“Covert ops, guys have work done. Temp and permanent. We'll see if he had any before, and who he trusted to do the job.”
She sat at her desk, called up Kirkendall's military data. And Mira walked in.
“I'm sorry to interrupt you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Teeth set in frustration, Eve sat back, lifted her hands. “What?”
“I need to speak with you regarding Nixie.”
“Look, you're in charge of her counseling. You want to do a session, pick your spot. As long as it's not in here.”
“We've had a session. She's having a difficult day.”
“She should get in line.” Eve.
“I'm doing what I need to do.” Her earlier rage began to bubble back. “And I can't do it if somebody's forever in my face telling me I've got to go pat the kid on the head and give her a there, there. I can't-”
“Lieutenant.”
Safely across the room, Peabody hunched her shoulders. It was the same tone her own mother used to stop any one of her children in their tracks.
“Fine. What? I'm listening. I'm all fricking ears.”
And that, Peabody thought as she slid down another inch in her chair, was the tone that would have resulted in immediate annihilation should she, or a sibling, have dared to use it.
“I hope you find it cathartic to take your frustration out on me.”
If she'd been sure no one would notice, Peabody would have chosen that point to slink out of the room.
“However,” Mira continued in a voice cool enough to scatter frost on the windows, “we're discussing a child in our charge, not your poor manners.”
“Well, Jesus, I'm just-”
“Regarding that child,” Mira interrupted. “She needs to see her family.”
“Her family's in the damn morgue.”
“I'm aware of that, and so is she. She needs to see them, to begin to say good-bye. You and I are both aware of the importance of this step with survivors. The stages of her grief require this.”
“I told her I'd fix it so she'd see them. But for Christ's sake, not like this. You want to take a kid to the morgue so that she can see her family pulled out of containment drawers?”
“Yes.”
“With their throats cut.”
Impatience rippled over Mira's face. “I've spoken with ME Morris. There are ways, which you very well know, to treat wounds and injuries on the dead, to spare their loved ones. He's agreed to do so. It's not possible for her to attend any sort of service or memorial for her family until this case is closed and her safety is insured. She needs to see them.”
“I've got her here in lockdown for a reason.” Eve dragged her hands through her hair when Mira only stood, gaze cool and level. “Okay, fine. I can get you secure transpo there and back. I'll need to coordinate it with Morris. We get her in the delivery door-no record, no ID scans. He clears the area so you can take her straight into a view room. Out the same way. It'll have to be quick. Ten minutes.”
“That's acceptable. She'll need you there.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.”
“Like it or not, you're her touchstone. You were there when she last saw them. You're the one she believes will find the people responsible. She needs you to be there in order to feel safe. We'll be ready to leave as soon as you arrange secure transportation.”
Eve sat, too stunned to work up a glare as Mira walked out.
She decided on Roarke's jet-copter. It would be fast, and it wasn't unusual for him to buzz off in it to a meeting. It meant she had to pull him away from the trace as she didn't trust anyone else to get them there and back without incident. Not only the crashing sort of incidents she tried not to obsess over when zipping along a couple hundred feet above street level, but the assault incident she was risking by following Mira's edict.
“Risks are minimal,” he told her as the copter landed gracefully on the lawn. “We'll engage the privacy shields and the antiscan equipment. Even if they're watching, they wouldn't be able to jam-in the amount of time we'll need-to detect her on board.”
Eve frowned pessimistically at the sky that was beginning to bruise withPeabody 's predicted rain. “Maybe they'll just blow us out of the air.”
He smiled at her dour tone. “If you thought that a possibility, you wouldn't be sending her up.”
“Okay, no. I just want this the hell over with.”
“I'll be doing my own scans. I'll know if anyone's trying to track us or jam the equipment. We should be able to do this in thirty minutes. Not an appreciable delay in your schedule.”
“Then let's do it.” She signalled for Mira to bring Nixie out while Roarke exchanged a quick word with the pilot, then took the controls himself.
“I've never been in a copter,” Nixie said. “It's mag.” But her hand crept over the seat, found Mira's.
Roarke looked over his shoulder, smiled at her. “Ready?”
When she nodded, he lifted off.
Smoother, Eve noted, than he did when she was the only passenger. He liked to cowboy it, bursts of speed, quick dips-just to make her crazy. But this time, he piloted the copter with the care and grace, despite the speed, of a man hauling precious cargo.
He'd think of that, she realized. The little things. Is that what she lacked, the ability to consider the compassionate, because she was so focused on brutality?
Trueheart played with her, Baxter joked with her. Peabody had no trouble finding the right words, the right tone. Summerset-frog faced demon from hell-he was handling her overall care and feeding without a single bump.
And there was Roarke being Roarke-no matter what he said about the kid being scary and intimidating. He interacted with her as smoothly as he drove the damn copter.
And, Eve admitted, every time she got within five feet of the kid she wanted to walk the other way. She didn't know how to deal with the entity of a child. Just didn't have the instincts.
And just wasn't able to-bottom line-close out the horror of her own memories the kid pushed into her head.
She glanced down, saw Nixie watching her.
“Mira says they have to be in places that are cold.”
“Yeah.”
“But they don't feel cold anymore, so it's okay.”
Eve started to nod, dismiss it. Jesus, she thought, give her something. “Morris-Dr. Morris,” Eve corrected, “has been taking care of them. There's nobody better than Dr. Morris. So yeah, it's okay.”
“Tracking us,” Roarke said softly and she swung around to him.
“What?”
“Tracking.” He tapped a gauge bisected with green and red lines. “Or-more accurately-trying. Can't get a lock. Ah, that must be frustrating.”
She studied the dash gauges, tried to decipher the symbols. “Can you track it back to source?”
“Possibly. I engaged the tracking equipment before we took off, so it's working on it. It's mobile, I can tell you that.”
“Ground or air?”
“Ground. Clever. They're attempting to clone my signal. And yes, detected me doing precisely the same to theirs. They've shut it down. We'll call that one a draw, then.”
Still he detoured, spent a few minutes cruising to see if they'd attempt another trace. His equipment continued to sound the all-clear when he landed on the roof of the morgue.
As arranged, it was Morris himself who opened the by-air delivery doors. Closing and latching them when everyone was inside.
“Nixie.” He offered his hand. “I'm Dr. Morris. I'm very sorry about your family.”
“You didn't hurt them.”
“No, I didn't. I'll take you to them now. Level B,” he ordered, and the wide elevator began its descent. “I know Dr. Mira and Lieutenant Dallas have explained some of this to you, but if you have any questions you can ask me.”
“I watch a show about a man who does work on dead bodies. I'm not really supposed to, but Coyle can, and sometimes I sneak.”
“Dr. Death? I watch that sometimes myself.” The doors opened into the long, cool white corridor. “It's a little more entertaining than it is accurate. I don't chase the bad guys, for instance-I leave that in the capable hands of the police, like Lieutenant Dallas.”