Loyalty in Death (In Death #9)(74)

Then he stared into space, imagining what it would be like when he took Clarissa home.

There was no question his family would welcome her. Even if it hadn’t been part of the Free-Age dogma to offer shelter and comfort to any in need, without questions or strings, he knew the hearts of those who had raised him. They were open and generous.

Still, he knew his mother’s eyes were sharp, and would see his feelings no matter what he did to hide them. And he knew she wouldn’t approve of his romantic involvement with Clarissa.

He could hear his mother’s counsel as if she were in the room with him now.

She has to heal, Zeke. She needs the time and space to find what’s inside her. No one can know their heart when it’s so badly injured. Step aside and be her friend. You’ve no right to more than that. Neither does she.

He knew his mother would be right to say those things. Just as he knew no matter how hard he might try to follow her advice, he was already too deeply in love to turn around.

But he’d be careful with Clarissa, gentle, treat her the way she should be treated. He’d coax her into therapy so she could find her self-worth again, introduce her to his family so that she could see what family was meant to be.

He would be patient.

And when she was steady again, he would make love with her, sweetly, softly, so she would understand the beauty between a man and a woman and forget the pain and fear.

She was so full of fear. The bruises on the flesh would heal, but he knew those on the heart, on the soul, could spread and fester and ache. For that alone he wanted Branson to pay. It shamed him to crave retribution; it was against everything he’d come to believe. But even as he struggled to concentrate only on Clarissa, on how she would bloom away from the city — like a desert flower — his blood called out for justice.

He wanted to see Branson in a cage, alone, afraid. Wanted to hear him cry out for mercy as Clarissa had cried.

He told himself it was useless to wish it, that Branson’s life would mean nothing to Clarissa’s happiness and recovery once she was away from him. His Free-Ager’s belief that each should move toward their own destiny without interference, that man’s insistence on judging and punishing his fellows only hampered their rise to the next plane, was sorely tested.

He knew he’d already judged B. Donald Branson, and that he wanted him punished. A part of himself Zeke hadn’t known existed craved to mete out that punishment.

He fought to bury it, to erase it, but his hands were clenched into fists as he looked toward the ‘link once again and willed Clarissa to call.

When it beeped, he jolted, stared, then leaped on it. “Yes, hello.”

“Zeke.” Clarissa’s face filled the screen. There were tears drying on her cheeks, but she curved her lips into a trembling smile. “Please come.”

His heart sprang to his throat, swelled. “I’m on my way.”

Peabody itched for the final team meeting of the day to be over. The fact was, she admitted, she just itched. Period. McNab sat across the conference table, sending her an occasional wink and bumping his foot against hers as if to remind her of what was going to happen if they could ever get the hell out of Central.

As if she could forget.

She had a couple of bad moments, wondering if she’d lost her mind, if she should call it off. It was torture trying to concentrate on the work:

“If we’re lucky,” Eve was saying as she paced the room, “Lamont will make a move tonight, try for some contact. We have two tails on him. My impression of Monica Rowan is that she’s a basic whack, but I instructed Peabody to put in the request to tap her home and porta-links. Ordinarily, I don’t think we’d get it, but the governor’s jumpy, and he’ll put pressure on the judge.”

She paused a moment, dipped her hands into her pockets. It always unnerved her to bring up Roarke’s name in official business. “Added to that, I have some hope that Roarke will gather some evidence from inside Autotron, without putting Lamont any more on alert.”

“If it’s there,” Feeney said with a nod, “he’ll find it.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll be checking in with him shortly. McNab?”

“What?” He was caught in the middle of another wink at Peabody, coughed wildly. “Ah, sorry. Yes, sir?”

“You developing a tic or something?”

“Tic?” He looked anywhere but at Peabody, who was struggling to turn a laughing snort into a sneeze. “No, Lieutenant.”

“Then maybe you’d entertain us with your report.”

“My report?” How the hell was a guy supposed to think straight when the blood kept insisting on draining out of his head and into his lap? “After contacting Roarke with your request for a long-range scanner, I took Driscol from E and B to the lab at Trojan Securities. At that time we met with Roarke and his lab manager. They demonstrated a scanner currently in development. Man, oh man, it’s a beauty, Lieutenant.”

Warming up, he leaned forward. “It can scan, triangulate, and scope through six inches of steel with a range of five hundred yards. Driscol nearly wet his pants.”

“We can leave out Driscol’s bladder problems,” Eve said dryly. “Is the equipment developed enough for use?”

“They haven’t done the fine tuning, but yeah. It’s more sensitive and powerful than anything we have available through NYPSD. Roarke put a round-the-clock in manufacturing. We can have four of them, maybe five, by tomorrow.”