Innocent in Death (In Death #24)(78)

The hurled ball of fury merely bounced off Summerset’s composure. “And nothing to prevent it.”

“Prevent what?” Roarke whirled. Here, at least, was a target for the rage. “My wife’s sudden turn into an unreasonable, jealous mass of moods?”

“Your wife’s astute reaction to the manipulations of a clever woman. Which you’d recognize if you weren’t so hellbent on being right.”

“Bollocks. There’s nothing astute about thinking I’d prefer Maggie over her. And manipulation be damned.”

“The video was well timed.”

“What the f**k does that mean?”

“Perfectly timed, perfectly executed,” Summerset said coolly. “She was always good.”

“Staged it, did she? For what possible purpose?”

“You’re here, alone, angry, worried about your wife, your marriage.” Summerset ignored the cat who skulked in to wind through his legs like a bloated ribbon. “I imagine the lieutenant is somewhere in exactly the same position. That, Roarke, is pinpoint accuracy.”

“That’s bloody nonsense.” But it pushed a very small seed into his mind. “There’s no profit in it for her, no point.”

“Retribution and entertainment.”

“Retribution for what ?” At that moment, Roarke felt he might very well be going mad. “You may have forgotten, but she left me. She betrayed me and left me hanging by the balls.”

“No, I haven’t forgotten. I’m glad to know you haven’t either.”

“There’s been enough talk of Magdelana in this house, and I’m not the one who keeps bringing her in.” He strode out, and riding on temper went down to pummel a sparring droid to broken bits.

He wore himself out, but it didn’t help, it didn’t reach the rawness in his gut.

He showered off the sweat, and the blood on his knuckles. He changed and ordered himself up to his office. He’d work, he told himself. He’d just work, and if she wasn’t home in another hour, he’d…

He hadn’t a clue.

And when he saw the light was on in her office, the relief made him so weak it seemed the world tipped and shuddered for a moment before going solid again.

And the weakness refired his temper on all circuits. He stalked in, his mind already flexing its fists for battle.

She was at her desk, comp humming, data scrolling on screen. Her eyes were closed, and the shadows under them etched fatigue against pallor.

It nearly stopped him, perhaps that unhappy weariness would have. But then her eyes flashed open.

“Lieutenant.”

“I’m working.”

“It’ll have to wait. Computer off.”

“Hey.”

“Is this how you handle things? How you punish me for crimes you’ve decided I’ve committed? I’m not even granted an interview?”

“Look, I’m tired. I need—”

“So the bloody hell am I.”

He looked it, she realized, as he so rarely did. “Then go to bed. I’m going to—”

“If you think about walking out on me again,” he said, voice dangerously soft as she started to push out of the chair, “think again. Think carefully.”

She knew the heat—and the more deadly ice—of his wrath when it was fully formed. She felt the blast of it now, and it chilled her to the bone. “I’m going to make coffee.”

“You can wait for it, as I’ve waited half the goddamn night for you.” He stepped toward her, those eyes piercing like sabers. “How am I supposed to know you’re not dead in some alley, and the next time I open the door there’ll be a cop and a grief counselor on the doorstep.”

She hadn’t thought, not for an instant, he’d worry she’d gone down in the line. She hadn’t meant to punish, just to get through the day. So now she only shook her head. “You should trust me to handle myself.”

“Oh, now I should trust you when you’ve shown such undiluted trust for me. You’ve no right and no cause to put me through this.”

“Same goes.”

“Through what?” He braced his hands on her desk, leaned down. “What am I putting you through, what the bleeding hell have I done? Be specific.”

“You looked at her.”

He stared, and for a moment those molten blue eyes were simply astonished. “Well, as I haven’t been struck blind in the last day or two, I’ve looked at any number of women. Castrate me.”

“Don’t diminish my feelings, my instincts, or what I know. Don’t you make a joke of this or of me. You looked at her, and for a second, the first time you saw her again, you gave her what’s supposed to be mine.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’mnot! ” She shoved up now so they were eye to eye. “I’m a f**king trained observer, and I know your face, I know your eyes. I know what I saw.”

“And your police training tells you that this look I gave her, for a second you say, is cause for this irrational bout of jealousy?”

“It’s not jealousy. I wish it were. I wish it were that stupid, that shallow, that definitive. But it’s not jealousy. It’s fear.” She dropped down in her chair again as her voice began to crumble. “It’s fear.”