J D Robb - Dallas 15 - Purity in Death

by Purity in Death(lit)

  Peabody's lips trembled. Her eyes filled again.

  "Don't! Don't do that again. That's an order."

  "Yes, sir." She let out an enormous sigh. "I'm going to go stick my head under a faucet before I go back in with him. I'll keep him out of your hair, Dallas."

  "See that you do."

  Eve sat where she was a moment after Peabody walked out. "Don't make any smart comments about me being a soft touch," Eve warned. "Or you'll be glad we happen to be in a medical facility when you regain full consciousness."

  "Wouldn't dream of it." Roarke rubbed a hand over hers. "Lieutenant Softie."

  She slanted him a look, but got to her feet without resorting to violence. "Let's get the hell out of here."

  She let him drive home because she wanted to think. Electronics weren't her strong suit. In fact, she and technology fought an ongoing war, and so far she'd lost most of the battles.

  Feeney was captain of EDD because he was a good cop, and because he not only understood the strange world of electronics, he had a lifelong love affair with it. She could count on McNab, if he was physically up to it. He brought a young, fresh, innovative hand to the field.

  And, after today, she could expect the full cooperation of every cop, drone, and droid in EDD.

  But she had one more weapon, and it was sitting beside her, making her clunky departmental vehicle purr like a kitten as it darted through the misery of evening traffic.

  She might have been Roarke's wife, and the wheel of the deal was his favorite pastime. Okay, second favorite, she corrected with a smirk. But electronics was his well-loved mistress.

  "We need to get into Cogburn's unit," she began. "We need to take it apart and put every chip, every circuit, every board under a scope. And we need to do that fast, without whoever's working on it turning into a homicidal maniac. Any ideas?"

  "I might have a few. I might take the time and trouble to refine them, if I were officially attached to the investigation. Expert consultant, civilian."

  Yeah, she thought. Always a deal to wheel. "I'll consider it, after I hear the ideas."

  "I'll discuss the ideas, after you consider it."

  She only scowled and tagged Morris on the in-dash 'link.

  His preliminary exam on Halloway showed the same massive intercranial pressure. Unexplained.

  Early test results on Cogburn's brain tissue indicated some unidentified viral infection.

  She frowned as they drove through the gates toward home. "Computers get viruses."

  "Not biological viruses," Roarke pointed out. "A sick computer can and does infect other computers, but not its operator."

  "This one did." She was dead sure of it. "Subliminal programming geared to mind control? We've dealt with that kind of thing before."

  "We have." And he was considering it. He veered away from the house toward the garage to save Summerset the annoyance of remoting it there later. "As I said, I've some ideas."

  She got out in what she thought of as his vehicular toy warehouse. She'd never understand what one man needed with twenty cars, three jet-bikes, a minicopter, and a couple of all-terrains. And that didn't count the ones he had stashed elsewhere.

  "I'll run consultant status by the commander. Temporary consultant status."

  "I really think I ought to get a badge this time." He grabbed her hand. "Let's have a walk."

  "A what?"

  "A walk," he repeated, drawing her outside. "It's a nice evening, and will likely be the last we'll have to ourselves for a bit of time. I've a yen to take the air with you, Lieutenant." He lowered his head, kissed her lightly. "Or maybe it's just a yen for you."

  Chapter 6

  She didn't mind walking. Though she preferred pacing for exercising the brain.

  And really, this was more meandering, so that she had to check her stride twice to cut it back to his pace.

  It was funny, she thought, the way he could throttle back so seamlessly. From action and stress to ease without any visible effort. It was a skill she'd never mastered.

  The air was heavy with heat, thick with it, so they were strolling through a warm syrup. But the sharp white light of afternoon had mellowed toward a gilded evening light that was so soft, it felt as if it could be stroked.

  Even the heat was different here, she thought. Sucking itself into grass and trees and flowers rather than bouncing off pavement and smashing back into your face.

  But there was something... something just under the surface of Roarke's placid calm. She could sense the honed edge of it, like a knife wrapped in velvet.

  "What's going on?"

  "Summer doesn't last very long." He steered her down a stone path she wasn't entirely sure she'd seen before. "It's pleasant to enjoy it while it does. Particularly this time of day. The gardens are at their prime."

  She supposed they were, though they always looked spectacular. Even in winter, there was something compelling about the shapes, the textures, the tones. But now it was all color, all scent. Dramatic here with tall, spikey things with brilliant and exotic blooms, charming there with tangled rows of simple blossoms. And all lush and somehow perfect, without giving the appearance that any hand had touched it but Mother Nature's.

  "Who does all the work out here, anyway?"

  "Elves, of course." He laughed and drew her into an arbored tunnel where hundreds of roses climbed and dripped onto green, shady ground.

  "Imported from Ireland?"

  "Naturally."

  "It's cool in here." She looked up. Little flickers of sun and sky shone through the ceiling of flowers. "Nature's climate control." She sniffed. "Smells like..." Well, roses of course, she thought, but it wasn't that simple. "Smells romantic."

  She turned, smiled at him. But he wasn't smiling back.

  "What?" Instinctively she looked over her shoulder as if expecting some threat. A snake in the garden. "What is it?"

  How could he explain what it was to see her standing there in the dappled, rose-drenched shade, looking baffled, a little confused by the beauty? Tall, lean, her disordered hair streaky from the sun. Wearing her weapon the way another woman might a string of good pearls. With careless confidence and pride.

  "Eve." Then he shook his head, stepped to her. Resting his forehead on hers, he ran his hands up and down her arms.

  And how could he explain what it had been to stand by and watch her walk unarmed, unprotected into a room to face a madman alone? To know he might have lost her in an instant.

  He knew she'd faced death countless times. Had faced it with her. They'd had each other's blood on their hands before.

  He'd held her through dreams more violent and vicious than any human soul should have to bear. He'd walked with her through the nightmare of her past.

  But this had been different. She'd been shielded only by her own courage and wit. And standing back, having no choice but to stand aside and watch, and wait, having no choice but to accept it was what she'd had to do had driven an unspeakable fear into his heart like a spike.

  He knew it was best for both of them if he didn't speak of it.

  But she understood. There were pockets and shadows inside him she still didn't fully comprehend. But she'd come to understand love. It was she who lifted her face to his when he would have drawn back. She who lifted her mouth to his.

  He wanted to be tender. It seemed right with the romance of roses, in the gratitude that she was here, whole and safe. But the flood of emotion all but drowned him. Swamped by it, he fisted a hand in the back of her shirt as if it were a line tossed into a raging sea. That storm swept through him and into the kiss.

  She waited for the heat of it to drop them both, and for his hand to tear her shirt to ribbons.

  But his fingers opened, stroked one hard, possessive line down her back before his hands came up to frame her face.

  She could see the tempest in his eyes, swarming in the blue of them with a kind of primal violence that made the breath catch in her throat and her pulse pound in response
.

  "I need you." His fingers dived into her hair, dragging it back from her face, fisting again. "You can't know what kind of need is in me for you. There are times, do you understand me, I don't want it. I don't want this raging inside me. It won't stop."

  His mouth crushed down on hers, and she tasted that need, the fierce and focused intensity of it. And the greed, the desperation of it.

  She gave herself over to it without hesitation. Because he was wrong, as he was very rarely wrong. She understood the need, and she understood the frustration of knowing it wouldn't be controlled.

  The same war waged in her.

  He released her weapon harness, dragged it off, tossed it aside. She only wrapped herself more tightly around him, moaned in drugged pleasure when his mouth, his teeth, fixed onthe curve of her throat.

  Somewhere a bird was singing its heart out, and the scent of roses grew heavy, hypnotizing. Air that had seemed so cool inthe green shade went thick, went hot.

  He yanked the shirt over her head, and those hands with their long, clever fingers raced over flesh until she all but felt it melt. But when she tugged at his shirt, he shoved her hands away, locked them together at the wrist behind her back.

  He needed control, however fleeting, however tenuous.

  "I'm taking you." His voice was as thick as the air. "My way."

  "I want-"

  "You'll get what you want soon enough." He unfastened the hook of her trousers. "But I'll have what I want first."

  And he wanted her naked.

  He leaned in, nipped her bottom lip. "Do off the boots."

  "Let go of my hands."

  He merely slid his down into the opening of her trousers, tightening his grip on her wrists when her body jerked.

  "The boots."

  He laid his lips on hers, slid his hand over her. His tongue slipping in to soothe, his finger slipping in to arouse with a patient seduction opposed to that steely grip on her wrists.

  Even as she murmured a protest, her arms went limp. Dazed, she began toeing off her boots, and the movement of her own body shuddered her over peak.

  She was hot and wet and trembling.

  He wanted to touch, to taste, to explore and exploit every inch of her. Releasing her hands, he moved down her body. And when his mouth clamped over her, she erupted.

  Her hands grabbed at his hair as she choked on gasps. But he only gripped her hips and continued to destroy her.

  She was his now. In this garden, in this world. She was his.

  Her world was spinning, all the color and scent gone mad around her. His mouth was like a fever, burning against her with a torment so exquisite it felt like death.

  She could feel the heat rolling through her again, filling her, pumping into her blood and bone until it burst like a nova and left her shattered.

  And still he wouldn't stop.

  "I can't. I can't."

  "I can."

  When the next rush buckled her knees, he pulled her down.

  This time he dragged her arms over her head and once again locked her wrists together. "Do you remember the first time I had you? I can't, you said, but you did."

  "Damn it." Her body bowed up. "I want you inside me."

  "I will be." He closed his free hand over her breast. "I can make you come this way now. You're primed for it. Everything in you is ready for me."

  His hand was like magic over her skin. Under it her breast felt impossibly full, unbearably sensitive. And her heart beat like a fist.

  "It pleasures me to watch it take you over."

  He watched now as the helpless pleasure raced over her face, as her breath came faster through her lips. She bowed up again, a trembling arch. Then burst. Then melted.

  He shifted away, began to undress.

  She lay sprawled, damp, naked, conquered on the soft green grass. She wore only a long chain from which dripped the fat tear of a diamond, and the simple St. Jude's medal. He'd given her those, symbols and shields. That she would wear them, together, moved him unbearably.

  Her arms stayed flung over her head as he'd left them. Surrendered, as she surrendered to no one else.

  He was rock hard and desperate to mate.

  He straddled her, ran his hands over her face, her throat, her breasts. "Eve."

  She saw his face so intense, so strongly beautiful in the deep shade. A trio of thin sunbeams shot down through the leaves and flashed light over his hair.

  "I want you to take me. Is that what you need to hear? I want to be taken, as long as it's by you."

  He drove himself into her. Shoved her knees back and drove himself deeper. She cried out, the shock of sensation slicing through her as he plunged.

  "Harder," she demanded and yanked until his mouth was on hers again. "Harder."

  His body quivered, and control snapped like brittle glass. Caught up in his own madness he ravished her mouth, her body. Pounding as he heard her cry out, pounding as he felt her gather again.

  "With me." He took her hands, linking fingers now. "Come with me."

  He gave himself, as she had given, so they could take each other.

  The blood was still roaring in his ears when he managed to roll, drawing her with him so she was cushioned by his body rather than pinned under it.

  The storm inside him had burned itself out. His hand was gentle as he stroked over her back.

  "Some walk."

  He smiled a little. "Yes, well, a bit of fresh air always does a body good."

  "Yeah, I'm sure it was the fresh air that did the trick." She snickered. "Now I get why people go to the countryside for a little R and R."

  "I'm feeling pretty rested and relaxed at the moment."

  She lifted her head now, studied his face. "Yeah?"

  He knew what she was asking. Knew she'd understood. "Yeah. I suppose we'd better tidy ourselves up and get inside. They should be bringing McNab along soon, and I've yet to tell Summerset."

  "I'll leave that happy little job to you."

  "Coward."

  "Bet your ass." She rolled off him, then looked around on the grass for her clothes. "Where the hell's my shirt? Did you eat it?"

  "Not to my knowledge." He glanced up, pointed. "There, hanging on the roses."

  "The many uses of the garden," she commented as she strode over to tug it free. "Visual and olfactory stimulation, sex 'capades and clothes hanger."

  He got up laughing, and the rich, easy sound of it told her they were back on steady ground again.

  Once they were inside, Eve made a beeline for the stairs and went straight up to her office. She had work, she told herself. It wasn't that she wanted to avoid whatever conversation Roarke was going to have with Summerset

  Or it wasn't just that.

  She put in a call to the commander first. The reluctance she'd shown about having Roarke on board as consultant had been smoke. She'd already planned to tag him for it, officially.

  But there wasn't any reason to give him a swelled head about it.

  "Permission's already been granted," Whitney told her. "Feeney requested that Roarke be asked to consult. I'm told Detective McNab's been released from the hospital and into your care."

  "Not my care-so to speak."

  "I've already spoken with his parents. You can expect a transmission from them."

  "Ah..." Her mind began plotting how to pass that along to Summerset as well. "He's young and he's fit. I expect he'll be back on his feet in a day or two. I'll be working primarily out of my home office, Commander. Unless Feeney feels otherwise, I want Cogburn's unit transferred here."

  "That's your call. We have a meeting tomorrow with Chief Tibble, Mayor Peachtree, and Chang, the media liaison. Fourteen hundred, in The Tower. Your presence is required."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Get me some answers, Lieutenant."

  When he broke transmission, she sat down at her desk. She might not have the answers yet, but she could line up all the questions.

  She made notes, checked prior no
tes. Shuffled them together and made fresh ones.

  Cogburn, Louis K.-playground illegals. Possible to trace purchase of data unit? Search data entries to determine how often he used it-per week, hours per day.

  Sudden violence displayed in primitive, physical bludgeoning. No prior VT indicated through witness statements.