by J. D. Robb
“Display,” she demanded, and stepped closer to the screen to study the visual herself. “Cross section. Side view, enhance. What do you see, Peabody?”
“Unattractive gray matter, too damaged for transplant.”
“Enhance right hemisphere, frontal lobe. Jesus, what a fucking mess he made out of himself. You just can’t see. Can’t be sure.” She stared until her eyes burned. Was that a shadow, or was it simply part of the trauma caused when a human skull smashed brutally into concrete?
“I don’t know, Peabody.” She had all she needed, and she slid the recorder under her shirt again. “But I do know that there’s no motive or predisposition for self-destruct in this data. And that makes three. Let’s get the hell out of this place,” she decided. “It gives me the creeps.”
“I’m with you all the way on that one.”
They got tubes of Pepsi and what passed for a hash sandwich at a glide-cart on the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and Security Row. Eve was just about to hail a transport back to the airport when a sleek black limo glided to the curb. The rear window slid down, and Roarke smiled out at them.
“Would you ladies like a lift?”
“Wow,” was all Peabody could manage as she scanned the car from bumper to bumper. It was a gleaming antique, a luxury from another era, and as romantic and tempting as sin.
“Don’t encourage him, Peabody.” When Eve started to climb in, Roarke took her hand and tumbled her into his lap. “Hey.” Mortified, she jabbed with her elbow.
“I love to fluster her when she’s on duty,” Roarke said, wrestling Eve back onto his lap. “And how was your day, Peabody?”
Peabody grinned, delighted to see her lieutenant flushed and cursing. “It just got better. If this thing has a privacy screen, I can leave you two alone.”
“I said not to encourage him, didn’t I?” This time her elbow had better aim, and Eve managed to slide off onto the seat. “Idiot,” she muttered at Roarke.
“She dotes on me so.” He sighed, settled back. “It’s almost smothering. If you’ve finished your police business, can I offer you a tour of the city?”
“No,” Eve said before Peabody could open her mouth. “Straight back to New York. No detours.”
“She’s a real party animal, too,” Peabody said soberly, then neatly folded her hands and watched the city stream by.
chapter ten
Before Eve left for home, she perfected a detailed report on the similarities in the alleged suicides and why her suspicions that the senator’s death was due to the same as yet unknown causes. She transferred her findings to the commander’s unit, with a flag to his home ’link.
Unless his wife was hosting one of her ubiquitous dinner parties, she knew Whitney would review the report before morning. With that hope, she took the sky glide from homicide to the Electronic Detective Division.
She found Feeney at his desk, his stubby fingers holding delicate tools, microglasses turning his eyes to saucers as he stripped down a miniboard.
“You doing repair and maintenance these days?” She eased a hip on the edge of his desk, careful not to jar his rhythm. She’d expected no more than the grunt she received in response and waited while he transferred a sliver of something onto a clear dish.
“Somebody’s having fun and games,” he muttered. “Managed to get a virus of some kind right into the chief’s unit. Memory’s been boosted, the GCC compromised.”
She glanced at the silver sliver and imagined that was the GCC. Computers weren’t her forte. “Got a line on it?”
“Not yet.” With tiny tweezers, he lifted the sliver, studied it through his glasses. “But I will. I found the virus, dosed it, that’s first priority. This poor little bastard’s dead, though. When I autopsy it, we’ll see.”
She had to smile. It was so like Feeney to think of his components and chips in human terms. He replaced the sliver, sealed the dish, then tugged off his glasses.
His eyes shrank, blinked, refocused. And there he was, Dallas thought, rumpled, wrinkled, and baggy, just as she liked him best. He’d made her a cop, giving her the kind of in-the-field training she could never have learned through discs or VR. And though he’d transferred from Homicide to captain in EDD, she continued to depend on him.
“So,” she began. “Did you miss me?”
“Were you gone?” He grinned at her, reached a hand into a bowl for some candied almonds. “Did you like your fancy honeymoon?”
“Yeah, I did.” She took a nut herself. It had been a long time since lunch. “Even with a body at the end of it. I appreciate the data you dug up for me.”
“No problem. A lot of fuss for self-terminations.”
“Maybe.” His office was larger than hers, due to his rank and his love of space. His boasted a view screen which, as usual, was tuned to a classic film channel. Just now Indiana Jones was being lowered into a pit of asps. “It’s got a few interesting aspects, though.”
“Want to share?”
“That’s why I’m here.” She’d copied the data she’d taken from the senator’s file and took the disc from her pocket. “I’ve got a brain dissection on here, but the picture’s a little rough. Can you clean it up, boost it some?”
“Can bears shit in the reforested park?” He took the disc, swiveled to his unit, and loaded it. Moments later, he was scowling over the image. “Pitiful imaging. What did you do, use a portable to record off screen?”
“It would be better if we didn’t get into that.”
He turned his head, studied her with that same scowl. “You teetering on a line, Dallas?”
“My balance is good.”
“Let’s hope so.” Preferring to work manually, he slid out a keyboard. His workingman’s fingers danced over keys and controls like a master harpist’s over strings. He jerked a shoulder when she leaned close. “Don’t crowd me, kid.”
“I need to see.”
Under his expertise the picture was clearing, contrasts sharpening. She struggled for patience as he fine tuned, diddled, humming to himself as he worked. Behind her all hell was breaking loose between Harrison Ford and the snakes.
“That’s about the best we can do on this unit. You want more, I have to take it into master.” He flicked a glance up at her. “You gotta log on for master. Technically.”
She knew he’d bypass regulations for her and risk an interview with IAD. “Let’s go with this for now. You see that, Feeney?” She tapped a finger against the screen just under the tiny shadow.
“I see a hell of a lot of trauma. This brain must have been bashed good and proper.”
“But this.” She could just make it out. “I’ve seen this before. On two other scans.”
“I’m no neurologist, but I’d guess it’s not supposed to be there.”
“No.” She straightened. “It’s not supposed to be there.”
She got home late and was met by Summerset at the door. “There are two . . . gentlemen to see you, Lieutenant.”
With a quick jolt, she thought of the data she’d commandeered. “Are they wearing uniforms?”
Summerset’s pursed mouth pruned further. “Hardly. I’ve put them in the front parlor. They insisted on waiting, though you had not indicated when you would arrive, and Roarke is detained at the office.”
“Okay, I’ll handle it.” She wanted a huge plate of anything edible, a hot bath, and some thinking time. Instead, she wound her way down to the parlor and found Leonardo and Jess Barrow. Relief came first, then annoyance. Summerset, the creep, knew Leonardo and could have told her who was waiting to see her.
“Dallas.” Leonardo’s moon-sized face creased into a grin when he spotted her. He swept across the room, a giant in a magenta skin suit overbloused with emerald gauze. No wonder Mavis adored him. He caught Eve up in a bone crushing hug, then narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t dealt with your hair yet. I’ll call Trina myself.”
“Oh. Well.” Intimidated, Eve raked her fingers through her short, messy cap of hair. �
�I don’t really have time right now to—”
“You have to make time for personal appearance. Not only are you an important public figure in your own right, but you’re Roarke’s wife.”
She was a cop, damn it. Suspects and victims didn’t give a rat’s ass about her hairdo. “Right. As soon as—”
“You’re neglecting your treatments,” he accused her, simply rolling over her excuses like a big smooth boulder down a bumpy slope. “Your eyes are strained and your brows need shaping.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Trina will be in touch to set up a session. Now then.” He propelled her across the room, all but dumped her into a chair. “Relax,” he ordered. “Put your feet up. You’ve had a long day. Can I get you anything?”
“No, really. I’m—”
“Some wine.” Inspired, he beamed, gave her shoulder a quick rub. “I’ll see to it. And don’t worry. Jess and I won’t keep you long.”
“No use arguing with a born nurturer,” Jess commented as Leonardo moved off to order the wine for Eve. “Nice to see you, Lieutenant.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me I’ve lost weight, or gained it, or need a facial?” But she blew out a breath and leaned back. It did feel incredibly good to sit in a chair that wasn’t designed to torture the ass. “Okay, let’s have it. Something must be up for you to tolerate Summerset insulting you until I got home.”
“Actually, he just looked appalled and closed us in here. I do think he’s going to run a room scan after we’re gone to be sure we didn’t lift any of the knickknacks.” Jess sat down, cross-legged, on the cushion at her feet. His silver eyes were smiling, his voice smooth as Bavarian cream. “Great knickknacks, by the way.”
“We like them. If you’d wanted the tour, you should have said so before Leonardo set me down. I’m going to stay here awhile.”
“Looking at you will do just fine. I hope you don’t mind me saying you’re the most attractive cop I’ve ever. . . rubbed shoulders with.”
“Have we rubbed shoulders, Jess?” Her brows lifted, disappearing under her bangs. “I hadn’t noticed.”
He chuckled, patted her knee with one of his beautiful hands. “I would love that tour, sometime or other. But right now we have a favor to ask.”
“Got a traffic blot you need fixing?”
His lovely face beamed. “Well, now that you mention it—”
Leonardo carried the crystal glass filled with pale gold wine across the room himself. “Don’t tease her, Jess.”
Eve accepted the glass, glanced up at Leonardo. “He’s not teasing me, he’s flirting with me. He likes to live dangerously.”
Jess let out an appealingly musical laugh. “Caught. Happily married women are the safest to flirt with.” He spread his hands as she sipped, considered him. “No harm, no foul.” He picked up her hand, ran a fingertip along the intricate carving on her wedding ring.
“The last man who messed with me is doing life in lockup,” Eve said casually. “That’s after I beat the crap out of him.”
“Oops.” Chuckling, Jess released her hand. “Maybe I’d better let Leonardo ask for the favor.”
“It’s for Mavis,” Leonardo said, and his eyes became warm and liquid as he spoke her name. “Jess thinks the demo disc is ready. Music and entertainment is a tough field, you know. Crowded, competitive, and Mavis has her heart set on making it. After what happened with Pandora—” He shuddered delicately. “Well, after what happened before, and Mavis being arrested, fired from the Blue Squirrel, going through all of that . . . It’s been rough on her.”
“I know.” The guilt set in again, for her part in it. “It’s behind her now.”
“Thanks to you.” Though Eve shook her head, Leonardo insisted. “You believed her, you worked for her, you saved her. Now I’m going to ask you for something else because I know you love her as much as I do.”
Eve’s eyes narrowed. “You’re boxing me in very neatly, aren’t you?”
He didn’t bother to suppress the smile. “I hope so.”
“It’s my idea,” Jess interrupted. “Leonardo had to be nudged some to approach you with it. He didn’t want to take advantage of your friendship or your position.”
“My position as a cop?”
“No.” Jess smiled, reading her reaction perfectly. “As Roarke’s wife.” Oh, she didn’t care for that, he thought, amused. This was a woman who wanted to stand firm, on her own. “Your husband has a great deal of influence, Dallas.”
“I know what Roarke has.” It wasn’t precisely true. She didn’t have a clue as to the full extent of his holdings and operations. She didn’t want to. “What do you want from him?”
“Just a party,” Leonardo said quickly.
“A what?”
“A party for Mavis.”
“A splashy one,” Jess put in, grinning. “A busting one.”
“An event.” Leonardo shot Jess a warning look. “A stage, so to speak, where Mavis can mingle with people, perform. I haven’t mentioned the idea to her in case you objected. But we thought if Roarke could invite . . .” There was obvious embarrassment now as she only stared at him. “Well, he knows so many people.”
“People who buy performance discs, go to clubs, look for entertainment.” Not embarrassed in the least, Jess smiled winningly. “Maybe we should get you some more wine.”
Instead, she set the barely touched glass aside. “You want him to give a party.” Wary of a trap, she scanned both faces. “That’s it?”
“More or less.” Hope sprang in Leonardo’s chest. “We’d like to run the demo during it, have Mavis give a live performance as well. I know it’s an expense. I’m more than willing to pay—”
“It won’t be the money that concerns him.” Eve considered, tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “I’ll talk to him about it and get back to you. I guess you want it soon.”
“As soon as possible.”
“I’ll get back to you,” she repeated, then rose.
“Thank you, Dallas.” Leonardo bent in several places to kiss her cheek. “We’ll get out of your way.”
“She’s going to be a huge hit,” Jess predicted. “She just needs a liftoff.” He took a disc out of his pocket. “This is a copy of the demo,” he told her. A specially doctored copy, he thought, just for the lieutenant. “Give it a try. See what we’ve come up with.”
She smiled at it, thinking of Mavis. “I will.”
Upstairs, alone, Eve programmed the AutoChef and came up with a steaming plate of pasta and what was certainly fresh sauce from garden-grown tomatoes and herbs. It never ceased to amaze her what Roarke had access to. She wolfed it down while she ran a bath. As an afterthought, she tossed in some of the foaming salts he’d bought her in Paris.
She thought they smelled like her honeymoon: rich and romantic. She sank into a tub the size of a small lake and sighed greedily. Blank the mind before thinking, she decided and popped open the control panel in the wall. She’d already loaded the demo in the bedroom unit and switched it to play on the recessed screen in the bathroom.
She settled back into hot, frothy water, a second glass of vintage wine in her hand, and shook her head. What the hell was she doing here? Eve Dallas, a cop who’d come up the hard way; a nameless kid found in an alley, abandoned and abused, with a murder on her hands blocked from her memory.
Even a year before, that memory had been patchy and her life had been one of work, survival, and more work. Standing for the dead was her business, and she was good at her job. That had been enough. She’d made it enough.
Until Roarke. The glitter of the ring on her finger continued to puzzle her.
He loved her. He wanted her. He, the competent, successful, and enigmatic Roarke, even needed her. That was the biggest puzzle of all. And maybe, since she couldn’t seem to solve it, she would eventually learn to simply accept it.
She brought the wine to her lips, sank a little lower into the water, and hit the remote.
Instan
tly, color and sound exploded into the room. In defense, she lowered the volume before her eardrums burst. Then Mavis swirled across the screen, as exotic as a sprite, potent as straight whiskey. Her voice was a screech, but it was appealing, nonetheless, and it suited her as well as the music Jess had designed to showcase the vocals.
It was hot, ruthless, and raw. Very much Mavis. But as Eve soaked it in, she realized that the sound and the show had more polish. Oh, there had always been flash and sparkle when it came to Mavis’s work, but now there was a thin sheen of gloss she had lacked before.
Production values, she supposed. Orchestration. Andsomeone who has the eye to recognize a rough diamond and the talent and willingness to help buff it up.
Eve’s opinion of Jess took a step up. Maybe he’d looked like a cocky boy showing off on his complicated console, but he obviously knew how to make it work. More, he understood Mavis, Eve realized. He appreciated her for what she was and what she wanted to do, and he’d found a way for her to do it well.
Eve chuckled to herself and lifted her glass in toast to her friend. It looked like they were going to have a party at that.
In his studio downtown, Jess reviewed the demo. He sincerely hoped that Eve was watching the disc. If she did, her mind would be open. Wide open to dreams. He wished he knew what they would be, where they would take her. Then he could see what she would see. He could document. Relive. But his research hadn’t yet allowed him to find the path into the dreams. One day, he thought, one day.
Eve’s dreams took her back into the dark, into the dread. They were jumbled, then shockingly clear, then scattered again like leaves in the wind. It was terrifying. She dreamed of Roarke, and that was soothing. Watching an explosive sunset with him in Mexico, making reckless love in the dark, bubbling water of a lagoon. Hearing his voice in her ear when he was inside her, urging her to let go. Just let go.
Then it was her father, holding her down, and she was a child, helpless, hurting, frightened.
Please don’t.
The smell of him was there, candy over liquor. Too sweet, too strong. She was gagging on it and weeping, and his hand was over her mouth to stifle her screams when he raped her.