Apprentice in Death (In Death 43)

“She’s told us everything up to and including Madison Square. I didn’t expect her to feel remorse, to feel anything for the victims. And I did expect her to feel pride. But . . . It’s the glee. The goddamn jubilation. I didn’t expect the extent of that, how her ego rules all.

“It was all her idea. Part of me knew that, all of me wondered. You had to consider Mackie’s state of mind. He’d never have been able to do all this, think of it all. But she did. He was paying too much attention to his grief, and not enough to her. She didn’t say it, but it came across clear. She had no respect for her stepmother, called her an idiot. She used her father’s grief, his weakness—it wasn’t him using her, but her using him—to realize her greatest ambition. To take lives.”

“Here now, use your own chair.”

“No, no, I can’t sit anyway.” She rose, took the tube from him, then just paced without drinking. “She remembers everything, even remembers what some of the victims were wearing. Sometimes that’s all it took for her to make them a target. Hate that hat—you get to die in it.”

Saying nothing, Roarke eased a hip on the corner of the desk, let her spew.

“She believes the killings, the initial realization of their plan, the progess of their mission, made her father stronger. Gave him purpose. And he focused on her again.”

As she paused, she cracked the tube, drank. Breathed.

“I guess Mira would say there’s a part of her, the child, who craves that focus from her father. His eyes and hands, his partner, his equal, his only child. She brought him along so he could praise her.”

“You considered her his apprentice—we all did. And for a time she was. But what you’re saying is he became hers. She taught him the death of his so-called enemies by her hand—his hand through her—united them.”

“Yeah. Plus, he was her audience, her witness, her goddamn cheerleader. Even when he wasn’t there, as with Madison Square, she knew he’d hear, knew he’d be proud. Knew she’d remain his center.”

“And he proved she was by sacrificing himself for her.”

“Their Plan B—we got to that. She’d get gone, get away, and he’d draw us to him. He’d take the fall. Only that didn’t work on any level. Roarke, she’s in the box, and she’s preening. ‘Look at me, look how good I am. Yeah, I did it, did it all. Because I’m the best. Number one.’ And it makes me more sick than pissed.”

“You’ll be pissed before it’s done. I have every confidence there.”

She nearly smiled. “You’re not going home?”

He nearly smiled back. “Do you know the only color in your face is from the bruises?”

“The bruises look good on the record. And the booster you dug up for me helped. I’m tired, but I’m not shaky with it.”

“This should help as well.” He pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket.

“Is that mine?” She shot one furious glance toward the wall, and the framed sketch Nixie Swisher had done of her. “Is that from my stash? Did you compromise my stash?”

“I didn’t, no, though that might’ve been entertaining. EDD has candy in Vending.”

“They do? Why do they rate?” But she grabbed it, ripped the wrapper. “Thanks.”

“I’m going to make it up to both of us by seeing you have a decent meal at the first opportunity.”

“Whatever.” She closed her eyes, let the first glorious bite of chocolate do its work. “Did you check on Summerset?”

“Often enough that he’s now annoyed with me.”

“Okay.” She folded the wrapper over the half candy bar remaining, stuck it in her pocket. “This may take a couple more hours.”

“When I finish here, I believe I’ll wander over to Observation so I can watch you wrap her up as you did that candy bar.”

She stepped to him, let her head rest on his shoulder, just a moment. “Mackie might’ve been a good man once—Lowenbaum thinks so anyway. But he made his choices, choices he can never come back from. She’s one of them. But even without him, she’d have been in somebody’s box one day. It was just his choices, just the timing of it all that made it mine.”

She drew back. “And since it’s mine, I’ll go finish it.”

When she left to do just that, Roarke wondered if she thought of how many more would be hers—victims and killers.

And knew, as he knew her, she did.

—