"Heard you had a rude awakening this morning."
"Yeah." Her stomach clutched, not in memory of what had come into her home, but at knowing she would have to weigh every word with him. "Not the kind of package I like to receive."
"You need help on it?" He smiled wanly. "I'm looking for busy work."
"I've got it covered for now, but I'll let you know."
He paced to her narrow window, back to her door. He looked exhausted, she thought. So tired. So sad.
"What's the story? Did you know the guy?"
"Not really." Oh, Christ, what did she do here? "I'd talked to him once about a case I was on. Didn't pan out. Could be he knew more than he was telling me. It's going to be hard to say now." She took a deep breath, hating herself. "I figure it was someone who wanted to take a swipe at me or Roarke. Most cops can keep their home addresses quiet. I can't." She shrugged.
"Price you pay for falling for a public figure. You happy?" he said abruptly and turned to study her face.
"Sure." She wondered if guilt was plastered on her forehead like a neon sign.
"Good. Good." He paced again, jiggling the bag of nuts he habitually carried in his pocket and no longer seemed to have the appetite for. "It's tough to be on the job and make a decent personal life. Frank did."
"I know."
"Alice's viewing is tonight. You going to make it?"
"I don't know, Feeney. I'll try."
"It rips me, Dallas. It really rips me. My wife's with Brenda now. She's wrecked. Just wrecked. I couldn't handle it anymore so I came in. But I can't focus."
"Why don't you go back home, Feeney?" She rose, reached out to touch his arm. "Just go home. Maybe you and your wife could go away for a few days. You've got the time coming. Get away from this."
"Maybe." His eyes were bleak, heavy with bags. "But where do you go to get away from what's always there?"
"Listen, Roarke's got this place in Mexico. It's great." She was fumbling and knew it, desperate to give. "It's got a monster view, and it's fully equipped. It would be." She managed a smile. "It's Roarke's. I'll square it with him. You can go there, take your family."
"Take the family." He repeated it slowly, finding the idea was almost soothing. "Maybe I will. You never seem to make time to be with your family. I'll think about it," he decided. "Thanks."
"It's nothing. It's Roarke. It's just there." She turned blindly toward her desk. "I'm sorry, Feeney, I've got to get it together for a media statement."
"Sure." He worked up a smile for her. "I know how much you love that. I'll let you know about using the place."
"Yeah, do that." She stared hard at her screen until he went out. She'd followed orders, she reminded herself. She'd done the right thing.
So why did it make her feel like a traitor?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
She made the tail end of the viewing, grateful that Roarke had come with her. It was too familiar, the same memorial parlor, the same scents, many of the same people.
"I hate this," she murmured. "Sanitized death."
"It comforts."
Eve looked over to where Brenda was supported by her mother and her son while tears ran slowly down her cheeks. She had the glazed and delicate look of the heavily medicated.
"Does it?"
"It closes," he corrected and took her cold hand in his. "For some."
"When it's my turn, don't do this. Recycle the parts, burn the rest. Get it done."
He felt the fist clutch around his heart and gave her hand a hard squeeze. "Don't."
"Sorry. I tend to have morbid thoughts in places like this. Well." Her room scan stopped when she spotted Isis. "There's my witch."
Roarke followed her gaze and studied the imposing woman with flame-colored hair and wearing a simple robe of pure white. She stood by the viewing box beside a man a full head shorter than she. He wore a plain, almost conservative suit, also in white. Their fingers were linked.
"The man with her?"
"I don't know him. Might be a member of her sect or whatever. Let's check it out."
They moved across the room and by tacit agreement, flanked the couple. Eve looked down at Alice first, at the young face, composed now. Death had a way of relaxing the features. After the insult had passed.
"She's not here." Isis spoke quietly. "Her spirit still searches for peace. I'd hoped… I'd hoped to find her here. I'm sorry I missed you today, Dallas. We were closed in Alice's memory."
"You weren't at home, either."
"No, we gathered at another place, for our own ceremony. The man across the street told me you'd been looking for me." A faint smile wisped around her mouth. "He was concerned that I had a cop on my trail. He has a good heart, despite a certain imbalance."
She stepped back to introduce the man beside her. "This is Chas. My mate."
Training kept Eve's eyes bland, but she was surprised. He was as ordinary as Isis was spectacular. His hair was a washed-out blond, thin in texture. His body was almost fragile, narrow in the shoulders, short in the leg. His square, unremarkable face was stopped just short of homely by a pair of surprisingly lovely deep gray eyes. When he smiled, it was with a sweetness that demanded a smile in return.
"I'm sorry to meet you under such sad circumstances. Isis told me you were a very strong and purposeful soul. I see she was right, as always."
She nearly blinked at his voice. It was a deep, creamy baritone any opera singer would have wept for. She caught herself watching his mouth move and imagining a ventriloquist's dummy. It wasn't a voice that should have come out of that body and that face.
"I need to talk to you both as soon as possible." She glanced around, wished for a discreet way to slip out and conduct an interview. It would have to wait. "This is Roarke."
"Yes, I know." Isis offered a hand. "We've met before."
"Have we?" His smile was politely curious. "I can't imagine forgetting meeting a beautiful woman."
"Another time, another place." Her eyes stayed on his. "Another life. You saved mine once."
"That was wise of me."
"Yes, it was. And kind. Perhaps someday you'll revisit the county of Cork and see a small stone dance alone in a fallow field… and you'll remember." She slipped the silver cross she wore off her neck, handed it to him. "You gave me a talisman then. Similar to this Celtic cross. I suppose that's why I wore it tonight. To close a circle."
The metal was warmer against his hand than it should have been, and it stirred something in cloudy memory he didn't care to explore. "Thank you." He slipped it into his pocket.
"One day I may return the favor you did me." She turned to Eve then. "I'll speak with you whenever you like. Chas?"
"Of course, whenever it's convenient for you, Lieutenant Dallas. Will you attend our ceremony? We'd very much like to share it with you. Night after next. We have a small place upstate. It's quiet and private and, when the weather cooperates, perfect for outdoor rites. I hope you – ''
He broke off, his stunning eyes going dark. His thin body shifting to what Eve recognized immediately as a guard stance. "He's not one of us," he said.
She glanced around, spotted a man in a dark suit. His face was cell-block white and framed by a black wedge of hair. The suit was expensive, his skin wan, making him appear both sickly and successful.
He started toward the viewing box, saw the group already there. In one jerky move he turned on his heel and hurried out.
"I'll check it out."
She was moving quickly when Roarke caught up with her. "We'll check it out."
"It would be better if you stayed inside with them."
"I'm staying with you."
She only shot him a frustrated look. "Don't cramp my style."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
The retreating man was nearly at a run as he hit the door. Eve only had to touch his arm to have him jolt. "What? What do you want?" He whirled, pressing the door for release, backing out of it into the rainy night. "I haven't done anything."