Page 144 of Fury In Death

“Where, I imagine, the pay and benefits aren’t anywhere near what they’re currently getting. I’ll have a look, of course. Send me what you have, and we’ll go from there.”

“Thanks. I have to look at the recordings, write my report, update the board.”

“We’ll look at the recording, and I’ll update your board while you write your report. Then you’ll have that bath, the blockers, the wanding. And you’ll get some rest.”

“Okay.”

“And, Eve, I’m with you tomorrow.”

“You can’t just—”

“You can’t come home to me like this and deny me that. I’m with you tomorrow.”

She couldn’t think of an argument that held up against that. Because, she admitted, there wasn’t one.

“Are you thinking of trying to take him on?”

“Since I know very well how skillful you are in a fight, I certainly hope not. But I’m with you. I need that.”

“All right. Okay.” She got to her feet, half amazed nothing hurt nearly as much as it had. Then it hit her. “That party’s tomorrow night.”

“It is.”

She lifted her hands to her face. “Damn it. Can’t think about it. I’ll set up the recording. I’m going to start when we entered the penthouse. See if we missed anything. You can see if we missed anything.”

He watched with her, listened with her, seeing what she’d seen, hearing her voice, Peabody’s. Viewing the body and the destruction as she turned to the office. He went through the process with her.

He watched the elevator doors open, watched them close.

He caught her change of stance, then the blur of a man with brown-speckled white hair falling on her from above. He heard how her breath caught in pain, the clatter of her weapon skidding over the elevator floor.

The man’s voice as he told her to stop, to stay down. He said he didn’t want to hurt her even as he did.

She fought. Of course she did. She was Eve. But sweet Christ, the speed of that fist coming at her, the sound of it connecting to her flesh, her bone.

The sound of her body, already bruised and bloody, slamming against the elevator wall, then dropping with a thud, with a moan she couldn’t hold back.

The man’s face—she’d have been dazed, hurting, but she’d made sure to get a clean recording of his face.

And his words.

He’d damned the man whose body lay inside the penthouse, and the others he’d killed. When he spoke of his family, grief soaked the words. When he spoke of those responsible and why, fury burned through them.

When it was done, Redman leaped up through the grate and was gone. He saw Eve’s hand reach for her weapon, heard her hiss and moan of pain. Rolling faceup, Roarke understood, as he saw her weapon pointed up at the grate.

She ordered the recording to stop.

“I wasn’t too slow. He was too fast.”

“He didn’t want to hurt you. I couldn’t quite believe that before, but now I’ve seen it. It doesn’t change the fact he did.”

“It got him what he needed. I heard him out and he’s not in a cage.”

“And he won’t be because he’ll die first.”

“We can’t know, absolutely, whatever he’s taking is killing him.”

Despite everything, Roarke thought, she wanted to save him.