Page 92 of Fury In Death

He walked to the broken bricks, the twisted steel, the shattered bits of glass, through the stink of smoke and burned flesh, over the torn and blackened.

“Come look, come look if you dare to see. This was my wife, and our daughter inside her. This was our little boy, our child, our son. Do you see what they did?”

“Yes. You call it evil, and you’re right. I’m sorry—”

“Sorry!” His voice boomed now, shook the thick air like a storm. “Sorry means nothing! Sorry does nothing! Evil needs to be destroyed. There!”

He pointed to where three bloody, mangled bodies lay. “You call them victims. I call them evil, destroyed.”

“It’s not the way. We can stop them, root them out, make them pay. I want justice for your family, for you. This is vengeance, and in the end that only destroys you.”

“I lived, destroyed. Now I live to stop them. What would you do if they took all from you?”

“Not this. Not murder for murder.”

“So sure? Look again.”

She saw her office, Roarke on the sofa, the cat across his lap. He glanced up, smiled.

The explosion all but blinded her, shot her back through air tattered and burning like a flaming curtain. For an instant, just an instant, she saw the fire engulf them. Then the smoking rubble buried what was left of them.

Even as she drew in the breath to scream, arms came around her.

“Wake up now. Eve, you’ll wake up now.”

Her scream muffled against Roarke’s shoulder as she dragged him closer. Whole, alive, safe.

And the cat, bumping his head against her side.

“Just a dream.” Roarke rocked her. “You’re all right. I’m here with you.”

“I’m okay.” But the sound of the explosion still rang in her ears.

“You’re cold. Let me pull a blanket over you.”

“No, just don’t let go. Don’t let go for a minute. What—what time is it?”

“Not yet six. You’ve time. Just breathe now, nice and easy.” He rubbed her back to soothe, to warm. “That’s better now, aye, that’s better. I was just coming in. I’d left the office, then went back to check on something or I’d have come in sooner. Pulled you out of it sooner.”

He pressed a kiss to her hair, then her temple. “Let me get you some water.”

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks. Some water.”

When he got up, she picked up the cat, nuzzled him, then buried her face in his fur.

“We’re okay. We’re all okay.”

“He was trying to wake you when I came in. Here now, drink some. And you’ll tell me.”

She nodded, took the water. “I should’ve expected it. I guess you did. You had the monitor on while you were having your meeting with someone in Hong Kong.”

“Just Dublin.” He brushed fingers over her cheek. “There now, some color coming back. I did think you might have a nightmare. But you were sleeping so well when I went out, I’d hoped otherwise. About Redman, wasn’t it? It’s taking a toll on you. It’s hard to watch a case hurt you this way.”

He kissed her lightly. “You’ll want coffee now, and I’m for some myself.”

“It was Redman,” she said as he got up. And told him.

“He went from sad to furious, then he switched it to—or I switched it, as it’s my goddamn brain. It switched to my office, and you and Galahad on the sofa. You smiled at me, then . . . it all exploded, and I saw you, both of you, on fire. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t stop it.”