Reunion in Death

«Controlling something's the same as ownership.»

«I've no desire to control your badge, or you for that matter.»

«That comes off pretty lame from somebody who's just managed to do both.»

«For Christ's sake, Eve, that wasn't what that was about. Use your head for a minute. Stop being so prideful, so flaming stubborn that you see everything as a bloody attack. Do you think Whitney would have agreed to consider this angle if he didn't believe it was a viable method of stopping this woman? Isn't that your primary goal?»

«Don't stand there and tell me what my goal is.» She jammed a finger into his chest. «Don't you stand there and tell me what my job is. I've been doing this job since you were still running smuggled contraband. I know what it is.»

She stormed away from him. Prideful? Stubborn? Son of a bitch. Then whirled back. «You went over my head, you went behind my back, and you had no right, no right to go to my superior and shove your way into this investigation in a way that undermines my authority, that negates that authority in front of my team. And if anyone had pulled that on you, you'd have had their head on a fucking platter and their blood for sauce.»

He started to speak, then took a good swallow of his own pride. «That's very annoying.»

«Annoying? You call it-«

«It's annoying,» he interrupted, «when you're right. When you're completely right, and I'm wrong. I apologize for it. Sincerely.»

«Would you like a suggestion as to where you can shove your sincerity?»

«No need.» Irritated with himself, with her, he dropped down on a bench. «I'm sorry for the method. That's the truth. I didn't consider the reflection on you carefully enough, and I should have.»

«No, you just get a brainstorm and drop in on your good friend Jack.»

«And if I'd come to you with it, you'd have given it all the proper consideration? Don't bother to come up with some clever line, Lieutenant, as we both know you'd have pushed it aside. I'd've pushed back, and we'd have had a row about that.»

«Until you got your way.»

«Until you cleared the bugs out of your head that make you think I'm stupid enough to let some mad tart do for me. I didn't come down in the last shower of rain, Eve.»

«What the hell does that mean?»

He sat back, laughed a little. «Jesus, you make me Irish. Why is that, do you suppose? Come sit down. You don't look as well as you should.»

«Don't tell me what to do.»

He thought about it for about three seconds. «Ah, bollocks to this.» And rising, he stepped to her, evaded the leading edge of the elbow jab, and scooped her off her feet. «There, now stay down.» He dumped her on the bench. «We both know I'd not have taken you that easily if you were feeling yourself. I need you to listen to me.»

He kept her hands gripped under his, felt the anger and insult vibrating through her. «After you do, if you feel you need to take a punch at me, well, you can have one for free. What I said in Whitney's office was the truth. I'd've done better to come to you so that we could have fought it out between us, but I didn't and I'm sorry. Still, what I said was the truth, Eve.»

He squeezed down on her hands until she stopped trying to yank them away. «I'm asking for your help and offering mine to you. She wants to take you apart, little pieces of you sheared off each time she drops a body at your feet. Trying to make you think that you're responsible for putting them there.»

«I don't think-«

«No, you know better, in your head. But she made you bleed in that cursed video of hers. In your heart. And she wants to finish you off with me. She doesn't know you. She doesn't understand what's in you, or what it is to love someone. If she managed, through some miracle, to take me out, you wouldn't fall apart. You'd hound her and hunt her. You'd run her to ground. And then, well, darling, you'd eat her alive.»

He brought her clenched fists to his lips. «And I'd do exactly the same for you, if you're wondering.»

«That's real comforting, Roarke.»

«Isn't it?» He said it with such cheer she felt a smile trying to tug at her mouth.

«Let go. I'm not going to hit you. Just let go, and don't talk to me for a minute.»

He released her hands, then brushed his fingers over her bruised cheek. Rising, he wandered off to leave her alone.

She sat where she was. The fury had sapped her, left even her bones feeling weak. More than that, she realized, it was the fear that made her weak. The image of seeing Roarke pitch to the floor at her feet, choking, gasping, dying. And Julianna standing there, out of her reach. Just out of her reach. Smiling.

She'd let that happen, Eve admitted. She'd let Julianna plant those weeds of fear, of guilt, of self-doubt. And she'd let them bloom instead of hacking them out by the roots.

That made her ineffective, and it made her slow.

So Roarke had gone for the roots first.