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“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 lips on 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 you.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m a little pissed you maneuvered me into this.”
“All right, I won’t thank you. I’m a little pissed I had to maneuver you into it. Let’s go sleep it off. I’ll have you up early enough,” he began as she started to protest. “You can go over what you’ve got, and what I dug out for you well before the briefing. You’ll need a booster if you don’t get a few hours down. You hate taking them almost as much as you hate losing … let’s call it a debate, with me.”
He had that right. “Five-thirty should do it.”
“Five-thirty then.”
Without discussion, they walked to the bedroom. In silence they readied for bed. She slipped in, shut her eyes. And saw his face—the worry, the temper, the misery. Heard all that as she replayed his words to her.
“I know this is hard for you,” she said in the dark. “I’m sorry.”
His arm came around her. “I know it’s hard for you to talk of it even to someone you trust as you trust Mira. I’m sorry.”
“Okay. But I’m still a little pissed.”
&
nbsp; “It’s all right. So am I.”
She turned to him, curled to him, and let herself sleep.
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