Innocent in Death (In Death #24)(77)

“Because if you two had solid common, it could be said—I wouldn’t, but itcould be said—that Roarke hooked on you because you reminded him of her. That you were the type he went for. But, see, you’re not. He went foryou, not for a type. I bet that burns her surgically shaped ass.”

“It…oh.” Eve dragged a hand through her hair. “I don’t get this female business. Or it takes me awhile. It would burn her ass that I’m the anti-her? That he didn’t keep looking for her, so to speak.”

“We have a winner.” Mavis slid the baby up over her shoulder and began to rub and pat Belle’s back. “Bet the bitch goes frothy at the mouth every time she thinks about it. Right, Belle-issimo?”

In answer, Belle burped firmly. “There’s my girl. That’s why she set up that vid.”

“Set up the vid?”

Mavis’s frog-green eyes popped. “Jesus, Dallas, you must be knotted up like last week’s hairdo if you missed that. I may have been out of the game a few years, but I know a con when it smacks my adorable, post-pregnancy ass. Did you look at it?”

“I got—I guess I got knotted up.”

“Hold on. I’m going to put Belle down. Get your wine. We’re going to view the evidence.”

She didn’t want to watch it again, but there was too much curiosity in her to refuse. In the living area, Mavis turned on the screen, hit the replay for previous programming, and cued up the piece from that morning.

“Now, watch like a cop instead of the injured wife.” Even as she said it, Mavis slid a comforting arm around Eve’s waist. “He’s looking down at her, yeah, because she’s talking to him, angling up at him. Making sure he’s looking at her while the camera rolls. Now catch it? The way she shifts so they’re both turned just enough for the camera to zoom onto both their faces. Then she even cheats hers out.”

“She what?”

“Cheats her face—turns it a little more, so the camera can catch that soulful expression she’s plastered on for it. Slick, but obvious if you pay attention. She’s playing you. Both of you.”

Mavis drew back. “Go kick her ass.”

“There’s a problem with that. If I kick her ass, it gives her weight.”

“Shit.” Mavis puffed out a breath. “It does.”

“Another problem is, he feels something for her. That already gives her weight. She knows it.”

“You’re on the other side of the scale, Dallas. Head to head, she doesn’t have a ice-fizzy’s chance in hell.”

“Maybe not. But she’s drawn all the blood so far. I’m bleeding, Mavis, and he doesn’t see it.”

“Go make him.” Even as Eve shook her head, Mavis walked over to get Eve’s coat. “Time to stop letting her run the game, Dallas. And FYI?” She shoved the coat into Eve’s hands. “Roarke called here about a half an hour before you showed up.”

“He did?”

“Real casual like. Asked about the baby, like that. I may not have seen it if I hadn’t been looking, because he’s just that good. But you’re not the only one bleeding tonight.”

15

ROARKE REACHED FOR THE ’LINK AGAIN, CURSED himself for a fool, then turned away from it. He wasn’t going to keep calling her, her friends, her haunts, hoping for a scrap.

Bugger that.

She’d be home when she came home. Or she wouldn’t.

Christ Jesus, where was she?

Why the hell was she putting him through this? He’d done nothing to earn it. God knew he’d done plenty along the way to earn her wrath, but not this time. Not this way.

Still, that look on her face that morning had etched itself in his head, on his heart, into his guts. He couldn’t burn it out.

He’d seen that look once or twice before, but not on his account.

He’d seen it when they’d gone to that f**king room in Dallas where she’d once suffered beyond reason. He’d seen it when she tore out of a nightmare.

Didn’t she know he’d cut off his own hand before he’d put that look on her face?

She bloody well should know it. Should know him.

This was her own doing, and she’d best get her stubborn ass home right quick so they could have this out as they were supposed to have things out. She could kick something. Punch something. Punch him if that would put an end to it. A good rage, that’s what was needed here, he told himself, then they’d be done with this nonsense once and for all.

Where the f**king hell was she?

He considered his own rage righteous, deserved—and struggled not to acknowledge it hid a sick panic that she didn’t mean to come back to him.

She’d damn well come back, he thought furiously. If she thought she could do otherwise, he had a bulletin for her. He’d hunt her down, by Christ, he would, and he’d drag her back where she belonged.

Goddamn it all, he needed her back where she belonged.

He paced the parlor like a cat in a cage, praying as he rarely prayed, for the remote in his pocket to beep, signaling the gates had opened. And she was coming home.

“Shall I bring you something to eat?” Summerset asked from the doorway.

“No.”

“No word from her, then?”

“No. And don’t you saddle your high horse and think to ride it here. I did nothing to cause this.”