Divided in Death

  She didn’t expect to sleep. Prepared herself to spend most of the night staring at the dark.

  And was out in minutes.

  He knew the moment she’d passed through the gates in the cab. He knew she’d worked after most of the team had gone to bed. The fact that she hadn’t sought him out was a small ache. It seemed he had so many small aches these last days he’d forgotten what it was like without them.

  He stood over her now as she sprawled facedown on the bed in exhaustion. She didn’t wake. The cat did, enough to stare so those odd eyes gleamed at him in the dark. Roarke couldn’t have said why he was sure the stare was accusatory.

  “I’d think you’d understand well enough the primal, the instinctive, and be a bit more on my side in this.”

  But Galahad only continued to stare until Roarke cursed softly and turned away.

  He was too restless to sleep, too unsettled to lie beside her knowing there was a great deal more than a fat lump of feline between them.

  The knowledge so infuriated, so terrified, that he strode away from her, left her sleeping. He moved through the house where others slept, and accessed entry to the tightly secured room where he kept his unregistered.

  He’d given Eve and Reva all of his time. His work was suffering because of it and he would begin to mend that in the morning. But tonight was for himself. Tonight, he was himself, and he would gather the data he wanted on the people, all of them, who’d had a part in Dallas.

  In Eve.

  “Roarke,” he said, his tone was cold as ice. “Open operations.”

  She stirred in the dark, in the dead quiet just before dawn. The whimper sounded in her throat as she tried to turn herself out of the dream. And sweat pooled at the base of her spine as she fell into it.

  The room, always the same. Freezing, dirty, and washed with the erratic red light from the sex club across the street. She was small, and very thin. And very hungry. Hungry enough to risk punishment for a bite of cheese. A little mouse, sneaking toward the trap when the brutal cat was away.

  Her stomach clenched and knotted—part fear, part anticipation, as she cut the mold off the cheese with the knife. Maybe he wouldn’t notice this time. Maybe. She was so cold. She was so hungry. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

  She held onto that even when he came in. Richie Troy. Somewhere in her unconscious brain his name echoed, over and over. She knew him now, she knew his name. Nothing, no monster was ever as terrifying if you could name him.

  She had a moment of hope. He would be drunk, drunk enough to leave her alone. Drunk enough not to care that she’d disobeyed and gotten food.

  But he came toward her, and she saw in his eyes there hadn’t been enough drink that night. Not enough to save her.

  What are you doing, little girl?

  And his voice turned her bowels to ice.

  The first blow stunned her, but she fell limply. A dog who’d been kicked often enough knew to stay down and submit.

  But he had to punish her. He had to teach her a lesson. Despite her fear, despite her knowing, she couldn’t stop herself from pleading.

  Please don’t please don’t please don’t.

  Of course he would. He did. Bearing down on her, striking her. Hurting her, hurting her while she begged, while she wept, while she struggled.

  Her arm broke with a sound as thin as her shocked scream.

  The knife she’d dropped was in her hand again. She had to make him stop. Make him stop. The pain, the horrible pain in her arm, between her legs. He had to stop.

  Blood gushed warm over her hand. Warm and wet, and she scented it like an animal in the wild. When his body jerked on hers, she plunged the knife into him again, again. Again and again as he tried to crawl away. Again and again and again as the blood splashed her arms, her face, her clothes, and the sounds she made were nothing human.

  When she crawled away, shivering, panting, to huddle in the corner, he was sprawled on the floor, drowned in his own blood.

  As always.

  But this time she wasn’t alone with the man she’d killed. She wasn’t alone with the dead in the hideous room. There were others, countless others, men and women in dark suits, sitting in row after row of chairs. Like people at a play. Observers with empty faces.

  They watched as she wept. Watched as she bled and her broken arm hung limply at her side.

  They watched, and said nothing. Did nothing. Even when Richie Troy rose, as he sometimes did. When he rose, pouring blood from all the wounds she’d put into him and began to shuffle toward her, they did nothing.

  She awoke bathed in sweat with the scream tearing at her throat. Instinctively she rolled and reached out for Roarke, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t there to gather her in, to soothe away those horrible jagged edges.

  So she curled into a ball, battling the tears while the cat bumped his head against hers.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.” She pressed her damp face against his fur, rocked herself. “God. Oh God. Lights on, twenty-five percent.”

  The low light helped, so she lay in it until her chest stopped burning. Then, still shivering, she rose to drag herself to the shower, and the heat of the water.

  Rose to drag herself into the day.

  21 IT WAS TOO early for the team to be up, and she was glad of it. She wasn’t quite in the frame of mind for teamwork. She’d close herself up in her office and review everything again. She would walk through it all with Bissel one more time.

  She resisted checking the house monitoring system to see where Roarke was. It was more important where he hadn’t been, and that was in bed with her. If he’d slept—and there were times she thought he needed less sleep than a damn vampire—he’d slept elsewhere.

  She wouldn’t bring it up, wouldn’t mention it, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of that. They’d finish the investigation, they would close this case, and when Bissel was wrapped, they would . . .

  She wished to God she knew.

  She programmed coffee in the kitchen off her office. Just coffee as even the thought of food made her stomach pitch. But she took pity on the pathetic begging from the cat, and poured him a double shot of kibble.

  She turned, and there he was, leaning against the doorjamb watching her. His beautiful face was unshaven—a rarity—and as expressionless and remote as those in her dream had been.

  The comparison turned her blood cold.

  “You need more sleep,” he said at length. “You don’t look well.”

  “I got all I’m getting.”

  “You worked late, and no one’s going to be up and around for at least another hour. Take a soother, for pity’s sake, Eve, and lie down.”

  “Why don’t you take your own advice? You don’t look so hot yourself, ace.”

  He opened his mouth. She could almost see the venom. But whatever poisonous thing he’d been about to say, he swallowed. She had to give him points for it.

  “We made some progress in the lab. I assume you’ll want to brief the team, and be briefed.” He moved in to program coffee for himself.

  “Yeah.”

  “Bruises look better,” he said as he lifted his cup. “On the face, anyway. How’s the rest?”

  “Better.”

  “You’re very pale. If you won’t lie down, at least sit and have something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.” She caught the petulant tone, hated it and herself. “I’m not,” she said in a calmer voice. “Coffee’s enough.”

  She braced the mug in both hands when the first one trembled, just a bit. He stepped forward, took her chin in his hand. “You had a nightmare.”

  She started to jerk her head away, but his fingers tightened. “I’m awake now.” She put a hand to his wrist, nudged it away. “I’m fine.”

  He said nothing as she walked back into her office, but stood staring down into the black pool of coffee in his cup. She’d pushed him away, and that was more than a small ache. It was a vicious tear through the heart.

&n
bsp; He’d seen she was exhausted and hurt, and knew how much more susceptible she was in those states to the nightmares. But he’d left her alone, and that was another tear.

  He hadn’t thought of her. He hadn’t thought, so she’d awoke in the dark alone.

  He walked to the sink, upended the contents into it, set the cup down very carefully.

  She was already at her desk when he walked in. “I want to review, shuffle some of this around. It’s easier for me to do that alone, in the quiet. I took a blocker yesterday, and I let Mira treat me when I went by her place. I’m not abusing or neglecting myself. But I have work. I need to do my job.”

  “You do, yes. You do.” There was a space, just under his tattered heart, that felt hollowed out. “I’m up early to catch up on a bit of my own.”

  She glanced up at him, then away with a small nod.

  So she wouldn’t ask, he realized, where he’d slept or what he’d been doing. She wouldn’t say what was so clearly in her eyes. That he was hurting her.

  “You’ve given a lot of time to this,” she said. “I know both Reva and Caro appreciate all you’re doing. So do I.”

  “They’re important to me. So are you.” And thought: Aren’t we polite? Aren’t we just fucking diplomats? “I know you need to work, as do I, but I need you to come in my office for a moment.”

  “If it could wait until—”

  “I think it best it doesn’t, for all involved. Please.”

  She rose and moved away from the desk without her coffee. A sure sign, he thought, that she was agitated. He led the way through the connecting door, then closed it, and called for a lockdown.

  “What is this?”

  “Given the circumstances, I prefer absolute privacy. I looked in on you last night. Must’ve been near to two. Your feline knight was guarding you.”

  “You didn’t come to bed.”

  “I didn’t. I couldn’t . . . settle. And I was angry.” He searched her face. “We’re both so angry, aren’t we, Eve?”

  “I guess we are.” Though anger seemed the wrong term somehow, and she thought he knew it as well as she did. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “You didn’t let me know when you got home.”

  “I didn’t want to talk to you.”

  “Well.” He drew a breath as a man did after a quick, surprising blow. “Well. As it happens, I didn’t want to talk to you either. So after I saw you were sleeping, I took myself off to the unregistered to do the business I needed to do.”

  Whatever color had still been in her cheeks drained now. “I see.”

  “Aye.” His eyes never left hers. “You see. You may wish you didn’t, but you do.” He unlocked a compartment with a quick play of fingers over a panel, and took from it a single disc.

  “I have here, the names, the whereabouts, the financials, the medicals, the professional evaluations, and all other matter of data on the field operative, his supervisor, the director of the HSO, and any who were attached to the task force involving Richard Troy in Dallas. There’s nothing about them that’s relevant—and quite a bit that likely isn’t—that’s not on this disc.”

  The weight dropped on her chest, pressing against her heart so she could hear the panicked beat of it roaring in her ears. “None of that changes what happened. Nothing you can do changes what happened.”

  “Of course it doesn’t.” He turned the disc in his hands, and its surface caught light and shot it out again. Like a weapon. “They’ve all had very decent careers, some more than decent. They continue to work, or consult, play golf or, in one case, squash, of all things. They eat and they sleep. Some cheat on a spouse, some go to church every bloody Sunday.”

  His gaze whipped up to hers, a bolt of blue. Another weapon. “And do you think, Eve, do you suppose any flaming one of them gives that child they sacrificed all those years back a single thought? Do they wonder, ever, if she suffers? If she wakes weeping in the dark?”

  Her head felt light now, and her knees weak. “What do I care if they think of me? It doesn’t change anything.”

  “I could remind them.” And his voice was utterly flat, more frightening than the hiss of a snake. “That would change something, wouldn’t it? I could remind them, personally, what they did by sitting back and leaving a child to defend herself against a monster. I could remind them how they listened and recorded and sat on their fat government asses while he beat and raped her, and she cried for help. They deserve to pay for that, and you know it. You bloody well do.”

  “Yes, they deserve to pay!” The words burst out, hot as the tears that burned behind her eyes. “They deserve it. Is that what you need to hear? They should fry in hell for what they did. But it’s not up to you, and it’s not up to me to send them there. If you do this thing, it’s murder. It’s murder, Roarke, and their blood on your hands changes nothing that happened to me.”

  He paused a long, long moment. “I can live with that.” He saw her eyes go dark, and dead. “But you can’t. So . . .”

  He snapped the disc in two, then shoved the pieces into the recycle slot.

  She only stared, and in the silence there was only the sound of her own shaky breaths. “You . . . you’re letting it go.”

  He looked down at the slot and knew his rage would never be so easily destroyed. He’d live with it, and the impotence that walked with it, the whole of his life. “If I did anything else it would be for myself, not for you. Hardly a point in that. So yes, I’m letting it go.”

  Her stomach fluttered, but she managed to nod. “Good. That’s good. Best.”

  “So it seems. End lockdown.” His cool order had the shields going up, and the light pouring in the windows. “I’ll give you some time later this morning, but I need to see to some matters. If you’ll close the door on your way out.”

  “Sure. Okay.” She started out, then pressed a hand on the door to brace herself. “You think I don’t know, that I don’t understand what that cost you. But you’re wrong.” She couldn’t keep her voice steady, gave up trying. “You’re wrong, Roarke. I do know. There’s no one else in the world who would want, who would need to kill for me. No one else in the world who would step back from it because I asked it. Because I needed it.”

  She turned, and the first tear spilled over. “No one but you.”

  “Don’t. You’ll do me in if you cry.”

  “I never in my life expected anyone would love me, all of me. How would I deserve that? What would I do with it? But you do. Everything we’ve managed to have together, to be to each other, this is more. I’ll never be able to find the words to tell you what you just gave me.”

  “You undo me, Eve. Who else would make me feel like a hero for doing nothing.”

  “You did everything. Everything. Are everything.” Mira was right, again. Love, that strange and terrifying entity, was the answer after all. “Whatever there is, whatever happened to me, or how it comes back on me, you have to know, you need to know that what you did here gave me more peace than I ever thought I’d find. You have to know that I can face anything knowing you love me.”

  “Eve.” He stepped away from the slot, away from what was gone. And toward her, toward what mattered. “I can’t do anything but love you.”

  Her vision blurred as she ran, wrapped herself around him. “I missed you. I missed you so much.”

  He pressed his face to her shoulder, breathed her. Felt the world steady again. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, no, no.” She clung, then eased back only to take his face in her hands. “I see you. I know you. I love you.”

  She watched the emotion storm into his eyes before she pressed her lips to his.

  “It was like the world was off a step,” he murmured. “Nothing quite in time when I couldn’t really touch you.”

  “Touch me now.”

  He smiled, stroked her hair. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know, but touch me. I need to feel close to you again.” She turned her lips back to his
. “I need you, and I need so bad, so bad to show you.”

  “In bed then.” He circled her toward the elevator. “In our bed.”

  When the elevator doors closed, she pressed against him, strained.

  “Gently now.” He ran his hands down her sides, then boosted her into his arms. “You’re bruised.”

  “I don’t feel bruised anymore.”

  “All the same. You look so delicate.” When her brow creased, he laughed and dropped a kiss on it. “That wasn’t an insult.”

  “Sounds like one, but I’m going to let it pass.”

  “You look pale,” he continued as he walked off the elevator into the bedroom. “And a bit fragile. There are tears on your lashes yet, and shadows under your eyes. Do you know how I love your eyes, your long golden eyes, Eve. My darling Eve.”

  “They’re brown.”

  “I like the way they watch me.” He laid her on the bed. “There are tears still in them.” He kissed them closed. “It kills me when you cry. A strong woman’s tears can cut a man to ribbons faster than a knife.”

  He was soothing her, seducing her, with words and those patient hands. It amazed her that a man of his energy, his needs, could be so patient. Violent and cold, tender and warm. The contradictions of him, the whole of him that meshed, somehow, with the whole of her.

  “Roarke.” She bowed up, wrapping her arms around him.

  “What?”

  She opened her eyes, laid her lips on his cheek, and searched for her own tenderness. “My Roarke.”

  She could soothe, she could seduce. She could show him that whatever the world threw at them, whatever reared up from the past or lurked in the future, they were together.

  She unbuttoned his shirt, pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “You’re the love of my life. I don’t care how corny that sounds. You’re the start of it, and the end of it. And you’re the best of it.”

  He took her hands, cupping them in his own and bringing them to his lips as love washed through him. It cleansed, he thought, this flood of feeling between them. And despite all the odds, what it left behind was pure.