Taken in Death (In Death #37.5)(28)

“I can go in with you, Dallas,” Peabody said.

“I can handle it. Go hit the sheets. You can call in the sweepers before you do. Let’s get this place processed. Everything neat and tidy.”

She looked around first, as men moved in, moved out. The tiny, windowless room with its open closet of a bathroom. Bright toys, the table full of sugary crumbs.

Not like the room in Dallas, she thought, but the same purpose. Terrorize, torture, and confine.

She walked out of it, walked away from it—and wondered how long nightmares would plague the two children who’d been taken and trapped.

She saw them in the stillness and cold, in the murk before day dawned, huddled beside Roarke in blankets some cop had pulled out of a trunk.

She started to speak to one of the officers, but caught Henry’s eye, watched him break away from Roarke and walk to her.

“Is she dead?”

“No, but she can’t hurt you anymore. She’ll be locked up now. How’s that arm?”

“Gala fixed it for me.” He held out a hand, and though they hadn’t spoken, though his sister had her face pressed to Roarke’s chest, she stepped away, went to Henry. And taking his hand, looked up at Eve.

“You’re the good witch,” Gala said.

“Kid, I’m a cop.”

“You saved us.”

“You did a lot of that yourselves. You were really smart—smarter than her. And really tough.”

Henry pressed his lips together where they trembled. “Who did she pick? Who did Mommy pick?”

“She didn’t. I lied.” Was this the bigger fear? Eve wondered. Even bigger and deeper than any blade? She crouched down again. “I lied to make her think of something else. Your mother didn’t choose, and she never would.”

“You’re not supposed to lie.” But Henry smiled. His eyes filled, but he smiled, and Eve thought: That’s courage. The real deal. “But it’s okay that you did. I’m Henry, and this is Gala.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m Dallas.”

“You’re the Good Witch Dallas.”

Henry let out a little sound, a sob choked off, then shocked Eve to her toes by flinging himself at her, wrapping his trembling body around her. Then Gala did the same.

“Okay, okay.” She wasn’t sure if she should pat them, or where. “It’s all over now. We’ll get you home, get you something to eat.”

“We don’t want cookies.” Gala’s voice was muffled against Eve’s shoulder.

“Yeah, no cookies for you.” She tried to stand again, but the little girl gripped her around the neck so she ended up lifting her while Henry clung to her leg.

“Ah . . .” She looked toward Roarke for help, but he just smiled, shook his head.

A car screamed up. Before it fully stopped, Tosha shoved out of one door, Ross the other.

“Henry! Gala!”

The girl all but leaped down, and the boy raced toward his parents, his blanket flying back like a cape.

Eve let out a heartfelt sigh of relief, but didn’t object when Roarke stepped over, slid an arm around her shoulders.

“It’s a pretty sight on a cold morning,” he murmured.

It was, the four of them tangled together to form one unit.

“They’re going to be all right,” Eve decided. “She had them for what, about thirty hours, and it feels like a lifetime, but they’re going to be okay. And they had each other, the kids, through the worst of it. I think . . . I think they can talk to each other, without, you know, talking.”

“Perhaps. The twin bond, and a little magic—of the good kind, thrown in.”

Teasdale crossed to her. “Slattery and I will meet you at Central. We’ll let the brass wrangle where she lives out the rest of her life, but we’ll make sure—the three of us—we wrap her tight.”

“That works for me.”

Teasdale glanced back at the family. “A pretty picture. The kind that can help get you through the long, troubling nights. Good work, all of us.”

With a satisfied nod, Teasdale moved off. Eve started to turn to Roarke, then paused when the family walked to her. Ross held his son, Tosha her daughter.

“This is the Good Witch Dallas,” Henry began.

“Lieutenant.”

“Lieutenant Good Witch Dallas.”

And he smiled, so sweetly, Eve let it go.

“Thank you. Thank you for our children,” Ross said in a voice thick and shaky. “We’ll never forget. We can never repay. . .”

“Vanquishing the bad is the job of cops and good witches, isn’t it, Henry?” Roarke asked.

Tosha leaned forward, left Eve no choice but to accept the light kiss on each cheek. “Every day, for the rest of my life, I’ll say a prayer for your safety, and for your happiness. Every day, when I look in my children’s eyes, I’ll remember you. All of you.”

Eve slipped her hands in her pockets as they walked away. Together, Henry and Gala lifted their heads, smiled at her over their parents’ shoulders, and waved in unison.

“Oh yeah, they’ve got some internal conversation going. Weird. Anyway.” She blew out a breath. “I need to go in and nail this bitch in hard and tight.” Energized by the prospect, Eve rolled her shoulders. “And you need to get back to universal financial domination.”