“He talked about staying in a hotel penthouse. High life. Upper floors, higher price, higher life. If he changed his MO with this second location, we’re looking for a top level, good view. Big windows, maybe a terrace. Lots of open. More, I think, in the center of things. The rest applies. At least two bedrooms, on-site garage.”
She shut her eyes, trying to think. “One of those corporate apartments, maybe, or a long-lease rental? Or—”
“You’re clutching now because you’re tired. You’re tired, Eve, and trying not to think you’re standing a foot away from where your mother bled out hours ago. But you are thinking it. This isn’t the place for you to think clearly or well, and you need to accept it.”
“I think,” she said slowly, deliberately, “he left food, wine, clothes, equipment behind. But he took some of everything with him. I think he carefully selected the best of each category. I think he did that because he was moving to a better location. And, I think, if we focus on high floors—even top floors of more upscale buildings, more urban center areas, more luxury accommodations, we’ll find him.”
“Then you should pass that on to your associates here so they can begin to do that.”
“I am. I will.”
“Good. You do that while I contact Mira. She can join us for a drink back at the hotel.”
“I don’t want—”
“It’s past that. You need to do this for yourself. If you won’t, then do it for me. I’m asking you, please, do this for me.”
She pulled out her ’link, but she didn’t look at him, or at the blood. She contacted Ricchio as she walked away from the crime scene.
19
Roarke understood her silence. It didn’t matter that she’d agreed to talk with Mira, even acknowledged she needed to. He’d forced her hand—made her stop her forward motion and her focus on the crimes, the perpetrator, the victims, the questions and answers. Stopping the forward motion meant facing the past—her past.
Dealing with her feelings about her mother’s life, and her mother’s murder.
He could accept her need, and her ability, to turn her reluctance into resentment aimed at him. In her place he’d likely have done the same.
What a pair they were.
He expected, and accepted, her reaction when the elevator opened. And Mira turned from her place by the windows. The single glance Eve spared him, one ripe with the shock of betrayal stabbed him right through the heart.
“I’ve been admiring your view,” Mira said.
“It’s good to see you.” Roarke walked over to greet her. “How was the flight?”
“Very smooth.”
“And your room here?”
“It’s lovely.”
Behind them, Eve’s silence was a roar of fury.
“Why don’t we have some wine?” Roarke began.
“You two go ahead with your social hour,” Eve interrupted in a tone like cracked ice. “I need a shower.”
She stormed upstairs, had nearly slammed the bedroom door. Then she saw the cat sitting on the bed, blinking at her with bicolored eyes.
Pressure thudded into her chest, burned in her throat, behind her eyes as she rushed forward, dropped to her knees by the bed.
“Galahad.”
He bumped his head against hers, purred like a cargo jet.
“He had her bring you.” She rubbed her face against his fur. “He had her bring you for me. God, God, I’m a mess.”
She sat on the floor, braced her back against the bed. Comfort flooded her when the cat jumped off the bed, padded into her lap. And circled there, digging thin claws into her thighs.