Three in Death by J.D. Robb

husband’s condition with you.”
    “Mrs. Skinner, do you believe Roarke’s responsible for something his father did? Something this man did when Roarke was a child, three thousand miles away?”
    She watched tears swim into Belle’s eyes again, and leaned in. Pressed. “The man used to beat Roarke half to death for sport. Do you know what it feels like to be hit with fists, or a stick, or whatever the hell’s handy—and by the person who’s supposed to take care of you? By law, by simple morality. Do you know what it’s like to be bloody and bruised and helpless to fight back?”
    “No.” The tears spilled over. “No.”
    “Does that child have to pay for the viciousness of the man?”
    “The sins of the fathers,” Belle began, then stopped. “No.” Wearily, she wiped her wet cheeks. “No, Lieutenant, I don’t believe that. But I know what it has cost my husband, what happened before, what was lost. I know how it’s haunted him—this good, good man, this honorable man who has dedicated his life to his badge and everything it stands for.”
    “He can’t exorcise his ghosts by destroying the son of the man who made them. You know that, too.”
    “He would never harm Zita, or Reggie. He loved them as if they were his own. But…” She turned to Mira again, gripped her hands fiercely. “He’s so ill—in body, mind, spirit. I don’t know how to help him. I don’t know how long I can stand watching him die in stages. I’m prepared to let him go because the pain—sometimes it’s so horrible. And he won’t let me in. He won’t share the bed with me, or his thoughts, his fears. It’s as if he’s divorcing me, bit by bit. I can’t stop it.”
    “For some, death is a solitary act,” Mira said gently. “Intimate and private. It’s hard to love someone and stand aside while they take those steps alone.”
    “He agreed to apply for self-termination for me.” Belle sighed. “He doesn’t believe in it. He believes a man should stand up to whatever he’s handed and see it through. I’m afraid he’s not thinking clearly any longer. There are moments…”
    She steadied her breathing and looked back at Eve. “There are rages, swings of mood. The medication may be partially responsible. He’s never shared the job with me to any great extent. But I know that for months now, perhaps longer, Roarke has been a kind of obsession to him. As have you. You chose the devil over duty.”
    She closed her eyes a moment. “I’m a cop’s wife, Lieutenant. I believe in that duty, and I see it all over you. He would see it, too, if he weren’t so ill. I swear to you he didn’t kill Reggie or Zita. But they may have been killed for him.”
    “Belle.” Mira offered her another tissue. “You want to help your husband, to ease his pain. Tell Lieutenant Dallas and Chief Angelo what you know, what you feel. No one knows your husband’s heart and mind the way you do.”
    “It’ll shatter him. If he has to face this, it’ll destroy him. Fathers and sons,” she said softly, then buried her face in the tissue. “Oh, dear God.”
    “Hayes.” It clicked for Eve like a link on a chain. “Hayes didn’t lose a father during the bust. He’s Commander Skinner’s son.”
    “A single indiscretion.” Tears choked Belle’s voice when she lifted her head again. “During a bump in a young marriage. And so much of it my fault. My fault,” she repeated, turning her pleading gaze to Mira. “I was impatient, and angry, that so much of his time, his energies went into his work. I’d married a cop, but I hadn’t been willing to accept all that that meant—all it meant to a man like Douglas.”
    “It isn’t easy to share a marriage with duty.” Mira poured more tea. “Particularly when duty is what defines the partner. You were young.”
    “Yes.” Gratitude spilled into Belle’s voice as she lifted her cup. “Young and selfish, and I’ve done everything in my power to make up for it since. I loved him