Immortal in Death (18 page)

“Yes, I think that’s exactly the word. Why do you think you achieved intimacy with him?”

“He wouldn’t have it any other way. Because he…” She felt her eyes begin to tear and blinked them dry. “Because he opened something inside me I’d closed off. No, that had been scarred shut. Somehow, he took control of that part of me, or I let him have control of that part of me that died. That was killed when I was a child when…”

“You’ll feel better if you say it, Eve.”

“When my father raped me.” She let out a shuddering breath and the tears didn’t matter any longer. “He raped me, and he violated me, and he hurt me. He used me like a whore when I was too small and too weak to stop him. He would hold me down, or tie me up. He would hit me until I could hardly see, or he would hold his hand over my mouth so that I couldn’t scream. And he would push himself into me, and ram himself into me until the pain was almost as obscene as the act. And there was no one to help me, and nothing to do but wait for the next time.”

“Do you understand that you weren’t to blame?” Mira asked gently. When an abscess was finally lanced, she thought, one had to carefully, thoroughly, slowly, squeeze out all the poison. “Not then, not now, not ever?”

Eve used the back of her hand to wipe her cheeks dry. “I wanted to be a cop. Because cops have control. They stop the bad guys. It seemed simple. After I was a cop for a while, I began to see that there are some who always prey on the weak and the innocent.” Her breath steadied. “No, it wasn’t my fault. It was his, and the fault of the people who pretended not to see or to hear. But I still have to live with it, and it was easier to live with it when I didn’t remember.”

“But you’ve been remembering for a long time, haven’t you?”

“Bits and pieces. Everything before I was found in the alley when I was eight was just bits and pieces.”

“And now?”

“More pieces, too many pieces. And it’s clearer, closer.” She rubbed a hand over her mouth, deliberately lowered it to her lap again. “I can see his face. I didn’t used to be able to see his face. During the DeBlass case last winter — I guess there were enough similarities there to click. Then there was Roarke, and it all started to come back clearer and faster. I can’t stop it.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I’d wipe those eight years out of my mind if I could.” She said it viciously, felt it viciously. “They have nothing to do with now. I don’t want them to have anything to do with now.”

“Eve, as horrible as those eight years were, and as obscene, they formed you. They helped build your strength, your compassion for the innocent, your complexity, your resilience. Remembering, and dealing with those memories, won’t change what you are. I’ve often recommended you agree to autohypnosis. I no longer do. I believe your subconscious is letting these memories surface at its own pace.”

If that were so, Eve wanted the pace to slow, to let her breathe. “Maybe there are some things I’m not ready to remember. Still, it doesn’t stop. There’s a dream that keeps coming back. Just lately and constantly. There’s a room, a filthy room with this dull red light blinking in the window. Off and on. There’s a bed. It’s empty, but it’s stained. I know it’s blood. A lot of blood. I see myself curled in the corner on the floor. There’s more blood. I’m covered with it. I can’t see my face, it’s toward the wall. I can’t see clearly at all, but it has to be me.”

“Are you alone?”

“I think so. I can’t tell. I only see the bed, the corner, and that light blinking off and on. There’s a knife on the floor beside me.”

“There weren’t any stab wounds on you when you were found.”

Eyes hollow and haunted lifted to Mira’s. “I know.”

Eve expected the cold blast of Summerset’s disapproval when she walked into the house. She was used to it. She couldn’t explain what perverse streak she’d developed when she found herself disappointed that he didn’t greet her at the door with some snide comment.

She stepped into the parlor off the foyer, engaged the wall sensor. “Where is Roarke?”

ROARKE IS IN THE GYMNASIUM, LIEUTENANT. DO YOU WISH TO CONTACT?”

“No. Disengage.” She’d go see him herself. A good sweaty workout might be just what she needed to clear her mind.

She took the stairs behind the faux panel in the hallway, descended a level, and cut through the pool area with its black-bottomed lagoon and tropical greenery.

There was a whole world down here, she thought. Another of Roarke’s worlds. The lush pool with an overhead that could simulate starlight, sunshine, or moonbeams at the flick of a control; the holoroom where hundreds of games could be accessed to while away a slow night; a Turkish bath; an isolation tank; the target range; a small theater; and a meditation lounge superior to any offered in the pricey health spas on or off planet.

Toys, she supposed, for the rich. Or Roarke might call them survival tools — a necessary means of relaxation in a world that moved faster every day. He balanced relaxation and work better than she — Eve could admit that. Somehow he had found the key to enjoying what he had while protecting it and gathering more.

She’d learned quite a bit from Roarke over the past few months. One of the most important lessons was that there were times she had to push aside all the worries, the responsibilities, even the thirst for answers, and just be Eve.

That was what she thought of now as she slipped into the gym and coded the door to lock behind her.

He wasn’t a man to stint on his equipment, nor was he one to take the easy way and pay to have his body sculpted, his muscles toned, his organs flushed. Sweat and effort were as important to him as the gravity bench, the aqua track, or the resistance center. Because he was a man who appreciated tradition, his personal gym was also stocked with old-fashioned free weights, incline benches, and a virtual reality system.

He was using the first of those now, doing long, slow curls as he watched a monitor flash with some sort of schematic and spoke to someone on a head ‘link.

“Security’s a priority at the resort, Teasdale. If there’s a flaw, find it. And fix it.” He frowned at the screen, switched fluidly from curls to extensions. “You’ll simply have to do better. If you’re going to have cost overruns, you’ll have to justify them to me. No, I didn’t say excuse them to me, Teasdale. Justify them. Have a report transmitted to my office by oh nine hundred on-planet time. Disengage.”

“You’re tough, Roarke.”

He glanced around as the screen went dark, smiled at her. “Business is war, Lieutenant.”

“The way you play it, killer. If I were Teasdale, I’d be trembling in my gravity boots right now.”

“That’s the idea.” He set the weights down to take off the headset and put it aside. She watched him switch to the resistance center, set a program, and start on leg presses. Absently, she picked up a weight, worked on her triceps, and kept watching him.

The black sweatband gave him a warrior look, she thought. And the dark, sleeveless T-shirt and shorts showed off very attractive muscles and skin gleaming with honest sweat. She watched those muscles bunch, that sweat bead, and she wanted him.

“You’re looking pleased with yourself, Lieutenant.”

“Actually, I’m pleased with you.” She angled her head, let her gaze skim over him. “That’s quite a body you’ve got there, Roarke.”

His brow winged up as she strolled over, reached down to test his biceps. “Tough guy.”

He grinned up at her. She was in a mood, he could see. He just wasn’t sure what mood it was. “Want to see how tough?”

“Think I’m afraid of you?” With her eyes still on his, she stripped off her weapon harness, hung it over one of the bars. “Come on.” She walked over to a mat, curled her fingers in challenge. “See if you can take me down.”

Still prone, he studied her. There was something in her eyes other than challenge, he noted. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was lust. “Eve, I’m covered with sweat.”

She sneered. “Coward.”

He winced. “Let me grab a shower, then — “

“Chicken. You know, some men are still stuck in the mindset that a woman can’t go toe to toe on a physical level. Since I know you’re above that, I can only assume you’re afraid I’ll whip your ass.”

That did it. “End program.” Slowly he sat up and reached toward a stack of towels. He mopped his face. “Wanna fight? I’ll give you time to warm up.”

Her blood was already pumping. “I’m warm enough. Standard hand to hand.”

“No punching,” he said as he stepped onto the mat. At her derisive snort, he narrowed his eyes. “I’m not hitting you.”

“Right. Like you could get past my — “

He came in fast, caught her off balance, and sent her skidding on her butt. “Foul,” she muttered and swung up to the balls of her feet.

“Oh, now there’re rules. Just like a cop.”

They crouched, circled each other. He feinted, she stepped in. For ten interesting seconds, they grappled, her hands sliding off his slick skin. His quick leg hook would have worked if she hadn’t anticipated and gone in low. Using leverage and a quick twist of her body, she flipped him over.

“Now we’re even.” She crouched again as he got to his feet, shook back his hair.

“Okay, Lieutenant, I’m going to stop holding back.”

“Holding back, my butt. You were — “

He almost caught her again, certainly would have taken her down if she hadn’t realized with seconds to spare that his strategy was to distract her with insults. She evaded and turned into his move. Then, when their faces were close, their bodies straining, she pulled out her best weapon.

She slid a hand between his legs, cupped gentle fingers over his balls. He blinked in surprise, in delight. “Well, then,” he murmured and lowered his lips to within an inch of hers before she switched her grip.

He didn’t even have time to curse as he went sailing. He landed with a thud, and she was on him, a knee pressed to his crotch, his shoulders pinned by her hands.

“You’re down, pal. And out.”

“Talk about fouls.”

“Don’t be a sore loser.”

“It’s hard to argue with a woman when she’s got her knee on my ego.”

“Good. Now I’m going to have my way with you.”

“Are you?”

“Damn right. I won.” She cocked her head and reached down to strip off his shirt. “Cooperate and I won’t have to hurt you. Uh-uh.” When he reached for her, she gripped his hands and pushed them back to the mat. “I’m in charge here. Don’t make me get out the cuffs.”

“Hmm. An interesting threat. Why don’t you — ” His words trailed off as her mouth came down on his, hard and hot. Instinctively, his hands flexed under hers, wanting to touch, to take. But he understood she wanted something else, something more. So he would let her find it.

“I’m going to take you.” She bit down on his lip, sending an edge of lust razoring through his gut. “Do whatever I want to you.”

His mind was already spinning, his breath clogging. “Be gentle with me,” he managed, and felt warmth twine with the heat when she laughed.

“Dream on.”

She was rough — quick, demanding hands, impatient, restless lips. He could all but feel the wildness of her need vibrate from her, shimmer into him with some reckless energy that seemed to feed on itself. If she wanted control, he would give it to her. Or so he thought. But somewhere during her onslaught of his system, he simply lost the choice.

She scraped her teeth over him, down him, until the muscles he had toned trembled helplessly. His vision wavered when she took him into her mouth, worked him hard, fast, so that he had to fight every instinct or explode.

“Don’t you hold back on me.” She nipped his thigh, slid her way back up his torso while her hand replaced her mouth. “I want to make you come.” She sucked his tongue into her mouth, bit, released. “Now.”

She watched his eyes go opaque seconds before she felt the orgasm rip through him. Her laugh was shaky with power as she assaulted his ear. “I won again.”

“Jesus. Christ Jesus.” He managed, barely, to wind his arms around her. He was weak as a baby, and tangled with embarrassment at his complete loss of control was a giddy delight. “I don’t know whether to apologize or thank you.”

“Save it. I haven’t finished with you yet.”

He nearly chuckled, but she was nibbling her way around his jaw and sending fresh signals to his battered system. “Darling, you’ll have to give me a minute.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” She was drunk on pleasure, energized by her own power. “You just have to take it.”

Straddling him, she pulled her shirt over her head. Watching him, she skimmed her hands up her own torso, over her breasts and down again. Saliva pooled in his mouth. Smiling, she took his hands and brought them to her. With a sigh, she let her eyes close.

His touch was familiar now, yet always fresh. Constantly arousing. His fingers played over her, teasing her nipples until they were hot and on the point of pain, then tugging until there was an answering clutch in her center.

Obliging them both, she arched back as he reared up to cover her with his mouth. She cupped his head, let herself become steeped in the sensations — the scrape of teeth on sensitized flesh that ran from tender to brutal, the flex and release of his fingers on her hips, the slick slide of flesh against flesh and the hot, ripe smell of sweat and sex. And when she urged his mouth back to hers, the explosive taste of reckless lust.