Every time she blinked, more appeared in the room.
Though she beat on that wall, shouted, no one heard, no one saw.
Everyone, everyone who mattered to her. But the one who mattered most.
“Where’s Roarke? Goddamn you, where’s Roarke?”
She rushed back—the figure on the bed. God, oh God.
The two men sat at a table, counting money with a mountain of it at their backs.
“You can never have too much of it, can you, Paddy?”
“No indeed, Richie, no indeed. And the getting more’s the fun of it.”
Shifting shadows. She started to call to Roarke, to swear to him she’d find a way to get to him. But when the shadows cleared, she didn’t see him. She saw herself, bound to the bed, struggling, terrified.
The red light blinked on and off, on and off as it had a lifetime before in a horrible room in Dallas.
“More fun this way.” Troy wagged a thumb to the next wall. “Look who’s joining the party.”
The moan rolled out of her soul. Roarke stepped in—everyone, everyone, everyone who mattered—with the suicide vest locked around him.
On a scream, she launched herself against the wall. She felt her arm break—the snap of a twig—and threw herself against the wall again.
“Roarke! Don’t, don’t, don’t. It’s a lie. Look at me. Roarke!”
Spiderweb cracks sizzled over the wall. As he reached for the button, she screamed again, reared back to charge through the cracks.
“Stop it now. You stop it. You need to wake up. Christ Jesus, Eve, you bloody well will wake up!”
She snapped back, saw his eyes. Just his eyes. On a choked sob she grabbed at him, pressed to him. “You can’t. You won’t. Swear you won’t. You have to swear to me.”
“Stop now, stop. It’s a dream, just a dream.”
“You can’t—You’re wet. Is that blood?” She shoved back, ran her hands over him.
“Of course it’s not blood. It’s only water. I was having a shower,” he said, calm and gentle as he stroked her back. “I heard you screaming. And now I’m dripping all over you. Let me get that throw over you.”
“Just hold on.” Shaking, she wrapped her arms around him again. “Just hold on.” The cat bumped his head against her so she reached down to try to soothe. But her hand shook violently.
“You need to slow down your breathing. Slow breaths, baby. A bad dream, nothing more. I’m right here. I’m just getting the throw. You’re freezing.”
“No, no. Don’t let go.”
“Look here, look at me now.” He tipped her head up. “A dream, all right? You understand me?”
“It felt real. I could feel . . .”
His heart squeezed when she gripped a hand on her own arm.
“Were you back in Dallas?”
“No. Yes. Not exactly.”
“You need to get warm, then you’ll tell me. Here now.” He pulled the throw over, wrapped it around her.
“You’re cold, too. And wet. I’m sorry.” She gathered the cat up, stroked him. “I’m sorry.”
“You hold on to him—you could both use it. I’ll get you a soother.”
“I don’t want a soother.”
“We’ll split one.”
She pressed her face to Galahad’s fur. “You need to get warm.”
“I’ll just get a towel, then we’ll split that soother and you’ll tell me.”
With her face still buried, she nodded.
He ordered the fire on as he walked to the bathroom, ordered the jets he’d left running to shut down. Then he dropped his forehead to the glass tiles and took his first true breath since he’d heard her scream.
Screaming, he thought, as if someone hacked at her with an axe. And so deep in that nightmare she’d been mired, he hadn’t been able to pull her out at first. She’d just screamed. Even when her eyes had flashed open, wide and blank, she’d screamed.
He dragged a hand through his dripping hair, grabbed a towel to drape over his hips and went back to her.
She hadn’t moved an inch.
He programmed the soother to split, brought the glasses over to sit on the bed with her again.
“Drink some, and tell me.”
She didn’t argue.
“I think I knew it was a dream at first. At first. It was a crime scene. The bodies—after the explosion—but all of them. Just all those pieces of people, and the white board with their names. All their names. I know their names.”
He took her hand, kissed it. “Yes.”
“Then I saw the two of them—black, white masks, talking—whispering. But I didn’t have my weapons. I didn’t have them, so I went at them to fight, to take them down, but . . . You couldn’t see the wall. I could see through it, and they were on the other side. I couldn’t get through the wall. They saw me, and I could hear them, and I knew . . .
“They took off the masks, but I already knew. Richard Troy and Patrick Roarke.”
Sorrow clouded his eyes as he stroked a hand on her cheek. “We’ll never altogether be done with them, will we?”
She shook her head, told him the rest.
“The room, the other room, so many people. Every time I looked, more people. But not you. I thought you were in the room with the two of them. A prisoner. And I would’ve gotten you out. I would’ve found a way.”
“Of course you would.” He kissed away the tears on her face. It broke his heart when she wept.
“But it wasn’t you.” She had to fight to breathe again, to hold back the horror. “When I could see through the shadows, it wasn’t you. It was me. And then I knew. I knew what they’d done. Then I saw you, in the room with everyone, everyone who matters. I saw you, and the vest.”
Because it threatened to swamp her again, she drank the last of the soother. “I screamed for you—you couldn’t hear me. I beat on the wall, and tried to break through. It started to crack, but you were reaching for the button. I had to get in, had to get in. If I couldn’t stop you . . . I couldn’t stand being without you. I can take anything, but I couldn’t take that. You have to swear to me.”
“A ghrá, it didn’t happen. And it won’t. Didn’t we already say we’d find another way?”
She gripped his hand until her knuckles went white. “You have to swear to me. You have to believe I’d find a way to get out, and swear to me you’d never push the button. Swear it.”
“And if it had been me, a prisoner?”
“You’d find a way.”
He leaned over, touched his lips to hers. “And there you have it, so I’ll say again what we said before. We’d find a way. I’ll swear to you, and you’ll swear to me. There’s trust between us, isn’t there? We’d find a way.”
“Yes.” She let out a breath. “Yes. I swear it.”
“And so do I. Those fucking bastards, and any like them? They won’t win. We won’t let them.”
She rested her head against his shoulder, and let it go.
“You were already up.”
“A holo conference. I’ll reschedule, and we’ll get a bit more sleep.”
Meaning, she knew, he’d put his work aside, stay with her in hopes she’d get more sleep.
“No, I’m getting up. I’ll feel better if I get going, get something done. You need to put on one of your emperor suits.” She ran a hand down his bare chest, felt his heartbeat. “I’m going to get a workout in, sweat the rest out of me.”
“All right then. I’ll be an hour or so,” he added as he moved to his closet.
She sat as she was, wrapped in the throw, holding the cat while he selected a suit. “You’re still a little pissed off, but now you’re worried on top of it. It’s hard to be both.”
Oh aye, his cop knew her nuances, he mused as he chose a shirt, gray as storm clouds. “I’ll manage.”
“Because you’re good at multitasking.”
“There is that,” he agreed, reaching for the tie he wanted that slashed bold blue over storm-cloud gray. He wandered closer to the bed as his clever fingers fashioned the tie into a perfect Trinity knot. “It’s also that over and under and through being a little bit pissed off and worried with it, I love you with all I am, and ever hope to be.”
Her eyes stung again, but she kept them trained on him. “There is that.”
He smiled, leaned down to brush his lips to hers. When her arms wrapped around him, he sat, drew her in. “Rescheduling’s not a problem.”
She shook her head, but burrowed for one more minute. “No, I’m good. Besides, you went from naked to god of all he surveys in about six and a half minutes.” Easing back, she tapped the complicated knot of the tie. “How’d you do that without even looking?”
“Talent.”
“Well, go do your business god thing with your classy tie. I’ll see you in an hour or so.”
“Or so.” He pressed his lips to her brow, left her.
She sat another moment, stroking the cat into thunderous purrs. She’d told him she wanted a workout mostly to stop him from worrying. Still, maybe a good sweat would drown the dregs of the dream.
Rising, she knocked back a quick shot of coffee, pulled on a tank, baggy shorts, and running shoes while Galahad watched her.
“I’m fine,” she told him. “Or I will be. You could use a workout yourself, pudge boy.”
He blinked his bicolored eyes, rolled over to stretch out on his back. Cat of leisure.
She took the elevator down. In the gym she programmed the beach, took a minute to just bask in the sights, sounds, and feel of blue ocean, white sand. And with the surf rolling, she ran three miles full out. Somewhere in mile two, she stopped thinking.
With her skin cased in a good, heathy sweat, she guzzled water, then turned to weights, lifted until her muscles trembled.