by J. D. Robb
“My . . . Christ. I hadn’t thought . . . I’d be a kind of suspect. I was home here until about eight-thirty. Then I went out to a club. I didn’t actually talk to anyone. Didn’t see anyone very interesting. I’d been hoping . . . Okay, I confess. I’d thought I might pick up a girl for the evening, but it didn’t work out. I came home early. Ten-thirty, I’d say. My security system would verify that.”
“So you were alone, essentially?”
“I have a house droid.” He got to his feet. “I can get it. You can question it as to when I left, when I came back. Oh, and I have a cash receipt for drinks. I’m sure they’re time and date stamped. Will that help?”
“Very much. We’ll just clear this up so we can move on in the investigation.”
“Anything I can do. Anything to help. I’ll get the droid. And while you’re doing the questioning, I’ll get the receipt. I’m sure I stuck it in my pocket.”
“Appreciate it. Oh, I should tell you your address is mislisted in the city files.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your address, there’s an error. I got your correct location from your grandfather’s files. You might want to see to that, when you get the chance.”
“How odd. Yes, I’ll take care of it. Excuse me just a minute.”
He got the droid, having no doubt Kevin’s careful re-programming and falsified input would hold. But his fists were clenched when he strode into his bedroom. Kevin rushed in behind him.
“You said they’d never identify the car.”
“Well, they did,” Lucias shot back. “But it doesn’t matter. Everything’s fine. Looks like it’s just as well that stupid bitch didn’t show up at Jean-Luc’s tonight. I wouldn’t have this.” He tugged the receipt out of his trouser pocket. “Alibied all around, and playing the shocked and grieving grandson.”
“What about me?”
“They don’t know about you, and there’s no reason they should. There’s no connection between this and the project as far as the cops are concerned. And no connection that can be proved between me and my grandfather’s death. Just stay up here and be quiet. I’m handling this.”
He hurried down again. “Lieutenant, in my pocket, just as I thought.” He handed Eve the receipt.
“Fine. I’d like my aide to make a copy of this for the files.”
“Of course.”
He waited while Peabody scanned the receipt. “Is there anything else I can do? Anything at all?”
“Not at this time. We’ll be in touch.”
“You’ll let me know if you—when you find who did this.”
“You’ll be the first,” Eve promised.
She walked back to the car, slid behind the wheel. “Cold-blooded son of a bitch. He was enjoying that.”
“Droid could’ve been reprogrammed,” McNab said from the backseat. “Same for the security. The guy who’s been doing the e-work could’ve done both. It’d be cake.”
“Still, we didn’t get much out of him,” Peabody complained.
“Didn’t we?” Eve tapped her fingers on the wheel. “I never said his grandfather’s name and he never asked. He has the requisite two, both New York City residents. But he never asked which one was dead. Didn’t have to ask. And that bit about being stripped of his dignity at the end of his life. That’s just what he’d done. What he’d intended to do. And he out-thought himself by not just saying his pal and housemate Kevin was with him part of the evening. Didn’t want to share the spotlight.”
“I guess we got more out of him than I thought.”
“That’s right. Little mistakes.”
Chapter 18
Roarke met them at the door. It only took one look at Eve’s face to confirm his suspicion that she was running on fumes. At that moment, he’d have preferred closing the door in Peabody’s and McNab’s faces, scooping his wife up, and pouring her into bed.
Because she read something of his thoughts, Eve nudged everyone inside. “It was quicker to bring them here.”
“We can catch a cab downtown,” Peabody said, sacrificing the delights of lolling in one of the magnificent beds for a few hours.
“Don’t be silly.” Roarke skimmed a hand over Eve’s hair, a subtle gesture of reassurance. “We’ve plenty of room. Whose fist did you run into, Ian?”
“Monroe’s.” He smirked and sent his sore lip throbbing. “We ran into each other’s.”
“It’s nothing to brag about.” Eve stripped off her jacket. “Crash here. The briefing’s at oh six hundred anyway. Pick a couple of bedrooms on opposite sides of the house.”
“Aw” was all Peabody said.
Laughing, Roarke patted her arm. “She doesn’t mean it.”
“Do, too,” Eve replied. “Mavis and Trina?”
“In the pool, along with Leonardo, who arrived about two hours ago. I bowed out when they decided it was time for nude relay races.”
“They’re naked?” McNab perked right up. “Wet and naked? You know, a quick swim would be good. Just a passing thought,” he murmured when Peabody curled her lip.
“Playtime’s over. Bed.” Eve pointed up the stairs. “We’ve got a major op tomorrow, and I want you both fresh. Where are the mermaids and friend bunking?”
“Oh, here and there,” Roarke said easily. “Why don’t you go up? I’ll settle our company in.”
“Good. I’ve got some things left to run before I turn in.” She started up the stairs. “And I don’t want to hear the patter of little feet sneaking around the corridors.”
“She’s so strict,” Peabody said under her breath.
“Tired and cross is what she is. Now, why don’t we take the elevator.” Roarke gestured. “I think you’ll like the accommodations I have in mind. Plenty of room for two.”
Eve went to his office first, brought up a diagram of Greenpeace Park. After highlighting the picnic site, she let the computer select the most strategic locations for her men. She’d see if she agreed—after a few hours of sleep.
She listed the men she wanted for the operation, transmitted the order, and copied Whitney.
A shower, she decided when her vision blurred. Maybe a shower would wash some of the fog out of her brain so she could put another hour in.
She was staggering into the bedroom when her pocket-link beeped. “Dallas.”
“Figured I’d tag you on the portable.” Morris yawned hugely. “Our guest this evening departed this plane of existence at seven-forty. Previously, he had an unpleasant altercation with a blunt object. This altercation would have resulted in death within an hour, perhaps a tad less. The medical term would be having one’s brains bashed in.”
“Got it.” Too tired to stand, she sat on the arm of the sofa in the sitting area. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, Morris, but I already got the data from a media source. You’ve got a gossip in your house.”
“No! Why, I’m shocked and amazed. A city official leaking information to the media. What is the world coming to?”
“You’re a fucking jolly soul.”
“Love your work, love the world. I don’t imagine your media contact had quite everything, as I’ve just gotten the tox results.”
She shook her head clear as Roarke came into the room. “He was drugged?”
“Between the initial insults and the coup de grâce, the doctor was given a stimulant.”
“They tried to revive him?” Her thoughts jumbled, then cleared before Morris could answer. “No, that doesn’t make sense. They wanted to keep him alive a little longer.”
“Give the lady a stuffed panda. The substance used stimulates the heart, and it’s quickly absorbed. If we’d gotten him in here twenty, thirty minutes later, we wouldn’t have found a trace of it.”
“They kept him alive so they could get him to a dumping site and kill him there. He’d have died anyway, right, from the initial beating?”
“Without immediate medical attention, yes. And even then his chances were minimal. He’d certainly have drowned with
out that final blow.”
“So they wanted to give him that last shot. When he was unconscious, helpless. Stripped of his dignity.”
“You’ve got yourself mighty nasty customers, Dallas. I’m sending the data to our mutual friend Renfrew. His robbery theory doesn’t cut the mustard.”
“Thanks. I appreciate you handling this yourself.”
“Just part of our luxury package. Get some sleep, for sweet Christ’s sake, Dallas. I’ve got customers in here who look perkier than you.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.” She broke transmission, then just sat, staring down at her ’link. She blinked back when Roarke released her weapon harness. “You put them in a room together, didn’t you?”
“Haven’t you more to worry about than the sexual activities of your subordinates?”
“My subordinates come dragging their asses into the briefing because they’ve spent what’s left of the night playing hide the salami . . . what’re you doing?”
“Taking off your boots. You’re going to bed.”
She stared down at the top of his head. Jesus, the man had the most incredible hair . . . All black and silky, she thought as her head started to loll. So you just wanted to bury your hands in it. Your face in it and . . .
She snapped back. “I’m going to grab a shower and get another hour in.”
“No, Eve, you’re not.” Temper simmered in his voice as he tossed her boots aside with just enough force to have them bounce and skitter. “I’m not standing here watching while you make yourself sick. You go to bed on your own, or I knock you out and put you there.”
She frowned at him. It wasn’t often the rage showed, that hot and bubbling violence they both knew lived inside him. Seeing it leap, she knew she must look every bit as ragged as Morris indicated.
“I saw his face. I looked in his face.” She spoke quietly. “I can’t sleep, Roarke, because I’ll see it.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes, then rose. “I looked at him, and if I hadn’t known what he was, I wouldn’t have seen it.”
She walked away, dragged open a window. Breathed. “He’s young. His face is still a little soft around the edges. His hair’s all red and curly like, I don’t know, a pretty kid’s doll or something. He’d killed tonight, taken a life—a life connected to him by blood—with deliberation and forethought and extreme violence. And he sat there talking to me. Teary. Remorseful. He played it perfectly, and I wouldn’t have seen it. I wouldn’t have seen what’s in him.”
He hated to hear the fatigue in her voice, and more the discouragement that ghosted through it. “Why should you?”
“Because I was watching for it, and it wasn’t there.” She whirled back. “He enjoyed it. I know that, in my gut, but I didn’t see it on his face, didn’t see it in his eyes. He was . . . entertained. I’d upped the stakes for him again. Same game, new level.
“I wanted to hurt him,” she continued. “Personally. I wanted to ram my fist into his face until I erased it. Erased him.”
“Instead you walked away.” He crossed to her, certain she was unaware that her cheeks were wet. “Because you’ll erase him by stopping him, by putting him in a cage for the rest of his life. Eve.” He framed her face in his hands, brushed at the damp with his thumbs. “Darling Eve, you’re exhausted, right down to the bone. If you don’t rest, who’ll stand for those women?”
She lifted her hands to his wrists. “The dream I had, the last one, with my father standing there bleeding from dozens of holes I’d put in him. He said I’d never be rid of him. He was right. You take one down and another one’s right there. Right there waiting. I can’t sleep, because I’ll see them.”
“Not tonight.” He drew her in. “We won’t let them come in tonight. If you won’t sleep . . .” He brushed his lips over her temple. “. . . you’ll rest.”
He picked her up, carried her back to the sofa.
“What are we doing?”
“We’ll watch a movie,” he told her.
“A movie. Roarke—”
“It’s something you don’t do enough of.” He laid her down, selected a film disc. “Go outside yourself and into make-believe. Dramas or comedies, joys and sorrows that pull you away from your own for a bit of time.”
He came back, slid behind her, and tucked her head on his shoulder. “I’ve told you about this one, Magda Lane. It took me out of my own miseries once.”
It felt so good to lie with him, to have his arm hooked cozily around her waist. The opening music swept into the room, color and costume swirled on-screen. “How many times have you seen this?” she asked him.
“Oh, dozens, I suppose. Shh. You’ll miss the opening lines.”
She watched, and when her lids drooped, she listened. Then she slept.
When she woke, it was quiet, and it was dark, and his arm was still around her. Fatigue wanted to drag her back under, but she willed it back and turned her wrist up to check the time.
Already after five, she thought. She’d had a solid three hours’ sleep, and it would have to be enough. But when she started to move, Roarke’s arm tightened.
“Take a few minutes more.”
“Can’t. It’s going to take a half hour in the shower to beat my brain back into shape. I wonder if I can take a shower lying down.”
“It’s called a bath.”
“Not the same.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“I’m not whispering.” She cleared her throat. And felt as if she’d swallowed splinters of glass. “Just a little hoarse.”
“Lights on, ten percent.” In the dim glow he nudged her onto her back. “Pale as a ghost, too,” he said and laid a hand on her brow. Something like panic ran over his face. “I think you’re running a fever.”
“I am not.” If he could feel panic at the thought of illness, she could feel fear. “I’m not sick. I don’t get sick.”
“You don’t sleep more than a handful of hours in a week and live on coffee, you get sick. Damn it, Eve, you’ve sabotaged your immune system once too often.”
“I have not.” She started to sit up, then plopped back when the room spun. “I’m just getting my bearings.”
“I ought to strap you in bed for the next month. You need a bloody keeper.” He rolled off the sofa, strode to the house ’link.
“I don’t know what you’re so pissed off about.” Her voice was perilously close to a whine, and appalled her. “I’m just a little muggy yet.”
“You set a single toe off that sofa, and I’m hauling you to the doctor.”
“You just try it, pal, and we’ll see who needs medical attention.” Since the threat came out in a wheeze, it wasn’t particularly effective.
Roarke simply glared at her, and snapped into the ’link. “Summerset. Eve’s ill. I need you up here.”
“What? What are you doing?” She shoved herself up, nearly gained her feet before Roarke stalked back and held her down. “He’s not touching me. He lays one hand on me and I’m beating you both bloody. Where’s my weapon?”
“It’s him or the health center.”
She sucked in air. “You are not the boss here.”
“Prove it,” he challenged. “Take me down.”
She pushed up, he shoved her back. She reared again, and this time pumped her fist into his belly.
“It’s gratifying to see you have some strength left, even if that was a girl punch.”
The insult nearly rendered her speechless. “The first chance, the very first chance I get, I’m tying your dick into a knot.”
“Won’t that be fun?” He looked over as Summerset came in. “She’s running a fever.”
“I am not. Don’t you touch me. Don’t lay a hand—” She cursed, struggled, when Roarke straddled her and pinned her arms.
“Such childishness.” Summerset clucked his tongue, laid a hand on her brow. “Temperature’s slightly elevated.” He danced his long fingers under her jaw, along her throat. “Stick out your tongue.”
“Eve.” R
oarke’s single word was drenched in warning as she pressed her lips tightly together. She stuck out her tongue.
“Do you have any pain?” Summerset asked her.
“Yeah, in my ass. I call it Summerset.”
“I see your droll wit hasn’t suffered. Just a bit of a bug,” he said to Roarke. “Due, I imagine, to exhaustion, stress, and juvenile eating habits. We can ward it off, and treat the symptoms. I’ll go get what she needs. She’ll do best with a day or two in bed.”
“Get off me,” she said in a low, clear voice when Summerset went out. “Right now.”
“No.” Her arms were trembling under his grip, and he didn’t think it was all from temper. “Not until we’ve dealt with this. Are you cold?”
“No.” She was freezing. And the pitiful struggle she’d put up had awakened aches everywhere.
“Then why are you shivering?” He bit off an oath, snagged a throw from the back of the couch and had it flung over her before she could push the order from brain to body to move.
“Damn it, Roarke, he’s going to come back and poke at me, and try to make me drink one of his weird brews. I just need a hot shower. Let me up. Have a heart.”
“I do, and it’s yours.” He lowered his brow to hers. “That’s the problem.”
“I’m feeling better. Really.” It was a lie, poorly executed as her voice was beginning to tremble. “And when I close this case, I’ll take a day off. I’ll sleep for twenty hours. I’ll eat vegetables.”
He had to smile. “I love you, Eve.”
“Then don’t let him back in here.” Her eyes wheeled as she heard the elevator doors open. “He’s coming,” she whispered. “In the name of everything holy, save me.”
“She needs to sit up.” Summerset set a tray on the table. On it was a glass of milky liquid, a trio of white tablets, and a pressure syringe.
Eve let herself go limp, and when Roarke eased back, she sprang. It was a sweaty battle, but a short one. Without batting a lash, Summerset stepped over, pinched her nose closed, dropped the tablets in her mouth, and chased them down her throat with the liquid.
