Page 103 of Delusion in Death

The rant was so un-Peabody, Eve sat in silence. “I’m not sure how to respond,” she decided.

“We should go get a goddamn drink. A whole shitload of goddamn drinks.”

“Jesus, don’t cry.”

“I’ll cry if I fucking want to.” She sniffled, swiped. “Fucking bitch.”

“It’s mean to call me a bitch when I’ve shared personal trauma.”

“I didn’t mean you! I meant your—I meant McQueen’s fucking bitch. I should’ve been there for you.”

And she’d know not to use the M word, not to say mother. That was very Peabody. “Roarke sent for Mira after McQueen killed Stella. And he had Mira bring Galahad.”

Now the tears really rolled—big, fat drops until Peabody had to dig through her pockets to find an old tissue. “I love him.”

“He’s a pretty good cat.”

Wet laughter blew through the tissue. “Sure he is, but you know I meant Roarke. I love him. And if something terrible happened to McNab, I’d fight you for him. And I’ve been practicing.”

“So warned.”

“You’re okay?”

Eve thought it over. “I’m okay. There’s probably going to be some rough spots here and there, but I’m okay. Sperm and egg—that’s what they were. For eight years, between the two of them, they made me a victim. They made me afraid and gave me pain. Now they’re dead. I’m not a victim. I’m not afraid. And pain? Not much. They can’t hurt me anymore, so what I have, it’s just echoes. It’ll pass.”

She pulled up in front of the little house in Brooklyn. “Do something about your face. You’re all splotchy.”

“Crap.” Peabody began lightly slapping her hands over her face.

“What does that do?”

“Makes it all red, distributes the blood. Maybe. It’ll calm down in a few minutes. Just keep Mrs. Cattery focused on you.”

“Christ. Stay behind me.”

Peabody got out, lifted her reddened face. “It’s really windy, and cold. It’ll just look like I’m windburned.” She took a steadying breath. “Did you tell me this when we were in the car and on our way to interview so I couldn’t hug you?”

“It’s a side benefit.”

“I’m going to hug you later. You won’t know when it’s coming.”

“The same goes for my boot up your ass.”

“That’s a given. It’s a daily surprise.”

“Settle down, and let’s do this.”

“It’s a nice house,” Peabody observed as they walked to the door. “Nice neighborhood.”

“He was the only one on the team who did the campaign who didn’t live within blocks of the office.”

“Wife and kids. Fenced yard. Dog.” She nodded toward the back. “See, doghouse.”

“What’s in a doghouse? Mini-screen, AutoChef?”

“Probably a ratty blanket and a collection of soup bones. How’s my face?”

“I’ve seen worse.”

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