eyes.
She’d floated through them, dream to dream, a voice, an image, a memory.
In the car with Roarke, stopped in the driveway, falling on each other, tearing clothes, desperate, insane to feel, needing him inside her, pounding, pounding, as if her life depended on it.
And neither of them aware Barrow had planted that subliminal command, that life-or-death desperation to mate.
In the closet, at the party, and she injured and bruised. Roarke pushing her against the wall, tearing into her with no care, driven to the wild and feral by that same planted seed.
“Ssh, just a dream.”
Somewhere outside that dream she heard him, felt him soothing her, stroking all that hurt and insult away again.
That’s what Barrow had done, to both of them. That’s what Bastwick had defended.
And worse. Worse.
Mathias, hanged by his own hand, Fitzhugh bathed in his own blood. Devane, throwing her arms out, embracing death as she threw herself off the ledge of the Tattler Building.
He hadn’t used what had done that to them – someone else had – but he’d created it. For money, for profit, for power.
And Roarke, Roarke had very nearly been next. The trap had been laid, the seed waiting to be planted for him to take his own life.
And Bastwick had defended.
“I do my job, you do yours, correct, Lieutenant?”
In the packed courtroom, faces strange and familiar looked on as Bastwick rose from the defense table. She wore one of her sharp, lawyerly suits, bold red, perfect cut, with high, high heels in a steely metallic gray that would catch the eye. A subtle method of drawing attention to her legs. Her hair swept back from her coolly beautiful face, a sleek blond roll just above the nape of her neck.
Eve sat in the witness chair. A wide beam of sunlight poured through the window, flooding her. Behind her, oddly, a huge statue stood. Blind Justice with a smirk on her face.
“I’m doing mine,” Eve responded.
“Are you? Are you, Lieutenant, or are you just looking for yet another way to seek revenge on my client, Jess Barrow?”
Bastwick swept her arm, and part of that flooding sunlight fell over Barrow. He sat at a control center, turning knobs, adjusting levers. He grinned, winked at Eve. “Hey, sugar.”
“You’re not in this,” she said to him. “Not this time.” She turned her attention back to Bastwick. “I’m looking for your killer.”
“Oh really? Then why waste time with Jess? He’s in prison because you coerced a confession out of him, after you physically assaulted him. Your husband assaulted him.”
“Didn’t you like the sex, Dallas?” Jess called out. “Can’t blame me for that.”
“The courts ruled on Barrow,” Eve said evenly. “You lost that one. Deal with it.”
“And now you’re looking for my killer? You hated me as much as you hate Jess. More.”
“Knowing you’re a stone-cold bitch, a manipulator, a liar? That isn’t the same as hating you. And either way, I’ll do my job.”
“What’s your job?”
“Protecting and serving the people of New York.”
Bastwick slammed her hands down on the rail in front of Eve as blood welled in the thin wound in her throat.
Eve heard Blind Justice chuckle as if quietly amused.
“Does it look like you protected me?”
“I’ll protect and serve by getting your killer off the street. I’ll protect and serve by doing whatever I can to identify and apprehend your killer.”
“We already know who killed me. Everyone here knows who’s responsible for my death. You killed me.” Dramatically, she swung toward the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Lieutenant Eve Dallas killed me.”
Yes, familiar faces in the jury box, Eve noted. Faces of those, like Barrow, she’d helped put away.
Reanne Ott – the one who had used Barrow’s program to kill; Waverly, who’d killed in the name of medical advancement; the Icoves, of course; Julianna Dunne. Put you away twice, Eve thought.
Others, others who’d killed for gain, for
She’d floated through them, dream to dream, a voice, an image, a memory.
In the car with Roarke, stopped in the driveway, falling on each other, tearing clothes, desperate, insane to feel, needing him inside her, pounding, pounding, as if her life depended on it.
And neither of them aware Barrow had planted that subliminal command, that life-or-death desperation to mate.
In the closet, at the party, and she injured and bruised. Roarke pushing her against the wall, tearing into her with no care, driven to the wild and feral by that same planted seed.
“Ssh, just a dream.”
Somewhere outside that dream she heard him, felt him soothing her, stroking all that hurt and insult away again.
That’s what Barrow had done, to both of them. That’s what Bastwick had defended.
And worse. Worse.
Mathias, hanged by his own hand, Fitzhugh bathed in his own blood. Devane, throwing her arms out, embracing death as she threw herself off the ledge of the Tattler Building.
He hadn’t used what had done that to them – someone else had – but he’d created it. For money, for profit, for power.
And Roarke, Roarke had very nearly been next. The trap had been laid, the seed waiting to be planted for him to take his own life.
And Bastwick had defended.
“I do my job, you do yours, correct, Lieutenant?”
In the packed courtroom, faces strange and familiar looked on as Bastwick rose from the defense table. She wore one of her sharp, lawyerly suits, bold red, perfect cut, with high, high heels in a steely metallic gray that would catch the eye. A subtle method of drawing attention to her legs. Her hair swept back from her coolly beautiful face, a sleek blond roll just above the nape of her neck.
Eve sat in the witness chair. A wide beam of sunlight poured through the window, flooding her. Behind her, oddly, a huge statue stood. Blind Justice with a smirk on her face.
“I’m doing mine,” Eve responded.
“Are you? Are you, Lieutenant, or are you just looking for yet another way to seek revenge on my client, Jess Barrow?”
Bastwick swept her arm, and part of that flooding sunlight fell over Barrow. He sat at a control center, turning knobs, adjusting levers. He grinned, winked at Eve. “Hey, sugar.”
“You’re not in this,” she said to him. “Not this time.” She turned her attention back to Bastwick. “I’m looking for your killer.”
“Oh really? Then why waste time with Jess? He’s in prison because you coerced a confession out of him, after you physically assaulted him. Your husband assaulted him.”
“Didn’t you like the sex, Dallas?” Jess called out. “Can’t blame me for that.”
“The courts ruled on Barrow,” Eve said evenly. “You lost that one. Deal with it.”
“And now you’re looking for my killer? You hated me as much as you hate Jess. More.”
“Knowing you’re a stone-cold bitch, a manipulator, a liar? That isn’t the same as hating you. And either way, I’ll do my job.”
“What’s your job?”
“Protecting and serving the people of New York.”
Bastwick slammed her hands down on the rail in front of Eve as blood welled in the thin wound in her throat.
Eve heard Blind Justice chuckle as if quietly amused.
“Does it look like you protected me?”
“I’ll protect and serve by getting your killer off the street. I’ll protect and serve by doing whatever I can to identify and apprehend your killer.”
“We already know who killed me. Everyone here knows who’s responsible for my death. You killed me.” Dramatically, she swung toward the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Lieutenant Eve Dallas killed me.”
Yes, familiar faces in the jury box, Eve noted. Faces of those, like Barrow, she’d helped put away.
Reanne Ott – the one who had used Barrow’s program to kill; Waverly, who’d killed in the name of medical advancement; the Icoves, of course; Julianna Dunne. Put you away twice, Eve thought.
Others, others who’d killed for gain, for
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