Because he knew/feared Darla would be more wrathful?
More to lose with a wife, Eve thought as she updated her board and book. If Darla went for the divorce first, for instance, found a way to cut him out of the company, or just make his life hell.
Back at her command center, Eve put her boots up, sat back with coffee.
McEnroy—a criminal, a rapist, a predator, a man who if found out while alive would have spent a great deal of time in a cage.
Pettigrew—a crappy husband and partner. Greedy, an opportunist. But nothing she could see illegal in his actions. Nothing that would have landed him in a cage.
And still, to “Lady Justice” they’d earned the same fate.
“Because they’re all the same,” Eve murmured. “Men, as a species, are a plague that needs to be eradicated. Start with your circle—the support group—eliminate them one by one. And after that, go on the hunt. It’s in your blood now.
“Men are the enemy; destroying them the mission.”
“Well now, that’s a warm welcome home.”
Eve glanced over as the cat rolled out of the sleep chair to trot over and greet Roarke.
“I’d keep you around,” she told him. “You gotta get sex and coffee somewhere.”
“Such a comfort.” He strolled over to kiss her—and steal her coffee. “I’m told you got home early—for you.”
“Wanted mind-clearing and thinking time. I got Mavis and the kid.”
“So I’m told as well. And how are they?”
“The kid’s smart, scary, and pretty damn irresistible. Mavis is pregnant.”
“She … what now?”
“ ‘Encore,’ she says. And if she were capable of doing handsprings, she’d have done them.” To demonstrate, Eve circled a finger in the air. “It’s on purpose—the knocked-up part. Telling me was because I showed up during what I found out is a routine visit with Summerset, and her seeing it as a sign to spill.”
“Well, that’s lovely then. We’ll send her flowers.”
“Don’t get too happy about it. She expects us to do the encore, too.”
“What encore would that …” Quickly, visibly, he paled. “You don’t mean she wants us to be in there again when she—”
“Pushes another human being out of her? Yeah, she does.”
“I’m opening a bottle,” he said instantly. “And I’m not discussing it or thinking of it. I still have images burned on my brain from the first that haunt me in the dead of the night.”
Desperately pleased to have company in her terror, Eve pointed at him. “You, even you, won’t be able to talk her out of it.”
“I could be out of town, even off-planet,” he said as he walked over to choose a wine. “I could very easily be off-planet for— When is she due?”
Eve frowned. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I never know what to ask. She said she was pregnant at Nadine’s bash, but didn’t want to spring it on people then. And if I have to do this again, pal, so do you.”
“I’
m not thinking about that part of it. We’re having wine. Now talk to me about something less traumatic. Like murder.”
Because she felt entirely more comfortable talking about murder than childbirth, Eve took the wine he held out.
“Big break. Pettigrew dragged and dug his bare feet—toes, toenails—over the floor, and we’ve ID’d the substance. Which is why I need two box seats for the next Mets home game.”
“Dickhead.”