She leaned back against the pillows, looked up through the sky window at the dark winter sky. And told him.

"It was cruel," she said at length. "But that's not it, really. I've seen things that were more cruel. She was innocent – there was something about her space, her walk, about her face, I don't know, but she had an innocence. I know that's not really it, either. Innocence is often destroyed. I know what it's like – not to be innocent; I don't remember being innocent. But I know what it's like to be destroyed."

She cursed under her breath and set the wine aside.

"Eve." He took her hand, waiting until she turned her gaze to his. "A rape-murder might not be the best way for you to get back into active duty."

"I might have passed on it." It shamed her to admit it, enough that she looked away again. "If I'd known, I'm not sure I would have taken the call."

"You can still pass it to someone else in your division. No one would blame you for it."

"I'd blame me. I've seen her now. I know her now." Eve closed her eyes, but only for a moment. "She's mine now. I can't turn my back on that."

Eve pushed at her hair, ordered herself to focus. "She looked so surprised and happy when she opened the door. Like a kid might. Oh boy, a present. You know?"

"Yes."

"The way the bastard looked at the camera before he went in. The big smile, the cagey little wink. And after, doing his victory dance into the elevator."

Her eyes fired up as she spoke of it, as she shoved herself straighter in the bed. Not just cop's eyes now, Roarke thought. But the avenging angel.

"There was no passion, just sheer delight." She closed her eyes again, bringing that image back, clearly, and when she opened them again, the fire was banked, smoldering deep. "It made me sick."

Annoyed with herself, she picked up the wine again, sipped once. "I had to tell the parents. I had to watch their faces when I did. And Vandoren, watching him go to pieces, seeing him try to understand that his world had just fallen apart. She was a nice woman, a nice simple woman who was happy in her life, about to get engaged, and she opens the door to someone who's symbolically a figure of innocence. Now she's dead."

Because he knew her, he took her hand, unballing the fist she'd made. "It doesn't make you less of a cop because it touches you."

"Too many of them touch you and the edges get blurred. You get closer to the limit, to the time you know you're not going to be able to face another of the dead."

"Did it ever occur to you to take a break?" When her brows drew together, he only smiled. "No, of course not. You'll face the next, Eve, because that's what you do. That's who you are."

"I might be facing one sooner than I'd like." She linked fingers with the hand that held hers. "Was she the one, Roarke? His true love? Or are there eleven more?"

CHAPTER THREE

Eve circled the parking deck at the sky mall a second time. And ground her teeth.

"Why aren't these people at work? Why don't they have lives?"

"For some," Peabody said solemnly, "shopping is life."

"Yeah, yeah." Eve passed a section where cars were stacked like poker chips, six high in their slots. "Screw this." She whipped the wheel, threaded through the stacks, skinning by bumpers close enough to have Peabody closing one eye. "You know, you can buy anything you want right on screen in the privacy of your own home. I don't get this."

"Screen shopping doesn't give you the same buzz." Peabody braced a hand on the dash as Eve jerked to a stop in the fire lane right outside of Bloomingdale's. "You can't use the senses, or your elbows to jab people out of the way. There's no sport in screen shopping."

With a snort, Eve engaged her On Duty sign and stepped out of the car. Immediately her ears were assaulted with a blast of music. Christmas carols pumped, full blast, into the air. She decided that people ran inside, ready to buy anything, just to escape the noise.

Though the temperature in the computer-controlled environment hovered at a pleasant seventy-two, a light, synthetic snow swirled in the enormous dome. The windows of the department store were filled with costumed droids. Santas and elves labored away in a workshop, reindeer flew or danced on rooftops, young, golden-haired children with angelic faces unwrapped bright packages.

Behind another window, a teenage boy, decked out in the latest fashion trend of black unisuit and neon checked over-shirt, did circles and flips on his new Flyer 6000 airskate – this year's hot-ticket item. A push of the button beside the glass would engage the recording of his excited voice hawking the skate's options and virtues, as well as its price and location in the store.

"I'd like to try one of those suckers," Peabody said under her breath as she followed Eve to the door.

"Aren't you a little old for toys?"

"It's not a toy, it's an adventure," Peabody said, reciting the tag line for the airskate.

"Let's get this over with. I hate these places."

The doors slid smoothly open and greeted them with a soothing promise: Welcome to Bloomingdale's. You're our most important customer.

Inside, the music continued to play, but at a lower volume. But the voice level rose, dozens of people speaking at once making a cacophony of sound that rose up and up, to echo off the ceiling, where angels soared in graceful circles.

It was a palace of consumption, with merchandise displayed temptingly on twelve glossy floors.

Droids and staff swept through the crowds modeling fashions, accessories, the hair- and body-styles that could be purchased in the salons. The electronic map just inside the door stood ready to guide customers to their heart's desire.

Licensed child, pet, and elderly care facilities were located handily on the main level for those who didn't care to shop with Junior, Fido, or Grandpa underfoot.

Mini-carts to carry customers, their purchases, or both were available for a small rental fee. Hourly or daily rates available.

A droid with hair in snaking, flame-colored ropes approached with a small crystal bottle.

"Keep that thing away from me," Eve ordered.

"I'd like some." Obligingly, Peabody tilted back her head so the droid could spritz some perfume on her throat.

"It's called Do Me," the droid purred. "Wear it, and prepare to be ravished."

"Hmm." Peabody angled her head toward Eve. "What do you think?"

Eve took one sniff, shook her head. "It's not you."

"Could be me," Peabody muttered, trudging after her.

"Let's try to keep our focus here." Eve took Peabody 's arm as her aide paused at a cosmetic counter where a woman was being painted with sparkling gold from the neck up. "Let's hit the men's department, see if we can find out who waited on Hawley day before yesterday. She used credit so they'd have her address."

"I could finish up my Christmas shopping in about twenty minutes."

"Finish it?" Eve turned back as they stepped on the people guide going up.

"Sure, I've only got a couple of little things left." Peabody pursed her lips, then bit the inside of her cheek to hold back the grin. "Haven't started yet, have you?"

"I've been thinking about it."

"What are you getting Roarke?"

"I've been thinking about it," Eve said again and jammed her hands in her pockets.

"They've got great clothes here." Peabody nodded toward the display droids as they turned left on the glide toward Men's Casual Wear.

"He's got a closet the size of Maine full of clothes already."

"Have you ever bought him any?"

Eve felt her shoulders hunch defensively and straightened her spine. "I'm not his mother."

Peabody paused by a droid modeling a dull silver silk shirt and black leather trousers. "He'd look good in this." She fingered the sleeve. "Of course, Roarke would look good in anything." She wiggled her brows at Eve. "Guys really love having a woman buy them clothes."