"You're a scary guy, Roarke," she murmured, then turned to him. "At a guess, then, most anyone in Dublin – hell, in the known universe – could have gotten wind of it."

"I found Cagney in Paris, Rowan on Tarus Three, and Calhoun here in New York. The wind blows, Eve."

"Jesus." She pressed her fingers to her eyes. "Okay, this won't help. We need to cull it down to interested parties, people with a connection with one or more of… your list. People with a grudge against you."

"A number of people harbor grudges. If it was about me personally, why is Summerset being set up instead of me?"

"He's the bridge. They're walking over him to get to you." She began to pace while she thought it through. "I'm going to consult with Mira, hopefully tomorrow, but my take is if this goes back to Marlena, whoever is behind it sees Summerset as the cause. Without him, no Marlena, without Marlena you wouldn't have played vigilante. So you both have to pay. He wants you to sweat. Coming at you direct isn't going to make that happen. He has to know you well enough to understand that. But going after someone who matters to you, that's different."

"And if Summerset was taken out of the equation?"

"Well, then, it would -" She broke off, heart jumping as she whirled. "Wait a minute, wait a minute. Don't even think about it." She slapped her hands on the console. "You promise me, you have to give me your word you won't help him disappear. That's not the way to play this out."

He was silent for a long moment. "I'll give you my word to play this out your way as long as I possibly can. But he's not going in a cage, Eve, not for something I'm responsible for."

"You have to trust me not to let that happen. If you go that far outside the law, Roarke, I'll have to go after him. I won't have a choice."

"Then we'll have to combine our skill and our efforts to make sure neither of us has to make a choice. And we're wasting what time we have debating it."

Seething with frustration, she spun away. "Damn it, you make the line I have to walk thin and shaky."

"I'm aware of that." His voice was tight and warned her she'd see that cold, controlled temper on his face when she turned back.

"I can't change what I am either."

"And you're a cop first. Well, Lieutenant, give me your professional take on this." He swung around in his chair, engaging the auxiliary station. "Display hologram file image, Marlena."

It formed between them, a lovely laughing image of a young girl just blossoming into womanhood. Her hair was long and wavy and the color of sun-washed wheat, her eyes a clear summer blue. There was the flush of life and joy in her cheeks.

She was tiny was all Eve could think, a perfect picture in her pretty white dress with its scallop of lace at the hem. She carried a single tulip in her china-doll hand, candy-pink and damp with dew.

"There's innocence," Roarke said quietly. "Display hologram image, police file. Marlena."

The horror spilled onto the floor, almost at Eve's feet. The doll was broken now, bloodied and battered and torn. The skin was gray paste with death, and cold from the police camera's passionless eye. They'd left her naked and exposed, and every cruelty that had been done to her was pitifully clear.

"And there," Roarke said, "is the ruin of innocence."

Eve's heart shuddered and ripped, but she looked as she had looked on death before. In the eyes – where even now dregs of terror and shock remained.

A child, she thought, swamped with pity. Why was it so often a child?

"You've made your point, Roarke. End hologram program," she ordered, and her voice was steady. The images winked away and left her staring into his eyes.

"I would do it again," he told her. "Without hesitation or regret. And I would do more if it would spare her what she suffered."

"If you think I don't understand, you're wrong. I've seen more of this than you. I live with it, day and night. The aftermath of what one person does to another. And after I wade through the blood and the waste, all I can do is my best."

He closed his eyes and, in a rare show of fatigue, rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm sorry for that. This has brought too much of it back. The guilt, the helplessness."

"It's stupid to blame yourself, and you're not a stupid man."

He let his hands drop. "Who else?"

She stepped around the console until she stood directly in front of him. "O'Malley, Riley, Cagney, Rowan, McNee, and Calhoun." She would comfort now, because now she understood how. Eve put her hands on his shoulders. "I'll only say this once. I may only mean it once, now, while I've still got her image in my head. You were right. What you did was necessary. It was justice."

Unspeakably moved, he put his hands on hers, sliding them down so their fingers could link. "I needed to hear you say it, and mean it. Even if only once."

She squeezed his hands then turned to the screen. "Let's get back to work and beat this son of a bitch at his own game."

It was after midnight when they shut it down. Eve tumbled into sleep the instant her head hit the pillow. But somewhere just before dawn, the dreams began.

When her restless movements woke him, Roarke reached for her. She struggled away, her breath coming in quick little gasps. He knew she was trapped in a nightmare where he couldn't go, couldn't stop the past from cycling back.

"It's all right, Eve." He gathered her close even as she fought to twist free with her body shuddering, jerking, shuddering.

"Don't, don't, don't." There was a plea in her voice and the voice was thin and helpless, a child's voice that broke his heart

"You're safe. I promise." He stroked her back, in slow and soothing motions, when at last she turned to him. Turned into him. "He can't hurt you here," Roarke murmured as he stared into the dark. "He can't touch you here."

There was a long, catchy sigh, then he felt the tension drain out of her body. He lay awake, holding her, guarding against dreams until the light began to slip through the windows.

He was gone when Eve awoke, which was usual. But he wasn't in the sitting area as he was most mornings, drinking coffee and scanning the stock reports on the bedroom monitor. Still groggy, she rolled out of bed and hit the shower. Her mind cleared slowly. It wasn't until she stepped out of the drying tube that the dream came back to her.

She stood, one hand reaching for a robe, as it flashed into her mind.

The cold, horrible little room with the red light blinking into the dirty window. Hunger clawing at her belly. The door opening and her father stumbling in. Drunk, but not drunk enough. The knife she'd held to cut the mold off a pitiful hunk of cheese clattering to the floor.

The pain of that big hand smashing over her face. Then worse, so much worse, his body pressing hers into the floor. His fingers tearing, probing. But it wasn't her struggling. It was Marlena. Marlena with her white dress ripped, her delicate features locked in fear and pain. Marlena's broken body sprawled in fresh blood.

Eve looking down at that wasted young girl. Lieutenant Eve Dallas, with her badge displayed on her pocket, studying death one more time. Reaching for a blanket, a thin, stained blanket from the bed to cover the girl. Against procedure, disturbing the crime scene, but she couldn't help herself.

But when she turned, looked down again with the blanket in her hand, it was no longer Marlena. Eve stared down at herself, in death, and let the blanket fall over her own face.

Now she shuddered and bundled quickly into the robe to help chase away the chill. She had to put it away, ordered herself to shut it away. She had a maniac to catch, lives that depended on her doing so quickly. The past, her past, couldn't be allowed to surface and interfere.