Page 167 of Random in Death

“I can only tell you he did them, and planned to do more. Journal entry, Peabody. This is from the tablet taken from his lab.”

Bryce seemed to shrink into himself as he read. “But—he wanted to kill me? That can’t be. For money? It can’t—we’ve never had a hard word between us. What can I do?”

Bryce covered his face with his hands. “What have I done? What can I do?”

Eve didn’t have the answers.

“You didn’t show him all of it,” Peabody pointed out.

“I didn’t need to. He’d had enough. This wasn’t neglect, but indulgence. He saw what he wanted to see, what Francis wanted him to see, and trusted his son. Go home, get some sleep. We’ll give him his eight A.M. visitation, give the lawyer his time, get Mira and Reo in here. Say ten for Interview. Just be here in time to prep for it.”

“Can do. Home, sleep, morning prep. We saved the girl, Dallas, and the others who could’ve come after.”

“We’ll drop you,” Roarke said as he came out of Observation with McNab.

“Actually, I’d like the walk. A little fresh air, some unwind time. You up for that?” she asked McNab.

“As long as it’s with you. We’ll take the boxes back to Evidence, Dallas.”

“Thanks.”

When they’d hauled the boxes out, she secured the Interview room, flagged it as in use.

With the first, second, and third wind depleted, she fell asleep in the car, and only woke when Roarke lifted her out.

“Thanks. Don’t let me oversleep, okay? I have to set all this up for tomorrow, write up the interview with Bryce.”

“Not to worry. I’m rearranging things and going in with you. I need to see the end of it. And, as foolish as it may sound, I want to stand witness for Del.”

It didn’t sound foolish at all.

“She got to you, didn’t she?”

“She did, yes.”

When he set her on the bed where the cat sprawled, she reached for her boots. “How about you rearrange and I arrange, and after I cook this little psycho in the box, and I will, we take off for the island and those four s’s?”

“Done.”

She stripped down, got into bed. And was asleep again before Roarke put his arm around her and the cat curled up at her back.

In the morning after he programmed omelets—loaded with ham and cheese and, maybe like a kiss on the cheek, no spinach—he gestured to her closet.

“I have a suggestion. You’ll enrage and intimidate him just by being you, but why not pile on a bit?”

“I’m listening.”

“T-shirt. You have excellent, leanly muscled arms. A vest. Let’s show off the weapon as well as the arms. Go with straight-leg pants, ankle boots with laces.”

“Combat ready.”

“In a sense.”

She looked at him in his black T-shirt and jeans. “And you with no suit.”

“I’m counting on you to do that cooking. No need for a suit on the island.”

“And the meeting you took before dawn?”