Loyalty in Death (In Death #9)(84)

In a pig’s eye, Roarke thought, but simply turned and handed her the broth.

“I want coffee.”

“You’re such a big girl now. You must know you can’t have everything you want.” He moved past her to the door, shut it just as she bristled at him.

“What I don’t need, in here, is a smart mouth.”

He winged up a brow. “Are you having yours removed? I’m so fond of it.”

“I can have two gorillas in uniform in here in thirty seconds. It would make their night to toss you out on your excellent ass.”

He sat in her spare chair, stretched out his legs as far as the cramped room would allow, and studied her face. “Sit down, Eve, and drink your broth.”

Because she caught herself, barely caught herself, before flinging the cup across the room, she did sit. “I just pounded on Zeke. For thirty minutes I beat him up the wall and down again. ‘You wanted to f**k another man’s wife. So you killed him to get him out of the way. He was a rich man, wasn’t he? She’ll be rich now. That oughta set you up just fine, Zeke. You get the woman, you get the money, and Branson gets a tasteful memorial service.’ And that was before I got nasty.”

Roarke said nothing, simply waited her out. Eve picked up the broth. Her throat was raw, and it was better than nothing. “And when I finished hammering him, Peabody follows me into the John and thanks me for it. For Christ’s sake.”

He rose because she’d dropped her throbbing head into her hands. But when his hands came down to rest on her shoulders, she tried to shrug them off. “Don’t. I can’t take any more understanding tonight.”

“That’s a pity.” He lowered his lips to the top of her head. “You’ve been training Peabody for months now. Do you think she doesn’t know how your mind works?”

“Right now I don’t know how the hell it works. She — Clarissa — she said he’d beaten her, raped her. Whenever he wanted. For years. Over and over for years.”

Roarke’s fingers tightened on her shoulders before he controlled them, gentled them. “I’m sorry, Eve.”

“I’ve heard it before, from witnesses, suspects, victims. I can handle it. I can deal with it. But every time, every goddamn time, it’s like a fist in the gut. Right under the guard and into the gut. Every time.”

For a moment, just a moment, she let herself lean back, into him, into the comfort. “I have to keep going here.” She rose, moved away from him. “You shouldn’t have called in your spiffy lawyer, Roarke. It’s sticky. This whole deal is very, very sticky.”

“She cried on my shoulder. Sturdy, stalwart Peabody. Would you ask me to turn away from that?”

Eve shook her head. “Okay.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes, willing the headache away. “We’ll deal with it. I’m going to call Nadine.”

“Now?”

After blowing out a breath, Eve turned back. Her eyes were clear again. “I’m going to offer her a one-on-one, right here, right now. She’ll jump at it, and we’ll have our spin on this right out of the box.”

She walked back to the ‘link to make the call. “Go home, Roarke.”

“I will. When you do.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

He bullied her into going home. Or she let him think he did. Zeke had been released on his own recognizance and was to report to Dr. Mira’s office at nine a.m. Clarissa was tucked in a private room at her swanky health center and sedated for the night.

Eve had stationed a guard at her door.

Nadine’s story hit the air at midnight and carried exactly the brisk tone of a routine if tragic accident that Eve had wanted.

The crime scene evidence was in and would be fully analyzed the next morning. The body was still somewhere in the depths of the East River, and there was simply no more to be done.

So at two a.m. she stripped off her clothes and prepared to fall into her own bed.

“Eve?” Roarke noted her weapon and harness were now out of reach. When she turned her head toward him, he caught her chin and shoved a pain blocker into her mouth. Before she could spit it at him, he caught her close, clever hands roaming down to squeeze her naked ass, and crushed his mouth to hers.

She choked, swallowed in self-defense, and felt his tongue dance lightly over hers. “That was low.” She shoved away, coughed a little. “That was despicable.”

“That worked.” He caressed her cheek and gave her an affectionate shove into bed. “You’ll feel better for it in the morning.”

“In the morning, after coffee, I’m going to smack you around.”

He slid into bed beside her, cuddled her against him. “Mmm. I can’t wait. Go to sleep.”

“You won’t think it’s so funny when your head’s bouncing off the floor.” But she rolled hers onto his shoulder and dropped away.

Four hours later, she awoke in exactly the same position. Exhaustion had gobbled her up, and she’d slept like a stone. She blinked, saw Roarke’s eyes were already open and on hers. “Time?” she croaked it out.

“Just past six. Take a few minutes more.”

“No, I can get started from here.” She climbed over him, then stumbled groggily into the bathroom. In the shower, she rubbed sleep out of her eyes, and realized — with some resentment — her headache was gone.