“Don’t.” He kissed her fingers, one by one. “Don’t cry, my love.”

“I brought him here.” She closed her eyes, but the tears squeezed through. “I brought Russ to Cordina, to you.”

“No.” He kept his fingers gentle as he stroked her tears away. “Deboque brought him. We can’t prove it, but we know it. You have to know it.”

“How could he have deceived me so completely? I auditioned him. Alex, I’d seen his work onstage. I’d talked to people who’d worked with him. I don’t understand.”

“He was a professional. An excellent actor, Eve, who used that to cover his real vocation. He killed for money. Not for passion, not for a cause, but for money. Even our security check showed nothing. Reeve’s working with Interpol right now, hoping to learn more.”

“It all happened so fast it doesn’t even seem real.”

“You aren’t to think of it now. It’s over.”

“Where is he?”

He debated only a moment, then decided she deserved the truth. “He’s dead. Jermaine shot him only seconds after …” But he wasn’t quite ready to speak of the way her body had jerked and crumpled against his. “He regained consciousness briefly, long enough for Reeve to get some information. We can talk of all of this later, when you’re stronger.”

“I thought he would kill you.” The new medication was taking effect. Her eyes drooped.

“You saw that he didn’t. How should I repay you for saving my life?”

Drifting under, she smiled. “I like bluebells. Bluebells are my favorite.”

* * *

He brought them every day. When she was permitted to leave the hospital in the care of a private nurse, he brought them to her room. As the first week passed, she began to fret about her troupe. When she did, the little ball of fear that had remained lodged inside him loosened. She was getting well.

The press hailed her as a heroine. Bennett brought the articles up and read them to her, rolling his eyes at the praise and calling her a glory hound.

Eve insisted that the first play open, then worried that something would go wrong without her being there to fix it.

She read the reviews, dissecting each word. It thrilled her that the play was well received, relieved her that Russ’s understudy had turned in a sterling performance. It depressed her that she hadn’t seen for herself.

She submitted to the examinations with less and less grace as they went on.

“Dr. Franco, when is all this poking and prodding and fussing going to stop? I feel fine.”

She was lying on her stomach while he changed the dressing on her wound. The sutures had come out the day before and the healing was clean.

“I’m told you’re not sleeping well at night.”