Memory in Death (In Death #22)(21)

* * *

She was exactly where he'd assumed she'd be, doing precisely what he'd assumed she'd be doing. She stopped pacing long enough to give her desk three hard kicks.

And the hip she'd injured battling beside Roarke protested.

"Damn him. Damn him! Can't he stay out of anything?"

The fat cat, Galahad, padded in, plopped down in the doorway of the kitchen as if prepared to enjoy the show.

"Do you see this?" she demanded of the cat, and slapped a hand on her sidearm. "You know why they gave me this? Because I can handle myself. I don't need some—some man charging in to tidy up my mess."

The cat angled his head, blinked his dual-colored eyes, then shot a leg in the air to wash it.

"Yeah, you're probably on his side." Absently, she rubbed her sore hip. "Male of the fricking species.

Do I look like some wilting, helpless female?"

Okay, maybe she had, she admitted as she resumed pacing. For a couple of minutes. But he knew her, didn't he? He knew she'd pull it together.

Just like he'd known Lombard would come sniffing around him.

"But did he say anything?" She threw her hands up. "Did he say: 'Well now, Eve, I think perhaps the sadistic bitch from your past will likely be paying me a visit?' No, no, he did not. It's all that damn money, that's what it is. It's what I get for getting hooked up with a guy who owns most of the world, and a good chunk of its satellites. What the hell was I thinking?"

Since she'd exhausted a good portion of her energy with her anger, she flopped into her sleep chair. Scowled at nothing in particular.

Hadn't been thinking, she admitted as the worst of the blind, red rage faded. But she was thinking now.

It was his money. He had a right to protect himself from poachers. She sure as hell hadn't stepped up to do it.

She sat up, dropped her head in her hands. No, she'd been too busy wallowing and whining and, screw it, wilting.

And she'd attacked the one person who fully understood her, who knew everything she kept bottled inside. Attacked him because of that, she realized. Mira would probably give her a big gold star for reaching that unhappy conclusion.

So, she was a bitch. It wasn't as if she hadn't made full disclosure before the I do's. He'd known what he was getting, damn it. She wasn't going to apologize for it.

But she sat, drumming her fingers on her knee, and the scene in the parlor began to play back in her head. She closed her eyes as her stomach sank, and twisted.

"Oh God, what have I done?"

* * *

Roarke swiped sweat off his face, reached for a bottle of water. He considered programming another session, maybe a good, strong run. He hadn't quite worked off all the mad, and hadn't so much as started on the resentment.

He took another chug, debated whether to sluice it off in the pool instead. And she walked in.

His back went up, he swore he could feel it rise, one vertebra at a time.

"You want a workout you'll have to wait. I'm not done, and don't care for the company."

She wanted to say he was pushing himself too hard, physically. That his body hadn't healed well enough as yet. But he'd snap her neck like a twig for that one. Deservedly so.

"I just need a minute to say I'm sorry. So sorry. I don't know where it came from, I didn't know that was in me. I'm ashamed that it was." Her voice shook, but she'd finish it out, and she wouldn't finish it with tears. "Your family. I'm glad you found them, I swear I am. Realizing I could be small enough somewhere inside to be jealous of it, or resent it, or whatever the hell I was, it makes me sick. I hope, after a while, you can forgive me for it. That's all."

When she reached for the door, he cursed under his breath. "Wait. Just wait a minute." He grabbed a towel, rubbed it roughly over his face, his hair. "You kick the legs out from under me, I swear, like no one else. Now I have to think, I have to ask myself, what would I feel, should that family situation have been reversed? And I don't know, but it wouldn't surprise me to find some nasty little seed stuck in my belly over it."

"It was ugly and awful that I said it. That I could say it. I wish I hadn't. Oh Jesus, Roarke, I wish I hadn't said it."

"We've both said things at one time or another we wish we hadn't. We can put that aside." He tossed the towel on a bench. "As to the rest..."

"I was wrong."

His brows shot up. "Either Christmas has come early, or this should be made another national holiday."

"I know when I've been an idiot. When I've been stupid enough I wish I could kick my own ass."

"You can always leave that one to me."

She didn't smile. "She came after your money, you slapped her back. It was just that simple. I made it complicated, I made it about me, and it never was."

"That's not entirely true. I slapped her a good deal harder than was necessary, because for me, it was all about you."

Her eyes stung, her throat burned. "I hate that... I hate that— No, no don't," she said when he took a step toward her. "I have to figure out how to get this out. I hate that I didn't stop this. Wasn't even close to capable of stopping it. Because I didn't, couldn't, and you did, I stomped all over you."