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“It’s been a long few days.”
“That’s no excuse. It’s not even a reason.”
“Fine. Give me one.”
“She wept in my arms yesterday. I knew you considered her a suspect, and a part of me wondered, even as she wept in my arms, if she’d had some part in what happened to Bart. More, from what I’ve gathered, she was very likely lying on the floor, alone, broken, bleeding while we were on a rooftop drinking champagne.”
“You’re too close to it.”
“I am. You’re quite right about that, and I can’t fully explain, even to myself, why that is. But I can’t step back. Those might be reasons, Eve, but they’re still not excuses for slapping at you that way, for doing that because I knew you’d take it, could take it.”
“You hurt me.”
“Oh God. I know it.” He took her arms then, lightly. “You know me. You’ll have the satisfaction of being absolutely sure I’ll suffer for knowing it.”
“You weren’t altogether wrong.”
“I was, altogether and completely wrong.”
“No. Whatever I think about that.” She nodded toward the screen. “About any of it, all of it, I have to maintain. It’s not a shagging game for me, but it is for him. I have to calculate how he thinks so I can stop him.”
“I know how you think, and I know how much you care. I can only tell you again I’m sorry.”
She looked into his eyes, felt some of the sickness in her belly recede. “I’ve said things before designed to hurt you. You forgave me.”
“
I did, yes. I will again, no doubt.”
“So, let’s put it aside. You get a big black mark on the asshole side of the column.”
He smiled, pressed his lips to her brow. “What’s the score so far?”
“We’re neck-and-neck in that area.”
“You’d best check those stats. I really think you’re ahead.”
“You want another big black mark?”
“I don’t.” He drew her in, letting out a breath when she relaxed against him. “This is better.”
She turned her head so they watched the screen together.
“Why was she a target?” Roarke asked her.
“Because he doesn’t consider anyone indispensable but himself. He’s going to run the show now, and nobody’s going to slip ahead of him, the way Bart did. It probably felt good to soak up all that sympathy over Bart, and exciting to have the cops taking a look at him. Part of the game, and he’s racking up the points, anticipating the next moves.”
She glanced at Roarke. “That’s the way it is for him.”
“Yes. I know it. You’re right.”
“He’s a gamer, so he’d look at what was on the board. Players, scenarios, options. Cill? She was angry, depressed, taking it harder, at least on the outside, than anyone. It made her more vulnerable. She’s the most in tune, it feels to me, with the other staff. And being an attractive female, may be the most logical next public face for the company. He wants that for himself. And he has a taste for it now. That human nature thing.”
She eased back a little. “I’ve got some technical questions, and they may be way out of orbit, but—” She broke off as on-screen the medical team began to move quickly. “Something’s wrong. Something’s gone wrong.”
Roarke ordered the screen to zoom in, enhance. “Her blood pressure’s dropping. Look at the monitor. It’s bottoming out. They’re losing her.”
“Goddamn it, goddamn it. She’s got to fight! Does she want to stay alive or not?”
