“No.” She squeezed her eyes tight. “God, don’t you realize it would have been worse if I had? If Whitney couldn’t believe I’d be objective, if Simpson even got a whiff that I showed you any degree of preferential treatment, it would have been worse. I couldn’t have moved on the psych profile so fast. Couldn’t have put Feeney on a priority basis to check the trail of the weapon to eliminate probable cause.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said quietly. “I hadn’t thought.” When he laid a hand on her shoulder, she shrugged it off, turned on him with blazing eyes.
“Goddamn it, I told you to bring an attorney. I told you. If Feeney hadn’t hit the right buttons, they could have held you. You’re only out because he did, and the profile didn’t fit.”
He touched her again; she jerked back again. “It appears I didn’t need an attorney. All I needed was you.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She battled control back into place. “It’s done. The fact that you have an unassailable alibi for the time of the murder, and that the gun was an obvious plant shifts the focus away from you.” She felt sick, unbearably tired. “It may not eliminate you completely, but Dr. Mira’s profiles are gold. Nobody overturns her diagnostics. She’s eliminated you, and that carries a lot of weight with the department and the PA.”
“I wasn’t worried about the department or the PA.”
“You should have been.”
“It seems you’ve worried enough for me. I’m very sorry.”
“Forget it.”
“I’ve seen shadows under your eyes too often since I’ve known you.” He traced a thumb along them. “I don’t like being responsible for the ones I see now.”
“I’m responsible for myself.”
“And I had nothing to do with putting your job in jeopardy?”
Damn Feeney, she thought viciously. “I make my own decisions. I pay my own consequences.”
Not this time, he thought. Not alone. “The night after we’d been together, I called. I could see you were worried, but you brushed it off. Feeney told me exactly why you were worried that night. Your angry friend wanted to pay me back for making you unhappy. He did.”
“Feeney had no right—”
“Perhaps not. He wouldn’t have had to if you’d confided in me.” He took both her arms to stop her quick movement. “Don’t turn away from me,” he warned, his voice low. “You’re good at shutting people out, Eve. But it won’t work with me.”
“What did you expect, that I’d come crying to you? ‘Roarke, you seduced me, and now I’m in trouble. Help.’ The hell with that, you didn’t seduce me. I went to bed with you because I wanted to. Wanted to enough that I didn’t think about ethics. I got slammed for it, and I’m handling it. I don’t need help.”
“Don’t want it, certainly.”
“Don’t need it.” She wouldn’t humiliate herself by struggling away now, but stood passive. “The commander’s satisfied that you’re not involved in the murders. You’re clear, so other than what the department will officially term an error in judgment on my part, so am I. If I’d been wrong about you, it’d be different.”
“If you’d been wrong about me, it would have cost you your badge.”
“Yes. I’d have lost my badge. I’d have lost everything. I’d have deserved to. But it didn’t happen, so it’s over. Move on.”
“Do you really think I’m going to walk away?”
It weakened her, that soft, gentle lilt that came into his voice. “I can’t afford you, Roarke. I can’t afford to get involved.”
He stepped forward, laid his hands on the back of the couch, caged her in. “I can’t afford you, either. It doesn’t seem to matter.”
“Look—”
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he murmured. “Very sorry that I didn’t trust you, then accused you of not trusting me.”
“I didn’t expect you to think any differently. To act any differently.”
That stung more than the blow to the face. “No. I’m sorry for that, too. You risked a great deal for me. Why?”
There were no easy answers. “I believed you.”
He pressed his lips to her brow. “Thank you.”