Delusion in Death by J. D. Robb Page B

while the blood fountaining out of her throat spattered faces, walls, furniture.
    “Want to play?” Richie asked Stella.
    “We got twelve minutes.”
    “Why wait?”
    She shrugged, tossed back the rest of her drink. Together they turned to Eve.
    “Time for some payback,” Stella said.
    Eve pulled her weapon, stunned them, and again, but they kept coming.
    “Can’t kill what’s dead. You have to live with it.” Stella, hands curled like claws, leaped first.

    She fought for her life, for her sanity. Slipping on the bloody floor, kicking out, crying out when her arm twisted under her. The pain spiked. She could all but hear the bone snap as it had when she’d been a child.
    Her mind screamed, Wake up! Wake up!
    Then she heard him, calling to her. Felt him, soothing her.
    And turned her face into Roarke’s chest.
    “Come back now, all the way, Eve. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
    “I’m okay. I’m all right.”
    “You’re not, but I have you.”
    She kept her eyes closed. Just to smell him instead of the blood and Stella’s heavy perfume. Clean and hers. Roarke.
    “It got mixed up, that’s all. I let it get mixed up.”
    The cat bumped at her hip. More comfort. She made herself breathe until breathing no longer scored her lungs. And opening her eyes realized they were on the floor of her office, with Roarke cradling her in his lap.
    “God. Did I hurt you?” She shoved back, panicked as she thought of how she’d clawed at him in Dallas in the throes of a violent nightmare.
    “No. Don’t worry. Here now, just rest easy a minute.”
    “I let them in. I let it happen.” It infuriated her, disgusted her. Terrified her. “I shouldn’t be thinking about them.”
    “Bollocks to that.” Now he drew her back, and she saw there was more than concern on his face. There was temper, ripe and ready. “I can count the number of easy nights you’ve had since we got back from Dallas on my fingers. And it’s getting worse, not better.”
    “It was a hard day, and—”
    “Bloody bullshit, Eve. It’s enough. More than enough. It’s past time you talked with Mira about this, and seriously.”

    “I can deal with it.”
    “How, and for Christ’s sake why?”
    “I don’t know how.” She shoved away because she felt tears burning her eyes. She’d be damned if she’d cry now, like the weak, like the helpless. “I did it before, with him. This had stopped. I made it stop. I can do it again.”
    “And until, you’ll suffer like this? For what purpose?”
    “It’s my mind, my problem. I told you I’d talk to her, but I’m not ready. Don’t push me.”
    “Then I’ll ask. If you won’t do this for yourself, do it for me.”
    “Don’t use my feelings to manipulate me.”
    “It’s what I have, and they’re my own. I’m as honest and true as I’ve ever been with you, Eve, when I tell you this is killing me.”
    Her belly, already raw, trembled. Because she saw, too clearly, he spoke the truth. “I said I’d talk to her. I will.”
    “When?”
    “I can’t get into this now.” Leave it alone. Push it back. “Jesus, Roarke, look at those boards, at those faces.”
    He took her shoulders. “Look at me. And let me tell you what I’m looking at. You’re pale and shadowed. You’re still trembling. So look at me, Eve, and understand I love you beyond anything and everything there is. And I need this from you.”
    She preferred the temper. Temper she could fight. But he defeated her with the restrained—although barely—calm. And the utter misery in his eyes.
    “I’ll talk to her.”
    “Tomorrow.”
    “I have to—”
    “Tomorrow, Eve. I want your word on it. For me.” He laid his lipson her forehead. “And for them,” he added, turning her to face her victim board.
    He knew how to draw a weapon, and use it so skillfully you barely felt the blow. She’d beaten the tears, but she couldn’t beat him, not on this.
    “All right. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. My word on it.”
    “Thank