In Death 02 - Glory in Death

don't doubt it for a moment. But at what cost to yourself?"
    "The cost would be higher if I didn't do it. I'm going to find who killed these women. Then it'll be up to someone like Cicely Towers to put them away." Eve tucked the disk in her bag. "There's a connection you left out, Dr. Mira. Something these two women had in common." Eve's eyes were hard and cold. "Family. Both of them had close family that was a large and important part of their lives. I'd say that lets me out as a possible target. Wouldn't you?"
    "Perhaps. Have you been thinking of your family, Eve?"
    "Don't play with me."
    "You mentioned it," Mira pointed out. "You're always careful in what you say to me, so I must assume family is on your mind."
    "I don't have family," Eve shot back. "And I've got murder on my mind. If you want to report to the commander that I'm unfit for duty, that's just fine."
    "When are you going to trust me?" There was impatience, for the first time in Eve's memory, in the careful voice. "Is it so impossible for you to believe that I care about you? Yes, I care," Mira said when Eve blinked in surprise. "And I understand you better than you wish to admit."
    "I don't need for you to understand me." But there were nerves in Eve's voice now. She heard them herself. "I'm not in Testing or here for a therapy session."
    "There are no recorders on here." Mira set her tea down with a snap that had Eve jamming her hands in her pockets. "Do you think you're the only child who lived with horror and abuse? The only woman who's struggled to overcome it?"
    "I don't have to overcome anything. I don't remember -- "
    "My stepfather raped me repeatedly from the time I was twelve until I was fifteen," Mira said calmly, and stopped Eve's protest cold. "For those three years I lived never knowing when it would happen, only that it would. And no one would listen to me."
    Shaken, sick, Eve wrapped her arms around her body. "I don't want to know this. Why are you telling me this?"
    "Because I look in your eyes and see myself. But you have someone who'll listen to you, Eve."
    Eve stood where she was, moistened her dry lips. "Why did it stop?"
    "Because I finally found the courage to go to an abuse center, tell the counselor everything, to submit to the examinations, both physical and psychiatric. The terror of that, the humiliation of that, was no longer as huge as the alternative."
    "Why should I have to remember it?" Eve demanded. "It's over."
    "Why aren't you sleeping?"
    "The investigation -- "
    "Eve."
    The gentle tone had Eve closing her eyes. It was so hard, so trying, to fight that quiet compassion. "Flashbacks," she murmured, hating herself for the weakness. "Nightmares."
    "Of before you were found in Texas?"
    "Just blips, just pieces."
    "I can help you put them together."
    "Why should I want to put them together?"
    "Haven't you already started to?" Now Mira rose. "You can work with this haunting your subconscious. I've watched you do so for years. But happiness eludes you, and will continue to do so until you've convinced yourself you deserve it."
    "It wasn't my fault."
    "No." Mira touched a gentle hand to Eve's arm. "No, it wasn't your fault."
    Tears were threatening, and that was a shock and an embarrassment. "I can't talk about this."
    "My dear, you've already begun to. I'll be here when you're ready to do so again." She waited until Eve had reached the door. "Can I ask you a question?"
    "You always ask questions."
    "Why stop now?" Mira said and smiled. "Does Roarke make you happy?"
    "Sometimes." Eve squeezed her eyes shut and swore. "Yes, yes, he makes me happy. Unless he's making me miserable."
    "That's lovely. I'm very pleased for both of you. Try to get some sleep, Eve. If you won't take chemicals, you might use simple visualization."
    "I'll keep it in mind." Eve opened the door, kept her back to the room. "Thank you."
    "You're welcome."
    Visualization wouldn't be much help, Eve decided. Not after a rescan of autopsy reports. The apartment was too quiet, too empty. She was sorry she'd left the cat with Roarke. At least Galahad would have been company.
    Because her eyes burned from studying data, she pushed away from her desk. She didn't have the energy to seek out Mavis, and she was bored senseless with the video offerings on her screen.
    She ordered music, listened for thirty seconds, then switched it off.
    Food usually worked, but when she poked into the kitchen, she was reminded she hadn't restocked her AutoChef in weeks. The