Concealed in Death (In Death #38)(118)

“We’ll survive. Recap.” She brought Roarke up to speed, filled in the Peter Gibbons connection for both him and Peabody. It helped keep her mind off the fact she was flying, at great speed, in a toy with blades. It didn’t help when they flew, at great speed, over snow-covered mountains.

That looked entirely too big, entirely too close.

“Just some crosswinds,” Roarke told her when the copter shuddered.

“He couldn’t just stay in the city, there are lots of places in the city, but oh no, he’s got to do this in some mountain cabin where there’s nothing but rocks and trees. Fucking, f**king big rocks and trees.”

“It’s gorgeous!” Peabody, her nose plastered to the window, bounced in her seat. “There’s a lake! It’s all frozen.”

“When we crash into it, we’ll bounce instead of drown.”

Roarke laughed, began to circle.

She gripped the sides of her seat like lifelines. “What are you doing!”

“Descending, darling. There’s the institute.”

Teeth gritted, she forced herself to look down. It wasn’t a cabin in the woods, but a large, sprawling complex in the valley of the really big, snowy mountains. From her reluctant bird’s-eye view, it resembled a very large mansion, more, she corrected, an important school.

Then because it made her dizzy, she stopped looking below, just held on until she felt the copter touch smoothly down.

She climbed down to the pad immediately, waiting for her legs to get solid again. She wasn’t quite there when several people ran toward the pad from the main building. Even slightly queasy, she recognized security when it charged toward her.

“This is a private institution. I need to ask you to—”

Eve just held up her badge. “Peter Gibbons.”

“I’ll need your business with Dr. Gibbons.”

“No, you don’t. He does. He sees me now, or I’ll have this place surrounded by cops, and shut down. Gibbons,” she repeated.

“We’ll take this inside.”

“Nobody leaves the premises.” She fell in line with him. Peabody had been right about the snow, but the pathways were pristine, cutting neat stone paths through the blankets of white. “How long has Montclair Jones been here?”

“I can’t discuss patients with you.”

Didn’t have to, Eve thought. He’d just confirmed her suspicions.

Inside, the building was church-quiet. Not hospital-like so much as cushy rehab center for the really rich. Plants thriving, floors sparkling, even a gas fire simmering.

“Wait here,” security told her. His two companions stood on guard as he walked up a short sweep of stairs.

“Will you let me see Monty?” Philadelphia asked.

“We’ll get to that.”

“You’re going to arrest him. Both my brothers. You’re going to put them both in prison.”

Eve said nothing, but watched a man hurry down the stairs. Average height, average looks until you took a second study. Sharp eyes of winter blue, a strong jaw added something.

“I’m Dr. Gibbons,” he began. Those winter blue eyes widened, then went warm as summer. “Philly.” He moved right past Eve, hands extended, gripped both of Philadelphia’s. “You look the same.”

“No. Of course I don’t.”

“To me you do. Nash contacted you. I’m so glad. I’m terribly sorry, but he couldn’t keep this from you. I couldn’t keep it from you.”

“You’ve been keeping it from everyone for fifteen years.”

He turned, eyes cooling again when they met Eve’s. “No, not what you’re thinking. We should go up to the conference room. My office is a bit small to fit everyone.”

“Where is Montclair Jones?”

“His room’s on the third floor, east wing.” At Philadelphia’s gasp, he looked at her again. “I’m so sorry. Nash is with him. If I could explain things to you—it’s Lieutenant Dallas, correct?”

“That’s right. Explaining’s a good start. Peabody, I want you on the door of Jones’s room.”

“Neither of them would leave, but I understand. Security will escort you,” he told Peabody.

As Peabody peeled off with security, Eve went with Gibbons up the stairs.

“Just this way. Nash came to my home yesterday evening. He was in a state of deep anxiety, even panic.”

“I bet.”

Gibbons opened a door, gestured.

It struck her more like a lounge than a conference room, though there was the requisite long table. Gibbons led Philadelphia to a sofa. “Can I get you anything? Your hands are cold. Some tea?”

“No, nothing.”

“You’re still wearing it,” he said quietly.

“No.” She looked down at the ring, then up at him. “I . . . oh, Peter.”

“This is difficult for you. For us all.” He sat beside her, took her hand in his, then met Eve’s eyes again.

“I should start fifteen years ago. We were fairly new at that time. I’d come on board the year before, at the inception. I’d kept in touch with Nash over the years.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“We’d both married, both divorced. You had your life, and I was making mine. Nash contacted me all those years ago, shaken, desperate. He told me Monty was in trouble, that he’d tried to hurt one of the girls in your care, and didn’t seem to understand the scope of his actions. The girl was safe, but he couldn’t allow Monty to be around the children, couldn’t allow him to go on without serious psychiatric help. Of course I agreed to take him as a patient, though we disagreed when he insisted you weren’t to know, Philly.”