Survivor in Death (In Death 20)

She locked her legs around him, locked those eyes on his. “Now,” she said. “Now. Hard and fast and . . . Yes. Oh God.”

He drove into her, felt her clamp around him, a wet, velvet vice, as she came. Felt that long, lean body shudder and shudder as he plunged. Still her hips pistoned, taking him in deeper, driving him brutally on.

“Don’t shut your eyes. Don’t.” His voice was thick. “Eve.”

She lifted her hands, and though they trembled, they framed his face. “I see you. I see you. Roarke.”

And her eyes were open, on his, when they fell.

In the morning she was relieved it didn’t appear on the “normal” list to have breakfast with Nixie. It might’ve been small, even cowardly, but Eve didn’t think she could face the questions, or those steady, seeking eyes, without a couple of quarts of coffee first.

She did what was normal for her instead and took a blistering shower, and a quick spin in the drying tube while Roarke did his usual scan of the stock reports on-screen in the bedroom.

With the first cup of coffee down, she opened her closet and pulled out a pair of pants.

“Have some eggs,” Roarke ordered.

“I’m going to go over some data in my office before the rest of the team get here.”

“Have some eggs first,” he repeated, and made her roll her eyes as she shrugged on a shirt.

She marched over, picked up his plate, and shoveled in two forkfuls of his omelette.

“I didn’t mean mine.”

“Be more specific, then,” she said with her mouth full. “Where’s the cat?”

“With the girl, I’d wager. Galahad’s shrewd enough to know she’ll be more likely to share her breakfast with him than we are.” To prove it, Roarke took the plate back. “Get your own eggs.”

“I don’t want any more.” But she nipped a piece of his bacon from the plate. “I expect to be in the field most of the day. I might need to relieve Baxter and Trueheart, pull in a couple of uniforms. That a problem for you?”

“Having a house full of cops? Why would that be a problem for me?”

The dry tone made her smile. “I’m going to see the Dysons. Could be we’ll move her by tonight, or tomorrow anyway.”

“The child is welcome as long as need be, so that goes for whoever you need to look out for her. I mean that.”

“I know. You’re nicer than me.” She leaned down, kissed him. “I mean that.”

She reached over for her weapon harness, strapped it on. “With the Dysons as legal guardians, I can bypass Child Protection and get them moved into a safe house without any sort of data trail.”

“You’re concerned whoever did this to her family will want to clean up the loose end.”

“It’s a good bet. So her location will be need-to-know, with no paperwork.”

“You told her you’d arrange for her to see her family. Is that wise?”

Eve picked up the boots she’d thrown in temper the night before. “She’ll need to. Survivors of violent crimes need to see the dead. She’ll have to wait until it’s safe, and until Mira clears it, then she’ll have to deal. It’s her reality now.”

“You’re right, I know. She looked so small in that bed last night. It’s the first I’ve dealt with this, specifically. A child who’s lost so much. It wouldn’t be the first for you.”

After dragging on the boots, she remained sitting on the arm of the sofa. “Not many firsts left in my line. You’ve seen this at Dochas,” she said, thinking of the shelter Roarke had built. “And worse than this. That’s why you made the place.”

“Not quite so personally. Would you want Louise to help in this?”

Louise Dimatto, crusader and doctor, head of Dochas—she’d be a plus, Eve thought, but she shook her head. “I don’t want to pull anyone else in, not at this point anyway. Especially a civilian. I’ve got to get set up before the rest get here. If you get anything on the security system, let me know.”

“I will.”