Free In Death 22 - Memory in Death by authors_sort Page B

if prepared to enjoy the show.
    “Do you see this?” she demanded of the cat, and slapped a hand on her sidearm. “You know why they gave me this? Because I can handle myself. I don’t need somesomemancharging intotidy up my mess.”
    The cat angled his head, blinked his dual-colored eyes, then shot a leg in the air to wash it.
    “Yeah, you’re probably on his side.” Absently, she rubbed her sore hip. “Male of the fricking species.
    Do I look like some wilting, helplessfemale?”
    Okay, maybe she had, she admitted as she resumed pacing. For a couple of minutes. But he knew her, didn’t he? He knew she’d pull it together.
    Just like he’d known Lombard would come sniffing around him.
    “But did he say anything?” She threw her hands up. “Did he say: ‘Well now, Eve, I think perhaps the sadistic bitch from your past will likely be paying me a visit?’ No, no, he did not. It’s all that damn
    money, that’s what it is. It’s what I get for getting hooked up with a guy who owns most of the world,
    and a good chunk of its satellites. What the hell was I thinking?”
    Since she’d exhausted a good portion of her energy with her anger, she flopped into her sleep chair. Scowled at nothing in particular.
    Hadn’t been thinking, she admitted as the worst of the blind, red rage faded. But she was thinking now.
    It was his money. He had a right to protect himself from poachers. She sure as hell hadn’t stepped up
    to do it.
    She sat up, dropped her head in her hands. No, she’d been too busy wallowing and whining and, screw
    it, wilting.
    And she’d attacked the one person who fully understood her, who knew everything she kept bottled inside. Attacked him because of that, she realized. Mira would probably give her a big gold star for reaching that unhappy conclusion.
    So, she was a bitch. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t made full disclosure before the I do’s. He’d known what
    he was getting, damn it. She wasn’t going to apologize for it.
    But she sat, drumming her fingers on her knee, and the scene in the parlor began to play back in her
    head. She closed her eyes as her stomach sank, and twisted.
    “Oh God, what have I done?”
    * * *
    Roarke swiped sweat off his face, reached for a bottle of water. He considered programming another session, maybe a good, strong run. He hadn’t quite worked off all the mad, and hadn’t so much as
    started on the resentment.
    He took another chug, debated whether to sluice it off in the pool instead. And she walked in.
    His back went up, he swore he could feel it rise, one vertebra at a time.
    “You want a workout you’ll have to wait. I’m not done, and don’t care for the company.”
    She wanted to say he was pushing himself too hard, physically. That his body hadn’t healed well enough as yet. But he’d snap her neck like a twig for that one. Deservedly so.
    “I just need a minute to say I’m sorry. So sorry. I don’t know where it came from, I didn’t know that was in me. I’m ashamed that it was.” Her voice shook, but she’d finish it out, and she wouldn’t finish it with tears. “Your family. I’m glad you found them, I swear I am. Realizing I could be small enough somewhere inside to be jealous of it, or resent it, or whatever the hell I was, it makes me sick. I hope, after a while, you can forgive me for it. That’s all.”
    When she reached for the door, he cursed under his breath. “Wait. Just wait a minute.” He grabbed a towel, rubbed it roughly over his face, his hair. “You kick the legs out from under me, I swear, like no one else. Now I have to think, I have to ask myself, what would I feel, should that family situation have been reversed? And I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me to find some nasty little seed stuck in my belly over it.”
    “It was ugly and awful that I said it. That I could say it. I wish I hadn’t. Oh Jesus, Roarke, I wish I
    hadn’t said it.”
    “We’ve both said things at one time or another we