J. Robb - Survivor in Death

“Mira says they have to be in places that are cold.”

“Yeah.”

“But they don't feel cold anymore, so it's okay.”

Eve started to nod, dismiss it. Jesus, she thought, give her something. “Morris-Dr. Morris,” Eve corrected, “has been taking care of them. There's nobody better than Dr. Morris. So yeah, it's okay.”

“Tracking us,” Roarke said softly and she swung around to him.

“What?”

“Tracking.” He tapped a gauge bisected with green and red lines. “Or-more accurately-trying. Can't get a lock. Ah, that must be frustrating.”

She studied the dash gauges, tried to decipher the symbols. “Can you track it back to source?”

“Possibly. I engaged the tracking equipment before we took off, so it's working on it. It's mobile, I can tell you that.”

“Ground or air?”

“Ground. Clever. They're attempting to clone my signal. And yes, detected me doing precisely the same to theirs. They've shut it down. We'll call that one a draw, then.”

Still he detoured, spent a few minutes cruising to see if they'd attempt another trace. His equipment continued to sound the all-clear when he landed on the roof of the morgue.

As arranged, it was Morris himself who opened the by-air delivery doors. Closing and latching them when everyone was inside.

“Nixie.” He offered his hand. “I'm Dr. Morris. I'm very sorry about your family.”

“You didn't hurt them.”

“No, I didn't. I'll take you to them now. Level B,” he ordered, and the wide elevator began its descent. “I know Dr. Mira and Lieutenant Dallas have explained some of this to you, but if you have any questions you can ask me.”

“I watch a show about a man who does work on dead bodies. I'm not really supposed to, but Coyle can, and sometimes I sneak.”

“Dr. Death? I watch that sometimes myself.” The doors opened into the long, cool white corridor. “It's a little more entertaining than it is accurate. I don't chase the bad guys, for instance-I leave that in the capable hands of the police, like Lieutenant Dallas.”

“You have to cut them open sometimes.”

“Yes. I try to find something that will help the police.”

“Did you find something with my mom and dad, with my brother?”

“Everything Morris has done has helped,” Eve said.

They stopped by double doors, their small, round observation windows screened now. Nixie reached for Eve's hand, but they were jammed in pockets. She settled for Mira's. “Are they in there?”

“Yes.” Morris paused again. “Are you ready to go in?”

She only nodded.

She would smell it, of course, Eve thought. No matter what sterilizer they used, it never quite masked the smell of death, the fluids and liquids and flesh.

She would smell it, and never forget it.

“Can I see my daddy first? Please.”

Her voice trembled a little, and when Eve looked down she saw Nixie was pale, but her face was set with a concentrated determination.

So nor would she forget it, Eve thought. She wouldn't forget this kind of courage, the kind it had to take for a child to stand, to wait while her father-not a monster, but a father-was drawn out of a steel drawer.

Morris had masked the throat wound with the magic of his enhancers. He had draped the body with a clean white sheet. But dead was dead.

“Can I touch him?”

“Yes.” Morris set a stool by the drawer, helped her climb onto it, and stood by her, his hand lightly on her shoulder. She brushed her fingers-light as a wish-over her father's cheek.

“He has a scratchy face. Sometimes he rubs it on mine to make me laugh. It's dark in the drawer.”

“I know, but I think where he is now, it's not.”

She nodded, silent tears trickling down her face. “He had to go to heaven, even though he didn't want to.” And when she leaned over, touched her lips to her father's cheek, Eve felt the hot ball of tears in her own belly.

“You can put him back now.” She climbed off the stool, took the tissue Mira offered her. “Maybe I can see Coyle now.”

She touched her brother's hair, studied his face in a way that made Eve think she was trying to see him alive again. “Maybe he can play baseball all the time now. He likes baseball best.”

She asked for Inga, touched her hair as well. “Sometimes she baked cookies-the ones with sugar. She'd pretend it was a secret, but I knew Mom told her it was okay.”

She stepped off the stool again. Her face wasn't pale now, but flushed from the tears. Eve could see her chest tremble with the effort to hold them back.

“Linnie's not here. They took her already. They didn't let me see her or say good-bye. I know they're mad at me.”

“They're not.” Eve looked down when Nixie turned to her. “I saw Linnie's mother today, and she's not mad at you. She's upset, like you are. She's sad and upset, but she's not mad at you. She asked about you. She wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“She's not mad? You swear?”

Her belly churned but she kept her eyes steady. If the kid could maintain, by God, so could she. “She's not mad. I swear. I couldn't let you go say good-bye to Linnie, so that's on me. It wasn't safe, and it was my call.”

“Because of the bad guys?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it's on them,” Nixie said simply. “I want to see my mother now. Will you come with me?”

Oh Christ, Eve thought, but she took Nixie's hand and stepped toward the drawer Morris pulled out.

Eve knew the face well now. Pretty woman who'd passed the shape of her mouth on to her daughter. White as wax now, with that faint tinge of unearthly blue, and soft as wax as well, in the way the dead go soft.

Nixie's fingers trembled in hers as the girl reached down to touch that soft, white face. And the sound she made as she lay her head on the sheet over her mother's breast was a low, painful keening.

When it quieted to whimpers, Mira stepped forward, stroked her hand over Nixie's hair. “She'd be glad you came to see her, proud that you could. Can you say good-bye to her, Nixie?”

“I don't want to.”

“Oh, baby, I know, and so does she. It's so hard to say goodbye.”

“Her heart doesn't thump. If I sat in her lap and leaned my head here, I could hear her heart thump. But now it doesn't.” She lifted her head, whispered good-bye, and stepped off the stool for the last time.

“Thank you for taking care of them,” she said to Morris.

He merely nodded, then walked to the door to hold it open. When Eve passed behind Mira and Nixie, he murmured to her, “You think you can handle anything in this job.” His voice was thick and raw. “Stand anything, stand up to anything. But my sweet Christ, that child almost had me on the floor.”

“Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, In every gesture dignity and love.'“

Looking at Roarke now, Morris managed a small smile. “Well said. I'll get you out.”

“What was that from?” Eve asked. “What you just said.”

“ParadiseLost. Written by a poet namedMilton. It seemed apt as what we just witnessed was a wrenching form of poetry.”

She drew in a breath. “Let's get her back.”

When they returned, Mira sent Nixie upstairs with Summerset and the promise to be up in a moment.

Gauging the ground, Roarke excused himself and went back to work.

“I know that was difficult for you,” Mira began. “It's not about me.”

“Every case is about you, to some extent, or you wouldn't be able to do what you do so well. You have the gift of being able to mate your objectivity with compassion.”

“That's not the way I hear it.”

“She needed what you gave her. She'll heal. She's too strong not to. But she needed this to begin.”

“She'll need a hell of a lot more since the Dysons won't take her.”