by J. D. Robb
"I doubt you'll find much, if any. Maguire was one of the many cops in the pocket of the cartel whose territory I trespassed on." He took the other half of Eve's roll. "The Urban Wars started later and lasted longer in that part of the world. Even when I was a boy there were pockets of it still being waged, and certainly the results of the worst of it were still in evidence."
He remembered the bodies, the sound of gunfire screaming through the night, the wails of the wounded, and the sunken eyes of the survivors.
"Those who had," he-continued, "had in abundance. Those who didn't, suffered and starved and scavenged. Most cops who'd been through the hell of it went one of two ways. Some dedicated themselves to maintaining order. Most took advantage of the chaos and profited."
"Maguire decided to profit."
"He was hardly alone. I took plenty of kicks from a beat cop if I didn't have the payoff in my pocket. When you're down to your last punt, you'd as soon have the kick and keep the pound."
"Did you take any from Maguire?"
"Not personally. By the time I was working the grift and the games, he was riding a desk. He used uniforms as his runners and muscle and collected in comfort." Roarke sat back with his coffee. "For the most part I outmaneuvered him. I paid my shot when I couldn't get around it, but I usually stole it back. Cops are easy marks. They don't expect to have their pockets picked."
"Hmm" was all Eve could say to that. "Why was Maguire brought in on Marlena?"
"When she was killed, Summerset insisted on calling in the police. He wanted to see the men who had…he wanted to see them punished. He wanted a public trial. He wanted justice. Instead he got Maguire. The bastard came sniffing around, shaking his head, clucking his tongue. 'Well, well,' he said, 'seems to me a father should keep a closer eye on a pretty young girl. Letting her run wild like that.' "
As the old fury crawled back, Roarke shoved away from the table to rise and pace. "I could have killed him on the spot. He knew it. He wanted me to try it, then and there while he had six cops around him who'd have broken me to pieces at the first move. His conclusions were that she was an incorrigible, that there were illegals in her system and she'd fallen in with a bad lot who'd panicked and killed her when they'd done with her. Two weeks later he was driving a new car around Dublin Town and his wife had a new haircut to show off her diamond earrings."
He turned back. "And six months later, they hooked him out of the River Liffey with enough holes in him for the fish to swim through."
Her throat had gone dust dry, but she kept her gaze steady. "Did you kill him?"
"No, but only because someone beat me to it. He was low on my list of priorities." Roarke came back, sat again. "Eve, Summerset had no part in what I did. He wasn't even aware of what I planned to do. It wasn't his way—isn't his way. He ran cons, bilked marks, lifted wallets."
"You don't need to defend him to me. I'll do my best for him." She let out a breath. "Starting now by ignoring regulations, again, and using your unregistered equipment to run names. Let's start on those lists."
He got to his feet, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. "It's always a pleasure working with you, Lieutenant."
"Just remember who's in charge."
"I've no doubt you'll remind me. Regularly." He slipped an arm around her waist when she stood. "Next time we make love, you can wear your badge. In case I forget who's in charge."
She eyed him narrowly. "Nobody likes a smart-ass."
"I do." He planted a kiss between her scowling eyes. "I love one."
*** CHAPTER EIGHT ***
Eve stared at the list of names on the wall screen in Roarke's private room. The equipment installed there was every hacker's wet dream. He'd indulged himself in aesthetics in the rest of the house, but this room was all business.
Illegal business, she thought, since all its information, research, and communications devices were unregistered with CompuGuard. Nothing that went in or came out of that room could be tracked.
Roarke sat at the U-shaped console, like a pirate, she thought, at the helm of a very snazzy ship. He hadn't engaged the auxiliary station with its jazzy laser fax and hologram unit. She imagined he didn't think he required the extra zip, just yet.
She stuck her hands in her pockets, tapped her boot on the glazed tile floor and read off the names of the dead.
"Charles O'Malley. Murder by disembowelment, August 5, 2042. Unsolved. Matthew Riley. Murder by evisceration, November, 12, 2042. Donald Cagney. Murder by hanging, April 22, 2043. Michael Rowan. Murder by suffocation, December 2, 2043. Rory McNee, murder by drowning, March 18, 2044. John Calhoun, murder by poisoning, July 31, 2044."
She let out a long breath. "You averaged two a year."
"I wasn't in a hurry. Would you like to read their bios?" He didn't call them up, simply continued to sit, staring at the viewing screen across the room. "Charles O'Malley, age thirty-three, small-time thug and sexual deviant. Suspected of raping his sister and his mother. Charges dismissed through lack of evidence. Suspected of torture-murder of an eighteen-year-old licensed companion whose name no one bothered to remember. Charges dismissed through lack of interest. A known free-lance spine cracker and debt collector who enjoyed his work. His trademark was shattering kneecaps. Marlena's knees were broken."
"All right, Roarke." She held up a hand. "It's enough. I need you to run their families, friends, lovers. With luck we can find a computer jock or communications freak among them."
Because he didn't want to say their names again, he typed in the request manually. "It'll take a few minutes. We'll bring up the list of contacts I had on viewing screen three."
"Who else knew what you were doing?" she asked as she watched names begin to scroll on screen.
"I didn't pop into the pub after and brag about it over a pint." He moved his shoulders dismissively. "But word and rumor travel. I wanted it known in any case. I wanted to give them time to sweat."
"You're a scary guy, Roarke," she murmured, then turned to him. "At a guess, then, most anyone in Dublin—hell, in the known universe—could have gotten wind of it."
"I found Cagney in Paris, Rowan on Tarus Three, and Calhoun here in New York. The wind blows, Eve."
"Jesus." She pressed her fingers to her eyes. "Okay, this won't help. We need to cull it down to interested parties, people with a connection with one or more of… your list. People with a grudge against you."
"A number of people harbor grudges. If it was about me personally, why is Summerset being set up instead of me?"
"He's the bridge. They're walking over him to get to you." She began to pace while she thought it through. "I'm going to consult with Mira, hopefully tomorrow, but my take is if this goes back to Marlena, whoever is behind it sees Summerset as the cause. Without him, no Marlena, without Marlena you wouldn't have played vigilante. So you both have to pay. He wants you to sweat. Coming at you direct isn't going to make that happen. He has to know you well enough to understand that. But going after someone who matters to you, that's different."
"And if Summerset was taken out of the equation?"
"Well, then, it would—" She broke off, heart jumping as she whirled. "Wait a minute, wait a minute. Don't even think about it." She slapped her hands on the console. "You promise me, you have to give me your word you won't help him disappear. That's not the way to play this out."
He was silent for a long moment. "I'll give you my word to play this out your way as long as I possibly can. But he's not going in a cage, Eve, not for something I'm responsible for."
"You have to trust me not to let that happen. If you go that far outside the law, Roarke, I'll have to go after him. I won't have a choice."
"Then we'll have to combine our skill and our efforts to make sure neither of us has to make a choice. And we're wasting what time we have debating it."
Seething with frustration, she spun away. "Damn it, you make the line I have to walk thin and shaky."
"I'm aware of that." His voice was tight and
warned her she'd see that cold, controlled temper on his face when she turned back.
"I can't change what I am either."
"And you're a cop first. Well, Lieutenant, give me your professional take on this." He swung around in his chair, engaging the auxiliary station. "Display hologram file image, Marlena."
It formed between them, a lovely laughing image of a young girl just blossoming into womanhood. Her hair was long and wavy and the color of sun-washed wheat, her eyes a clear summer blue. There was the flush of life and joy in her cheeks.
She was tiny was all Eve could think, a perfect picture in her pretty white dress with its scallop of lace at the hem. She carried a single tulip in her china-doll hand, candy-pink and damp with dew.
"There's innocence," Roarke said quietly. "Display hologram image, police file. Marlena."
The horror spilled onto the floor, almost at Eve's feet. The doll was broken now, bloodied and battered and torn. The skin was gray paste with death, and cold from the police camera's passionless eye. They'd left her naked and exposed, and every cruelty that had been done to her was pitifully clear.
"And there," Roarke said, "is the ruin of innocence."
Eve's heart shuddered and ripped, but she looked as she had looked on death before. In the eyes—where even now dregs of terror and shock remained.
A child, she thought, swamped with pity. Why was it so often a child?
"You've made your point, Roarke. End hologram program," she ordered, and her voice was steady. The images winked away and left her staring into his eyes.
"I would do it again," he told her. "Without hesitation or regret. And I would do more if it would spare her what she suffered."
"If you think I don't understand, you're wrong. I've seen more of this than you. I live with it, day and night. The aftermath of what one person does to another. And after I wade through the blood and the waste, all I can do is my best."
He closed his eyes and, in a rare show of fatigue, rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm sorry for that. This has brought too much of it back. The guilt, the helplessness."
"It's stupid to blame yourself, and you're not a stupid man."
He let his hands drop. "Who else?"
She stepped around the console until she stood directly in front of him. "O'Malley, Riley, Cagney, Rowan, McNee, and Calhoun." She would comfort now, because now she understood how. Eve put her hands on his shoulders. "I'll only say this once. I may only mean it once, now, while I've still got her image in my head. You were right. What you did was necessary. It was justice."
Unspeakably moved, he put his hands on hers, sliding them down so their fingers could link. "I needed to hear you say it, and mean it. Even if only once."
She squeezed his hands then turned to the screen. "Let's get back to work and beat this son of a bitch at his own game."
• • •
It was after midnight when they shut it down. Eve tumbled into sleep the instant her head hit the pillow. But somewhere just before dawn, the dreams began.
When her restless movements woke him, Roarke reached for her. She struggled away, her breath coming in quick little gasps. He knew she was trapped in a nightmare where he couldn't go, couldn't stop the past from cycling back.
"It's all right, Eve." He gathered her close even as she fought to twist free with her body shuddering, jerking, shuddering.
"Don't, don't, don't." There was a plea in her voice and the voice was thin and helpless, a child's voice that broke his heart
"You're safe. I promise." He stroked her back, in slow and soothing motions, when at last she turned to him. Turned into him. "He can't hurt you here," Roarke murmured as he stared into the dark. "He can't touch you here."
There was a long, catchy sigh, then he felt the tension drain out of her body. He lay awake, holding her, guarding against dreams until the light began to slip through the windows.
• • •
He was gone when Eve awoke, which was usual. But he wasn't in the sitting area as he was most mornings, drinking coffee and scanning the stock reports on the bedroom monitor. Still groggy, she rolled out of bed and hit the shower. Her mind cleared slowly. It wasn't until she stepped out of the drying tube that the dream came back to her.
She stood, one hand reaching for a robe, as it flashed into her mind.
The cold, horrible little room with the red light blinking into the dirty window. Hunger clawing at her belly. The door opening and her father stumbling in. Drunk, but not drunk enough. The knife she'd held to cut the mold off a pitiful hunk of cheese clattering to the floor.
The pain of that big hand smashing over her face. Then worse, so much worse, his body pressing hers into the floor. His fingers tearing, probing. But it wasn't her struggling. It was Marlena. Marlena with her white dress ripped, her delicate features locked in fear and pain. Marlena's broken body sprawled in fresh blood.
Eve looking down at that wasted young girl. Lieutenant Eve Dallas, with her badge displayed on her pocket, studying death one more time. Reaching for a blanket, a thin, stained blanket from the bed to cover the girl. Against procedure, disturbing the crime scene, but she couldn't help herself.
But when she turned, looked down again with the blanket in her hand, it was no longer Marlena. Eve stared down at herself, in death, and let the blanket fall over her own face.
Now she shuddered and bundled quickly into the robe to help chase away the chill. She had to put it away, ordered herself to shut it away. She had a maniac to catch, lives that depended on her doing so quickly. The past, her past, couldn't be allowed to surface and interfere.
She dressed quickly, snagged a single cup of coffee and took it with her to her office.
The door between it and Roarke's was open. She heard his voice, only his, and stepped to the doorway.
He was at his desk, using a headset 'link while he manually keyed data into his computer. His laser fax shot off a transmission, immediately signaled an incoming. Eve sipped her coffee, imagined him buying and selling small galaxies while he carried on a conversation.
"It's good to hear you, Jack. Yes, it's been awhile." Roarke turned to his fax, skimmed it, then quickly logged and sent a reply. "Married Sheila, did you? How many kids did you say? Six. Christ." He let out a rolling laugh and, turning back to his computer, made arrangements to buy the lion's share of a small, floundering publishing company. "Heard that, did you? Yes, it's true, last summer. Aye, she's a cop." A lightning grin flashed across his face. "What black past, Jack? I don't know what you're talking about. I'm as law-abiding as the parish priest. Yes, she is lovely. Quite lovely and quite remarkable."
Roarke swiveled away from his monitor, ignored the low beep of an incoming call. "I need to talk to you, Jack. You've heard about Tommy Brennen and Shawn? Aye, it's a hard thing. My cop's connected them, and the connection goes back to me—to O'Malley and the rest and what happened to Marlena."
He listened for a time, then rose and walked to the window, leaving his communication center humming and beeping. "That's exactly so. Any ideas on it? If any occur to you, if you can dig up anything, you can contact me here. Meanwhile, I can make arrangements for you and your family to get away for a time. Take your kids to the beach for a couple weeks. I've a place they'd enjoy. No, Jack, this is my doing, and I don't want another widow or fatherless child on my conscience."
He laughed again, but his eyes stayed sober. "I'm sure you could, right enough, but why don't we leave that part to my cop and you and your family get out of Dublin awhile. I'll send you what you need today. We'll talk again. My best to Sheila."
Eve waited until he'd pulled the headset off before she spoke. "Is that what you're going to do, ship off everyone you think might be a target?"
He set the headset aside, vaguely uncomfortable that she'd heard his conversation. "Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"
"No." She crossed to him, set her coffee down so that she could take his face in both hands. "I love you, Roarke."
It was
still a rare thing for her to use the words. His heart tripped once, then steadied. "I love you, Eve."
Her lips curved, brushed his lightly. "Is that what I am now, 'your cop'?"
"You've always been my cop—ever since you wanted to arrest me."
She tilted her head. "Did you know that when you were talking to your Dublin friend your accent got thicker, the rhythm of your speech changed. And you said aye instead of yes at least twice."
"Did I?" He'd been totally unaware of it, and wasn't sure how that sat with him. "Odd."
"I liked it." The hands she held to his face slid around to link behind his neck. Her body bumped his. "It was…sexy."
"Was it, now?" His hands roamed down, cupped her bottom. "Well, Eve, me darling, if you're after—" His gaze flicked over her shoulder, and the amusement in them deepened. "Good morning, Peabody." Eve jerked, then swore when Roarke held her firmly in place. "Lovely day."
"Yes, it… I beg your pardon. Sir," she added lamely when Eve scorched her with a look. "You said eight sharp, and there was nobody downstairs so I just came up and…here I am. And, ah, McNab is—"
"Right behind her." Leading with a grin, McNab stepped into view. "Reporting for duty, Lieutenant, and may I say that your house is… Holy Mother of God."
His eyes went so huge, so bright, that Eve reached instinctively for her weapon as he rushed in.
"Would you look at this setup? Talk about sexy. You must be Roarke." He grabbed Roarke's hand and pumped it enthusiastically. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I work on one of your 2000MTSs in EDD. What a honey. We're crying for the 5000, but the budget, well, it sucks. I'm rebuilding an old multimedia unit at home—the Platinum 50? That baby rocks. Is that a Galactic MTS?"
"I believe it is," Roarke murmured, cocking a brow at Eve as McNab rushed over to drool on the communication system.
"McNab, get a grip on yourself," Eve ordered.
"Yes, sir, but this is ice." His voice quivered. "This is a goddamn glacier. How many simultaneous tasks will it perform?''
"It's capable of three hundred simultaneous functions." Roarke wandered over, more to prevent McNab from playing with his equipment than to give a tour. "I've had it up to nearly that without any glitches."