“Just blips, just pieces.”
“I can help you put them together.”
“Why should I want to put them together?”
“Haven’t you already started to?” Now Mira rose. “You can work with this haunting your subconscious. I’ve watched you do so for years. But happiness eludes you, and will continue to do so until you’ve convinced yourself you deserve it.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“No.” Mira touched a gentle hand to Eve’s arm. “No, it wasn’t your fault.”
Tears were threatening, and that was a shock and an embarrassment. “I can’t talk about this.”
“My dear, you’ve already begun to. I’ll be here when you’re ready to do so again.” She waited until Eve had reached the door. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You always ask questions.”
“Why stop now?” Mira said and smiled. “Does Roarke make you happy?”
“Sometimes.” Eve squeezed her eyes shut and swore. “Yes, yes, he makes me happy. Unless he’s making me miserable.”
“That’s lovely. I’m very pleased for both of you. Try to get some sleep, Eve. If you won’t take chemicals, you might use simple visualization.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” Eve opened the door, kept her back to the room. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Visualization wouldn’t be much help, Eve decided. Not after a rescan of autopsy reports.
The apartment was too quiet, too empty. She was sorry she’d left the cat with Roarke. At least Galahad would have been company.
Because her eyes burned from studying data, she pushed away from her desk. She didn’t have the energy to seek out Mavis, and she was bored senseless with the video offerings on her screen.
She ordered music, listened for thirty seconds, then switched it off.
Food usually worked, but when she poked into the kitchen, she was reminded she hadn’t restocked her AutoChef in weeks. The pickings were slim, and she didn’t have enough of an appetite to order in.
Determined to relax, she tried out the virtual reality goggles Mavis had given her for Christmas. Because Mavis had used them last, they were set for Nightclub, at full volume. After a hurried adjustment and a great deal of swearing, Eve programmed Tropics, Beach.
She could feel the grit of hot, white sand under her bare feet, the punch of the sun on her skin, the soft, ocean breeze. It was lovely to stand in the gentle surf, watch the swoop of gulls, and sip from an icy drink that carried the zing of rum and fruit.
There were hands on her bare shoulders, rubbing. Sighing, she leaned back into them, felt the firm length of male against her back. Far out on the blue sea a white ship sailed toward the horizon.
It was easy to turn into the arms that waited for her, to lift her mouth to the mouth she wanted. And to lie on the hot sand with the body that fit so perfectly with hers.
The excitement was as sweet as the peace. The rhythm as old as the waves that lapped over her skin. She let herself be taken, shivered as the needs built toward fulfillment. His breath was on her face, his body linked with her when she groaned out his name.
Roarke.
Furious with herself, Eve tore off the goggles and heaved them aside. He had no right to intrude, even here, inside her head. No right to bring her pain and pleasure when all she wanted was privacy.
Oh, he knew what he was doing, she thought as she sprang up to pace. He knew exactly what he was doing. And they were going to settle it, once and for all.
She slammed the apartment door behind her. It didn’t occur to her until she was speeding through his gates that he might not be alone.
The idea of that was so infuriating, so devastating, that she took the stone steps two at a time, hit the door with a fresh burst of violent energy.
Summerset was waiting for her. “Lieutenant, it’s one twenty in the morning.”