Promises in Death (In Death 28)

“I—”

“It’s what you need. This is what you need.”

“Would you see the blue suite on the third fl

oor’s prepared.” Roarke moved forward now to sit on the arm of Eve’s chair. “Dr. Morris will be staying tonight.”

Morris started to speak, then just closed his eyes, took a breath. “Thank you.”

“I’ll take care of it.” When Summerset started out, Eve slid out of the chair and went after him. She caught him at the doorway, spoke quietly.

“You didn’t tranq that soup, did you?”

“Certainly not.”

“Okay, don’t get huffy.”

“I am never huffy.”

“Fine. Whatever.” She had more important things to do than wrangle with Summerset.

“Lieutenant,” he said as she turned away. “It will likely be a very long while before I ever repeat this, if that day should ever come. But I’ll say now, at this precise moment, I’m proud of you.”

Her jaw very nearly slammed into the toes of her boots. She goggled at his stiff, skinny back as he walked away. “Weird,” she muttered. “Very, very weird.”

She went back inside, took her seat. It relieved her that Morris ate, that his voice was back to steady as he and Roarke talked. “Some part of my brain must have been functioning, because it brought me here.”

“You’ll talk to Mira, when you’re ready?”

Morris considered Roarke’s question. “I suppose I will. I know what she’ll offer. I know it’s right. We deal with it every day. As you said, Dallas, we feel.”

“I don’t know what you think about this sort of thing,” Eve began. “But I know this priest.”

A faintest ghost of a smile touched Morris’s mouth. “A priest.”

“A Catholic guy, from this case I worked.”

“Oh yes, Father Lopez, from Spanish Harlem. I spoke with him during that business.”

“Sure. Right. Well, anyway . . . There’s something about him. Something solid, I guess. Maybe, if you wanted someone outside of the circle, outside of the job, you know, you could talk to him.”

“I was raised Buddhist.”

“Oh, well . . .”

That ghost of a smile remained. “And as I grew up, I experimented and toyed with a variety of faiths. The organized sort, I found, didn’t stick with me. But it might be helpful to talk with this priest. Do you believe there’s more, after death?”

“Yes,” Eve answered without hesitation. “No way we go through all this crap, then that’s it. If it is, I’m going to be seriously pissed off.”

“Exactly. I feel them, and I’m sure you do, too. Sometimes when they come to me, it’s done. They’ve gone, and all I have is the shell of what they were. Others, there’s more. It lingers awhile. You know?”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t something she easily expressed, or shared. But she knew. “It’s harder to take when it lingers.”

“For me, it’s hopeful. She was gone when I saw her. I wanted, selfishly, to feel her. But she’d gone, wherever she needed to go. I needed to be reminded of that, I think. That she’s not gone, not from me, because I can see her. And that she’s somewhere she needs to be. Yes, Father Lopez may help me come to terms. But so can you.”

“What do you need?”

“Bring me in. Tell me what you know, all of it, everything. Not just what you think I should know, but everything. And give me something to do, some part of it. However mundane. Fact-checking or follow-ups, buying fucking doughnuts for the team. I need to be involved. I need to have some part in finding the person who did this.”