He was touching her now, rubbing her back, smoothing her hair. “They did home checks?”
“Yeah. Sure.” She dashed a tear away—tears were useless, then and now. “It all looked nice and clean on the surface. Tidy house, pretty yard. I had my own room, clothes. What would I have told them? She said I was evil. I’d wake up from a nightmare where I was covered with blood, so I must’ve been evil. When she told me someone had hurt me, thrown me away with the garbage because I was bad, I believed her.”
“Eve.” He took both her hands, brought them to his lips. He wanted to gather her up, cover her in something soft, something beautiful. He wanted to hold her until every horrid memory was washed away. “What you are is a miracle.”
“She was a vicious, sadistic woman. Just another predator. I know that now.” Had to remember that now, Eve thought as she drew a deep breath. “But then all I knew was that she was in charge. I ran away. But this was a small town, not Dallas, and they found me. I planned it better when I ran the second time, and I got over into Oklahoma, and when they found me, I fought them.”
“Damn right you did.”
He said it with such a combination of pride and anger, she heard herself laugh. “Bloodied one of the social workers’ noses.” And that memory, she realized, wasn’t so bad. “Ended up in juvie for a while, but it was better than her. I put it away, Roarke. I put it aside. Then there she was, sitting in my office, and I was back to being scared.”
He wished she’d bloodied goddamn Trudy Lombard’s nose, gotten some little bit of her own back. She’d have been better for that. “She’ll never hurt you again.”
Eve faced him now, eye to eye. “I fell apart. Disintegrated. I’m feeling just steady enough now for that to piss me off. The Icove case.”
“What?”
She lowered her head to her hands, rubbed them hard over her face before she lifted it again. “She said she’d seen me giving an interview about the Icove murders, the Quiet Birth fiasco. I asked how she’d found me, and she said she’d heard about the case.”
He rolled his healing shoulder out of habit. “I doubt there’s anyone in the known universe who hasn’t by now. She came here, specifically, to see you?”
“Said she wanted to catch up, see how I’d turned out. Wanted a nice reunion.” She was recovered enough that her tone was sour and cynical. It was music to Roarke’s ears.
“She’s got her son and his wife with her, apparently. I kicked her out. At least I had enough left to do that. She gave me that look, that puzzled disappointment—with the nasty edge just under it.”
“You’ll want to make sure she goes away, stays away. I can—”
“No, I don’t.” She shoved back, stood up. “No, I don’t, and I don’t want you touching it. I want to forget this, forget her. Whatever jollies she thought she might get by taking me down some memory lane she’s swept and polished, she won’t get them. If Peabody had kept her nose out, I’d‘ve been straightened out when you got home. We wouldn’t be having this discussion.”
He waited a long minute, then rose as well. “And that’s how you’d have handled this? By telling me nothing?”
“This one, yeah. It’s done, it’s over. It’s my problem. I let it twist me around. Now I’m untwisted. It doesn’t apply to us. I don’t want it to apply to us. If you want to help me out here, you’ll let it fade.”
He started to speak, thought better of it, then shrugged. “All right, then.”
But he took her shoulders, rubbed. He drew her in, and felt her body relax against his.
She was more twisted up than she realized, he thought, if she believed the woman had tracked her across the country, across the years, for no real purpose.
It was only a matter of time before that purpose became clear.
“It’s going dark,” he murmured. “Holiday lights, on.”
She turned her head on his shoulder, and together they studied the huge live pine in the window as the festive lights flashed on.
“You always go overboard,” she said quietly.
“I don’t think you can with Christmas, especially if you’re us, and had so many thin ones. Besides, it’s tradition for us now, isn’t it? A tree in the bedroom at Christmas.”
“You’ve got a tree in nearly every room in the house.”
He grinned at that. “I do, don’t I? I’m a slave to sentiment.” He kissed her, softly, then circled his arms around her again. “What do you say to a quiet meal up here? With no work for either of us. We’ll watch some screen, drink some wine. Make love.”
She tightened her arms around him. She’d needed home, she thought, and here it was. “I’d say, ‘Thanks.’”
* * *
And when she was asleep, he left her, briefly, for his private office. He crossed the tiles, laid his hand on the palm print. “Roarke,” he said. “Power up.”
As the console hummed, flickered with light, he used the house link to contact Summerset.
“If anyone by the name of Lombard attempts to reach Eve here, put them through to me. Wherever I might be.”
“Of course. Is the lieutenant all right?”
“She is, yes. Thanks.” He clicked off, then ordered a search. It would take a bit of time to pinpoint where this Lombard was staying while in New York. But it was best, always best, to know the location of an adversary.
He doubted it would be much longer before he knew just what the woman wanted—though he was dead certain he already knew.
Chapter 3
NORMAL, EVE THOUGHT, WHEN SHE STRAPPED on her weapon harness. She felt normal again. Maybe those whiners who were forever talking about expressing your feelings were onto something.
God, she hoped not. If they were, she’d end up neck deep in mangled bodies.
Regardless, she felt steady—steady enough to scowl at the nasty weather whirling outside the bedroom window.
“What exactly do they call that business? ” Roarke asked as he stepped beside her. “It’s not snow, not rain, not even really sleet. It must be—”
“Crap,” she said. “It’s cold, wet, crap.”
“Ah.” He nodded, rubbed the back of his knuckles absently up and down her spine. “Of course. Maybe it’ll keep people indoors and you’ll have a quiet day.”
“People kill each other inside, too,” she reminded him. “Especially when they get fed up looking out the window at crap.” Because she sounded just like the woman he adored, he gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder.
“Well, it’s off to work for you, then. I’ll be handling link conferences here for another hour or so before I have to go out in this.” He turned her, gripped the lapels of her jacket, kissed her quick and hard. “Be safe.”
She reached for her coat, started to swing it on, and felt the slight bulge in the pocket. “Oh, I picked this up for Dennis Mira. Just a, you know, Christmas token thing.”
“Looks like him.” Roarke nodded at the scarf she held, even as his eyes laughed at her. “Aren’t you the clever shopper?”
“I didn’t shop. I picked it up. Do you think there’s any way it could get wrapped?”
With a half smile, Roarke held out his hand for it. “I’ll notify the elves. And I’ll have it put with the antique teapot you bought for Mira—which you didn’t shop for either, but, as I recall, came across.”
“That’d be good, smart ass. See you later.”
“Lieutenant? You haven’t forgotten our Christmas party?”
She spun around. “Christmas party? That’s not tonight. Is it? It’s not.”
It was small of him, he could admit it. But he loved seeing that quick panic on her face as she tried to remember which day was which. “Tomorrow. So if you’ve anything you need or want to come across to pick up beforehand, it should be today.”
“Sure. Right. No problem.” Shit, she thought as she headed downstairs. Was there anything else? Why were there all these people who had to be crossed off her pick-up-something list? Was she actually going to have to start making a list?