Taken in Death (In Death #37.5)(23)

She nodded as they went in, started up the stairs. She’d heard Maj Borgstrom’s voice, too, she thought. There she’d heard madness, and a horrible kind of glee.

The fat cat sprawled snoring across the wide bed, and that was a kind of welcome. She’d stretch out, Eve told herself. Clear her mind, and circle back to the beginning. Somewhere from start to now, had to be answers. But when she slid into bed, when Galahad moved his considerable weight to lie across her feet, when Roarke’s arm curled around her, she dropped instantly into sleep.

And quickly into dreams.

THE ROOM IN DALLAS THAT LIVED IN HER NIGHTMARES had windows. She could see out if she wanted, to the dirty red light that flashed on, off, on, off. It was a cold and hungry place, a place of fear and pain.

The children with their bright red hair and pale faces sat at a table full of cookies and cakes and bubbling drinks. And they watched her with frightened eyes.

“Don’t eat any of that,” she told them.

“She makes us. She’ll make you eat, too, before she eats you.”

“We’re going to get out. I’m going to get you out.”

“The door’s locked.”

She tried to break it down, but she was just a child herself, only eight, and cold, hungry, scared.

“We have to have a tea party,” the little girl told her. “She said. And if we don’t eat it all she’ll make us sorry. She made Darcia sorry. She made her dead. See?”

The nanny lay on the floor, soaked in her own blood. “She’s not paying any attention to me.” Darcia sighed and bled. “I’m not important enough.”

“That’s not true. But I can’t help you until I help them.”

“I’m too dead to help. We’ll all be dead soon if you don’t do something.”

“I’m trying. I don’t know where they are. Pigeons must’ve eaten the bread crumbs.”

“You only have to look in the right place.” And Darcia turned her head and sightless eyes away.

“The good witch is supposed to fight the bad witch and win. We’re supposed to go home to Mommy and Daddy and live happily ever after. You’re supposed to protect us.”

“I will. I’m going to. I’m trying.”

Something banged on the door. Something huge.

“She’s coming.” Tears running free, both children stuffed their mouths with cakes and cookies. “You have to eat or she’ll hurt us.”

Monster at the door, Eve thought. But which monster? Hers or theirs? And did it matter. Either brought death.

But she stepped forward, shivering in the cold, to shield the other children and make her stand.

“Here now, here, Eve, you’re freezing.”

She shuddered her way out of the dream, into his enfolding arms. “It’s cold in the room. I can never get warm.”

“Just a dream, baby. Only a dream. I’ll get the fire on.”

“No, no, just hold on. I don’t know which. Troy or Borgstrom. I have to fight the monster.”

“Shh. A dream. It’s done now. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

“Not me. The kids. How come I can’t find them when they’re right there?” She gripped him hard. “Hold on to me, will you?”

“Always.”

“I’m not going to be afraid. I can’t be.”

When she lifted her mouth to his, he met the kiss gently while he ran soothing hands up and down her back. And murmured to her words of comfort.

She wouldn’t be afraid, she thought again. She wouldn’t let the torments of her childhood damage what she’d become or stop her from doing what she had to do. What she would do.

And here, with him, she knew the ease of his faith in her, his love, and his unwavering trust.

She warmed, degree by degree, and the room—her prison, the prison of two innocent children—faded away.

She was home.

She needed, he knew, the human touch. His touch. It humbled him that she found strength there. That what they found in each other steadied them both. Soft here, and tender, to reaffirm who they were, what they’d beaten back. And would always beat back together.

She rose to him on a sigh, quiet as the night. He filled her, murmuring of love, of promise.

They held tight, moving in the dark toward solace.

When they were still again, when she could count the beats of his heart against hers, she had no fear of what stood behind the door.

“I only have to look in one place. The nanny said that, in my dream.”

“True, but not simple.”

“Henry said the walls and floor were like sidewalk. So some sort of concrete? That says basement to me. She couldn’t lock them up anywhere someone else could access, so it takes it back to her having the building, or at least the only access to that area. It’s going to be a smallish building, a limited or no tenant situation.”

He raised his head. “You’re not going back to sleep.”

“Sorry.”

“You’ve more than an hour yet before you need to get ready to take your shift.”

“I need to go back, Roarke. Grab a shower, some coffee, go back, walk around. I want to believe I’ll know the place when I see it. I know that’s stupid, but I want to believe it. So I have to go back, walk around, look for the damn bread crumbs.”