summerset said simply. “That was never an option. Never. I put the knife in him without a moment’s regret. He never saw it coming, with all his contacts and blustering. He saw me as a weak man he could bully and frighten.”

“You’ve never been weak.”

“His mistake.”

Roarke sat a moment in silence, absorbing it all. “I went back to the alley where they’d found him, and I wished it had been me that had done him.” He looked up again, met Summerset’s eyes. “Next best thing.”

“I took no pleasure in it.”

“No. I would have—then.” Roarke laid his hand over Summerset’s, left it there for a quiet moment. “I’m not what I was.”

“You were never what he wanted you to be. And more than even I hoped. In weak moments, I might credit the lieutenant for some of that.”

Roarke smiled again. “In her weak moments, she might credit you. It’s a sum of work, isn’t it?”

“You’ll tell her all this?”

“Her scale’s different than ours, and it’s weighing on her. I’ll tell her, yes, and it’ll lighten.” Roarke rose. “I’ll see you before you go.”

“Of course.”

“You were right not to tell me before. I would have celebrated it, even a handful of years ago.”

“And now?”

“Now, I can be grateful for the man you were and are. That’s more than enough.”

As Roarke started out, the cat leaped down and trotted behind him.

“He’s been fed,” Summerset called out.

“It rarely makes a bit of difference to him.”

Eve woke, frowned at the sofa where she’d expected to see Roarke drinking coffee, watching the stocks, maybe working on his PPC or a tablet.

World-domination meeting ran over, she decided, pushing herself out of bed. She hit coffee first, let it fire up her brain.

She needed to check the search results, nag DeWinter, push through more interviews, she thought as she headed for the shower.

The search results might give her a new path to pursue, and nagging DeWinter in person could prove more productive than a text. Then there was Guy Durante—some possibilities there. Time to press.

She stepped out of the shower, into the drying tube, let the warm air swirl.

It occurred to her she could beat Roarke to breakfast. There could be anything but oatmeal.

She jumped out, grabbed a soft white robe, and was shoving her arms into it as she stepped out.

And thought, Damn it, when she saw Roarke already at the AutoChef.

“Did buying Uruguay run over?”

“Uruguay?”

“It sounds buyable.” She shrugged, resigned herself to oatmeal. “Where is Uruguay?”

“South and, though I have a few interests there, I haven’t considered buying it outright. I’ve got this, and since you’re up and about, why don’t you get us a pot of coffee?”

He carried the tray to the sitting area; she got the coffee.

“If not Uruguay, what?”

“This and that.”

He lifted the warming domes. Oatmeal—oh well. Berries, brown sugar, bacon. It could be worse.

“Summerset’s making bread.”

She said, “Huh?”

“He was kneading dough when I went down to see him, so I assume it’s bread.” He poured coffee for both of them. “Do you want to know why he killed Patrick Roarke?”

Her hand froze before it reached the cup. “What?”

“I should have seen it before,” he said easily now. “In him, in you. As a boy there was only relief, and I never thought of Summerset. He knew violence, and certainly had used violence during the wars, but he heals. His instincts are to heal, so I never thought of him for it. And, in truth, I thought of it all very rarely. You should eat.”

She only shook her head, so he covered both plates again.

“It’s secrets, isn’t it, and it dovetails with your case. Maybe that’s why it opened for me now. After your dream you say wasn’t a nightmare, though I suspect it came close, you wouldn’t tell me. You brushed it off. Evaded, and looking back, I realized you’d done the same earlier in your office when we talked of Mars, of her murder possibly being done to protect a child or another. Then of Patrick Roarke. You turned away, but I’d seen it, just something on your face for an instant. It didn’t strike home until I thought back, and I began to see. So I asked him, and he told me. He assumed you’d told me.”

“I—” She started to get up, but Roarke simply took her hand, held her in place. “I didn’t know. I suspected. I didn’t push on it. It wasn’t like I pushed him to…”

“Confess?”

Everything inside her went tight and cold. “I wasn’t after a confession.”

“Eve.” His voice quiet, Roarke gripped her hand tighter. “I know that. Just as I know it was hard for you to know that a crime had been committed, that murder had been done, and do and say nothing.”

“I didn’t have evidence. I don’t have proof.”