New York to Dallas

said the minute the door shut behind him. “We all know I have to go, so there’s no damn point in talking it all to death.”
    “And I’ll block you leaving New York unless you talk to me.”
    “You can’t.”
    Mira’s eyes, a mild, soft blue hardened to steel. “Don’t be so sure.”
    “You’d let him torture, dismember, kill an innocent woman so, what, I don’t experience some emotional trauma?” Eve shoved to her feet. “I’m a cop. It’s not your job to decide.”
    “It’s precisely my job,” Mira corrected with a rare flash of temper. “You didn’t blink. You didn’t hesitate. And you’d better do both now, here with me. Or would you rather bull forward and go, then find yourself unable to deal with it when that innocent’s—and your own—life is on the line? You were beaten and raped in Dallas.”
    “Chicago, too. I remember it some, and a couple other places. Do I have to give you a list of cities so you can clear my travel?”
    “You didn’t kill your abuser in Chicago. You were finally able to defend yourself in Dallas, a child of eight, who—covered with blood, her arm broken, her mind frozen in shock—wandered the streets.”
    “I know what happened. I was there.”
    “And blocked it out for years, protected yourself from the memories of years of abuse as best you could. Lived with nightmares.”
    “I don’t have them anymore. I dealt with it. They stopped.” Almost entirely.
    “Have you considered, even for a moment, what going back under these circumstances might mean? Going there, of all places, to hunt a man who abuses—physically, sexually, emotionally—children, just as your father did to you. Have you considered how this might affect you, personally and professionally?”
    “Do you think I want to go?” It burst out of her, a quick flood of anger and heat. “I went back once, to that room, to those streets, even to the alley where they found me. I got through that, and I promised myself I’d never go back. He’s dead here, and here,” she said, putting her hands on her head. “And I don’t know if going there will bring him back again. God, I don’t want to face that again, having him alive in my head. What do you expect me to do? Let her die because I’m afraid of him, of all of it?”
    “No.” Mira spoke quietly now. “I expect you to go, to do your job, to find him, and to stop him.”
    “You just wanted me to break down first?”
    “Yes, exactly. I care about you, Eve. You’re so much more to me than another case file. I care about you as I do about my own children, and am perfectly aware those feelings can and do make it difficult for both of us from time to time.”
    She let out a sound, a mix of sorrow and regret. “A mother protects her child above all. She also has to let her go, but not without being sure her child is prepared and armed and ready. If you couldn’t admit to yourself and to me those fears, those doubts, you couldn’t be ready. Now I can let you go, even wishing I could stop you.”
    “I don’t want to go.” The breath Eve let out scraped at her throat like nails. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”
    “I know. He’ll use whatever he knows about your history, like salt in a wound. He’ll play mind games, prodding where you’re most vulnerable. I need you to promise you’ll contact me if you need help.”
    Eve walked back, sat. “It makes it difficult from time to time, on my end, because my memories of a mother are twisted and ugly. She hated me. That’s the foremost memory I have of her. The hate in her eyes when she looked at me. So I don’t know how to respond when the offer of, I guess, a maternal type of affection and support is . . . pure or whatever.”
    “I understand that. It’s something we can delve into deeper when you’re ready.” Mira laid a hand over Eve’s. “Promise you’ll let me know if you need my help.”
    “I do. I will.”
    Rising, Mira started for the door, stopped. “You’re stronger than you were, and you were always strong. You’re smarter than you were, and you were always smart. You have more because you let yourself give and take more. He hasn’t changed since you stopped him. You have. Use that,” she said, and opened the door.
    “Commander,” Mira said when Whitney came back in. “In my opinion, Lieutenant Dallas is clear for this assignment.”
    “The choice is yours, Lieutenant.”
    “You know I’ve made it, sir.”
    “Very well. Lieutenant