“I know. I know. She—that’s the one who was hurt?”
“Yes. It upsets you to see her photo.”
“Terrifies me. I don’t know why. There’s a light,” she said after a hesitation.
“A light?”
“A bright flash. White flash. After I see her picture, and I’m scared, so scared. There’s a white flash, and I can’t see anything. Bl
ind, for a minute. I . . . It sounds crazy. I’m not crazy.”
“Shh.” Pete began to stroke her hair. “Shh.”
“I’m going to speak to the doctor. If Carolee’s clear, I want to get her and our boys back to the hotel. Away from this. We’ll get room service.” Steve winked over at Will. “In-room movies.”
“God, yes,” Carolee breathed. “I’ll feel better once we’re out of here.”
“Let’s go find the doctor,” Eve suggested and sent a glance at Roarke. He nodded, and moved to the foot of the bed as Steve went out with Eve.
“So, Mrs. Grogan, where would you be staying here in New York?”
It took another thirty minutes, but Roarke asked no questions until they were out of the health center. “And so, how is the lady?”
“I had the doctor dumb it down for me. He was giving it to the husband—he’s a doctor, too—in fancier terms.”
“You can keep it dumbed down for me.”
“She’s good,” Eve told him, “no serious or lasting damage. The contusion, mild concussion, and most interestingly what he dumbed down to a ‘smudge’ on her optic nerves—both eyes. He seemed to be pushing for another test, but he’d already done a recheck and as the smudge was already dissipating, I don’t think Steve’s going to go for it. Added to it, the brain scan showed something wonky in the memory section—a blip, but that’s resolved, too, on retest. Her tox is clear,” Eve added as she got back into the car. “No trace of anything, which is too damn bad, as that’s where logic was leading me.”
“A memory suppressor would’ve been logical. And may be yet.” He shook his head at her look. “We’ll have some things to check into when we get home. You’ll likely have to follow up with the Grogans?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you’ll find them at the Palace. They’ll be moving there tonight.”
“Your hotel?”
“It seems they’re a bit squeezed into a room at the moment, and it struck me they could use a bit of an upgrade for their troubles. Plus the security’s better there. Considerably.”
“I’m putting a watch on them,” Eve began, then shrugged. “It is better.” She engaged the ’link to update her men on the change. “Let’s go home and start ‘checking into.’ ”
Six
Summerset, Roarke’s man about everything, wasn’t lurking in the grand foyer when Eve walked in. She spied the fat cat, Galahad, perched on the newel post like a furry gargoyle. He blinked his bicolored eyes twice, then leaped down with a thud to saunter over and rub against her legs.
“Where’s Mr. Macabre?” Eve asked as she scratched the cat between the ears.
“Stop.” Roarke didn’t bother to sigh. The pinching and poking between his wife and his surrogate father were not likely to end anytime soon. “Summerset’s setting things up in my private office. We need to use the unregistered equipment,” he continued when she frowned. “Any serious digging on your victim is going to send up flags to certain parties. And there’s more.”
He took her hand to lead her up the steps.
“If I don’t dig into the vic through proper channels, it’s going to look very strange.”
“You have Peabody on that,” he reminded her. “And you can do some of your own, for form. But you won’t find what you’re after through legitimate channels. Set up your runs, on Buckley, the Grogans, the possible causes of this optic smudge. All the things you’d routinely do. Then come up and meet me.”
He lifted her hand to kiss her fingers. “And we’ll do the real excavating. She’s a freelance spy and assassin, Eve, who works for the highest bidder or on a whim. That work would definitely include certain areas of the U.S. government. You won’t get far your way.”
“What’s the ‘more’?” She hated the cloak-and-dagger crap. “You said there’s more?”