Page 114 of Obsession in Death

Eve stuck her head out a moment. “For what?”

“To catch up, for a start. It’s been several years, I believe, since they’ve been in the same place at the same time.”

“You know her?”

“I do, yes. Quite a fascinating woman.”

“What’s a fascinating woman doing with Summerset?”

He opted for a sturdy Merlot. “Reminiscing. To start. They were very young when they met, and had an intense and passionate relationship.”

She couldn’t image Summerset young, and really, really didn’t want to imagine him passionate.

“Then she went to Kiev—or it may have been Moscow,” Roarke considered, then shrugged. “She was, some forty, fifty years ago, a brilliant and famous dancer. Prima ballerina. I’ve seen recordings of her onstage, and she was truly stunning.”

“Okay, I can see that.” Eve carted out the meal, including the pie.

“She traveled around the world, fell in love with her choreographer. They had two children.” He offered Eve the wine. “They were very young when he was killed. The dawn of the Urbans. And she danced for the rich, the privileged, lived her life as one of them. Or so she made it appear. She worked in intelligence.”

Eve blinked, brought back the image of delicacy and grace. “She was a spy?”

“And quite brilliant at that as well, if the stories are true. She worked with Summerset when he was based in London.”

Eve sampled the soup—whatever was in the kitchen sink was pretty good. “He was a medic.”

“Among other things, as you well know. He was married, so they remained friends and compatriots. At one point, she hid her children with his wife. And was godmother to Marlena when she was born. And, I’m told, was there for him when he lost his wife.”

Crowded lives, Eve thought. Long and crowded. Times changed, she remembered, no matter how you tried to hold them in place.

“I met her for the first time in Dublin,” Roarke said, “after Summerset took me in. I’d never seen the like of her—so elegant and cultured. And kind. She came to him again after Marlena was killed. I think he might have gone mad with grief if she hadn’t come to him.”

Eve laid a hand over his for a moment. The brutal murder of Summerset’s young daughter was a wound she knew had never healed for Roarke, for Summerset.

“It’s good he had someone. That you both did.”

“They rekindled their romance.”

“Okay, ick.” She removed her hand. “I don’t need that information.”

“And every few years they manage to be in the same place at the same time, and... reminisce.”

She rolled her eyes when he grinned at her. “Absolutely not going there.”

“Best not. In any case if things weren’t as things are, I’d suggest we take them out to dinner. She’s someone you’d enjoy, a great deal, and she’d entertain you, believe me, with stories of her very multilayered life.”

“She looks so delicate. I’d never have pegged her as being an Urban War operative. Which would be the point of being one.”

“The ballet takes strength and endurance as well as grace and talent. And espionage, particularly during war? A spine of steel. Yes, you’d enjoy her.”

“Next trip maybe, but right now...” She picked up her wine. “I was about ten feet away from ending this with a flying tackle today.”

He’d reached for a bread stick, paused, surprised. “You found her? And didn’t lead with that?”

“If I’d found her, I’d be at Central grilling her sorry ass. She got away from me.”

And that, Eve realized, would sting for a while.

“I spotted her, wearing her full gear so I didn’t get any better look at her than any of the wits so far. She was across the street from Mavis’s apartment.”