In Death 20 - Survivor in Death

I was in, they’re nothing alike. Not even close. But--”
    “A young traumatized child.”
    “She had murder done around her. I did murder.”
    “Why do you call it murder?” Mira’s voice sharpened. “You know very well it was nothing of the kind. You were a child fighting for her life. If one of those men had found Nixie, and through some miracle she’d been able to kill him, save herself, would you call it murder? Lieutenant.”
    “No.” Eve closed her eyes, bore down before the image could form. “No. I know I did what I had to, like she did what she had to. I killed, she hid.”
    “Eve.” Her tone gentle now, Mira laid a hand on Eve’s cheek. “Eve. You had nowhere to hide.”
    “No, I had nowhere.” She had to step away from that touch, from that quiet understanding, or dissolve. “It’s good she did. Good she was smart enough to do what she did, strong enough to crawl through blood to survive.”
    “And so did you, so were you smart enough and strong enough. And terrified enough. You can’t help seeing yourself, as you were, when you deal with her.”
    “I did see myself. When I found her, huddled in that bathroom, blood all over her. For a minute, I saw myself in that fucking freezing room in Dallas. And I nearly walked away from her. Hell, I nearly ran away from her.”
    “But you didn’t. And what you felt is normal. What similarities you see--”
    “I’m projecting. I know the term.” She felt temper rise up in her, shoved it back. “I’m handling it. I’m telling you because I figure you should know there’s a thing. Off and on.”
    “And I expect you to tell me if it becomes too much to handle. For your sake as well as hers. At this point, I believe your empathy with her is helpful--for her. She senses it, and it adds to her sense of safety. You’re not just an authority figure. You’re her savior.”
    Eve turned to the door, opened it. “She saved herself.”
    After going back inside, Eve had to stand for a moment, orient herself and bring the location of the game room into her head.
    “If you need to talk about this further--”
    “I’ll let you know.” She closed the door on it. “This way. We keep her on monitor. Got a homer on her.”
    “No precaution is overdone, in my opinion.”
    “On authority figures, I talked with her legal guardians. Linnie Dyson’s parents. They’re still pretty torn up. I thought if you talked to them it might come easier than having a cop on their doorstep again.”
    “I’ll do what I can. It would be good for Nixie, certainly, to see them, to talk to them. And it would help them as well.”
    Eve paused. She could hear the beeps and bells of machines. They’d left the door to the game room open. “Listen, before you go in. Grabbing up Newman like that. It was ass covering, and a logical step. But it was strutting, too. Daylight, in front of witnesses. Pulling off something that risky, it’s going to juice you up. Coolheaded, cold-blooded, organized planners, sure, but you’re going to feel the juice.”
    “Those who, even routinely, perform in risky professions or situations get the adrenaline kick. It’s part of the reason they do what they do.”
    “And the more they get out of Newman, the bigger the rush.”
    “Yes.”
    Eve let out a deep sigh. “She’s dead, isn’t she? As soon as they determine they’ve gotten all the information out of her, there’s no reason to keep her alive.”
    “Unfortunately, I agree. You couldn’t have saved her.”
    “I could’ve thought ahead. I could’ve ordered this protection lockdown sooner on all connected parties. But I didn’t.” Restless, she moved her shoulders. “Hindsight doesn’t change anything, so I’ll think ahead now.”
    She gestured toward the room. “They’re in there. You can tell by the insanity of noise.”
    “You should come in with me. She needs to see you routinely,” Mira continued when Eve instinctively stepped back. “To remember me in connection to you, so that she’s comfortable with me. Once she’s seen you, you can go.”
    “All right. Jeez.”
    Nixie was standing on a stool and pushing the buttons for the flippers on a pinball machine. The one, Eve noted, with cops and robbers--Roarke’s particular favorite.
    Trueheart was cheering her on, and looked about two years older than his charge.
    “You got it now, you got it! Blast ‘em good, Nix. In pursuit, armed suspects! You rock.”
    The tiniest smile tugged at her cheeks, but her