“Yeah.” She reached over as Roarke came out, brushed mortar and brick dust off his shirt. “Let’s go up.”
“Tell me how you are.”
“I’ll show you.” She stopped, yanked up her pants leg. Her clutch piece rode on her unmarked ankle. “No more tattoo. It’s a lot less crowded in here.” She tapped her head. “Say something in Russian.”
“I only have a few phrases, but this one seems appropriate. Ya liubliu tebia.”
She grinned at him, felt a lightness she hadn’t felt in hours. “I have no idea what you said. Thank God.”
He grabbed her, held tight. Then he drew her face up, crushed his mouth with hers.
“On an op,” she murmured but kissed him back before drawing away.
Linking hands, they continued down the corridor
. “I said I love you—and it’s true in every language.”
“Nice. Let’s just keep it all in English for a while. God, I’m starving again.” She pressed her hand to her belly. “Anyway, thanks for the assist. In there and all around.”
“No problem. But next time we have a barbecue, Lieutenant, we both stay the bloody hell home.”
“That’s a deal.”
Upstairs she paused, walked over to where Natalya and Alexi sat on the steps, nodded at the cop standing by them. Natalya looked up, eyes flooded with tears.
“They said—we heard—there are bodies.”
“Yes.”
“My brother.” Her voice broke as she pressed her face to her son’s chest. “He was broken, but he took his medication. We went on—we both went on. What has he done? In the mercy of God, what has he done?”
“She didn’t know.” Alexi held her close while she sobbed. “We didn’t know, I swear it. My uncle, he’s such a quiet man. Such a quiet man. Beata? She’s all right?”
“She’ll be all right. We’re going to have to take you and your mother down to Central. We need to talk.”
He only nodded and stroked his mother’s hair. “We didn’t know.”
“I believe you.”
“A nightmare for them,” Roarke commented as they stepped outside into the warm night.
“One that won’t end anytime soon.”
Gawkers pressed behind the barricades. Cops swarmed, lights flared, and the air was busy with voices and communicators. Reporters, alerted to the scene, shouted questions.
Eve ignored them all as Beata broke away from Mira and ran to her.
“They said Mamoka is dead. Sasha killed her—my great-grandmother.”
“Yes. I’m very sorry.”
The sound she made was deep, dark grief. “Mamoka. She came for me, to find me. And he killed her.”
“He’ll pay for that, for all of it.” And this time, Eve reminded herself, it was enough. “She did find you, and that’s what mattered most to her. She told me your name. She . . . showed me the way.”
“She spoke to you?”
“She did. And I know she’s okay, because you are. You can see her tomorrow. I’ll arrange it. But now, you need to go to the health center, get checked out. You need to listen to Dr. Mira. We’ll talk again.”