"No, I don't want—"
But it was too late as Mavis's face swam on-screen. "Roarke, is she awake yet—Dallas!" Her smile broke out, a little wobbly, but there, as she spotted Eve. "I'll be right there."
"I don't want to talk to anyone," Eve said furiously when the screen went blank. "Can't you understand that?"
"I understand very well." He rose, laid his hands on her shoulders. It broke his heart as he felt them droop. "You and I went through a large part of our lives without having anyone who mattered or who we mattered to. So I understand very well what it is to have someone." He leaned forward to press his lips to her brow. "To need someone. Talk to Mavis."
"I've got nothing to say." Her eyes filled again and burned.
"Then listen." He squeezed her shoulders once, then turned as the door burst open and Mavis flew in. "I'll leave you two alone," he said, but he doubted either of them heard him as Mavis was already wrapping herself around Eve and babbling.
"Those suck-faced pissheads," he heard her sob out, and he nearly smiled as he closed the door.
"Okay," Eve murmured and buried her face in Mavis's blue hair. "Okay."
"I wanted to go find Whitney and call him a suck-faced pisshead in person, but Leonardo said it was better to come straight here. I'm sorry, so sorry, so sorry." She reared back so abruptly Eve nearly went down. "What the hell's wrong with them!" Mavis demanded, throwing her arms out and sending the diaphanous pink sleeves of what might have been a nighty flapping.
"It's procedure," Eve managed.
"Well, screw that in the ass sideways. No way they're going to get away with this. I bet Roarke's already hired a platoon of hot-shit lawyers to sue their suck-faces off. You'll own the goddamn city of New York when this is over."
"I just want my badge." And because it was Mavis, Eve dropped onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands. "I've got nothing without it, Mavis."
"You'll get it back." Shaken, Mavis sat, draped an arm around Eve's shoulders. "You always make the right thing happen, Dallas."
"I'm locked out." Weary, Eve sat back, closed her eyes. "You can't make things happen when they're happening to you."
"You made them happen for me. When you collared me all those years ago, it changed my life."
It was an effort, but Eve worked up a ghost of a smile. "Which time?"
"The first time—the other couple were just like, you know, slips. You made me wonder if I could be more than a grifter scamming marks, then you made me see I could. And last year when things were bad for me, when it looked like they were going to put me in a cage, you were there for me. You made the right things happen."
"I had the badge, I had control." Her eyes went bleak again. "I had the job."
"Well, now you've got me and you've got the iciest guy on or off planet. And that's not all. You know how many people called here last night? Roarke wanted to stay up here with you so I asked Summerset if I could, like, t
ake the calls and stuff. They just kept coming in."
"How many from reporters wanting a story?"
Mavis sniffed, then got up to call up the menu on the AutoChef. Roarke had given her orders to see that Eve ate, and she intended to follow them. "I know how to ditch the media dogs. Let's have ice cream."
"I'm not hungry."
"You don't need to be hungry for ice cream and—oh yeah there's a God—chocolate chip cookies. Mag squared."
"Mavis—"
"You took care of me when I needed you," Mavis said quietly. "Don't make me feel like you don't need me."
Nothing could have worked more completely. Though she sent one longing look toward the bed, to the oblivion she might find there, Eve sighed. "What kind of ice cream?"
• • • •
Eve drifted through the day, like someone wandering in and out of sweeps of fog. She avoided her office and Roarke's, used a headache as an excuse to crawl away for a few hours. She took no calls, refused to discuss the situation with Roarke, and finally closed herself in the library on the pretense of choosing reading material.
She turned on the search screen so anyone monitoring would think she was browsing through, then ordered curtains closed, lights off, and curled on the couch to escape into sleep.