In Death 22 - Memory in Death

goddamn Trudy Lombard’s nose, gotten some little bit of her own back. She’d have been better for that. “She’ll never hurt you again.”
    Eve faced him now, eye to eye. “I fell apart. Disintegrated. I’m feeling just steady enough now for that
    to piss me off. The Icove case.”
    “What?”
    She lowered her head to her hands, rubbed them hard over her face before she lifted it again. “She said she’d seen me giving an interview about the Icove murders, the Quiet Birth fiasco. I asked how she’d found me, and she said she’d heard about the case.”
    He rolled his healing shoulder out of habit. “I doubt there’s anyone in the known universe who hasn’t by now. She came here, specifically, to see you?”
    “Said she wanted to catch up, see how I’d turned out. Wanted a nice reunion.” She was recovered
    enough that her tone was sour and cynical. It was music to Roarke’s ears.
    “She’s got her son and his wife with her, apparently. I kicked her out. At least I had enough left to do that. She gave me that look, that puzzled disappointmentwith the nasty edge just under it.”
    “You’ll want to make sure she goes away, stays away. I can”
    “No, I don’t.” She shoved back, stood up. “No, I don’t, and I don’t want you touching it. I want to forget this, forget her. Whatever jollies she thought she might get by taking me down some memory lane she’s swept and polished, she won’t get them. If Peabody had kept her nose out, I’d’ve been straightened out when you got home. We wouldn’t be having this discussion.”
    He waited a long minute, then rose as well. “And that’s how you’d have handled this? By telling me nothing?”
    “This one, yeah. It’s done, it’s over. It’s my problem. I let it twist me around. Now I’m untwisted. It doesn’t apply to us. I don’t want it to apply to us. If you want to help me out here, you’ll let it fade.”
    He started to speak, thought better of it, then shrugged. “All right, then.”
    But he took her shoulders, rubbed. He drew her in, and felt her body relax against his.
    She was more twisted up than she realized, he thought, if she believed the woman had tracked her across the country, across the years, for no real purpose.
    It was only a matter of time before that purpose became clear.
    “It’s going dark,” he murmured. “Holiday lights, on.”
    She turned her head on his shoulder, and together they studied the huge live pine in the window as the festive lights flashed on.
    “You always go overboard,” she said quietly.
    “I don’t think you can with Christmas, especially if you’re us, and had so many thin ones. Besides, it’s tradition for us now, isn’t it? A tree in the bedroom at Christmas.”
    “You’ve got a tree in nearly every room in the house.”
    He grinned at that. “I do, don’t I? I’m a slave to sentiment.” He kissed her, softly, then circled his arms around her again. “What do you say to a quiet meal up here? With no work for either of us. We’ll watch some screen, drink some wine. Make love.”
    She tightened her arms around him. She’d needed home, she thought, and here it was. “I’d say,
    ‘Thanks.’”
    * * *
    And when she was asleep, he left her, briefly, for his private office. He crossed the tiles, laid his hand
    on the palm print. “Roarke,” he said. “Power up.”
    As the console hummed, flickered with light, he used the house link to contact Summerset.
    “If anyone by the name of Lombard attempts to reach Eve here, put them through to me. Wherever I might be.”
    “Of course. Is the lieutenant all right?”
    “She is, yes. Thanks.” He clicked off, then ordered a search. It would take a bit of time to pinpoint
    where this Lombard was staying while in New York. But it was best, always best, to know the location
    of an adversary.
    He doubted it would be much longer before he knew just what the woman wantedthough he was
    dead certain he already knew.
    [“3”]3
    NORMAL, EVE THOUGHT, WHEN SHE STRAPPED on her weapon harness. She felt normal again. Maybe those whiners who were forever talking about expressing your feelings were onto something.
    God, she hoped not. If they were, she’d end up neck deep in mangled bodies.
    Regardless, she felt steadysteady enough to scowl at the nasty weather whirling outside the bedroom window.
    “What exactly do they call that business? ” Roarke asked as he stepped beside her. “It’s not snow, not rain, not even really sleet.