He was stronger. Look at him now. Just look.
He did, turning to one of the walls of mirrors to admire his body. The sheer shape and strength. The perfection he’d worked so hard to achieve. He was a man.
“Do you see? Do you see what I am?”
He turned, holding out his arms, and a dozen pairs of eyes stared back at him as they floated in their jars.
They could see him now. She could see him. She had no choice but to look at him. Forever.
“What do you think now, Mother? Who’s in charge now?”
They were all hers. All those staring eyes. But she was still out there, judging him, ready with her punishing hand, her slashing belt. Ready to lock him in the dark so he couldn’t see. So he wouldn’t know.
He’d take care of that. Oh, yes, he would. He’d fix her little red wagon. He’d show her who was boss. He’d show all of them.
They’d pay. This mother’s son would make them pay, he thought as he stared back at the screen. He’d show them what he could do.
These three. He moved closer to the screen, gritting his teeth as he looked at Eve, at Peabody, at Nadine. They’d have to be punished. Sometimes you had to deviate from the plan, that’s all. So they’d have to be punished. You were punished when you were bad. You were punished when you were good.
He’d save the top bitch for last, that’s what he’d do. He smiled fiercely at Eve.
It was always smart to save the best for last.
It was a good meal, with good company. For nearly two hours, murder didn’t play in her head. She enjoyed, particularly, watching Roarke relate. The way he slid, so smoothly, between Charles’s urbane sophisticate and McNab’s street-smart wiseass. How he mixed with the women, flattering without being oily, flirting without being obnoxious.
Effortlessly. Or it seemed effortless. But wouldn’t he have things on his mind, too? The big wheels and complex deals that made up his work and a large part of his life. He would’ve spent the day buying and selling God knew what, coordinating and supervising projects she couldn’t begin to imagine. Taking meetings, making decisions, contemplating the enormous chessboard of his empire.
Then he could sit, over coffee and dessert, telling a story about some bar fight from his youth to make McNab roll with laughter, or exchanging opinions about great art with Charles.
On the way home, he reached over, brushed a hand over hers. “That was a very nice evening.”
“It didn’t even nearly suck.”
“High praise indeed.”
She laughed at herself, stretched out her legs. Somewhere along the line she’d taken his advice. She’d relaxed. And after she’d relaxed, damn if she hadn’t enjoyed. “I mean it.”
“Darling Eve, I know you do.”
“You’re a layered guy, Roarke.”
“I’m nothing if not.”
“I don’t know why I’m surrounded by smart-asses.”
“Birds of a feather.”
“Anyway,” she said after a beat. “It was educational to watch you schmooze.”
“I wasn’t schmoozing. Schmoozing is business, or business-related. This was personal and friendly conversation.”
“Ha. The things you learn.” She leaned her head back. She was tired, but she realized she wasn’t weighed down by fatigue. “There was a lot of conversation. And it wasn’t even boring or irritating.”
“God.” He picked up her hand, pressed it to his lips as he drove through the gates. “I adore you.”
“Lot of that going around tonight, too.”
“It was pleasant to spend time with two couples so obviously in love.”