Immortal in Death (In Death #3)(31)

Then Eve had done something she had never believed she would do. She had voluntarily called the police psychiatrist and made an appointment to talk with Dr. Mira.

Could still cancel it, she reminded herself and rubbed her gritty eyes. Probably will cancel it.

“You’re quite late, Lieutenant, after an eventful day.”

She dropped her hands and saw Summerset step silently out of a room to her right. He was, as usual, dressed in his stiff black, his stern face set in disapproving lines. Hating her seemed to be something he did with almost as much seamless skill as he ran the household.

“Don’t hassle me, Summerset.”

He stepped directly into her path. “I had believed, though you have countless flaws, you were, at least, a competent investigator. I see now, you are not, any more than you are a competent friend to one who depended on you.”

“You really think after what I’ve been through tonight that you can say anything to touch me?”

“I don’t believe anything touches you, Lieutenant. You’re without loyalty and that makes you nothing. Less than nothing.”

“Maybe you’ve got a suggestion of how I could have handled it. Maybe I should have had Roarke fire up one of his JetStars and shoot Mavis off planet to some remote little hideaway. Then she could be on the run for the rest of her life.”

“At least then she might not have wept herself to sleep.”

The arrow pierced, directly under the heart where it had been aimed. Pain shimmered through fatigue. “Get out of my way, you bastard, and keep out of my way.” She shoved by him, but stopped herself from running. She walked into the master bedroom just as Roarke was replaying her press conference on screen.

“You did well here,” he said and rose. “Under tremendous pressure.”

“Yeah, I’m a real pro.” She walked into the bathroom, then stood staring at herself in the mirror. She saw a woman, pale face, dark, shadowed eyes, grim mouth. And she saw beyond it to helplessness.

“You’re doing everything you can,” Roarke said quietly from behind her.

“You got her good lawyers.” Ordering water cold, she leaned down, splashed it liberally over her face. “They juggled me through Interview. I was tough. Gotta be tough. But they’ve got some moves on them. Next time I’ve got to grill a friend, I’ll be sure to sign them up.”

He watched her bury her face in a towel. “When’s the last time you’ve eaten?”

She merely shook her head. The question had no relevance. “The reporters were out for blood. Someone like me’s very juicy game. Couple of high-profile cases, I come out on top. Some of them would just love to see me take it between the eyes. Think of the ratings.”

“Mavis doesn’t blame you, Eve.”

“I blame me,” she exploded, heaving the towel aside. “I blame me, goddamn it. I told her to trust me, I told her I’d take care of things. How did I take care of it, Roarke? I arrested her, I booked her. Prints, mug shots, voice ident, all of it on file now. I put her through a horrible two-hour interview. I locked her in a cell until the lawyers you hired for her got her out on bail you posted. I hate myself.”

She broke, simply broke. Covering her face with her hands, she began to sob.

“It’s about time you let go.” Briskly, he scooped her into his arms and carried her up to the bed. “You’ll feel better for it.” He kept her cradled in his arms, stroked her hair. Whenever she cried, he thought, it was a storm, a passionate tumult. Rarely were there a few easy, quiet tears for Eve. Rarely was anything easy for Eve.

“This isn’t helping,” she managed.

“Yes, it is. You’ll purge some of that misplaced guilt and some of the grief you’re entitled to. You’ll think more clearly tomorrow.”

She was down to shuddering breaths and a raging headache. “I have to work tonight. I’m going to run some names and scenarios for probability.”

No, he thought quite calmly, she won’t. “Take a minute. Get something to eat.” Before she could protest, he was shifting her aside and moving to the AutoChef. “Even your admirable system needs fuel. And there’s a story I want to tell you.”

“I can’t waste time.”

“It won’t be wasted.”

Fifteen minutes, she thought, as the scent of something glonous wafted toward her. “Let’s make it a quick meal and a short story, okay?” She rubbed at her eyes, not sure if she was ashamed or relieved to have let the cork pop and spew out the tears. “Sorry I blubbered on you.”

“I’m always available for blubbering.” He came toward her with a steaming omelette and a cup. He sat down, stared into her swollen, exhausted eyes. “I adore you.”

She flushed. It seemed he was the only one who could bring embarrassed color to her cheeks. “You’re trying to distract me.” She took the plate and a fork. “That kind of stuff always does, and I can never get my tongue around what I should say back.” She sampled the eggs. “Maybe something like you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“That’ll do.”

She lifted the cup, started to sip, then scowled. “This isn’t coffee.”

“It’s tea, for a change. A soothing blend. I imagine you’re overloaded on caffeine.”