But these, and others that popped from time to time, were mild compared with the diatribes that began on the day Bowers and Eve had clashed over the body of a sidewalk sleeper.
That obsession, Roarke mused, had festered over time until that one moment, that single twist of fate that had burst it and spilled the poison over both of them.
Now one was dead.
He looked toward the screen where he could monitor the bedroom and see his wife sleeping.
And the other broken.
Still scanning, he waved a hand at his communication screen when Summerset came on. "Not now."
"I'm sorry to disturb you, but Dr. Mira is here. She'd very much like to speak with you."
"I'll be down." He rose, studied Eve another moment. "System off," he murmured, and the equipment behind him shifted from a low hum to silence.
He stepped out of the room. The door behind him locked automatically and could only be opened with the palm and voice prints of those authorized. Only three people had ever been inside.
To save time, he used the elevator. He didn't intend to be away from Eve any longer than necessary.
"Roarke." Mira sprang up from her chair, hurried across the room to grab both of his hands. Her usual calm face showed strain around the eyes and mouth. "I only just heard. I came right over. I'm so sorry to intrude, but I had to come."
"You're never an intrusion."
She tightened her grip on his hands. "Please. Will she see me?"
"I don't know. She's sleeping." He glanced over his shoulder toward the stairs. "I gave her something. I could kill them for this." He spoke almost to himself, his voice soft and terrifyingly gentle. "For putting that look I saw on her face. I could kill them for that alone."
Because she believed him, her hands trembled a little. "Can we sit?"
"Of course. Sorry. My mind isn't on my manners."
"I hope they won't have to be with me. Roarke…" She sat in one of the beautifully curved chairs, leaned forward to lay her hand on his again, hoping the contact would help them both. "While others may be outraged or sympathetic or have any variety of reactions to what happened today, you and I are perhaps the only ones who fully understand what this has done to her. To her heart, her sense of self. Her identity."
"It's destroyed her." No, he realized, he couldn't sit, and rising, stalked to the window to stare out at the cold afternoon. "I've seen her face death, her own and others'. I've seen her face the misery and fears of her past and the shadows that cover pieces of it. I've seen her terrified of her own feelings. But she stood. She gathered herself and she stood up to it. And this, this departmental procedure, has destroyed her."
"She'll gather herself again, and she'll stand up to this. But not alone. She can't stand up to this alone."
He turned, faced her. The light streamed through the window behind him; the dangerous blue of his eyes made Mira think of a cold and vengeful angel ready to leap into hell.
"She never has to be alone."
"What you have with her will save her. Just as it saved you."
He angled his head, changing the slant of light and the uneasy vision she'd had of him. "That's an interesting way to put it. But you're quite right. She did save me, and I'd forgotten I was lost. I love her more than life, and I'll do whatever needs to be done."
Mira studied her hands a moment, lifted her fingers up, let them fall. "I won't ask you questions about your methods, or your… connections in certain areas. But I will ask if there's anything I can do to help."
"How far will discounting Bowers's accusations go toward getting Eve's badge back?"
"It will help considerably with IAB. But until the homicide investigation is closed or the suspicion against Eve is dismissed publicly and without prejudice the department walks a firm line."
"You can test her? Truth test, personality profile, probabilities."
"Yes, but she has to be willing, and she has to be ready. It's a difficult process, physically and emotionally. But that, too, would weigh on her side."
"I'll speak with her about it."
"She'll have to grieve, but don't let her grieve too long. At some point, she'll need her anger. It'll be her most important source of strength."
She rose, stepped toward him. "I've asked to be permitted to evaluate Bowers's emotional and mental state, using the records of the last several weeks, her diaries – the content and tone – interviews with associates and acquaintances. It'll take time. I have to be very thorough, very careful. Though I'm giving it priority status, I doubt I can furnish the department with a conclusion in less than two weeks."
"I could take her away," he considered.
"That might be for the best, even for a few days. But I doubt she'll go." She opened her mouth, shut it again.
"What?"
"I know her so well. I have such strong feelings for her. But I'm still a psychiatrist. I believe I know how she'll react, at least initially. I don't want you to feel as if I'm overstepping or violating her privacy by… analyzing."
"I know she matters to you. Tell me what to expect."
"She'll want to hide. In sleep, in silence, in solitude. She may very well lock you out."
"She won't have much luck with that."
"But she'll want to, try to, simply because you're closer to her than anyone ever has been. I'm sorry," she said and pressed her fingers to her left temple. "Could I trouble you for a little brandy?"
"Of course." Instinct had him laying a hand on her cheek. "Dr. Mira," he said very gently, "sit down."
She felt weak and weepy. Sitting, she steadied herself, waited while Roarke took a decanter from a carved cabinet and poured her a snifter of brandy.
"Thank you." She took a small sip, let it warm her. "This suspension, the suspicion, the mark on her record is not just a matter of the job and procedure to Eve. Her identity was taken from her once before. She rebuilt it and herself. For her, this has stripped her of it again, of what and who she is. What she needs to be. The longer she closes herself down, closes herself off, the harder it will be to reach her. It may affect your marriage."
He only lifted a brow at that. "She won't have any luck with that whatsoever."
Mira gave a quiet, shaky laugh. "You're a very stubborn man. That's good." She sipped more brandy, studying him. And what she saw eased some of her own worry. "At some point, you may find yourself having to put your sympathy for her situation aside. It would be easier for you to coddle and pamper and let her drift. But I think you'll recognize the point where she'll need you to make her take the next step."
She sighed then, set the brandy aside. "I won't keep you from her any longer, but if there's anything else I can do. If she wants to see me, I'll come."
He considered her loyalty, her affection, and wondered how they weighed against her duty. He never minded playing the odds. "How long will it take for you to complete a full-level search and scan on Bowers?"
"The paperwork is being rushed through on the orders for it. It shouldn't take more than another day, perhaps two."
"I have the data now," he said simply and waited while she stared at him.
"I see." She said nothing while he helped her into her coat. "If you transfer the data to my home unit, my personal unit," she added with a glance over her shoulder. "I assume you have no trouble accessing my personal unit?"
"None whatsoever."
She laughed just a little. "How very terrifying you are. If you transfer what you have, I'll begin work on it this evening."
"I'm very grateful." He saw her off, then went back upstairs to watch over Eve.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dreams chased her, memory bumping into memory in a chaotic race. Her first bust and the solid satisfaction of doing the job she'd trained to do. The boy who'd kissed her sloppily when she'd been fifteen and had surprised her because she'd felt no fear or shame, but a mild interest.