Page 70 of Random in Death

“You’re starting to see him.”

“Maybe. I’m not sure. I was bullied, Mavis was bullied. Neither of us would’ve been welcomed into Club Normal. It takes more to hunt and kill, to plan and follow through. The drugs, that plays in. Access or ability to create. He understands chemistry, even if it’s just a dealer’s understanding.”

She rose, went into her closet, and considered the fact she had to put the work deal together herself.

“It’s raining, and will be most of the day,” Roarke told her.

“Great.”

She grabbed black pants—because, damn it—and a simple black tee, also because. But to avoid The Look, pulled out a light blue jacket.

She dressed, avoiding The Look primarily, in her opinion, as Roarke was busy warning the cat not to try the feline combat crawl and pounce on the breakfast plates.

“I’m going to head out.”

“I have another meeting shortly. Hold a minute.”

He stacked both plates under one dome, then put them on top of a highboy.

“He can’t jump that high.”

And yet, halfway to the stairs they both heard the dome rattle to the floor.

“Bloody hell. He’s relentless.”

“He should get points for figuring out how to get up there.”

“I’m leaving him to Summerset.” He grabbed Eve’s shoulders, pulled her into a kiss. “See you take care of my cop.”

“I’m too old for him. Plus, I’m the one who took down Big Bitch Brenda.”

“You are indeed. There’s an umbrella in your car, not that you’ll use it.”

“Nice to know it’s there.” She paused, looked back. “If you walked by and saw a sidewalk sleeper with his ass parked against one of your buildings while he played the harmonica, what would you do?”

“I’d give him a bit of the ready for the song and his situation. Why?”

“No reason.”

He would do exactly that, she thought. She’d seen him do exactly that. Because people weren’t invisible to him.

Who were you invisible to, Dooser? Who pulled your trigger? Or, hell, were you just born to kill?

She walked out into the rain—a warm, soaking one that only added to the humidity. In the car, she drove downtown through miserable traffic loaded with people she decided would never, ever learn how to drive in the rain.

She took her thinking time, but even when she got to the morgue, she still didn’t have a clear picture.

She sat a moment, listening to the rain.

She could see herself, as she had in the dream. Pants too short, frame too thin, hair all wrong. Trying to be invisible.

Don’t notice me, don’t talk to me, just let me get through this and get out.

“But that’s not you, is it? No,” she muttered. “No, that’s not you. You want people to notice, to look at you. You want attention. You’re craving it. And from girls—has to be from girls most especially.”

Sex, she thought. Sure, especially if he hit in that same age range. But attention, admiration, too. But you’re blocked from the club you want into so bad.

Attention, she thought again.

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