In Death 14 - Reunion in Death

even close. I'm sitting here right under your nose, and you don't have a clue!"
    Infuriated, she threw the brush across the room. "We'll see what you have to say when that man you married falls dead at your feet. We'll see if you're so goddamn cocky when he's gasping for his last breath. We'll see how you like that! You keep right on chasing the trail on those two sorry old men. They meant nothing. It's you and yours, this time, Dallas. I'm taking you and yours down. It's payback time."
    She turned, comforting, soothing herself with her own reflection in the mirror. "But you're right about one thing, Dallas. Killing is what I do. And I do it very well."
    ...
    Smart, Roarke thought as he, too, watched his wife's interview. Very smart. Keep saying her name, the whole of it, so it becomes printed on the minds of everyone who hears it. And Nadine had done her part, flashing Dunne's various images on-screen.
    No one who would view the four-minute interview, which was being rebroadcast every ninety minutes, would forget Julianna Dunne.
    And the name and image of Eve Dallas would be similarly imprinted on Julianna Dunne's mind.
    She was trying to turn Dunne's focus onto her, Roarke concluded. To save another innocent. Even if that innocent was her own, far from pure husband.
    He had his own ideas about that, ideas they would undoubtedly clash over. But before it came to that, they would deal with the city of Dallas, and the memories that lived there still.
    A part of him was relieved she would go, that she would face this nightmare. It might not free her, but he could hope it would at least lighten the burden she carried with her every day of her life.
    But another part wanted her to turn away from it all, as she had turned away from it for so many years. Bury it deep, and look ahead.
    And he of all people knew that the past was always stalking your back like a great black dog. Ready to pounce and sink fangs into your throat just when you thought you were safe.
    Whatever he'd done to bury the past, it was never quite enough. It lived with him, even here in this grand house with all its treasures and comfort and beauty, the stink of Dublin's slums lived with him. Easier perhaps, he mused, than the past lived with his wife. His before was more like a poor and somewhat regrettable family relation that sat stubbornly in a corner and would never leave.
    He knew what it was like to be hungry and afraid, to feel fists pounding him. Fists from hands that should have tended him, embraced him as fathers were meant to embrace sons. But he'd escaped from that. Even as a child he'd had his means of escape. With friends, bad company, with enterprises that, while far from legal, were vastly entertaining. And profitable.
    He'd stolen, he'd cheated, he'd schemed. And though he'd never taken a life without cause, he'd killed. He'd built a name, then a business, then an industry. Then a kind of world, he supposed.
    He'd traveled and absorbed. He'd learned. And the boy who'd lived his life by wit and guile, by nimble fingers and quick feet became a man of wealth and power. A man who owned whatever he damn well wanted to own and had danced skillfully on the dark side of the law when it suited him.
    He'd had women, and some he'd cared for a great deal. But he'd been alone. He hadn't known how much alone until Eve. She'd shown him his own heart. It might have taken her longer to see it for herself, but she'd shown it to him.
    And the world he'd built, the man who'd lived in it, had changed forever.
    In a matter of hours, they would go back and face her past, the horrors of it. Together.
    From his console came a quick beeping indicating the security gate was open. He glanced at the panel, saw the identification for Eve's police vehicle.
    Then he walked to the window to watch her come home.
    ...
    Eve saw the two figures beneath the arching branches of one of the weeping trees as she rounded the first curve toward the house. Most of their bodies were sheltered by the ripe green leaves and fading blossoms.
    She punched the accelerator, and her weapon was in her hand before she saw who they were, and what they were doing.
    Peabody's parents stood under those fragrant limbs locked in a passionate embrace.
    Embarrassed amusement had her shoving her weapon back in its harness, and averting her eyes as she continued down the drive. She parked at the base of the steps because it served two purposes. It was convenient, and Summerset hated it. But her hopes