J. Robb - Survivor in Death

He remembered the boot coming up-he remembered that still- and his quick dodge. Not quick enough, though, not that time. He felt now as he'd felt then, the stomach-dropping sensation of falling, of knowing it would be bad. Had he cried out? Odd that he couldn't remember. Had he yelled in shock, cursed in fury, or just gone down those steps in a bone-banging roll?

What he could remember, and wasn't that a bitch, was the sound of his father laughing as the boy he'd been tumbled down the stairs. What was his age then? Five? Six? No matter.

And, well, hell, he had been holding back, hadn't he? And considered the cuts and bruises worth the ten pounds he'd stashed away.

Nixie had never been booted down the stairs by a drunken bastard who'd happened to share her blood.

And yet the child would understand about evil and cruelty, too. Poor little bit.

He glanced at his monitor, where he could see her curled under the covers of the bed they'd given her, in a room provided by strangers, with the light left dim.

She would come to understand it. Now there was only pain and confusion and grief. But she would come to, and make her choices to rebuild her life on that broken ground.

He'd made his, and didn't regret them. He could regret nothing that brought him where he was, that brought him to Eve. But he didn't wish the same for this small, fragile survivor.

The best that could be done was to win her some sort of justice.

He began a series of simultaneous searches. One on each of the Swisher adults, another cross-checking for duplicate names. Then one more on the Dysons. He doubted Eve would approve, but these were the people who would step in to raise the child. And the child was sleeping in his home, trusting him to keep her safe. He wanted to be sure they were clean.

At the same time, he continued the search for names of known terrorists, members of paramilitary or fringe military groups.

He intended to do one more, but would need the unregistered for that. Even with it, it would be tricky-which appealed to him. He wanted names of covert and special forces operators-military and government agencies who specialized in wet work and electronics. When he had those, he'd run another cross-reference on the Swishers.

He intended to leave his more standard work running while he took himself and his plan into his private office. But he glanced at the monitor again, and saw Nixie stirring in her bed.

He watched, hoping her subconscious wasn't tuning her up for another nightmare. And wondered if he hadn't made a mistake, insisting he take the night shift from Summerset. Nightmares may have become his province, but when it came to children, he was a pathetic novice.

But in another moment, she sat up in bed. She took the 'link he'd given her out from under her pillow, studied it, skimmed her fingers over it. Then she stared around the room, looking so small, so lost and sad it broke his heart.

He thought he should go in to her, try at least to soothe her back to sleep, but she climbed out of the bed. Just needs the loo or a drink of water, he decided. The sort of things a girl her age could handle on her own. He hoped.

But instead of walking to the bathroom, she went to the house scanner.

“IsDallas here?”

There was a plaintive quality in her voice that touched him, even as he thought, “Clever girl.”

Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, is not on premises at this time.

Nixie knuckled her eyes, sniffled, and again he thought he should go to her.

“Is Roarke here?”

Roarke is in his primary office.

“I don't know where that is. You have to tell me.” Roarke rose, then sat back down as the computer relayed location and directions. Let her come to him, he decided. It seemed more normal somehow than having him intercept her, letting her know- though she was smart enough to know it anyway-that she was being monitored even while she slept.

He looked at the work yet to be done, rubbed the back of his neck. “Computer, continue searches, text mode only, internal save. No display at this time.”

Acknowledged.

He opened other work, his own, and began to refine construction plans on another sector of the Olympus Resort while Nixie made her way to him.

He glanced up, cocked a brow, offered a smile when Nixie stepped into his doorway. “Hello, Nixie. Late for you, isn't it?”

“I woke up. Where'sDallas?”

“She's still working. Would you like to come in?”

“I'm not supposed to be up in the night.” Her voice trembled, and he imagined she was thinking of what had happened the last time she'd wandered in the night.

“I wouldn't mind the company, since you're up. Or I can walk you back to your room if you'd rather.”

She walked over to his desk in her pale pink pajamas. “Is she with the dead people?”

“No. She's working for them.”

“But my mom and dad, and Coyle and Linnie, and Inga, they were dead first. She said she would find out who. She said she-”

“She is.” Out of my sphere, he thought. Out of my bloody solar system. “Finding out who is her priority. It's the most important thing she's doing. And she'll keep doing it until she knows.”

“What if it takes years and years?”

“She'll never stop.”

“I had a dream that they weren't dead.” The tears spilled over, slid down her cheeks. “They weren't dead, and we were all there like we're supposed to be, and Mom and Inga were in the kitchen talking, and Dad was trying to sneak a snack and making her laugh. Me and Linnie were playing dress-up, and Coyle was teasing us. And they weren't dead until I woke up. I don't want them to be dead. They left me alone, and it's not fair.”

“It's not, no. It's not at all fair.” He came around, picked her up so she could lay her head on his shoulder while she cried. This, he thought, was something a man could do. He could hold a child while she wept, while she grieved. And later he could do what he could to help piece her broken life back together.

“They left me alone.”

“They didn't want to. Still, I imagine all of them are so glad you weren't hurt.”

“How can they be glad when they're dead?”

Terrifying logic, he thought, and carried her around the desk, sat with her in his lap. “Don't you think that when you die you might go to another place?”

“Like heaven.”

“Aye, like that.”

“I don't know. Maybe.” She turned her head, sighed. “But I don't want them to be there. I want them to come back, like in my dream.”

“I know. I never had a brother. What's it like?”

“They can be mean sometimes, especially if they're bigger than you. But you can be mean back. But sometimes they're fun and they play with you and tell jokes. Coyle played baseball, and I like to go to the games and watch. Is there baseball in heaven?”

“I think there must be. It could hardly be heaven if it wasn't fun.”

“If I'd been in bed, I'd be in heaven with them. I wish-”

“You mustn't.” He drew her back so she could see his face. “You mustn't wish for that, and they wouldn't want you to wish it. There was a reason you didn't go with them. Hard as that is, you have to live your life and find out what it is. It hurts to be alone, I know.”

Her face bunched up like a fist. “You don't. You're not.”

“There was a time I was. Someone took my mother from me before I was old enough to know her.”

“Is she in heaven?”

“I'm sure she is.”

“That's not fair either.” She laid her head on his chest again, patted him with her hand in a gesture of comfort that moved him, amazingly. She could offer him comfort, Roarke thought. Even now she had the heart in her to give solace. How did she come by that? Was it born in her or had it been instilled by her parents?