Treachery in Death (In Death #32)(117)

“You don’t have to. I think I know.”

“They’re everything she’s not. Everything she abused, raped, killed, exploited. They’re the reason I . . . not the reason I do it, but the reason I can.” She lifted her head, swiped at tears and blood. “You’ll buy that drink for the house?”

“I will, yes. Darling Eve.” He laid his lips on her cheek. “My cop.”

“Roarke.” Tears pressed and burned again. She let some go, just let them fall. She could let them fall with him. She gripped his lapel, transferred more blood as she looked in his eyes.

“I want to go home, okay? I just need to go home now. You can fix me up there. It’s not so bad. You can take me home and fix me up. Because at the end of the day you’re what does. You’re what fixes me up.”

“Eve.” He pressed his lips to her brow, held there a moment. Just held. “All right then. I’ll take you home, and I’ll fix you up.”

“Thanks.” When he helped her to her feet, she leaned against him. “You’re the reason, too. Why I can do it.”

“Then I’ll fix you up so you can do it another day.”

As they started out of the room, she hissed. “Shit! It is pretty bad. Still go-home-and-fix-me-up territory, but, Jesus, she could fight. At least until the hair-pulling incident.”

“You were holding back a little.”

She frowned. “Who says?”

“Who knows you?”

So she sighed, leaned on him again. “Maybe I held back a little, until—”

“The hair-pulling incident.”

“It was insulting, and really demeaned the moment.”

He laughed, and he took her weight. She hobbled to the elevator so he could take her home, fix her up. So she could do it all another day.