J. Robb - Delusion in Death

She recognized them—CiCi Way, and Macie Snyder, the boyfriend, the blind date laughing around the table.

Joe Cattery at the bar with Nancy Weaver, Lewis Callaway, Stevenson Vann, the accountant sitting alone with his work waiting for the latte he’d never drink.

The bartender, working the stick and arguing sports with a man he’d soon try to kill.

Joe Cattery turned to her first.

“I’ll be dead in a few minutes. Since you’re here, why don’t you stop it? I’d really like to see my wife and kids again.”

“Sorry. It’s already done. I’m just here to figure it out.”

“I just wanted a couple drinks. I wasn’t hurting anybody.”

“No, but you will.”

She watched Macie and CiCi get up, start toward the stairs leading down.

“We were going to have dinner,” Macie told Eve. “I have a good boyfriend, and an okay job. I’m happy. Still, I’m nobody. I’m just not that important, you know?”

“You’re important to me now.”

“But I had to die for that.”

“They all do, don’t they.” Stella swiveled on a bar stool, a drink in her hand, blood dripping from the slice in her throat. “You don’t give a shit about anybody till they’re bleeding on the ground.”

“I have a man I love. I have a partner and friends. I have a cat.”

“You’ve got nothing, because there’s nothing inside you. You’re broken in there so nothing holds long.” Lifting her glass in a toast, Stella shook back hair matted with blood. “What you are is a killer.”

“I’m not. I’m a cop.”

“The badge just gives you an excuse. It’s your free fucking pass. You killed him, didn’t you? Hey, Richie.”

Her father turned on his stool. Blood poured out of countless holes in his body. Holes she’d put there as a battered, broken child of eight.

“Hi, little girl. Drink up! It’s a family reunion.”

He’d been handsome once, she remembered, hard and handsome before too many drinks, too many cons had softened him, worn at him. They’d made an attractive couple once, she imagined. But what lived in each of them had rotted them—rotten from the inside out.

She couldn’t be theirs. She wouldn’t be theirs. “You’re not my family.”

“You wanna check that DNA again.” Her father winked at her, sipped a foamy brew. “I’m your flesh and blood. I’m in your bones, in your guts, just like Stella here. And you killed me.”

“You were raping me. Again. Beating me, again. You broke my arm. You choked me. You pushed yourself into me and tore me. I was just a child.”

“I took care of you!” He threw the brew down, but no one stopped talking, stopped laughing. “I can still take care of you. Don’t you forget it.”

“You can’t hurt me anymore.”

He smiled, with teeth gone shiny and sharp. “Wanna bet?”

“She killed me, too,” Stella reminded him. “What kind of sick bitch kills her own mother?”

“I didn’t kill you. McQueen did.”

“You drove him to it. You tricked me, you used me. You think you can come back from that? You think you can just live your life after that?”

They could hurt her, she realized. Something hurt in her now. Deep in the center of her. “I can. I will.”

“You’re broken inside, and I’m inside you just like you were inside me. Live with that, bitch.”

“Hey, Stell. Show’s starting.”

All around them people screamed, stabbed, clawed, and bit. Some fell, bleeding, to be crushed or beaten. Crazed laughter joined the screams as a woman spun by in mad pirouettes while the blood fountaining out of her throat spattered faces, walls, furniture.

“Want to play?” Richie asked Stella.

“We got twelve minutes.”

“Why wait?”

She shrugged, tossed back the rest of her drink. Together they turned to Eve.

“Time for some payback,” Stella said.

Eve pulled her weapon, stunned them, and again, but they kept coming.

“Can’t kill what’s dead. You have to live with it.” Stella, hands curled like claws, leaped first.

She fought for her life, for her sanity. Slipping on the bloody floor, kicking out, crying out when her arm twisted under her. The pain spiked. She could all but hear the bone snap as it had when she’d been a child.

Her mind screamed, Wake up! Wake up!

Then she heard him, calling to her. Felt him, soothing her.

And turned her face into Roarke’s chest.

“Come back now, all the way, Eve. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

“I’m okay. I’m all right.”

“You’re not, but I have you.”

She kept her eyes closed. Just to smell him instead of the blood and Stella’s heavy perfume. Clean and hers. Roarke.

“It got mixed up, that’s all. I let it get mixed up.”

The cat bumped at her hip. More comfort. She made herself breathe until breathing no longer scored her lungs. And opening her eyes realized they were on the floor of her office, with Roarke cradling her in his lap.

“God. Did I hurt you?” She shoved back, panicked as she thought of how she’d clawed at him in Dallas in the throes of a violent nightmare.

“No. Don’t worry. Here now, just rest easy a minute.”

“I let them in. I let it happen.” It infuriated her, disgusted her. Terrified her. “I shouldn’t be thinking about them.”

“Bollocks to that.” Now he drew her back, and she saw there was more than concern on his face. There was temper, ripe and ready. “I can count the number of easy nights you’ve had since we got back from Dallas on my fingers. And it’s getting worse, not better.”

“It was a hard day, and—”

“Bloody bullshit, Eve. It’s enough. More than enough. It’s past time you talked with Mira about this, and seriously.”

“I can deal with it.”

“How, and for Christ’s sake why?”

“I don’t know how.” She shoved away because she felt tears burning her eyes. She’d be damned if she’d cry now, like the weak, like the helpless. “I did it before, with him. This had stopped. I made it stop. I can do it again.”

“And until, you’ll suffer like this? For what purpose?”

“It’s my mind, my problem. I told you I’d talk to her, but I’m not ready. Don’t push me.”

“Then I’ll ask. If you won’t do this for yourself, do it for me.”

“Don’t use my feelings to manipulate me.”

“It’s what I have, and they’re my own. I’m as honest and true as I’ve ever been with you, Eve, when I tell you this is killing me.”

Her belly, already raw, trembled. Because she saw, too clearly, he spoke the truth. “I said I’d talk to her. I will.”

“When?”

“I can’t get into this now.” Leave it alone. Push it back. “Jesus, Roarke, look at those boards, at those faces.”

He took her shoulders. “Look at me. And let me tell you what I’m looking at. You’re pale and shadowed. You’re still trembling. So look at me, Eve, and understand I love you beyond anything and everything there is. And I need this from you.”

She preferred the temper. Temper she could fight. But he defeated her with the restrained—although barely—calm. And the utter misery in his eyes.

“I’ll talk to her.”

“Tomorrow.”

“I have to—”

“Tomorrow, Eve. I want your word on it. For me.” He laid his lips on her forehead. “And for them,” he added, turning her to face her victim board.

He knew how to draw a weapon, and use it so skillfully you barely felt the blow. She’d beaten the tears, but she couldn’t beat him, not on this.

“All right. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. My word on it.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m a little pissed you maneuvered me into this.”

“All right, I won’t thank you. I’m a little pissed I had to maneuver you into it. Let’s go sleep it off. I’ll have you up early enough,” he began as she started to protest. “You can go over what you’ve got, and what I dug out for you well before the briefing. You’ll need a booster if you don’t get a few hours down. You hate taking them almost as much as you hate losing … let’s call it a debate, with me.”