The In Death Collection, Books 6-10

by J. D. Robb

  “This one.” He touched the point of his tool to a gray chip no bigger than the first knuckle on a baby’s pinkie.

  “I’ve got it. Finish the job.”

  “Don’t squeeze it. Be gentle. On three then. One, two.” He slid the tip around the edge of the chip, pried it gently. “Three.” And it snapped out with a quiet click that sounded like a bomb blast to Eve’s ears.

  It hit her cupped palm, bounced. She rolled her fingers into a loose fist. “Got it.”

  “Don’t move.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Roarke pushed up to his knees, took out a handkerchief. Taking Eve’s hand, he uncurled her fingers and placed the chip in the center of the silk, folded it, folded again. “Not much padding, but better than nothing. He slipped it into his back pocket. “As long as I don’t sit on it, we’ll be fine.”

  “Be careful. I like your ass too much to see it blown off. Now, how the hell do we get off of here?”

  “We could go back the way we came.” But there was a glint in his eye as he stood. “Or we can have some fun with it.”

  “I don’t want any fun.”

  “I do.” He took her hand to help her to her feet, then reached out to grip a rope and pulley. “Do you know what today’s matinee was?”

  “No.”

  “A revival of that longtime children’s favorite, Peter Pan. Hold tight, darling.”

  “Don’t.” But he’d already pulled her close and in automatic defense, her arms locked around him. “I’ll kill you for this.”

  “The pirates look great swinging to stage on these. Inhale,” he suggested, then with a laugh swung free.

  She felt a rush of wind that took her stomach and flung it behind her. Before her glazed eyes, she watched color and shape fly. The only thing that stopped her from screaming was pride, and even that was nearly used up as they flew over the orchestra pit.

  Then the crazy man she was somehow married to closed his mouth silkily over hers. A hot little ball of pure lust burned along with terror, and both managed to jelly her knees so they buckled clumsily when her boots hit the stage.

  “You’re dead. You’re meat.”

  He kissed her again and chuckled against her mouth. “It was worth it.”

  “Nice entrance.” Feeney, his face rumpled and weary, walked toward them. “Now, if you kids have finished playing, we’ve got two more of these bastards still armed.”

  Eve elbowed Roarke aside and managed to stand on her own. “Civilians out?”

  “Yeah, we’re clear there. If they stick to deadline, we should make it. Cutting it damn close, but—”

  He broke off as the rumble sounded below and the stage shook beneath their feet. Above, lights and cables swung wildly.

  “Oh hell, oh shit.” Eve slapped her communicator into her hand. “Malloy? Anne? Report. Give me a report. Anne? Do you copy?”

  The answering buzz had her gripping Feeney’s shoulder, then there was a crackle. “Malloy here. We had it contained. No injuries, no casualties. The timer went and we had to contain and detonate. Repeat, no injuries. But this understage area is one holy mess.”

  “Okay. All right.” Eve rubbed a hand over her face. “Status?”

  “We got them all, Dallas. This building’s clean.”

  “Report to the conference room at Central when you’re secured here. Good work.” She broke transmission, spared Roarke a quick glance. “You’re with me, pal.” She offered Feeney a brief nod before striding off. “We’ll need all security data on this building, a complete list of personnel—techs, performers, maintenance, managerial. Everyone.”

  “I ordered that for you when I learned the target. It should be waiting for you at Central.”

  “Fine. Then you can go back to buying the planet and stay out of my hair. Give me the chip.”

  He lifted a brow. “What chip?”

  “Don’t be cute. Let me have the impact chip or whatever it’s called.”

  “Oh, that chip.” With the appearance of cooperation, he took out his handkerchief, unfolded it. And revealed nothing. “I seem to have lost it somewhere.”

  “Like hell. Give me the goddamn chip. Roarke. It’s evidence.”

  Smiling blandly, he shook the handkerchief, shrugged.

  She moved in until her toes bumped his. “Give me the damn thing, Roarke.” She hissed it out. “Before I order you strip-searched.”

  “You can’t do that without a warrant. Unless, of course, you’d like to do it yourself, in which case I’d be more than delighted to waive a few of my civil rights.”

  “This is an official investigation.”

  “It was my property, twice. My woman, twice.” His eyes had gone very cool. “You know where to find me if you need me, Lieutenant.”

  She grabbed his arm. “If ‘my woman’ is your new way of saying ‘my wife,’ I don’t like it any better.”

  “I didn’t think you would.” He gave her a friendly kiss on the brow. “See you at home.”

  She didn’t bother to snarl. Instead, she contacted Peabody to let the rest of the team know they were heading in.

  Clarissa raced into the workroom where Zeke was quietly fashioning the grooves for the tongue-and-groove joints on his cabinet. He glanced up in surprise, noted that her eyes were huge, her face flushed.

  “Did you hear?” she demanded. “Someone tried to set off a bomb in Radio City.”

  “In the theater?” His brow furrowed as he set down his tools. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Money or something, I suppose.” She brushed a hand over her hair. “Oh, you’re not using the entertainment center. I thought you would have heard. They aren’t giving out any real details, just that the building’s been secured and there’s no danger.”

  She fluttered her hands as if she didn’t know what to do with them now. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your work.”

  “It’s all right. That’s such a beautiful old place. Why would anyone want to destroy it?”

  “People are so cruel.” She ran a fingertip along one of the smoothly sanded boards he had stacked on a worktable. “Sometimes there’s no reason for it at all. It just is. I used to go to the Christmas show there every year. My parents would take me.” She smiled a little. “Good memories. I suppose that’s why I got so upset when I heard the news. Well, I should let you get back to work.”

  “I was about to take a break.” She was lonely—and more. He was sure of it. Out of politeness, he avoided looking beyond, scanning her aura. He could see enough in her face. She’d used enhancers carefully, but the faint bruise on her cheek showed, as did the results of weeping.

  He opened his lunch sack, took out his bottle of juice. “Would you like a drink?”

  “No. Yes. Yes, I suppose I would. You don’t have to bring your lunch Zeke. The AutoChef is fully stocked.”

  “I’m sort of used to my own.” Because he sensed she needed it, he smiled. “Got any glasses?”

  “Oh, of course.” She walked to a doorway, disappeared through it.

  He tried not to pay close attention. Really, he did. But it was such a pleasure to watch her move. All that nervous energy just under the seamless grace. She was so tiny, so beautiful.

  So sad.

  Everything inside him wanted to comfort her.

  She came back with two tall, clear glasses, then set them down so she could study his work. “You’ve already done so much. I’ve never seen the stages of something being built by hand, but I thought it would take much more time.”

  “It’s just a matter of sticking with it.”

  “You love what you do.” She looked back at him, her eyes just a little too bright, her smile just a little too wide. “It shows. I fell in love with your work the first time I saw it. With the heart of it.”

  She stopped, laughed at herself. “That sounds ridiculous. I’m always saying something ridiculous.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s what matters to me, anyway.” He picked up a glass he’d filled,
offered it. He didn’t feel tongue-tied and miserably shy around her as he often did with women. She needed a friend, and that made all the difference. “My father taught me that whatever you put of yourself in your work, you get back twice over.”

  “That’s nice.” Her smile softened. “It’s so important to have family. I miss mine. I lost my parents a dozen years ago and still miss them.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” She sipped the juice, stopped, sipped again. “Why, this is wonderful. What is it?”

  “It’s just one of my mother’s recipes. Mixed fruit, heavy on the mango.”

  “Well, it’s marvelous. I drink entirely too much coffee. I’d be better off with this.”

  “I’ll bring you a jug if you like.”

  “That’s kind of you, Zeke. You’re a kind man.” She laid a hand over his. As their eyes met, he felt his heart stumble in his chest, fall flat. Then she slid her hand, and her gaze, aside. “It, ah, smells wonderful in here. The wood.”

  All he could smell was her perfume, as soft and delicate as her skin. The back of his hand throbbed where her fingers had skimmed it. “You’ve hurt yourself, Mrs. Branson.”

  She swung around quickly. “What?”

  “There’s a bruise on your cheek.”

  “Oh.” Panic shadowed her eyes as she lifted her hand to the mark. “Oh, it’s nothing. I . . . tripped earlier. I tend to move too fast and not watch where I’m going.” She set her glass down, lifted it again. “I thought you were going to call me Clarissa. Mrs. Branson makes me feel so distant.”

  “I can make you a salve for the bruise. Clarissa.”

  Her eyes filled, threatened to overflow. “It’s nothing. But thank you. It’s nothing at all. I should go, let you get back to work. B. D. hates it when I interrupt his projects.”

  “I like the company.” He stepped forward. He could imagine himself reaching out, taking her into his arms. Just holding her there. Nothing more than that. But even that, he understood, was too much. “Would you like to stay?”

  “I . . .” A single tear spilled over, slipped beautifully down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m not myself today. My brother-in-law—I suppose, the shock. Everything. I haven’t been able to . . . B. D. hates public displays.”

  “You’re not in public now.”

  And he was reaching out, taking her into his arms where she fit as if she’d been designed for him. He held her there, nothing more than that. And it wasn’t too much at all.

  She wept quietly, almost silently, her face buried against his chest, her fists clenched against his back. He was tall, strong, innately gentle. She’d known he would be.

  When the tears began to slow, she sighed once, twice. “You are kind,” she murmured. “And patient, letting a woman you barely know cry on your shoulder. I really am sorry. I suppose I didn’t realize I had all that pent up.”

  She eased back, offered him a watery smile. Her eyes glimmered with tears as she lifted to her toes to press a light kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.” She kissed his cheek again, just as lightly, but her eyes had darkened, and her heart tripped against his chest.

  The hands balled against his back opened, spread, stroked, her breath trembled out through lips just parted.

  Then somehow, without thought or reason, his met them. Naturally as breathing, soft as a whispered promise. He drew her in, she drew him down into a kiss that spun delicately out until there was no time, no place for him but here and now.

  She seemed to melt against him, muscle by muscle and bone by bone as if to prove she was as lost in that moment as he. Then she trembled, then shuddered until her body quaked almost violently against his.

  She yanked back, her color high, her eyes huge and shocked. “That was—that was entirely my fault. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

  “It was my doing.” He was as pale as she was flushed, and every bit as shaken. “I beg your pardon.”

  “You were just being kind.” She pressed a hand against her heart as if to stop it from bounding out of her chest. “I’d forgotten how that is. Please, Zeke, let’s forget it.”

  He kept his eyes locked on hers, nodded slowly while his pulse beat like a thousand drums. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what has to be. I stopped having choices a long time ago. I have to go. I wish—” She bit back whatever she’d intended to say, shook her head fiercely. “I have to go,” she said again and dashed from the room.

  Alone, Zeke laid his hands against the workbench, leaned in, and closed his eyes. What in God’s name was he doing? What in God’s name had he done?

  He’d fallen flat-faced in love with a married woman.

  chapter eleven

  “Sir.” The minute Eve walked into the conference room, Peabody was on her feet. Strain showed in the tightness around her mouth. “You received another communication.”

  Eve pulled off her jacket. “Cassandra?”

  “I didn’t open the pouch, but I had it scanned. It’s clean.”

  With a nod, Eve took the pouch, turned it over in her hand. It was identical to the first. “The rest of the team’s on the way in. Where’s McNab?”

  “How would I know?” It came out in something close to a squeak that had Eve glancing over to watch Peabody stuff her hands in her pockets, take them out, fold her arms over her chest. “I don’t keep tabs on him. I don’t care where he is.”

  “Tag him, Peabody,” Eve said with what she considered admirable patience. “Bring him in.”

  “Ah, the superior officer should send for him.”

  “Your superior officer is telling you to get his skinny butt in here. Now.” Annoyed, Eve dropped into a chair and ripped open the pouch. She examined the disc briefly, then plugged it into the computer.

  “Run disc.”

  Running . . . . contents are text only as follows . . . .

  We are Cassandra.

  We are the gods of justice.

  We are loyal.

  Lieutenant Dallas, we enjoyed today’s events. We are in no way disappointed in our choice of you as adversary. In less than our projected time allotted, you located the described target. We are pleased with your skills.

  Perhaps you believe you won this battle. Though we congratulate you on your quick and decisive work, we feel, in fairness, we should inform you today’s work was only a test. A preliminary round.

  The first wave of police experts entered the target building at eleven hundred hours and sixteen minutes. Evacuation proceedings began within eight minutes. You arrived at target twelve minutes after evacuation had begun.

  At any time during this process, the target could have been destroyed. We preferred observing.

  We found it interesting that Roarke became personally involved. His arrival was an unexpected bonus and allowed us to study you working together. The cop and the capitalist.

  Forgive us for being amused by your fear of heights. We were impressed that despite it, you performed your duties as the tool of the fascist state. We had expected no less from you.

  In triggering the last device, we allowed time for containment. Lieutenant Malloy will confirm that without this time, without this containment, several lives and a great deal of property would have been lost.

  We will not be as accommodating with the next target.

  Our demands must be met within forty-eight hours. To those initial demands, we now demand a payment of sixty million dollars in bearer bonds in increments of fifty thousand dollars. The capitalistic figureheads that line their pockets and break the back of the masses must be made to pay in coin they worship.

  Once confirmation of the liberation of our compatriots is assured, instructions on delivery of the monetary penalty will be issued.

  To prove our commitment to the cause, a small demonstration of our power will be made at precisely fourteen hundred hours.

  We are Cassandra.

  “A demonstration?” Eve glanced at her wrist unit. “In
ten minutes.” She pulled out her communicator. “Malloy, are you still in the target?”

  “Just securing.”

  “Get everybody out, keep out for another fifteen minutes. Run another scan.”

  “This place is clean, Dallas.”

  “Run it anyway. After the fifteen, have Feeney send a unit of exterminators in. The building’s full of bugs. They were watching every move. We’ll need the bugs brought in for analysis, but get out and stay out of the building until after fourteen hundred.”

  Anne opened her mouth, obviously decided to save her questions, then nodded. “Affirmative. ETA to Central thirty minutes.”

  “Do you think they got a bomb past the scan?” Peabody asked when Eve broke transmission.

  “No, but I’m not taking the chance. We can’t track every damn building in the city. They want to show us how big and bad they are. So they’re going to take something out.” She pushed away from the desk, walked to the window. “There’s not a fucking thing I can do to stop them.”

  She scanned her view of New York, the old brick, the new steel, the crowds of people jammed onto glides or sidewalks, the nervous, edgy traffic in the streets, the rumble of it in the air.

  Serve and protect, she thought. That was her job. That was her promise. And now all she could do was watch and wait.

  McNab came in, looked anywhere but at Peabody. He preferred to pretend she wasn’t in the room. “You sent for me, Lieutenant?”

  “See what you can do with the disc I just ran. Make copies for my files and for the commander. And what is the status on Fixer’s code?”

  McNab allowed himself a small, smug smile and a sly sidelong glance at Peabody. “I just cracked it.” He held up his own disc and struggled not to scowl as Peabody turned her head away and studiously examined her nails.

  “Why the hell didn’t you say so?” Eve strode over to snatch it out of his hand.

  Insulted, McNab opened his mouth, then shut it tight when he caught Peabody’s smirk out of the corner of his eye. “I’d just run the backups when you sent for me,” he said stiffly. “I didn’t take the time to read the contents comprehensively,” he continued as Eve jammed the disc home. “But a quick skim indicates he lists all materials used, all devices made, and there are enough of them to wipe out a Third World country.”