J. Robb - Fantasy in Death

Eve hunted down a floor nurse, badged her. “I’m on the Cilla Allen investigation. I need to know everything you know or can find out.”

“I can tell you they worked on her down in ER, had to zap her, but got her back. She’s lucky Doctor Pruit’s on today. She’s the neuro. The head wounds are severe and priority, but the other injuries are considerable. She’s going to be in there awhile.”

“Chances?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Educated guess.”

“She’s lucky she made it in at all. She looks like she’d been thrown off a cliff.”

Eve took the nurse’s arm before she could move on. “A fall? Not a beating?”

“I can’t tell you. If she beats the odds, she’ll tell you herself.”

She frowned as the nurse hurried away. And the frown deepened when she saw Roarke coming toward her.

“I heard. I thought I should come.”

“Are the partners in there?”

“Yes. Peabody’s with them now.”

“Impressions?”

“Shocked, scared-as you’d expect. Propping each other up you could say.”

“Did either of them ask you about your game in development?”

“No. I don’t think that’s on their scope at the moment.”

Eve shifted her gaze toward the waiting area. “It is for at least one of them.”

“You believe one of them beat that girl-from what I understand-to pieces?”

“No question about it. Not anymore. The only question is how to nail it down. Buy a little time, change the focus, tug the heartstrings. She was the short end of the triangle, hotheaded, impulsive, the weak spot. So she’s a logical sacrifice in the game. She-”

“Christ Jesus, Eve. The girl’s shattered like glass, and it’ll take a bloody miracle to put her together again. And you’re standing here talking about fucking games?”

She met fire with ice. “Obviously your heartstrings are playing a tune.”

“It might be because I have them,” he shot back. “Because I’m not so caught up trying to win some shagging game that I consider a young woman a logical sacrifice. She’s still alive, Lieutenant. She’s not on your side of the board yet.”

“Why don’t you go back to the waiting area. You can all join hands. Maybe hold a prayer meeting. You go ahead and do that while the one who put her in the OR is chuckling up his sleeve. I’ve got better things to do.”

She strode away, steeling both her heart and her belly against the hurt. It wasn’t just the body, she thought, that could shatter. And it wasn’t only fists and pipes and bats that could shatter it.

She found an empty restroom, leaned against the wall, and gave herself a moment to settle. She checked in with Feeney, updated Whitney, consulted with Mira.

This is how it worked, she reminded herself. How she worked. Sitting around patting heads, stroking hands didn’t get the job done. It wouldn’t bring Bart’s killer to justice or save Cill.

She’d be damned if she’d apologize for doing her job the way she saw fit to do it.

Calmer, she found another nurse, badged her, and arranged for a setup in a private observation room. She stood, alone, drinking hideous coffee, and watching as the medical team struggled to put that shattered glass back together again.

Even if she lived, Eve thought, those pieces would never fit quite the same way.

Not on her side of the board yet? Fuck that, she thought. Cill had moved to her side of the board the minute she fell to the floor.

She glanced back as the door opened, saw Roarke come in, then turned her attention back to the screen.

“I have no excuse for that,” he began. “Absolutely no excuse for saying those things to you. I’m unspeakably sorry, Eve.”

“Forget it.”

“I can’t. I won’t.” He walked to her, stood with her, but didn’t touch. “And still I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“It’s been a long few days.”

“That’s no excuse. It’s not even a reason.”

“Fine. Give me one.”

“She wept in my arms yesterday. I knew you considered her a suspect, and a part of me wondered, even as she wept in my arms, if she’d had some part in what happened to Bart. More, from what I’ve gathered, she was very likely lying on the floor, alone, broken, bleeding while we were on a rooftop drinking champagne.”

“You’re too close to it.”

“I am. You’re quite right about that, and I can’t fully explain, even to myself, why that is. But I can’t step back. Those might be reasons, Eve, but they’re still not excuses for slapping at you that way, for doing that because I knew you’d take it, could take it.”

“You hurt me.”

“Oh God. I know it.” He took her arms then, lightly. “You know me. You’ll have the satisfaction of being absolutely sure I’ll suffer for knowing it.”

“You weren’t altogether wrong.”

“I was, altogether and completely wrong.”

“No. Whatever I think about that.” She nodded toward the screen. “About any of it, all of it, I have to maintain. It’s not a shagging game for me, but it is for him. I have to calculate how he thinks so I can stop him.”

“I know how you think, and I know how much you care. I can only tell you again I’m sorry.”

She looked into his eyes, felt some of the sickness in her belly recede. “I’ve said things before designed to hurt you. You forgave me.”

“I did, yes. I will again, no doubt.”

“So, let’s put it aside. You get a big black mark on the asshole side of the column.”

He smiled, pressed his lips to her brow. “What’s the score so far?”

“We’re neck-and-neck in that area.”

“You’d best check those stats. I really think you’re ahead.”

“You want another big black mark?”

“I don’t.” He drew her in, letting out a breath when she relaxed against him. “This is better.”

She turned her head so they watched the screen together.

“Why was she a target?” Roarke asked her.

“Because he doesn’t consider anyone indispensable but himself. He’s going to run the show now, and nobody’s going to slip ahead of him, the way Bart did. It probably felt good to soak up all that sympathy over Bart, and exciting to have the cops taking a look at him. Part of the game, and he’s racking up the points, anticipating the next moves.”

She glanced at Roarke. “That’s the way it is for him.”

“Yes. I know it. You’re right.”

“He’s a gamer, so he’d look at what was on the board. Players, scenarios, options. Cill? She was angry, depressed, taking it harder, at least on the outside, than anyone. It made her more vulnerable. She’s the most in tune, it feels to me, with the other staff. And being an attractive female, may be the most logical next public face for the company. He wants that for himself. And he has a taste for it now. That human nature thing.”

She eased back a little. “I’ve got some technical questions, and they may be way out of orbit, but-” She broke off as on-screen the medical team began to move quickly. “Something’s wrong. Something’s gone wrong.”

Roarke ordered the screen to zoom in, enhance. “Her blood pressure’s dropping. Look at the monitor. It’s bottoming out. They’re losing her.”

“Goddamn it, goddamn it. She’s got to fight! Does she want to stay alive or not?”

They watched in silence while Cill hovered between life and death.

When Eve stepped into the waiting area, both men jerked to their feet, then seemed to deflate back into their chairs. “We’re waiting for the doctor, for one of the medical team.” Var looked up at the clock. “It’s been a long time.”

“They said they’d update us. But nobody’s been in for more than an hour now.”