Memory in Death by J. D. Robb Page A

security, she could have badged her way into the courtroom. Instead she waited with Peabody while APA Cher Reo made her way over.
    "We've got a short recess," Reo began. "You'll testify next."
    "How's it going in there?" Eve asked.
    "She's got good lawyers." Reo glanced back toward the double doors. She was pretty and blonde, with perky blue eyes and a faint Southern drawl. She was also tough as titanium. "We're both playing the psychic card, in different ways. Their stand is that the images Celina received—the murders, the violence—resulted in trauma, diminished capacity. They've got their experts swearing to it, and as a result they're trying to hang all the responsibility on Blue. He's crazy, he invaded her mind, and there you go."
    "Bullshit."
    "Well, yes." Reo fluffed at her hair. "On our end we have her snuggled up safe in bed at home, watching Blue torture and mutilate and kill, which gave her the bright idea to do the same, with his MO, to her former lover's fiancee. Under the guise of working with the cops, she held back while women were murdered, and while a NYPSD detective was critically injured. A decorated officer, who courageously fought back and was intimately involved in closing the case."  Reo put a hand on Peabody's arm, gave it a little rub in what Eve recognized as a woman-to-woman support gesture. "You want to go over it again? We've got a few more minutes."
    "Maybe. Okay, maybe." Peabody turned to Eve. Her eyes were a little too bright, her smile a little too tight. "You can go on in. I'll get one i more briefing from Reo, then I might want to throw up. I'd do that better alone."
    Eve waited until Reo took Peabody into a conference room, then she pulled out her communicator and tagged McNab. "Where are you?"
    "On my way." His pretty face and the long blond tail he wore bobbed on her screen. "Three blocks south. I had to hoof it. Who the hell let all these people out on the street?"
    "There's a recess, nearly over. You've got a few minutes. I'll be in the back. Save you a seat."
    She clicked off, walked in, and sat, as she had countless times in the course of her career. Halls of justice, she thought as she studied the bench, the gallery, the reporters and those who piled in out of curiosity. Sometimes—she liked to think most times—justice was served here.
    She wanted it for Peabody.
    They'd dunked the ball of the case in the net for the arrest, for the indictment. Now the ball was passed to the lawyers, to the judge, and to the twelve citizens who sat on the jury. She studied them when they filed in.
    A moment later, Celina Sanchez was led in with her legal team.
    Their eyes met, held with that quick, buzzing connection between hunter and prey. It all came back, all the bodies, all the blood, the waste, and the cruelty.
    For love, Celina had said at the end of it. She'd done it all for love.
    And that, Eve thought, was the biggest bullshit of all.
    Celina took her seat, faced front. Her luxurious hair was worn back and up—sleek and almost prim. Instead of her preferred bold colors, there was a staid gray suit.
    Just packaging, Eve noted. She knew what was inside it. Unless the jury was dirt stupid, they knew, too.
    Reo stepped in, leaned down briefly. "She's going to be fine. It's good you're here." Then she walked to the front to take her place with the State's team.
    As the bailiff called for the court to rise, McNab bolted through the doors. His face was pink from cold and exertion, but was still a few shades calmer than the puce shirt he wore under a jacket with a blue and pink zigzag pattern so bright and busy it stung the eyes. On matching puce airboots, he nipped in beside Eve, spoke in a breathless whisper.
    "Didn't want me to sit with her—needed a minute. We thought we had 'til Monday. Damn it."
    "She knows how to handle herself."
    There was no point telling him her stomach was tying itself into greasy knots. No point in telling him she knew what he saw in his head as they took their