If Dwier wasn't already a member of Purity, he was a prime candidate for application.

When Eve walked back into the house, Mira was coming down the stairs.

"Eve. I thought I'd miss you."

"Did we have a consult scheduled?"

"No, though I did drop off the profile you'd wanted." Mira stopped at the base of the steps, one pretty hand on the gleaming wood of the banister. Her warm brown hair was a soft wave around a soft, feminine face. Her mouth was a pale creamy rose, her eyes a clear summer blue.

Her suit had a fluid drape and was the color of sunflowers. It was, Eve supposed, stylish in some classic sense, and was matched with Mira's favored pearls.

She looked perfect, essentially female, utterly comforting. And was one of the top criminal profilers in the country as well as the psychiatric specialist attached to the NYPSD.

"Thanks, but you didn't have to go out of your way."

"I was coming by anyway. I wanted to see McNab."

"Oh." Instantly Eve's hands sought her pockets. "Well."

"I wonder if I might speak with you for a few minutes. There's that lovely garden terrace off the parlor. I'd love to sit outside."

"Ah." Eve's mind strained toward her office, toward her work. "Sure. Fine."

"Would you care for some refreshment, Doctor?" Summerset lurked at the edge of the foyer. "Some tea? Perhaps some wine."

"Thank you. I'd love a glass of wine."

Before she could comment, Mira slid an arm through Eve's and walked toward the parlor. "I know you have work. I promise not to keep you long. You've had a difficult day. The media conference couldn't have been pleasant for you."

"That's a master understatement." Eve opened the terrace doors, stepped out.

Like everything of Roarke's, the spot was beautifully planned and executed.

The terrace itself was constructed of stones, various shapes, sizes, tones all smoothed into a fluid curve that blended into garden paths. There were two glass and iron tables set among pots where flowers flooded or dwarf trees speared. Beyond the curve, gardens exploded with summer.

The evening sun spilled pale gold onto the stones and through a trellis wild with vines and vivid blue blossoms.

"Such a charming spot." Mira took a seat at one of the tables. Sighed. "I'm afraid I'd find myself sitting out here every chance I got, daydreaming." She smiled. "Do you ever daydream, Eve?"

"I guess." She sat, wondered if she should read Dwier's file again. "Not so much, really."

"You should. It's good for you. When I was a girl, I used to curl up on the window seat in my father's library. I could dream away an afternoon if left to myself. He's a teacher. Did I ever tell you that? He met my mother when he sliced his hand cutting tomatoes for a sandwich. He's always been a bit clumsy. She was a young resident, doing her ER rotation. And he hit on her."

She laughed a little, lifted her face to the sun. The heat baked through her skin, into her bones. "So odd to think of that. And sweet. They're both semiretired now. They live in Connecticut with their ancient dog Spike and have a little vegetable garden so they can raise tomatoes."

"That's nice." And it was. It was also baffling.

"You're wondering why I'm telling you all this. Thank you, Summerset," she said when he set two glasses of wine and a small tray of canapes on the table. "How lovely."

"Enjoy. Just let me know if I can bring you anything else."

"No particular reason," she said to Eve when Summerset went back in the house. "I suppose the tranquility of this spot made me think of them, appreciate them. Not everyone has such a steady, undemanding childhood."

"I don't have time for a session," Eve began, but Mira covered her hand.

"I wasn't speaking only of you. The children who were damaged by these people will have a great deal to overcome. You understand that."

"And I'd understand killing what hurts you?"

"This is a different matter, and I wondered if you'd been able to separate it. What you did was done in pain and fear and immediacy. To protect yourself, to save yourself. What's being done here is cold, calculating, thorough. It's organized and it's pompous, for lack of a better word. This isn't self-defense. It's arrogance."

The tension in Eve's shoulders eased. "I was beginning to wonder if anyone else saw it. Starting to wonder if I was drawing a hard line on this because if I didn't, it made what happened with me the same."

"You killed to live. This group is living to kill."

"I'd like to see that on a goddamn media release." Eve lifted her glass, drank.

"Whoever formed the group, whoever holds the top position of authority, is intelligent, organized, and persuasive. Others would have to be brought in, recruited for the highly specialized technical positions. They understand the power of the media. They need public support."

"They're beating that drum pretty good."

"Yes, so far. I don't think this infection used to terminate is a coincidence. It's another symbol. Our children have been infected by these monsters. Now we infect them because the law could not, would not. The use of the wordguardian, another symbol. We'll protect you. You're safe now that we're here."

"How long before they expand their horizons?"

"Unchecked?" Mira picked up a small disc of bread and creamy cheese. "Groups tend to evolve. Successful groups tend to seek out other ways to use their skills and their influence. The child predator today, the acquitted killer tomorrow. The street thief, the chemi-head. If New York is to be pure, these infections must be eliminated."

"I think at least one cop's involved. A social worker. Some of the families the victim's messed with."

Mira nodded as if she'd expected nothing else. "Look for people with connections to your victims who hold high-level skills. Neurology, computer science, physics, sociology, psychiatry. And look for wealth. The research and equipment needed here would require heavy funding. You can expect another death and another statement very soon. They need to keep this story in the forefront. Purity is on a mission, Eve, and it's using our children to drive it."

"They'll have to put a spin on what happened with Halloway-with Feeney and McNab."

"Yes." Mira watched a hummingbird, iridescent as a jewel, dart in for a blossom with a blur of wings. "I'm sure it will be very well-written."

Eve ran her glass in small circles on the tabletop. "Roarke and I have gone around on this some. We're close to the same line, I guess, but not quite on the same side of it."

"I'd say that was a good thing."

Surprised, Eve looked up. "How?"

"You're not the same person, Eve, nor would either of you want to be. Seeing this from two sides would, I'd think, help keep you both honest. And interested."

"Maybe. We pissed each other off."

"Another part of marriage."

"It's a damn big slice of ours." But her shoulders relaxed a little. "Keep each other honest," she murmured. "Maybe. So… Did you talk to Feeney?"

"He isn't ready. He's handling himself well. The work heals him, as it does you."

"What about McNab?"

"I can't tell you specifics about what we discussed. It's confidential."

"Okay." Eve stared at the tangled vines and bold blue flowers. "Can you tell me… do you think I should cut him loose from duty on this? Roarke can get him into this Swiss clinic, one that specializes in this sort of injury, next week, but in the meantime, maybe he shouldn't be on the job. Maybe he should be with his family or something."

"He is with his family. By keeping him on the team, by continuing to value his input, his resources, you're helping him to cope. What you're doing for him right now is helping a great deal more than anything I can do. Roarke's made arrangements with the Jonas-Ludworg Clinic? How typical of him."