“Time doesn’t heal, whatever they say. It’s how we use the time that can heal.” He stroked her back, as Roarke often did, and tears burned like embers in her throat.
“You sit now, sit right here, and wait. I’ll only be a minute.”
“I should go.”
He eased her back into the chair, touched a hand briefly to her cheek. “Sit right there.”
She did what he told her, struggled to find her balance again when he left the room. She had believed Mira would have told him. She understood the confidentiality, but they’d been married forever. Didn’t that outweigh . . . ? Of course it didn’t.
She closed her eyes, forced herself to take slow breaths.
And both the Miras would understand and respect that.
Now she’d unloaded more of a burden on a man who was already grieving. She needed to get things back on course, then get back to work.
He came back—misbuttoned sweater, house skids, and carrying two delicate cups in their delicate saucers. Tears pressed viciously at the back of her eyes just from looking at him.
“We’ll have this very nice tea, with a healthy dollop of brandy. It helps.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him she didn’t like tea, or brandy, so took the cup.
“Drink now.”
She obeyed, and discovered whatever magic he’d put into the cup was like a warm stroke on the spirit. She drank some more.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mira. This isn’t about me. I only wanted to reassure you I’ll do everything I can to find the women who killed your cousin.”
“I never doubted that. There’s no need to explain, and you don’t have to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable. I’d like to ask, if you can answer. Where was your mother?”
“She was as bad as he was. Maybe worse. She hated me. She left. She’s dead. I didn’t kill her. I killed him, but I didn’t kill her.” She closed her eyes. “Christ.”
“Do you think I’d judge you? My brave girl, I think you judge yourself far too harshly.”
“No—I—I did what I had to do. I know that.”
“But this investigation brings it back, and still you don’t set it aside. You could.”
“If I did that, he wins. If I did that, I don’t deserve the badge.”
“Far too harshly,” Dennis said quietly. “Will you tell me how old you were?”
“They said I was eight. When they found me, after, they said I was eight. They didn’t know who’d raped me or broken my arm, they didn’t know I killed him. Well, Homeland did—it’s complicated—but the police, the doctors, they didn’t know. And I didn’t—wouldn’t remember. I shut it all away.”
Those kind, kind eyes never left her face.
“A healthy response, I think. Just a child. A child should never have to defend herself from her father. A father should never prey on his own child. Biology, that’s simply science, isn’t it? There’s more in the world than science, more inside the human heart than DNA and genes. He was never your father in the true sense. I hope you can understand that.”
The simple heart of it all, she thought. Of course he would find the simple heart of it all.
“Been working on that for a while.” Finish it, she told herself, and move on. “He always locked me up—they didn’t give me a name, I was a thing. He kept me locked up whenever he went out. I don’t remember the first time he raped me. They’re all blurred together, except the last time. He came home—we were in Dallas, that’s where Child Services got my name. And he was drunk, but not enough. He hit me, knocked me down. I fought him, and it made it worse. He broke my arm. I could see the pain, the blinding white flash of it. There was a little knife I’d dropped. I’d been sneaking something to eat while he was gone. I was so hungry. And my fingers found the knife. I used it, and I kept using it until I was covered in his blood. Until he was dead. It was just a little knife. I guess I got lucky, hit some arteries.
“Anyway.” She took a breath, drank more tea. “They found me in an alley. I’d gotten out, wandered off. I didn’t remember any of it.”
“But you remember now?”
“It came back a few years ago. I’d have flashes, some nightmares, some memories—but I could shut them down. And a few years ago it all came back. Dr. Mira . . . she’s helped me. Even when I didn’t want her to.”
“Of course. She’s brilliant and beautiful, and cares deeply for you. And Roarke? Have you told him?”