“I had you under security before, and Palmer got to you.”
Mira as psychologist and profiler and Eve as primary had helped put Palmer away. His revenge spree after his prison escape the previous winter had nearly cost Mira her life. Could have cost both of them, Eve remembered, when he’d abducted Mira and caged her in a basement to lure Eve to his sick New Year’s Eve celebration.
“He didn’t serve you a tea party, either, and you stood up.”
“He just wanted me to suffer and die. In this case . . . where is Nixie?”
“I’ve got Trueheart riding her. I didn’t know where you wanted to set up with her.”
“Where do you think she’s most comfortable?”
Eve stared, blank. “Ah, I don’t know. She did okay in the parlor last time.”
“A stunning room, and certainly comfortable. But maybe a little intimidating for a child used to less opulence. Where does she spend most of her time?”
“I don’t know that either, exactly. She hangs with Summerset a lot, but he’s all over the damn house. Like termites. She and Trueheart were hanging out in the game room before.”
“Game room?”
“Roarke’s got a damn room for everything. Fancy toys, you know, arcade stuff.” She gave a shrug, though she had to admit, privately, she got a charge out of the deal. “A lot of classic game stuff.”
“Child friendly, then. That sounds very good.”
“Okay.”
When Eve didn’t turn back to the door, Mira asked, “How do you feel she’s coping?”
“Had a nightmare last night. A real screamer. Thought they were coming for her, hiding in the closet, under the bed.”
“Natural enough. I’d be more concerned if she wasn’t afraid. If she was repressing.”
“Like I did.”
“You coped in your own way.” And because they’d come quite a distance in the last two years, Mira touched a hand to Eve’s arm. “And still do. This child has a firm foundation, which has been broken out from under her. But that foundation will mean she’ll most likely have an easier time regaining her footing. With counseling, with care, and a return to normalcy.”
Eve gathered herself. “There’s a thing. The situation she’s in, the one I was in, they’re nothing alike. Not even close. But—”
“A young traumatized child.”
“She had murder done around her. I did murder.”
“Why do you call it murder?” Mira’s voice sharpened. “You know very well it was nothing of the kind. You were a child fighting for her life. If one of those men had found Nixie, and through some miracle she’d been able to kill him, save herself, would you call it murder? Lieutenant.”
“No.” Eve closed her eyes, bore down before the image could form. “No. I know I did what I had to, like she did what she had to. I killed, she hid.”
“Eve.” Her tone gentle now, Mira laid a hand on Eve’s cheek. “Eve. You had nowhere to hide.”
“No, I had nowhere.” She had to step away from that touch, from that quiet understanding, or dissolve. “It’s good she did. Good she was smart enough to do what she did, strong enough to crawl through blood to survive.”
“And so did you, so were you smart enough and strong enough. And terrified enough. You can’t help seeing yourself, as you were, when you deal with her.”
“I did see myself. When I found her, huddled in that bathroom, blood all over her. For a minute, I saw myself in that fucking freezing room in Dallas. And I nearly walked away from her. Hell, I nearly ran away from her.”
“But you didn’t. And what you felt is normal. What similarities you see—”
“I’m projecting. I know the term.” She felt temper rise up in her, shoved it back. “I’m handling it. I’m telling you because I figure you should know there’s a thing. Off and on.”
“And I expect you to tell me if it becomes too much to handle. For your sake as well as hers. At this point, I believe your empathy with her is helpful—for her. She senses it, and it adds to her sense of safety. You’re not just an authority figure. You’re her savior.”