He closed his eyes and, in a rare show of fatigue, rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm sorry for that. This has brought too much of it back. The guilt, the helplessness."
"It's stupid to blame yourself, and you're not a stupid man."
He let his hands drop. "Who else?"
She stepped around the console until she stood directly in front of him. "O'Malley, Riley, Cagney, Rowan, McNee, and Calhoun." She would comfort now, because now she understood how. Eve put her hands on his shoulders. "I'll only say this once. I may only mean it once, now, while I've still got her image in my head. You were right. What you did was necessary. It was justice."
Unspeakably moved, he put his hands on hers, sliding them down so their fingers could link. "I needed to hear you say it, and mean it. Even if only once."
She squeezed his hands then turned to the screen. "Let's get back to work and beat this son of a bitch at his own game."
It was after midnight when they shut it down. Eve tumbled into sleep the instant her head hit the pillow. But somewhere just before dawn, the dreams began.
When her restless movements woke him, Roarke reached for her. She struggled away, her breath coming in quick little gasps. He knew she was trapped in a nightmare where he couldn't go, couldn't stop the past from cycling back.
"It's all right, Eve." He gathered her close even as she fought to twist free with her body shuddering, jerking, shuddering.
"Don't, don't, don't." There was a plea in her voice and the voice was thin and helpless, a child's voice that broke his heart
"You're safe. I promise." He stroked her back, in slow and soothing motions, when at last she turned to him. Turned into him. "He can't hurt you here," Roarke murmured as he stared into the dark. "He can't touch you here."
There was a long, catchy sigh, then he felt the tension drain out of her body. He lay awake, holding her, guarding against dreams until the light began to slip through the windows.
He was gone when Eve awoke, which was usual. But he wasn't in the sitting area as he was most mornings, drinking coffee and scanning the stock reports on the bedroom monitor. Still groggy, she rolled out of bed and hit the shower. Her mind cleared slowly. It wasn't until she stepped out of the drying tube that the dream came back to her.
She stood, one hand reaching for a robe, as it flashed into her mind.
The cold, horrible little room with the red light blinking into the dirty window. Hunger clawing at her belly. The door opening and her father stumbling in. Drunk, but not drunk enough. The knife she'd held to cut the mold off a pitiful hunk of cheese clattering to the floor.
The pain of that big hand smashing over her face. Then worse, so much worse, his body pressing hers into the floor. His fingers tearing, probing. But it wasn't her struggling. It was Marlena. Marlena with her white dress ripped, her delicate features locked in fear and pain. Marlena's broken body sprawled in fresh blood.
Eve looking down at that wasted young girl. Lieutenant Eve Dallas, with her badge displayed on her pocket, studying death one more time. Reaching for a blanket, a thin, stained blanket from the bed to cover the girl. Against procedure, disturbing the crime scene, but she couldn't help herself.
But when she turned, looked down again with the blanket in her hand, it was no longer Marlena. Eve stared down at herself, in death, and let the blanket fall over her own face.
Now she shuddered and bundled quickly into the robe to help chase away the chill. She had to put it away, ordered herself to shut it away. She had a maniac to catch, lives that depended on her doing so quickly. The past, her past, couldn't be allowed to surface and interfere.
She dressed quickly, snagged a single cup of coffee and took it with her to her office.
The door between it and Roarke's was open. She heard his voice, only his, and stepped to the doorway.
He was at his desk, using a headset 'link while he manually keyed data into his computer. His laser fax shot off a transmission, immediately signaled an incoming. Eve sipped her coffee, imagined him buying and selling small galaxies while he carried on a conversation.
"It's good to hear you, Jack. Yes, it's been awhile." Roarke turned to his fax, skimmed it, then quickly logged and sent a reply. "Married Sheila, did you? How many kids did you say? Six. Christ." He let out a rolling laugh and, turning back to his computer, made arrangements to buy the lion's share of a small, floundering publishing company. "Heard that, did you? Yes, it's true, last summer. Aye, she's a cop." A lightning grin flashed across his face. "What black past, Jack? I don't know what you're talking about. I'm as law-abiding as the parish priest. Yes, she is lovely. Quite lovely and quite remarkable."
Roarke swiveled away from his monitor, ignored the low beep of an incoming call. "I need to talk to you, Jack. You've heard about Tommy Brennen and Shawn? Aye, it's a hard thing. My cop's connected them, and the connection goes back to me – to O'Malley and the rest and what happened to Marlena."
He listened for a time, then rose and walked to the window, leaving his communication center humming and beeping. "That's exactly so. Any ideas on it? If any occur to you, if you can dig up anything, you can contact me here. Meanwhile, I can make arrangements for you and your family to get away for a time. Take your kids to the beach for a couple weeks. I've a place they'd enjoy. No, Jack, this is my doing, and I don't want another widow or fatherless child on my conscience."
He laughed again, but his eyes stayed sober. "I'm sure you could, right enough, but why don't we leave that part to my cop and you and your family get out of Dublin awhile. I'll send you what you need today. We'll talk again. My best to Sheila."
Eve waited until he'd pulled the headset off before she spoke. "Is that what you're going to do, ship off everyone you think might be a target?"
He set the headset aside, vaguely uncomfortable that she'd heard his conversation. "Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"
"No." She crossed to him, set her coffee down so that she could take his face in both hands. "I love you, Roarke."
It was still a rare thing for her to use the words. His heart tripped once, then steadied. "I love you, Eve."
Her lips curved, brushed his lightly. "Is that what I am now, 'your cop'?"
"You've always been my cop – ever since you wanted to arrest me."
She tilted her head. "Did you know that when you were talking to your Dublin friend your accent got thicker, the rhythm of your speech changed. And you said aye instead of yes at least twice."
"Did I?" He'd been totally unaware of it, and wasn't sure how that sat with him. "Odd."
"I liked it." The hands she held to his face slid around to link behind his neck. Her body bumped his. "It was… sexy."
"Was it, now?" His hands roamed down, cupped her bottom. "Well, Eve, me darling, if you're after -" His gaze flicked over her shoulder, and the amusement in them deepened. "Good morning, Peabody." Eve jerked, then swore when Roarke held her firmly in place. "Lovely day."
"Yes, it… I beg your pardon. Sir," she added lamely when Eve scorched her with a look. "You said eight sharp, and there was nobody downstairs so I just came up and… here I am. And, ah, McNab is – "
"Right behind her." Leading with a grin, McNab stepped into view. "Reporting for duty, Lieutenant, and may I say that your house is… Holy Mother of God."
His eyes went so huge, so bright, that Eve reached instinctively for her weapon as he rushed in.
"Would you look at this setup? Talk about sexy. You must be Roarke." He grabbed Roarke's hand and pumped it enthusiastically. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I work on one of your 2000MTSs in EDD. What a honey. We're crying for the 5000, but the budget, well, it sucks. I'm rebuilding an old multimedia unit at home – the Platinum 50? That baby rocks. Is that a Galactic MTS?"