Roarke pressed his lips to Eve’s hair because he thought they both needed it. “No one spoke in the control area. There was none of the asides or bad jokes you often hear during the e-part of any op. No one said a bloody thing while you worked her, while she bragged to you about what she’d done. Straffo sat like a ghost through it, like a man who’d already had the guts and heart ripped out of him.”
“She’s got a PD now. Her father may decide he’s obliged to secure her other counsel. It won’t matter. I can’t use her confession, but I have everything else. And you know what? I’ll get it out of her again, on record.”
“How?”
“The ego. Think of it: Ray, you’re the best. Not only the best, but you’re unique. You’re going to be famous, the only one of your kind.”
“And you say I’m scary.” He kissed her brow. “It’s you who are one of a kind. And you’re all mine.”
“I’m not going to let myself stay sick about this one. I’m not going to keep asking myself how this could all be. There are some questions that don’t have answers. You’ve got to let them be.”
“Allika Straffo’s been moved up to guarded condition. I spoke with Louise.”
“Well, that’s something anyway, and I’ll interview her as soon as she’s able to talk to me. Once I’ve done what I have to do today, let’s just go home. Let’s open the champagne. In fact, let’s open one bottle for each of us, get a little drunk—maybe very—and do whatever comes next.”
“An excellent plan.” He retrieved her coat, brought it to her. “I’ve a number of ideas on whatever comes next.”
“Yeah, you’re always full of ideas.” She took his hand. “And you’re all mine.”
There would be sanity again, Eve thought, and a little peace, and the unity she’d come to depend on. It would all be there, with him, with whatever happened next.
• • •