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Is Professor Dennis Mira a suspect?
How long was Senator Mira tortured before his death?
Christ, she thought, Christ, what public had the right to know that? Which was exactly how she’d answered the question before she’d walked away.
Home, she told herself. Maybe a workout or a swim before she dug back into it. Just something to take the edge off the ugliness of the day.
A workout and a swim, she decided as she drove through the gates. Thirty minutes each. She could take an hour, then start back fresh.
Just seeing the house made her feel more centered. She didn’t know why the conversation with Gwen and Ned had left her so unsettled.
They hadn’t been beaten or brutalized. They’d grown up privileged. Nothing like her own experience. But she’d felt her own old dread rising up as she’d listened to them, greasy memories of fear, of helplessness.
She needed it gone.
She prepped herself as she parked. She could start getting it gone by exchanging swipes with Summerset. That should shove back the echoes.
But Summerset wasn’t in the foyer, and that threw her balance off even more. He was supposed to be there, lurking, sneering, making some lame-ass comment.
“Early,” she grumbled to herself as she went up the stairs. “Damn right I’m home early. I made a point of it so I could catch you crawling out of your coffin. That would’ve been a pretty good one. Now it’s wasted.”
She started to head for the bedroom, changed her mind, aimed for her office. She’d dump everything there, take the time to update her board. Then she could let things simmer in the back of her brain while she pounded out a few miles, swam a few l
aps.
She was still steps away from her office when she heard the humming. Female humming.
What the hell? One of the house droids she rarely, if ever, saw? Did they hum happy tunes?
She stepped into the doorway.
Not a droid, but a glam-type redhead with a tablet, prowling around her personal space humming that fucking happy tune.
And where was her board?
Who the hell was the woman in crotch-high stiletto boots walking around . . . and sitting her skinny ass on HER desk.
Eve flipped back her coat, laid her hand on the butt of her weapon.
“Who the hell are you?”
The redhead let out a quick squeal, bounced her skinny ass off the corner of the desk. She slapped a hand between her perky breasts and goggled at Eve.
“Oh God! You scared me.”
“Yeah?” Hand on her weapon, Eve stepped into the room. “Want to get really scared? You will be if I don’t have your name and how you got in here in ten seconds.”
“I’m Charmaine. You must be Lieutenant Dallas. It’s just lovely to meet you. I was just finishing up the measurements.”
“What measurements?”
“For the . . . I’m so flustered. You really did give me a scare. I’m not really supposed to say. Roarke’s just—”
And he walked in from his office. “Sorry about the interruption. If you’d . . . Eve.”
He noted her stance, the position of her hand, the look in her eye. And sighed. “You’re home early.”
“Yeah, how about that? Who’s this, what’s she doing in my office?”
