New York to Dallas (In Death 33)

“But Roarke doesn’t feel weird about it. He’s full of it, the love, I mean. And when he loves me, things that never worked in me did—do. It was easier when they didn’t work, but it’s better when they do. You know?”

“I do. You should rest now.”

“Want to finish, give my report. Is my face messed up? I hate when that happens. Not like I’m pretty or anything, but—”

“You’re the most beautiful woman ever born,” Roarke said from the doorway, and Eve sent him a woozy, drugged smile.

“See, told ya he’s full of it. Gonna give my report, then let’s go home, ’kay? Let’s all go home.”

He walked over, sat on the side of the bed. “Let’s.”

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EPILOGUE

Mira refused to clear her for travel for twenty-four hours, and Mira was a nut that wouldn’t crack. Still it gave Eve time to sort out all the details and tie them off.

“McQueen’s being transferred to off-planet max-security facilities on a prison transport,” she told Roarke. “But the Dallas PSD and the feds have filed the additional charges. He’ll stand trial by holo.”

“You’ll have to testify.”

“With extreme pleasure. How’s your hotel security woman, and the guest?”

“Recovered. We’ll be implementing some changes in our security procedures in that hotel.”

“Nobody could’ve foreseen what he’d do. It was lunacy.”

“But it worked, didn’t it?” And that he’d never forget. “He got to you.”

“You and I both know that with some skill, a lot of determination and luck, anybody can get to anybody, anywhere. That’s why we have cops.”

She leaned back. God, she hated to fly, but at least this time, the shuttle headed in the right direction.

“And how’s my cop?”

“Feeling pretty good, actually. The arm’s the worst of it.”

“You slept well last night.”

“Hard not to, loaded up with tranqs.” She took his hand. “I know I’m going to have to think about it, deal with it. The whole ugly mess of it. But I can, because in the end I did the job. You helped me to do it.”

“I always wondered, if such things were possible, if I’d go back, kill your father to spare you that. Then I stood in that room in Dallas and saw so clearly what happened that night, what he’d put you through, what he’d done.”

He brought her hand to his lips, the hand he’d covered with his on the knife, sharing the blood with her. “I could have taken the knife from you and put it into his heart. McQueen, your father. I could have done that.”

“You didn’t.”

“No. You loved me, and things in me that didn’t work did, and do.”

“You heard me,” she murmured. “With Mira.”

“I did. And I can say to you it was easier when they didn’t work, but it’s better, very much better, when they do.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “For two people who started out so fucked up, we’re okay.”

Beside him, she watched out the window, ignored the pitching in her stomach on descent. The cat leaped onto her lap, circled with his questing claws, settled.

And beside Roarke, with the cat snoring, she watched New York break through the clouds.