“Penance,” Lino demanded.
“Rebirth,” Jenkins preached.
Together they shoved at the table of the altar so that it crashed to the stage, broke into jagged pieces of stone. From the coffin beneath, the bloody ghost of her father rose. And smiled.
“Hell’s waiting, little girl. It’s time you joined me there.”
Without hesitation, Eve drew her weapon, flipped it to full. And killed him again.
Wake up now, wake up, Eve. That’s enough now. You need to come back.”
She felt the warmth, the arms strong around her, the heart beating quick against hers. “Okay. Okay.” She could breathe here. She could rest here. “It’s done.”
“You’re cold. You get so cold.” Roarke pressed his lips to her temples, to her cheeks even as he rubbed the frigid skin of her arms, her back.
“She wasn’t there.”
“Who?”
“My mother. I thought, if I dreamed of any of it, if I went back or it came, she’d be there. Because of Solas, because of that. But it wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about her. I’m okay.”
“Let me get you some water.”
“No.” She tightened her arms around him. “Just stay.”
“Then tell me what it was about.”
He held her as she did, and the chill left her skin, left her bones, left her heart. “I killed him again. I didn’t feel all that fear or the rage or the desperation. I didn’t feel pleasure. It was just what I had to do. I could stand there, and I could watch it all happen on the screen, even feel it happening. Like I was in both places. But…”
“But?”
“It didn’t hurt as much, or scare me as much. I could watch and think: That’s over. It’s going to be all right. However long it takes, it’s going to be all right, because I’m going to do what I have to do. However many times I have to do it, he’ll still be dead. And I’m okay.”
“Lights on,” he ordered, “fifteen percent.” He needed to see, to see her clearly enough to be sure. And when he did, he cupped her face in his hands, kissed her brow. “Can you sleep again?”
“I don’t know. What time is it?”
“Nearly six now.”
She shook her head. “It’s nearly time anyway. I’ll get up, get started.”
“All right then, I’ll get that energy shake.”
She winced. “I knew you were going to say that.”
“And because you’re the love of my bloody life, I’ll drink one, too.”
10
SHE’D HAVE PREFERRED COFFEE, BUT SHE DOWNED the shake, which wasn’t as disgusting as it should’ve been.
“It tastes like a fruit bowl,” she decided. “On Zeus.”
“That’s rather the idea.” He studied what remained in his own glass, sighed just a little, then drank it. “Well then, that chore’s down.”
“Why don’t they make coffee-flavored ones?”
“There are all manner of coffee-flavored drinks, aren’t there? The point of a protein shake is drinking some-thing healthy. Something good for you, easily and quickly done.”
“Maybe more people would drink it if it tasted like something that wasn’t healthy that they actually liked. Then people who only drink them under duress might start going, mmm-mmm, I love me those fudgy, whipped protein shakes.”
He started to speak, then angled his head. “Hmm.”
“Just saying. Anyway. I’ve got to grab a shower before I get started.”
“So do I.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is that grabbing a shower, or grabbing me?”
“Let’s find out.”
Eve stripped off her nightshirt as she walked from bedroom to bathroom. She stepped into the shower first. “All jets on full, one-oh-one degrees.”
“Christ, it’s like being boiled for breakfast.”
The crisscrossing streams shot on, a shock to the skin that took the heat straight down to the bones. As they soaked her, she turned. And grabbed him.
“I feel energized.” She took his mouth in a hard, hungry kiss, with just a hint of bite, then laughed when her back hit the drenched glass wall. And his body pinned hers. “Hey, you too. What a coincidence.”
He ran his hands down her first, wet against wet, so that every inch of her body craved.
“Fast,” she said and wrapped herself around him. She bit him again, and those golden brown eyes lit with challenge. “Fast, hard, hot. Now.”
He gripped her hips, jerking her up to her toes, and gave her what she wanted.
Pleasure was dark, and had teeth. His eyes, a wild and burning blue, trapped her even as his body plunged and pumped, to propel her over that first barbed peak.
She cried out from the thrill, from the knowledge that here, here, here, she understood the power of finding, accepting, merging with a mate. Here she knew the fire that forged them, and with him-only him-the absolute trust that tempered strength into love.
Whatever had come before, whatever dreams came haunting, she knew who she was, and reveled in the world she’d made with her lover.
She wrapped tighter, only tighter while her system shuddered. Her mouth raced, all speed, all greed, over his hot, wet skin while her heart quaked.
“More. More.”
Steam curled; water thundered on glass. Her nails bit into his shoulders as she erupted around him. But she didn’t let go. She wouldn’t, he knew. She would hold, they’d found that. They would hold, whatever came.
Through the consuming, outrageous lust she incited in him, wove the consuming, outrageous love until they knotted together so truly there was no end or beginning to either.
He drove her up again, drove them both. When he felt her flying over, saw that dazzled shock glaze in her eyes, he went with her.
Still she held. As her body went limp with release, her arms stayed around him. Dazzled, he nuzzled her-the curve of cheek, the line of throat. Then his mouth met hers in a kiss, long and sweet.
“God,” she managed. “Jesus. Wow.”
“A personal holy trinity?” He tapped a glass block, cupping his hand for the creamy liquid it dispensed. “I feel an urge to stock a lifetime supply of that energy drink.”
She smiled as he stroked the fragrant soap over her shoulders, her back, her breasts. “I don’t think we need it.”
Whether it was the energy boost, the good, strong sex, or coming out of a nightmare, Eve sat down to write her report on the Jenkins investigation with a clear head.
She went back through witness statements, started a time line. And because it was routine, ran a probability on her two active cases.
As she’d suspected, the computer determined both victims had fallen to the same killer at 86.3 percent.
Though she didn’t buy it, she rearranged her murder board into two sections, one for Flores/Lino, one for Jenkins.
Sipping coffee, she studied the results.
“On the surface, sure. On the surface,” she muttered. But it didn’t go deep enough; it ignored the subtleties.
The simple priest-who wasn’t a priest-in a predominantly Latino parish, and the big-time, wealthy, media-savvy evangelist. Different faiths, different cultures, different doctrines.
Considering, she circled the board. If the computer was right, and she was wrong, the media itself might be part of the motive. The first murder got plenty of coverage, and with this one, that was going to explode. Both murders had been executed in front of witnesses, both during what could be termed a well-staged, rehearsed performance, and both weapons had been planted backstage. Where, even with the security for Jenkins, people could and did move fairly freely.
Both victims had secrets, and neither was as good and pure as he professed. Or his image professed.
She turned as Roarke came in. “Probability hits mid-eighties I’ve got one killer, two vics.”