In Death 16 - Portrait in Death

didn't have to; I was nothing to you then."
     
     
"You were a child, and that was enough. You were a child half-beaten to death, and that was too much."
     
     
"For you." Emotion all but strangled him. "You took care of me, and you taught me. You gave me something I'd never had, never expected to. You gave me a home, and a family. And when they took part of that family away, when they took Marlena, the best of us, you could have blamed me. Cast me out. But you never did."
     
     
"You were mine by then, weren't you?"
     
     
"God." He had to take a breath, a careful one. "I suppose I was."
     
     
Needing to move, Roarke got to his feet. With his hands in his pockets he watched a small fountain gurgle to life above a riot of lilies. He watched the cool water until he was calm again.
     
     
"When I decided to come here, wanted to make my home here and asked you to come, you did. You left the home you'd made for the one I wanted to make. I don't think I've ever told you that I'm grateful."
     
     
"You have told me. Many times and in many ways." Summerset laid his hands over the strong blue flower, looked out over the garden. The peace of it, and the beauty of it.
     
     
The world within a world the boy he'd watched become a man had created. Now that world had been shaken, and needed to be put steady again.
     
     
"You'll go back to Ireland. You'll have to go back."
     
     
"I will." Roarke nodded, unspeakably grateful to be understood without having said the words. "I will, yes."
     
     
"When?"
     
     
"Right away. I think it's best to go straight away."
     
     
"Have you told the lieutenant?"
     
     
"I haven't." Unsettled again, Roarke looked down at his own hands, ran the gold band of his marriage around his finger. "She's in the middle of a difficult investigation. This will distract her from it. I'd considered telling her I had business out of town, but I can't lie to her. It'll be simpler, I think, to make the arrangements, then tell her I'm going."
     
     
"She should go with you."
     
     
"She's not only my wife. Not even always my wife first." He angled his head, smiled a little. "That's something you and I might never see quite the same way."
     
     
Summerset opened his mouth, then shut it again. Deliberately.
     
     
"People's lives depend on her," Roarke said with some exasperation. "It's something she never forgets, and something I'd never ask her to put second. I can handle this on my own, and in fact, I think it's best I do."
     
     
"You were always one for believing you had to handle everything yourself. In that area, you and she are peas in a pod."
     
     
"Maybe." Because he wanted their faces on the same level, Roarke crouched. "Once, if you remember, when I was young and things were a bit tight for me, and the hate I felt for him still hot-running like some black river inside me-I told you I was going to take another name. That I wouldn't keep his. Wanted nothing of his."
     
     
"I remember. I think you were still shy of sixteen."
     
     
"You said: Keep it, the name's yours as much as his. Keep it, and make something of it, then it'll be all of yours and none of his. Start now. Didn't tell me what to make of it, did you?"
     
     
With a short laugh, Summerset shook his head. "I didn't have to. You already knew."
     
     
"I have to go back, myself, and find whatever it is she gave me. I have to know if I've made something of it, or have something yet to make. And I have to start now."
     
     
"It's difficult to argue with my own words."
     
     
"Still, I don't like leaving you before you're on your feet again."
     
     
Summerset made a dismissive sound. "I can handle this, and that irritating woman you've chained to me, on my own."
     
     
"You'll watch after my cop while I'm gone, won't you?"
     
     
"In my way."
     
     
"Well then." He got to his feet. "If you need me for anything... you'll be able to reach me."
     
     
Now Summerset smiled. "I've always been able to reach you."
     
     
***
     
     
Eve finished her oral report to Commander Whitney standing. She preferred that kind of formality in his office. She respected him for the kind of cop he was, and had been. Respected the lines of worry and authority that scored his wide, dark face.
     
     
Riding a desk hadn't made him soft, but had only toughened the muscles of command.
     
     
"There are some media concerns," he said when she'd finished. "Let's get them out of the way."
     
     
"Yes, sir."
     
     
"There have been some