“You’ve never been weak.”
“His mistake.”
Roarke sat a moment in silence, absorbing it all. “I went back to the alley where they’d found him, and I wished it had been me that had done him.” He looked up again, met Summerset’s eyes. “Next best thing.”
“I took no pleasure in it.”
“No. I would have—then.” Roarke laid his hand over Summerset’s, left it there for a quiet moment. “I’m not what I was.”
“You were never what he wanted you to be. And more than even I hoped. In weak moments, I might credit the lieutenant for some of that.”
Roarke smiled again. “In her weak moments, she might credit you. It’s a sum of work, isn’t it?”
“You’ll tell her all this?”
“Her scale’s different than ours, and it’s weighing on her. I’ll tell her, yes, and it’ll lighten.” Roarke rose. “I’ll see you before you go.”
“Of course.”
“You were right not to tell me before. I would have celebrated it, even a handful of years ago.”
“And now?”
“Now, I can be grateful for the man you were and are. That’s more than enough.”
As Roarke started out, the cat leaped down and trotted behind him.
“He’s been fed,” Summerset called out.
“It rarely makes a bit of difference to him.”
Eve woke, frowned at the sofa where she’d expected to see Roarke drinking coffee, watching the stocks, maybe working on his PPC or a tablet.
World-domination meeting ran over, she decided, pushing herself out of bed. She hit coffee first, let it fire up her brain.
She needed to check the search results, nag DeWinter, push through more interviews, she thought as she headed for the shower.
The search results might give her a new path to pursue, and nagging DeWinter in person could prove more productive than a text. Then there was Guy Durante—some possibilities there. Time to press.
She stepped out of the shower, into the drying tube, let the warm air swirl.
It occurred to her she could beat Roarke to breakfast. There could be anything but oatmeal.
She jumped out, grabbed a soft white robe, and was shoving her arms into it as she stepped out.
And thought, Damn it, when she saw Roarke already at the AutoChef.
“Did buying Uruguay run over?”
“Uruguay?”
“It sounds buyable.” She shrugged, resigned herself to oatmeal. “Where is Uruguay?”
“South and, though I have a few interests there, I haven’t considered buying it outright. I’ve got this, and since you’re up and about, why don’t you get us a pot of coffee?”
He carried the tray to the sitting area; she got the coffee.
“If not Uruguay, what?”