“The choices she made were in direct opposition to his lifestyle, his, well, morals, if you wish. He’s a staunch believer in freedom of choice and expression. Still, I can’t imagine any father wanting his daughter to become a woman who sells herself for a living.”
“Wasn’t he involved in designing his father’s security for the last senatorial campaign?”
He took the vehicle up again, maneuvered it off the road, muttering something about a shortcut. In the time he took to skim through a glade of trees, over a few residential buildings, and down again onto a quiet suburban street, he was silent.
She stopped counting the traffic violations.
“Family loyalty transcends politics. A man with DeBlass’s views is either well loved or well hated. Richard may disagree with his father, but he’d hardly want him assassinated. And as he specializes in security law, it follows he’d assist his father in the matter.”
A son protects his father, Eve thought. “And how far would DeBlass go to protect his son?”
“From what? Richard is a moderate’s moderate. He maintains a low profile, supports his causes quietly. He—” The import of the question struck. “You’re off target,” Roarke said between his teeth. “Way off target.”
“We’ll see.”
The house on the hill looked peaceful. Under the cold blue sky, it sat serenely, warmly, with a few brave crocuses beginning to peep out of the winter stung grass.
Appearances, Eve thought, were deceiving more often than not. She knew this wasn’t a home of easy wealth, quiet happiness, and tidy lives. She was certain now that she knew what had gone on behind those rosy walls and gleaming glass.
Elizabeth opened the door herself. If anything, she was paler and more drawn than when Eve had last seen her. Her eyes were puffy from weeping, and the mannishly tailored suit she wore bagged at the hips from recent weight loss.
“Oh, Roarke.” As Elizabeth went into his arms, Eve could all but hear the fragile bones knocking together. “I’m sorry I dragged you out here. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“Don’t be silly.” He tilted her face up with a gentleness that tugged at the heart Eve was struggling to hold distant. “Beth, you’re not taking care of yourself.”
“I can’t seem to function, to think, or to do. Everyt
hing’s crumbling away at my feet, and I—” She broke off, remembering abruptly that they weren’t alone. “Lieutenant Dallas.”
Eve caught the quick accusation in Elizabeth’s eyes when she looked at Roarke. “He didn’t bring me, Ms. Barrister. I brought him. I received a call this morning from this location. Did you make it?”
“No.” Elizabeth stepped back. Her hands reached for each other, twisted. “No, I didn’t. It must have been Catherine. She arrived here last night, suddenly. Hysterical, overwrought. Her mother has been hospitalized, and the prognosis is poor. I can only think the stress of the last few weeks has been too much for her. That’s why I called you, Roarke. Richard’s at his wit’s end. I don’t seem to be any help. We needed someone.”
“Why don’t we go in and sit down?”
“They’re in the parlor.” In a jittery move, Elizabeth turned to look down the hall. “She won’t take a sedative, she won’t explain. She refused to let us do more than call her husband and son and tell them she was here, and not to come. She’s frantic at the idea they might be in some sort of danger. I suppose what happened to Sharon has made her worry more about her own child. She’s obsessed with saving him from God knows what.”
“If she called me,” Eve put in. “Then maybe she’ll talk to me.”
“Yes. Yes, all right.”
She led the way down the hall, and into the tidy, sunwashed parlor. Catherine DeBlass sat on a sofa, leaning into her brother’s arms. Eve couldn’t be sure if he was comforting, or restraining.
Richard raised stricken eyes to Roarke’s. “It’s good of you to come. We’re a mess, Roarke.” His voice shook, nearly broke. “We’re a mess.”
“Elizabeth.” Roarke crouched in front of Catherine. “Why don’t you ring for coffee?”
“Oh, of course. I’m sorry.”
“Catherine.” His voice was gentle, as was the hand he laid on her arm. But the touch had Catherine jerking up, her eyes going wide.
“Don’t. What—what are you doing here?”
“I came to see Beth and Richard. I’m sorry you’re not well.”
“Well?” She gave what might have been a laugh as she curled into herself. “None of us will ever be well again. How can we? We’re all tainted. We’re all to blame.”
“For what?”