“You’re here now,” Eve said, and Tish dropped her hands.
“You’re the cop who contacted me.”
“Dallas. Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Thank you.” Tish offered a hand, then turned to Del. “You’re the doctor who’s been taking care of her.”
“Del Nobel.”
“Thanks.” She offered him her hand, too. “I want to talk to both of you in a lot more depth, but I don’t want to leave her alone long right now. I’m staying in there with her tonight.”
She issued it like a challenge.
“I’ll have a cot brought in for you.”
“I don’t need it. You can bring it if that’s a rule, but the bed’s big enough. I want to know when she can get out of here.”
“She can be released tomorrow. She’ll require some follow-ups as an outpatient, and there are some instructions she—and you—will need to follow.”
“Whatever it takes. I need to get a hotel. I need a good, secure hotel where she’ll feel safe. A two-bedroom, for when my parents get here, with a sitting room or whatever. We’ll need a place to sit together, talk together.”
“I was about to arrange a room at the Palace,” Eve told her. “It’s very secure. I can make it to accommodate what you need. Your sister has a debit card for—”
“From him?” Tish’s damp eyes went hard as stone. “From Strazza?”
“From the lawyer in charge of his estate.”
“We don’t want it. We won’t take anything from him. I’ll use my card to secure the room. Fuck him—not the lawyer, though if he’s Strazza’s lawyer he probably deserves a few fucks. We’ll pay our own way.”
“I can secure the room,” Eve said evenly. “Just give my name at the desk along with yours.”
“I appreciate it. I appreciate, very much, what you’ve done for Daphne, both of you. I’m glad he’s dead. I’ll be glad he’s dead for the rest of my life.”
She glanced toward the door. “There’s one more thing. Is there a way I can get her another pair of pajamas? He made her wear white.” She turned back, face set. “I’d like to get her another pair to wear tonight. I don’t care what color, I don’t care if they’re covered with pictures of three-headed sheep. Just not white.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Del told her.
“Solid. Oh, yeah, one more thing. Pizza and ice cream. Any way to make that happen?”
“There’s absolutely a way to make that happen.”
“Mag.” Tish took a long breath. “Good start. We’re going to take care of her. We’re going to get her through.”
When Tish went back in, Eve thought, yes, they would.
* * *
Tired from the marrow out, she drove home. She’d recharge, she promised herself. Coffee, lots of coffee would pump her right back up.
She had items checked off her list. The Miras’ security—thanks to Roarke—was beefed up. Daphne Strazza and family had rooms waiting for their arrival the next day. And she had a theory to follow right down the line.
Multiple theories, she admitted, and felt fatigue fall over her as she drove through the gates.
Can’t let up, she thought, not on this one. So many reasons she couldn’t let up, reasons she wasn’t sure she could adequately explain to anyone.
She left the car, went in the house. Found annoyance on the heels of relief when neither Summerset nor the cat waited. Where the hell were they? She’d have dug up a decent insult. She was tired, not brain-dead.
She walked upstairs, decided to go straight to her office. If she went to the bedroom first, that big, wonderful bed might tempt her to take a nap.
No time for naps.
She heard Roarke’s voice coming from his adjoining office, turned that way.
He’d snazzed his space up, too, and right now had the dual-sided fireplace he shared with her snapping. He sat at his own command center—sleek, powerful black—talking on an ear-link while a holo of some sort of … mechanical-like thing circled slowly and his wall screen ran with numbers, figures, maybe equations.
Galahad sprawled over one of the legs of the command center, tail switching as he eyed the holo.
She gave Roarke a half salute, stepped back into her own space.
For a moment she just stood, staring at her board, staring at the dead, the blood, the cruelty.
Grimly, she tossed her coat aside, the scarf and cap with it, and began the work by adding the last victims to the board. Then the crime scene photos, the ME’s findings, the lab results—no hair, no fibers, no DNA.
She expanded the board—a handy new feature—and put up ID shots and data of the couples interviewed that day. She looked over as Roarke walked in, the cat padding ahead of him to greet her with body rubs.
“You looked busy,” she said.
“Just a few final touches on the meeting I was in when you contacted me earlier.”
“I’m sorry to add more stuff to your day.”
“Why? It all gets done, doesn’t it? Dennis was a bit baffled and more than fascinated with the new toys I added to their system. Our Mira was initially annoyed you’d … add stuff to my day and your own, but she came around.
“And you, Lieutenant,” he continued as he went to her, skimming a finger down the dent in her chin, “look tired.”
“It’s not that kind of tired.”