Survivor in Death (In Death 20)

“Ms. Corday, you’re the closest thing she has to family on planet.”

“Hardly family.”

“All right, then. A connection to family. And her family was murdered, all but in front of her eyes. She’s a child, grieving and frightened, and innocent.”

“And I’m sorry, truly sorry for what happened. But it’s not my responsibility. She’s not my responsibility.”

“Then whose?”

“There’s a system in place for circumstances like this for a reason. Frankly, I don’t understand your involvement, or why you’d come here expecting me to take on a child I’ve never even met.”

He knew when a deal had gone south, and when it was best to let it go. But he couldn’t quite make himself. “Your stepbrother—”

“Why do you insist on calling him that?” Irritation snapped in her voice. “My father was hooked up with his mother for less than two years. I barely knew the man. I wasn’t interested in knowing him, or his family.”

“She has no one.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“No. It’s the fault of the men who walked into her home, slit the throats of her parents, her brother, her young friend. So now she has no home.”

“Which is a tragedy,” Corday agreed, with no emotion. “However, I’m not interested in stepping in to save the day—even for the possibility of Roarke Industries as a client, and I resent you coming here, pushing this on me.”

“So I see. You didn’t even ask if she’d been hurt.”

“I don’t care.” Anger, or perhaps just a hint of embarrassment colored her cheeks. “I have my life, I have my career. If I wanted children, I’d have my own. I have no intention of fostering someone else’s.”

“Then I’ve made a mistake.” He got to his feet. “I’ve taken up too much of your time, and wasted my own.”

“Grant’s mother booted my father out when I was ten, and she was just one of many. What possible reason would I have to take responsibility for his daughter?”

“Apparently none at all.”

He walked out, more angry with himself than with her.

Eve stepped out of the dojo, surveyed the street, eyes tracking over parked vehicles, pedestrians, street traffic.

“Odds are low they’d have been able to trail us here,” Peabody said from behind her. “Even if they had the equipment, and the man power, to keep round-the-clock surveillance on Central, they’d have to be really good or really lucky to make our unit.”

“So far they’ve been really good and really lucky. We don’t play the odds on this one.” She drew the scanner out of her pocket.

“That’s not standard issue.”

“No, it’s Roarke issue. Cop issue would be what they’d expect, and they could have planted any number of devices with that in mind.”

“Dallas, you make me feel all safe and snuggled. And hungry. There’s a deli right next door.”

“I’m off delis for a while. I’ll always wonder if somebody’s getting a blow job in the back room, with the extra veggie hash.”

“Oh, well, thanks. Now I’m off delis, and I didn’t have waffles this morning. Chinese place across the street. How about an egg roll?”

“Fine, just make it fast.”

She ran the scan for explosives, homing devices, while Peabody hotfooted it. She gave a shoulder roll—the light body armor irritated her—then slid into the car as Peabody dashed back across.

“Didn’t have Pepsi.”

“What?” Eve stared at the take-out bag. “Is this America? Have I crossed over into some dark continent, some alternate universe?”