She lifted one shaking hand to point. "Here. I was here. I remember.

There were people standing over me when I woke up. Blue uniforms.

Police. If you talk to the cops they'll put you in a hole with the snakes and the bugs that like to eat you. Roarke."

"Steady. I'm right here. Hold on to me."

She turned to him. Turned into him. "I couldn't get away from them. I couldn't even move. I didn't remember where I was, or who. They kept asking questions, but I didn't know the answers. They took me away, to the hospital. There was a different smell there, just as scary. And I couldn't get away. They wouldn't let me go. But they didn't put me in a hole with the snakes. That was a lie. Even when I couldn't tell them who I was they didn't try to hurt me."

"No." He stroked her hair as he thought how she'd found the courage to grab on to a badge and make it her own. "They wanted to help you."

She let out a shaky breath, rested her head on his shoulder. "I couldn't tell them what I didn't know. I wouldn't have told them if I'd known. They would have taken me back to that room, and that would've been worse than any pit. I did something terrible in that room. I couldn't remember, but it was bad, and I couldn't go back. I can't breathe in here anymore."

He slid an arm around her waist, led her out of the alley where she bent from the waist, braced her hands on her thighs and drew greedy breaths. "Better now?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm okay. Just need a minute. Sorry-"

"Don't apologize to me for this." His voice snapped out, whipped by fury before he could bank it. "Don't. Just take your time.

"The room was in a hotel," she said. "Old. Riot bars on the lower windows, middle of the street. Across from it was a sex club. Live Sex. Red light." Her stomach clutched, threatened to pitch, but she bore down. "The room was high up. He always got a high room so I couldn't get out the window. Ninth floor. I counted the windows across the street. There was a lighted sign out front, with the letters running down. Something foreign, because I couldn't read it. I could read some, but I didn't know what it said. C, A... C, A, S, A. Casa, Casa Diablo."

She let out a short laugh, straightened. Her face was clammy, white as ivory, but set. "Devil House. That's what that means, isn't it? Isn't that fucking perfect? Can you find it?"

"If that's what you want, yes. I'll find it." "Now. Before I lose my nerve."

He went back to the car first. He wanted to get her away from the alley, to give her time to gather her resources. While she sat, head back, eyes closed, he took out his PPC and began the search.

"You've put a lot into one day already, Eve." "I want to finish it."

The year before he'd finally gone back to the alley where his father had met someone meaner, someone quick enough to jam a knife in his throat. And he remembered the fury, the pain, and the ultimate release he'd experienced standing there as a man, looking down, and knowing it was finished.

"It's still there." He told her and saw her flinch. "The name's changed, but it's still a hotel. It's called The Traveler's Inn now, and rates three stars. It's fucking three miles from here."

When she opened her eyes, looked at him, he shook his head. "I'm with you, but by Christ, Eve, it's punishing to know you walked all that way, hurt and hungry and lost."

"Is that why you went alone when you went back to where you'd lived in Dublin? Because you didn't want to share that punishment with me?" He shoved the PPC back in his pocket. "Give me a bit of room, would you, for wanting to tuck you up safe when I can manage it."

"You're churned up." She swiped the back of her hand over her damp face, didn't know if it was wet from sweat or tears. "The Irish gets thicker when you're churned up."

"Bugger it."

"I feel better because you're churned up. Go figure." She leaned over to touch her lips to his cheek. "Thanks." "Happy to help. You're ready then?"

"Yeah."

Nothing looked particularly familiar. She thought they'd come in at night. Maybe at night. On a bus. Maybe on a bus. What the hell did it matter?

The city itself wasn't a huge revelation to her. There was no sudden epiphany with all questions answered. She didn't know if she wanted all questions answered, only that she needed to do this one thing.

Wanted to do this one thing, she corrected. But despite the climate control that kept the interior of the car comfortably cool, a line of sweat dribbled down her back.

Roarke swung to the curb, held up a hand to hold off the uniformed doorman who hustled over. "Take your time," he told Eve. "Take whatever time you need."

The building was a simple block with a rippled tile roof. But it was painted a pleasant stucco pink now, and rather than the lurid sign, there was a shady portico and a couple of big concrete tubs filled with a rainbow of flowers.

"Are you sure this is right?" She felt his hand close gently over hers.

"Yeah, of course you're sure. It didn't look like this."

"It was rehabbed in the late forties. From the looks of it, I'd say most of this area got the same treatment."

"It won't be the same inside either. This is probably a waste of time, and I should be talking to the locals about Dunne." He said nothing, just waited her out.

"I'm so scared. I'm so fucking scared. I can't even work up any spit in my mouth. If this was the job, I'd just do it. You just go through the door."

"I'm going through the door with you." He kissed her hand again, because he needed it. "We've been through others. We can go through this one." "Okay." She sucked in a breath. "Okay." And got out of the car.

She didn't know what Roarke said to the doorman, or how much money changed hands, but the car remained parked where it was.

There was a roaring in her head she knew was fear, adrenaline, and dread. It remained there, dimming her hearing so that it was like walking through water as they entered the lobby.

The floors were a sea of blues, and added to the sensation of passing through some thin liquid. There were pleasant seating areas arranged, and a bank of elevators with silver doors to one side, a long check-in counter on the other where two bright-faced young clerks worked.

There were white carnations in the buttonholes of their snappy red jackets, and a generous bowl of hard candy on the counter.

"He had funny eyes." She stared at the tidy check-in area and remembered the grubby rat hole where a single droid had worked.

"One wandered everywhere and the other stared right at you. He smelled, like burning. Fucking droid's blown some circuits. That's what he said. You just stay there, little girl. Stay there with the bags and keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you. And he went up to the counter and got a room."

"What room?"

"Nine-one-one. Emergency. Better not call 911 or he'll beat the shit out of you. Oh God." "Look at me. Eve, look at me."

She did, and saw so much in his face. Concern, fury, and hints of grief. "I can do it. I can do this." She took a step toward check-in, then his hand took hers again.

"Good afternoon." The female clerk spilled welcome all over them.

"Will you be checking in today?" "We need room 911," Roarke told her.

"And do you have a reservation?" "Nine-one-one," Roarke repeated.

Her smile faltered a little, but she began to work with her screen.

"That room is blocked for a guest arriving this evening. If you'd like another room with a kitchenette, perhaps-"

He felt Eve reach down, knew she was going for her badge. He gave her hand a warning squeeze. "It's 911 we need." He'd already measured her. Some you bribed, some you intimidated, some you flattered. And others you simply rolled over. "The name's Roarke, and my wife and I will be needing that particular room for a bit. If there's a problem with that, you should speak to your supervisor."

"Just one moment, sir." Her face wasn't so friendly now, and her voice had cooled to that "You're a troublemaker" tone. She slipped through a door behind the counter. It took only twenty seconds or so before a man came rushing out ahead of her.

"I apologize for the wait, Mr. Roarke. I'm afraid my clerk didn't understand. We weren't expecting-" "We need the room. Room 911. I take it you understand?"

"Of course, of course." He tapped nervous fingers over the screen.

"Whatever we can do for you. Welcome to The Traveler's Inn.

Angelina, get Mr. Roarke's keycode and guest packet. We have two restaurants," he continued. "Marc's for fine dining, and The Corral for casual. May I make any reservations for you?"

"That won't be necessary."

"The Sunset Lounge is open from eleven a.m. to two a.m., and our gift shop carries souvenirs, apparel, snacks, and various sundries"

The words tumbled out of his lips and he looked slightly terrified.

"May I ask how long you and your wife plan to stay with us?"

"Not long." Roarke handed over a debit card.

"Ah, yes, thank you. I'll just scan this. We'll be happy to assist you with any of your plans or needs while you're in Dallas. Transportation, sightseeing, theater."

"Just the room, please."