Promises in Death

by J. D. Robb

  And that, she supposed, was that.

  Peabody snagged a carrot stick. “I’m sticking with the rabbit food for now. We’ve got amazingly mag goodies for later. Ariel made them. I gained five pounds just carrying in the boxes. You can fill me in on all this.”

  “Later,” Eve decided. “We’re at a stop.”

  “Okay.” Peabody gave the carrot a happy crunch. “Nadine and I brought most everything. Mavis and Leonardo should be here any minute, and they have more.”

  “Yippee.”

  “Trina and her consultants will be here by four to start setting up.”

  “Joy and—what? Who? Trina? Why? What have you done?”

  “You said no silly games, and no strippers,” Peabody reminded her. “We’re doing the full-out girl party. Champagne, decadent food, body, hair, face treatments. Chick-vids, presents, gooey desserts. Big girl slumber party, followed by champagne brunch tomorrow.”

  “You mean . . .” The shock was sharp and cruel, a stunner blast against the heart. “Overnight? All night into tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.” Peabody grinned around her carrot. “Didn’t I mention that?”

  “I have to kill you now.”

  “Uh-uh. No games, no strippers. Those were your only rules.”

  “I’ll find a way to hurt you for this.”

  “It’s going to be fun!”

  “Hurt you until you squeal like a pig.”

  Eve spotted Roarke moving to his office, and dashed after him. “Wait, wait!” She rushed in behind him, shut the door.

  “You can’t go to Vegas.”

  “Because?”

  “Because you can’t leave me here. We’re married, and there are rules. I try to follow them. I don’t know all of them, but God knows I try. And this has to be a rule. You can’t leave me alone in a situation like this.”

  “What situation?”

  “All these women. And Trina. Trina,” she repeated, with considerable passion as she gripped his shirt. “And gooey dessert and body things and chick-vids. All night. Slumber party. Do you know what that means?”

  “I’ve had many dreams of them. Will there be pillow fights?”

  She spun him around so his back hit the door. “Don’t. Leave. Me.”

  “Darling.” He kissed her brow. “I must. I must.”

  “No. You can bring Vegas here. Because . . . you’re you. You can do that. We’ll have Vegas here, and that’ll be good. I’ll buy you a lap dance.”

  “That’s so sweet. But I’m going. I’ll be back tomorrow, and lay a cool cloth on your fevered brow.”

  “Tomorrow?” She actually went light-headed. “You’re not coming back tonight?”

  “You wouldn’t be in this state now if you paid attention. I’m taking a shuttle full of men to Las Vegas late this afternoon. There will be ribaldry, and a possible need to post bond. I’ve made arrangements. I’ll bring back this same shuttle full of men—hopefully—tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Let me come with you.”

  “Let me see your penis.”

  “Oh, God! Can’t I just use yours?”

  “At any other time. Now pull yourself together, and remember that when all this is over, you’ll very likely arrest a killer who’s also a dirty cop. It’s like a twofer.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

  “Best I have.”

  She hissed out a breath. “I’m going to find someplace in this house where nobody is. And scream.”

  “That’s a fine idea.” He nudged her toward the hallway door. “I’ll come find you before I go.”

  “It’s not four o’clock yet,” she said darkly. “Something could break.”

  “It may be your neck if you don’t get out and let me finish my work.” He gave her something closer to a shove, then for the second time that day, shut the door in her face.

  17

  SHE DIDN’T CONSIDER IT HIDING. MAYBE SHE was in a room she wasn’t entirely sure she’d been in before with the door shut. And locked. But it wasn’t hiding.

  It was working, Eve told herself. In a quiet place, where she wouldn’t be distracted. She could probably stay in here for the next twenty-four hours, no problem at all. She had a sleep chair, a workstation—a mini-unit, but very slick. She didn’t see a wall screen, but when she booted up and requested one, the glass on the fancy mirror went black.

  A little playing around with the control panel netted her a mini-AutoChef and friggie when the counter under the window opened, and up they came.

  She poked into the attached bathroom and found all the necessities, including a shower designed like a little waterfall. Yes, she could be happy here. Maybe for years.

  She got coffee, settled at the workstation. Callendar first, she thought.

  “Yo,” Callendar said when she came on-screen.

  “Report.”

  “This place is a frigging hole, but it’s got some serious hardware. You’re caged here, you’re seriously caged. Security’s as tight as my uncle Fred on New Year’s Eve. Even with the clearance and co-op, it’s taken a while for us to get to the meat of the system. We’ve got our on-person communication devices because we’re cops and got the authorization. Otherwise, they’re held at docking.”

  “How far into the work are you?”

  “I’m working the trans, Sisto’s working the visitations. He’s goose egg so far. I’ve got many a little ding, but it’s a long way from a gong. It’s going to take some time.”

  “What kind of ding?”

  “It’s really more of a burp. Do you really want me to explain it to you?”

  Geek talk or party girls? Eve considered, decided they rated a toss-up. “I’ve got a minute.”

  “Let me put it this way. The burp may be a trans from here to New York, but I’ve got to go through half a zillion filters to nail that. I’m doing that because it’s reading, so far, like it hit New York the afternoon of Coltraine’s death—and it’s not logged. Could be one of the techs here made it, off log, ’cause he was calling New York for some ’link sex. But I’ve got a suspicious mind.”

  “I’ve got a print—or whatever the hell—from a toss-away ’link here. I need to know if it matches.”

  “I nail this down, I can verify a match. Easy-peasy.”

  “Do you have Ricker’s locations when the transmission was made?”

  “It’s still a burp, but the records have him in his cage. But the records also show that thirty minutes before the burp he was enjoying his daily hygiene privilege. Solitary shower, under full security. I’ve ordered A and V of that record, and the wheel’s grinding slowly.”

  “He could’ve sent the trans on delay, or paid someone else to send it for him. Do you have the name of the guard or guards who took him from the cage to hygiene?”

  “Yeah. We did a standard run—clear. I figured we’d go deeper if the burp turns into a really juicy belch.” Callendar swigged down something pink from a clear bottle. “You want them?”

  “Yeah.” Eve noted down the names. “Good. Keep digging.”

  Eve signed off, sat back, and considered. It was the green light from Ricker to his New York hitter. It had to be. “Computer, full run, priority authorized.” She read off the names and ID numbers of the guard and com officer. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  An hour later, Roarke walked in. “Eve” was all he said.

  “I’ve got something. Callendar heard a burp, and I’ve got something. Rouche, Cecil, cage guard on Omega—six years in. Assigned to max security wing. Ricker’s wing. Divorced. But, oddly, his ex-wife’s financials have had a serious increase in the last year. Well, not her financials so much as her insurance coverage. She’s increased it to five mil. Now what does the ex-wife of an Omega guard, who also quit her mid-level drone job eight months ago, when she also relocated from a rental in Danville, Illinois, to a twenty-room villa in the south of France, have that’s worth five mil?”

  “Art, jewelry. Liquidating cash into solid investments.
”

  “You got it. Plus the real estate. She paid cash for the house, which is in both her name and the ex’s. Callendar’s having him pulled in for interview once things click. And they will. I haven’t been able to track the money yet. Can’t track it back from the ex-wife to Ricker. You could probably—”

  “No, I’m going to Vegas.”

  She goggled at him, jaw dropped, eyes bugging. “But, Jesus.”

  “Callendar, who is more than qualified, has the guard, is on the search. You have your connection, your link to Ricker—who isn’t going anywhere. The manhunt continues for Sandy, who you believe is probably dead anyway.”

  “But—”

  Roarke didn’t give an inch. “Knowing Ricker’s methods, it’s highly unlikely this guard has the names of the New York contact. You’ve narrowed it down to the squad, which was your instinct all along. And on Monday, you’ll push forward on that. Whoever this cop is, you’re smarter, and by God, more tenacious. But right now, you have a houseful of women, I have a limo waiting outside, and a group of men who are anxious to get very drunk and lose their money. It’s life.”

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “It’s our life. We’re going to live it for the next twenty-four hours.”

  “When you put it like that,” she muttered.

  “Morris has gone home.”

  “Oh. Damn it.”

  “He said to tell you he wanted to think about you enjoying yourself for a few hours. That he felt lighter leaving here than he did when he came. I think he did, and I know he spoke to Mira for a short time before he left.”

  “I guess that’s good. I guess that’s something.”

  “Come on then, walk me out. Kiss me good-bye.”

  Trapped, she rose. “How’d you find me in here? House scan,” she realized. “Didn’t think about that. What’s this room for anyway?”

  “A guest office. You never know, obviously, when someone might need it. Good work, by the way, on the financials.”

  “I don’t suppose, on the shuttle, you could—”

  “No, I couldn’t,” he said, very firmly. “Tomorrow, after I get home and your guests have gone, is soon enough. We’re going to enjoy ourselves.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Yes.” He gave her a full-out, and completely unsympathetic smile. “It is.”

  “There you are!” Mavis, in full party gear of a bride-white mini and knee-high skin-boots of screaming red, skipped down the hall. Her hair, the same screaming red as the boots, bounced as it tumbled to her waist. “Everyone’s asking. I was just checking on Bella. You are the maggest of the mag! The little nursery’s so cute!”

  “We want Belle to be happy and comfortable whenever she visits,” Roarke told her.

  Eve’s stride took yet another hitch. “You brought the baby?”

  “I was going to bring a sitter, but Summerset said he’d rather be with Bellisimo than go to Vegas. The man is sugar. They’re in there now, playing with Kissy Kitty and Puppy Poo.”

  Eve didn’t want to know what Kissy Kitty and Puppy Poo might be, or imagine Summerset playing with them. Or anything. She did her best to scrub any and all imagery from her mind as Mavis bubbled on.

  “We are going to have the abso-mega best time. Wait till you see the decorations, the food. And the salon is completely uptown. I’m going to plant a big wet one on my honey bear, so we can get this party started.”

  “What am I going to do?” Eve managed as Mavis bounded down the stairs.

  “You’re going to plant a big wet one on me. After that? I’m in an alternate reality.”

  There were so many of them, Eve thought, as everyone spilled outside where a limo the size of Long Island waited. She couldn’t possibly know all these people. When her head stopped ringing, she realized she didn’t. Strange faces mixed with the familiar.

  The groom-to-be caught her in an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you,” Charles told her. “For everything. Louise is so excited about all this.”

  Eve glanced over to see Louise with Dennis Mira. Good God, sweet Jesus, Eve thought, Roarke was taking Mr. Mira to Vegas. Her world was inside out.

  Somewhere in the chaos, men packed into the enormous limo. As it rolled down the drive, Baxter popped out of one of the moonroofs, shooting up the victory sign while the ladies cheered.

  Then she was alone with them.

  They squealed. Jumped around. They made inhuman noises and whirled in a blur of color and limbs. And ran for the house, still making them.

  “Maybe it’s all some strange dream.”

  Laughing, Mira stepped over to put an arm around Eve’s shoulders.

  “I didn’t realize you were out here.”

  “It was quite a crowd and such an interesting dynamic. The men going off to their indulgence, and the women gathering here for theirs.” Mira gave Eve’s shoulder a little pat. “Celebrations, very defined, very traditional to prepare two individuals for becoming one unit.”

  “Mostly it seems like a lot of drinking and screaming.”

  “And at the very outer rim of your understanding, I know. But it’s going to be fun.”

  “Okay.” She noted Mira wore a dress—pale, pale blue and subtly elegant. “Do I have to change?”

  “I think you should. It’ll put you in the mood. In fact, I’d love to get a look at your closet and pick something for you.”

  “Fine, sure.” The trade-off would give her time to pick Mira’s brain. “Roarke said you talked to Morris before he left.”

  “Yes, and we’ll talk again. He mentioned you suggested he see Father Lopez,” Mira continued as they went inside, started upstairs. “I’m glad you thought of it. Morris is a spiritual man, and I believe Lopez can help him cope with all he has to cope with. The work you gave him helps, too, and it’s good he’s self-aware enough to have asked for it. It keeps his mind active, and more, makes him a part of finding the answers.”

  “I’ve got some questions.”

  “I imagined you did.” Mira walked into the bedroom, and at Eve’s gesture, to the closet. She opened it, sighed. “Oh. Eve.”

  “He’s always putting things in there.”

  “It’s a fantasy. Like an eclectic little boutique.” She glanced back. “See, I’m already having fun. Ask your questions. I’ll multitask. Oh my God, the eveningwear alone!”

  “I don’t have to wear a formal thing, do I?”

  “No, no, just a moment’s distraction. Tell me what you’ve learned since the last report.”

  Eve told her about Alex Ricker’s statements about his father, about Rod Sandy, Callendar’s progress, the prison guard. From the nearly sexual sounds Mira made inside the depths of the closet, Eve figured she was talking to herself. Still, orals always refined her thinking.

  “This.” Mira stepped out with a flowing, thin-strapped dress the color of ripe plums. “It’s simple, comfortable, gorgeous.”

  “Okay.”

  “It also has slit pockets, so you can keep your ’link and communicator on you.” With an understanding smile, Mira passed the dress to Eve. “You’re wondering if Ricker could and would kill Coltraine simply as a punishment for his son. To order the hit for no profit or gain. Just spite.”

  “I didn’t think you were listening.”

  “I raised children. I know how to listen and do a myriad of other things at the same time. Yes. He could and he would. It’s absolutely his pathology. More, his son is free, he is not. His son despises him. He would only need to despise his son more. Yes, again, he would use—delight in using—a man his son considers his closest friend. He’d revel in it.”

  “It was coming to New York that was the kicker, wasn’t it? Coltraine coming here to where I am, to where Roarke is. She signed her death warrant when she transferred here.”

  “It’s not your doing, Eve.”

  “I know that. I’m asking, in your opinion, if he had her killed to get back at his son and at me. He used a cop to do it. He’d have other ways, o
ther means. But he used a cop. I know it. That was for me. Sending her weapon to me. A direct threat, a little reminder that it could be me. That was for Roarke.”

  “At this time,” Mira said after a moment, “with this data, with this history, yes. He manipulated this one act to strike at the three people who most obsess him.”

  “That’s what I thought. It’ll make taking his trigger down and shoving that in his face more satisfying.”