In Death 18 - Divided in Death

for me to do that alone, in the quiet. I took a blocker yesterday, and I let Mira treat me when I went by her place. I’m not abusing or neglecting myself. But I have work. I need to do my job.”
    “You do, yes. You do.” There was a space, just under his tattered heart, that felt hollowed out. “I’m up early to catch up on a bit of my own.”
    She glanced up at him, then away with a small nod.
    So she wouldn’t ask, he realized, where he’d slept or what he’d been doing. She wouldn’t say what was so clearly in her eyes. That he was hurting her.
    “You’ve given a lot of time to this,” she said. “I know both Reva and Caro appreciate all you’re doing. So do I.”
    “They’re important to me. So are you.” And thought: Aren’t we polite? Aren’t we just fucking diplomats? “I know you need to work, as do I, but I need you to come in my office for a moment.”
    “If it could wait until—”
    “I think it best it doesn’t, for all involved. Please.”
    She rose and moved away from the desk without her coffee. A sure sign, he thought, that she was agitated. He led the way through the connecting door, then closed it, and called for a lockdown.
    “What is this?”
    “Given the circumstances, I prefer absolute privacy. I looked in on you last night. Must’ve been near to two. Your feline knight was guarding you.”
    “You didn’t come to bed.”
    “I didn’t. I couldn’t . . . settle. And I was angry.” He searched her face. “We’re both so angry, aren’t we, Eve?”
    “I guess we are.” Though anger seemed the wrong term somehow, and she thought he knew it as well as she did. “I don’t know what to do about it.”
    “You didn’t let me know when you got home.”
    “I didn’t want to talk to you.”
    “Well.” He drew a breath as a man did after a quick, surprising blow. “Well. As it happens, I didn’t want to talk to you either. So after I saw you were sleeping, I took myself off to the unregistered to do the business I needed to do.”
    Whatever color had still been in her cheeks drained now. “I see.”
    “Aye.” His eyes never left hers. “You see. You may wish you didn’t, but you do.” He unlocked a compartment with a quick play of fingers over a panel, and took from it a single disc.
    “I have here, the names, the whereabouts, the financials, the medicals, the professional evaluations, and all other matter of data on the field operative, his supervisor, the director of the HSO, and any who were attached to the task force involving Richard Troy in Dallas. There’s nothing about them that’s relevant—and quite a bit that likely isn’t—that’s not on this disc.”
    The weight dropped on her chest, pressing against her heart so she could hear the panicked beat of it roaring in her ears. “None of that changes what happened. Nothing you can do changes what happened.”
    “Of course it doesn’t.” He turned the disc in his hands, and its surface caught light and shot it out again. Like a weapon. “They’ve all had very decent careers, some more than decent. They continue to work, or consult, play golf or, in one case, squash, of all things. They eat and they sleep. Some cheat on a spouse, some go to church every bloody Sunday.”
    His gaze whipped up to hers, a bolt of blue. Another weapon. “And do you think, Eve, do you suppose any flaming one of them gives that child they sacrificed all those years back a single thought? Do they wonder, ever, if she suffers? If she wakes weeping in the dark?”
    Her head felt light now, and her knees weak. “What do I care if they think of me? It doesn’t change anything.”
    “I could remind them.” And his voice was utterly flat, more frightening than the hiss of a snake. “That would change something, wouldn’t it? I could remind them, personally, what they did by sitting back and leaving a child to defend herself against a monster. I could remind them how they listened and recorded and sat on their fat government asses while he beat and raped her, and she cried for help. They deserve to pay for that, and you know it. You bloody well do.”
    “Yes, they deserve to pay!” The words burst out, hot as the tears that burned behind her eyes. “They deserve it. Is that what you need to hear? They should fry in hell for what they did. But it’s not up to you, and it’s not up to me to send them there. If you do this thing, it’s murder. It’s murder, Roarke, and their blood on your hands changes