Survivor in Death (In Death 20)

“You could kill them.”

“That’s not my job.”

Eve got out of the car, opened the back. “Let’s go.”

Even as she reached out a hand for Nixie’s, Roarke opened the front door, stepped out. Nixie’s fingers curled into hers like little wires.

“Is he the prince?” she whispered.

As the house looked like a castle, Eve supposed the man who’d built it looked like its prince. Tall and lean, dark and gorgeous. The flow of black hair around a face designed to make a woman whimper with lust. Strong, sharp bones, full, firm mouth, and eyes of bold and brilliant blue.

“He’s Roarke,” Eve answered. “He’s just a guy.”

A lie, of course. Roarke wasn’t just anything. But he was hers.

“Lieutenant.” Ireland cruised out of his voice as he came down the steps and walked toward them. “Detective.” He crouched. Eve noted that as he looked into Nixie’s eyes he didn’t smile.

He saw a pretty, pale little girl, with dried blood in her sunlight blonde hair, and bruises of fatigue and grief under eyes of quiet blue. “You’d be Nixie. I’m Roarke. I’m sorry to meet you under such terrible circumstances.”

“They killed everybody.”

“Yes, I know. Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody will find who did this horrible thing, and see that they’re punished for it.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s what they do, what they do better than anyone. Will you come inside now?”

Nixie tugged on Eve’s hand, kept tugging until Eve rolled her eyes and bent down. “What?”

“Why does he talk like that?”

“He’s not from around here, originally.”

“I was born across the sea, in Ireland.” Now he did smile, just a little. “I’ve never quite shaken the accent.”

Roarke gestured them inside the spacious foyer, where Summerset stood, with the fat cat sprawled at his feet. “Nixie, this is Summerset,” Roarke said. “He runs the house. He’ll be looking after you, for the most part.”

“I don’t know him.” And eyeing Summerset, Nixie cringed back against Eve.

“I do.” It was a big cup of bile to swallow, but Eve gulped it down. “He’s okay.”

“Welcome, Miss Nixie.” Like Roarke, his face was sober. Eve had to give them both credit for not plastering on those big, scary smiles adults often wore around vulnerable kids. “Would you like me to show you where you’ll sleep?”

“I don’t know.”

He reached down, picked up the cat. “Perhaps you’d like some refreshment first. Galahad would keep you company.”

“We had a cat. He was old and he died. We’re going to get a kitten next . . .”

“Galahad would be pleased to have a new friend.” Summerset sat the cat down again, waiting while Nixie loosened her grip on Eve’s hand and moved closer. When the cat bumped his head against her leg, a ghost of a smile trembled on her lips. She sat on the floor, buried her face in his fur.

“Appreciate this,” Eve said to Roarke under her breath. “I know it’s a major.”

“It’s not.” There was blood on her as well. And the faint scent of death. “We’ll talk of it later.”

“I need to go. I’m sorry to dump this on you.”

“I’ll be working here most of the morning. Summerset and I will deal well enough.”