He moved through the dark, quiet as a shadow. The bed shifted slightly as he sat beside her, found her hand. "Do you want the light?"
"No." Her voice felt rusty, but she didn't bother to clear it. "No, I don't want anything. You didn't have to stay here, in the dark."
"Did you think I'd let you wake alone?" He brought her hand to his lips. "You're not alone."
She wanted to weep again, could feel the tears beating at the backs of her eyes. Hot, helpless. Useless. "Who called you?"
"Peabody. She and Feeney were here; so was Mira. McNab's called several times. And Nadine."
"I can't talk to them."
"All right. Mavis is downstairs. She won't leave, and I can't ask her to."
"What am I supposed to say to her? To anyone? God, Roarke, I'm stripped. The next time I go into Central, it'll be to interview as a murder suspect."
"I've contacted a lawyer. You've nothing to worry about there. If and when you agree to interview, it'll be here, in your own home, on your own terms. Eve."
He could see her silhouette, the way she turned away from him and stared into the dark. Gently, he cupped her face, turned it toward him. "No one you work with, no one who knows you believes you had anything to do with what happened to Bowers."
"I don't even care about that. It's nothing but form. No physical evidence, no clear motive, and the opportunity is slim. I don't care about that," she repeated and hated, hated the way her breath hitched. "They'll have a cloud but no proof, not enough for the PA, but enough to keep my badge away. Enough to keep me out."
"You've people who care about you who'll work to see that doesn't happen."
"It has happened," she said flatly. "And nothing can change it. You can't change it. I just want to sleep." She shifted away, shut her eyes. "I'm tired. Go down with Mavis, I'm better off alone now."
He ran a hand over her hair. He'd give her the night to grieve, to escape.
But when he left her alone, she opened her eyes, stared at nothing. And didn't sleep.
• • • •
Getting out of bed in the morning seemed like wasted effort.
She shifted, looked up through the glass overhead. The snow was gone and the sky was the dull gray of depression. She tried to think of some reason to get up, get dressed, but could think of nothing, could feel nothing but a low, dragging fatigue.
She turned her head, and there was Roarke in the sitting area, sipping coffee and watching her.
"You've slept long enough, Eve. You can't go on hiding in here."
"It seems like a good idea right now."
"The longer it does, the more you'll lose. Get up."
She sat up, but drew her knees into her chest and rested her head on them. "I don't have anything to do, nowhere to go."
"We can go anywhere you like. I've cleared my schedule for a couple of weeks."
"You didn't have to do that." Anger struggled to surface but turned pale and listless and faded. "I don't want to go anywhere."
"Then we'll stay home. But you're not lying in bed with the covers over your head."
A bubble of resentment worked its way free. "I didn't have the covers over my head," she muttered. And what did he know? she thought. How could he know how she felt? But there was enough pride left to have her getting up, dragging on a robe.
Pleased with the small victory, he poured her coffee, topped off his own. "I've eaten," he said casually, "but I don't believe Mavis has."
"Mavis?"
"Yes, she stayed last night." He reached over, pressed a button in the interhouse 'link. "She'll keep you company."