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Then the data from Feeney flashed on screen. Eve rolled her shoulders, hunkered down, and got to work.
At two, she walked into the Village Bistro. Her shirt was sticking to her back as the temperature control on her unit had once again died an unnatural death. The air inside the tony restaurant was ocean breeze cool. Soft, loving zephyrs flitted through, teasing the feathery palms, which grew in huge, white china pots. Glass tables were arranged on two levels, cleverly situated near a small, black water lagoon or in front of a wide-view screen of a white sand beach. Servers wore short uniforms in tropical hues and threaded their way through the tables with offerings of colorful drinks and artistically arranged dishes.
The maître d’ was a droid dressed in a flowing white jumpsuit and programmed with a snooty French accent. He took one look at Eve’s worn jeans and limp shirt and wrinkled his prominent nose.
“Madam, I am afraid we have no tables available. You would perhaps prefer the delicatessen on the next block north.”
“Yeah, I would.” Because his attitude annoyed her, she stuck her badge in his face. “But I’m eating here. I don’t give a shit if that puts your chips in a twist, pal. Where’s Dr. Mira’s table?”
“Put that away,” he hissed, looking everywhere at once and fluttering his hands. “Do you wish my customers to lose their appetites?”
“They’ll really lose them if I take my weapon out, which is what I’ll do if you don’t show me Dr. Mira’s table and see that I’ve got a glass of iced fizzy water in the next twenty seconds. Got that program?”
His lips clamped together and he nodded. Stiff-backed, he led the way up a swing of faux stone steps to the second level, and then onto an alcove fashioned to resemble an ocean terrace.
“Eve.” Mira rose immediately from her pretty table and took both of Eve’s hands. “You look wonderful.” To Eve’s faint surprise, Mira kissed her cheek. “Rested. Happy.”
“I guess I am.” After a brief hesitation, Eve leaned forward and touched her lips to Mira’s cheek in turn.
The droid had already snapped to a server. “Dr. Mira’s companion wishes a fizzy water.”
“Iced,” Eve added, curling her lip at the maître d’.
“Thank you, Armand.” Mira’s soft blue eyes twinkled. “We’ll order shortly.”
Eve took another quick scan of the restaurant, the diners in their summer pastels and pricey cottons. She shifted on her padded chair. “We could have met in your office.”
“I wanted to take you to lunch. This is one of my favorite spots.”
“The droid’s an asshole.”
“Well, perhaps Armand is a bit overprogrammed, but the food is wonderful. You should try the Clams Maurice. You won’t regret it.” She settled back when Eve’s water was served. “Tell me, how was your honeymoon?”
Eve gulped down half the water and felt human again. “Tell me how long I can expect people to ask me that question?”
Mira laughed. She was a pretty woman with soft sable hair swept back from a quietly attractive face. She wore one of her habitually elegant suits, this one in pale yellow. She appeared polished and tidy. She was one of the leading behavioral psychiatrists in the country, and was often consulted by the police about the most vicious crimes.
Though Eve was unaware of it, Mira’s feelings toward her were strong and deeply maternal.
“It embarrasses you.”
“Well, you know. Honeymoon. Sex. Personal.” Eve rolled her eyes. “Stupid. I guess I’m just not used it. To being married. To Roarke. To the whole business.”
“You love each other and make each other happy. There’s no need to get used to it, only to enjoy it. You’re sleeping well?”
“Mostly.” And because Mira knew her deepest and darkest secrets, Eve dropped her guard. “I still have nightmares, but not as often. The memories come and go. None of it’s as bad now that I’ve dealt with it.”
“Have you dealt with it?”
“My father raped me, abused me, beat me,” Eve said flatly. “I killed him. I was eight years old. I survived. Whoever I was before I was found in that alley doesn’t matter now. I’m Eve Dallas. I’m a good cop. I’ve made myself.”
“Good.” There would be more, Mira thought. Traumas such as the one Eve had lived through cast echoes that never completely faded. “You still put the cop first.”
“I am a cop first.”
“Yes.” Mira smiled a little. “I suppose you always will be. Why don’t we order, then you can tell me why you called.”
chapter eight
