Celebrity in Death by J. D. Robb - In Death 34 - Celebrity in Death

Author:J. D. Robb - In Death 34 - Celebrity in Death [Robb, J. D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780399158308
Google: 7UpUiR7wCLMC
Amazon: 0399158308
Publisher: Putnam Adult
Published: 2011-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

13

EVE YANKED HERSELF OUT OF THE DREAM AND into the hazy light of dawn. Breathing, just breathing, to give herself a moment to be sure she was awake, and not making that jerky transition from one segment of a dream to another.

Her throat begged for water, but she lay still another moment, eyes closed, waiting for her pulse to slow.

Roarke’s arm came around her, drew her close against him. Anchored her. “I’m here.”

“It’s nothing. I have to get up, get started.”

“Ssh.”

She closed her eyes again. She hated this waking fragility, this thin, shaky sensation as if she’d crack if she moved too quickly. She knew it would pass, it would smooth away again, but she hated it nonetheless. Hated, too, knowing he’d broken his habit of being up, dressed, and having accomplished God knew what in the business world before she stirred.

“Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” she repeated, but he brushed his lips over her hair. Undid her.

“Stella, in the bedroom of the place she had in Dallas. The one we searched. But it’s like the bedroom from before, too, when I was a kid. I don’t know where we were then. It doesn’t matter. She’s sitting at this little table, with all her lip dyes and creams and paints—all that stuff. I can smell her, that perfume—too sweet. It makes my stomach hurt. Her back’s to me, but she’s looking at me in the mirror with all that hate, that contempt. I can smell that, too. It’s hot and bitter.

“I need some water.”

“I’ll get it.”

She didn’t argue, no point. In any case, she felt a little better, a little stronger. Just a dream, she reminded herself. And she’d known it for what it was while she’d been in it.

That had to matter.

She took the water Roarke brought her, ordered herself to drink it slowly.

“Thanks.”

He said nothing, only set the empty glass aside, took her hand.

“Her throat,” Eve continued, bringing her fingers to her own. “Blood pouring out of her throat, down the front of the pink dress she was wearing when I busted her, when I wrecked the van. She’s so angry. It’s my fault, she says. Look at her dress. I ruined it. I ruined everything. Then I see him in the mirror, I see him behind me. McQueen. Or my father. It’s so hard to tell. I reach for my weapon, but it’s not there. I don’t have my weapon. And she smiles. In the mirror, she smiles, and it’s horrible.

“I have to get out, I have to wake up. So I wake up.”

“Is it always the same?”

“No, not exactly. I’m not afraid of her. I want to ask why she hated me so much, but I know there’s no answer. I’m not afraid until, at whatever angle the dream takes, I go for my weapon and it’s not there. Then I’m afraid. So I have to wake up.”

“None of them can touch you, not ever again.”

“I know. And when I wake up I’m here. It’s okay; I’m okay, because I’m here.

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