Then the view opened; she saw Kevin. Everything else was set aside.
He saw her as well. A slow, boyish smile crossed his face, just a little shy at the edges. He got to his feet, hesitated, then walked to her.
"Make my dreams come true and tell me you're Stefanie."
"I'm Stefanie. And you're…"
"Wordsworth." He took her hand, lifted it to his lips. "You're even lovelier than I imagined. Than I hoped."
"And you're everything I thought you'd be." She left her hand in his. Dating had never been one of her strong suits, but she'd planned carefully how she would behave, what she would say. "I hope I'm not late."
"Not at all. I was early. I wanted…" He gestured toward the picnic. "I wanted everything to be perfect."
"Oh. It looks wonderful. You've gone to so much trouble."
"I've looked forward to this for a long time." He led her to the blanket. She passed within a foot of Roarke. "Caviar!" she said as she sat. "You certainly know how to throw a picnic."
She leaned over, turned the bottle of wine around so she could see the label. The same he'd used with Bryna Bankhead. "My favorite." She made her lips curve. "It's as if you could read my mind."
"I've felt that way, ever since we first corresponded. Getting to know you online, I felt as if Iknew you. Had always known you. Was somehow meant to."
"This guy isgood," McNab breathed in her ear.
"I felt the connection, too," Eve said, using Stefanie's words to her as a guide. "The letters, the poetry we shared. All the fabulous stories about your travels."
"I think… it's fate. 'It is he that saith not Kismet.'"
Oh, shit,Eve thought. Mind scrambling, she opened her mouth. And Roarke whispered the rest of the quote in her ear. " 'It is he who knows not fate,'" she repeated. "What do you think fate has in store for us, Wordsworth?"
"Who can say? But I can't wait to find out."
Give me the damn wine, you worthless, murdering bastard.But instead, he handed her the roses.
"They're lovely." She made herself sniff them.
"Somehow I knew they'd suit you best. Pink rosebuds. Soft, warm. Romantic." He lifted his own glass, toyed with the stem. "I've looked forward to giving them to you, to having this time with you. Shall we have a toast?"
"Yes." She continued to look into his eyes, while she willed him to pick up the glass, to put it into her hand. Trying for flirtatious, she brushed the rosebuds against her cheek.
And he picked up the glass. He put it into her hand.
"To fateful beginnings."
"And even better," she said, "to destined endings." She brought the glass to her lips, saw his gaze greedily follow it. And the shadow of irritation smoke over them as she lowered it again without drinking.
"Oh, just one second." She let out a quick laugh, set the wine aside, and opened her purse. "There's just one thing I want to do first."
With her free hand, she took his, then pulling out the restraints, snapped them on. "Kevin Morano, you're under arrest – "
"What? What the hell is this?" When he tried to yank away she had the pleasure of knocking him flat, rolling him, and with her knee in the small of his back, securing the restraints.
"For the murder of Bryna Bankhead, the attempted murder of Moniqua Cline, and accessory in the murder of Grace Lutz."
"What the hell are you talking about? What are you doing?" When he tried to buck she simply held her weapon to his head. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm Lieutenant Eve Dallas. Remember it. I'm your goddamn fate. My name is Dallas, Lieutenant Eve," she repeated because her gorge wanted to rise into her throat. "And I've stopped you."
So what?a voice whispered in her ear. Her father's voice.Another's coming. Another always is.
For an instant, just an instant, her finger twitched on her weapon. Tempted.
She heard the voices behind and above her – the alarmed buzzing of civilians, the clipped orders from her team. And she felt Roarke there, just there at her side.
Rising, she dragged Kevin up. "Looks like this wasn't such a fucking picnic after all. You have the right to remain silent," she began.
She escorted him to transport herself. She needed to. He wasn't remaining silent. Instead he babbled about mistaken identity, miscarriages of justice, and his influential family.
He wasn't yet babbling for his lawyer, but he would. Eve was sure of it. She'd be lucky to have fifteen minutes in Interview with him before his terror and shock settled back into calculation.
"I've got to go in, get started on him right away."
"Eve – "
She shook her head at Roarke. "I'm all right. I'm okay." But she wasn't. There were drums banging inside her skull. In defense she dragged off the wig, scooped her hand through her hair. "I've got to get this crap off me. They should be finished booking him by the time I get back to normal."
"Trina's going to meet you at Central, give you a hand with it."
"Good. I guess. I'll see you at home."
"I'm coming in with you."
"There's no point – "
"In discussing it," he finished. Nor in telling her he was going to administer the next round of meds Summerset had given him. "Why don't I drive you? We'll get there faster."
It took forty minutes to get back into her own skin. Eve could only think Roarke had said something to Trina. The woman didn't utter a single complaint about dismantling her masterpiece so soon, nor did she launch into a lecture on face and body maintenance.
When Eve was blissfully rinsing her face in cold water, Trina shuffled her feet. "I helped do something really important, right?"
Face dripping, Eve turned her head. "Yeah, you did. We couldn't have brought this down today without you."
"Gives me a rush." She blushed. "Guess you get that a lot. You going to go squeeze his balls now?"
"Yeah, I'm going to go squeeze his balls."
"Give them an extra twist for me." She opened the door, surprised at seeing Roarke walk into the bathroom. Trina tapped the sign on the door. "You definitely ain't no woman, sweet buns." With a wink, she headed out.
"She's right, you definitely ain't no woman. Even at Central, we have certain standards of behavior, and guys don't come into the women's toilet facilities."
"I thought you'd prefer a little privacy for this." He took a packet, pills, and the dreaded pressure syringe out of the small bag he carried.
"What?" She backed up. "Stay away from me, you sadist."
"Eve, you need your next dose."
"I do not."
"Tell me – look at me – tell me you don't have a massive headache, in addition to body aches, and that your own sweet buns aren't starting to drag. Lying to me," he continued before she could speak, "is just going to piss me off enough so I gain twisted pleasure in forcing the meds on you. Which we both know from experience I can do."
She gauged the distance to the door. She'd never make it. "I don't want the shot."
"Well, that's a pity, as you're getting it. Don't put us through another round like this morning. Be a brave little soldier now, and roll up your sleeve."
"I hate you."
"Yes, I know. We've added a bit of flavoring to the liquid packet. Raspberry."
"Gee. My mouth's just watering."
CHAPTER TWENTY
She was rolling up her other sleeve as she walked toward Interview Room A. Apparently, it wasn't just her car that was having an electronic rebellion. Climate control was on the fritz in this section, and the air was hot, stuffy, and violently scented with bad coffee.
Peabody was waiting outside the door, perspiring lightly in full uniform.