by J. D. Robb
"I'm playing a hunch instead of dealing with established data."
"Then play it out. Which one appeals to you?"
She went back to the desk, scanned the remaining locations on her list. "This is the one I liked from the get-go, but the computer tossed it. Doesn't fit her usual pattern."
"That's nice. Why do you like it?"
"Because it's the most expensive, has the most history—some count guy owned the estate way back when." She looked at him. "Yours?"
"Fifty-one percent of it. Would you like to have the rest?"
"That just lowers the probability. She doesn't want to get that close to you yet. Then again ..." Eve considered. "She might get a real charge out of it. Pop in, get buffed up, pop out, all the while imagining that in a little while she'll be eliminating the guy who owns the majority share. Yeah, let's run this one."
She slammed into the same reluctance, Italian-style, with the assistant reservations clerk. "Are you having trouble reading the warrant?" Eve demanded. "It comes in a variety of languages, and one of them must be yours."
The clerk was young, gorgeous and more than a little frazzled. "No, signorina."
"Lieutenant. Lieutenant Dallas, New York City Police and Security. I am investigating multiple homicides. You may, at this moment, be harboring a murderer in your facility. How do you figure your other guests are going to feel about that?"
"Villa de Lago has very strict policies regarding guest privacy."
"You know what, I have very strict policies, too." She shot a hand out, caught Roarke in the belly as he stepped forward. She wasn't having him smooth the way. "And so does international law. Would you like me to list what the penalties are for interfering with an international warrant?"
"No, Signorina Lieutenant. I do not feel I am authorized to proceed. I would prefer you speak with the reservations manager."
"Fine. Dandy. Make it snappy."
"It would've been snappier," Roarke pointed out, "if you'd let me speak to her."
"My way, Coffee Boy."
Obliging, he poured the last of the second pot into her cup.
"Lieutenant Dallas." Another woman came on-screen. She was older, and equally gorgeous. "I am Sophia Vincenti, the reservations manager. I apologize for keeping you waiting. I have your warrant here. Please understand my assistant was only following our policy in protecting our guests from any privacy violation."
"I'd think it would be just as important to protect your guests from the possibility of dipping into the hot tub with a murderer."
"Yes. We will, of course, fulfill the demands of the warrant. You have our full cooperation. Perhaps in the interest of sparing innocent guests you could tell me the name of the party you're seeking."
"I can't be sure what name she'd be using. It's likely whatever it is, the initials are J and D."
"Just one moment... Lieutenant, we have three guests with reservations in the stated time period with those initials. Justina D'Angelo is expected next week. I know Senora D'Angelo personally. She has been a guest here many times."
"How old is she?"
"Lieutenant, this is a delicate area."
"Come on."
"She admits to fifty, and has so admitted for ten years."
"She's clear. Number two."
"Jann Drew, expected at the end of this month. She is a new guest. Let me pull up her file for you."
"This is more like it," Eve stated and sat back sipping coffee.
"Lieutenant, Ms. Drew lists her address in Copenhagen. She is booked for ten days, and will be joined by a companion for the last three."
"I'm going to have my assistant run her while you give me the data on the third."
"This is a Josephine Dorchester, and is also a new guest. She arrived only last night and is booked through tomorrow."
The back of Eve's neck prickled, and she leaned forward. "Where did she come in from?"
"She lists her U.S. address as Texas. She has our premiere accommodations. I was on duty last night when Ms. Dorchester arrived. She is very charming."
"Thirtyish, athletic build, about five foot, four inches."
"Yes, I—"
"Hold on." Eve snapped the 'link to wait mode. "Josephine Dorchester," she called to Roarke. "Texas. Run her fast, get me her passport ID. It's her. I know it's her."
"On your wall screen," Roarke responded as he came back in from his office. "You've locked her, Lieutenant."
Eve watched as Julianna's image, still blonde, still blue-eyed, flashed on-screen.
"Hello, Julianna." Eve switched the 'link back. "Okay, Signorina Vincenti, listen carefully."
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Eve's teeth were bared as she snarled threats at the Italian police. "I don't care what time it is, I don't care how long it takes you to get there, I don't give a damn if you're short-staffed."
"Lieutenant, I cannot make a move without a proper warrant, and even then, it will take some time. Such matters are very delicate. The woman you seek is a U.S. citizen. We cannot arrest and hold a citizen of the United States simply on the request of an American police officer via a 'link transmission."
"You'll have your paperwork within the hour. You could be there within the hour and pick her up as soon as it's in your hand."
"This is not proper procedure. This is not America."
"You're telling me. Stand by. I'll get back to you." She broke transmission, surged to her feet. "How fast can we get there?"
"Knowing the meanderings of red tape, faster than your Italian counterpart will."
"Then let's move. I'll get clearance on the way."
CHAPTER TWENTY
She was a pleasure to watch, Roarke thought, while he relaxed with a brandy as they raced through the sky above the Atlantic. Raw energy in motion, he decided.
She used a headset, keeping her hands free for a coffee cup or a notebook or a second 'link if she had two transmissions going at once. She paced, up and down, up and down the short, narrow aisle in the cabin of his fastest transport, snapping out orders, chewing out data, vocally flogging anyone who tossed up an obstacle to her goal.
She spoke to Feeney, to her commander, to someone in the United States consulate—whose ears would probably leak blood for the rest of his natural life—to the Italian police captain who continued to hold up his hands, still empty of the proper paperwork. She contacted a lawyer who specialized in international law, waking him without regret or mercy and shoving him into the fray.
"Data port's down?" She raged at the Italian cop on the next transmission. "What the hell do you mean your data ports are down?"
"Such things happen, Lieutenant. We should have them back in an hour or two."
"You'll waste an hour or two. You can get oral or e-authorization now."
"I must have the proper documentation, in hard copy, with the authorization stamp and seal. This is the law."
"Let me tell you my law, amigo. You screw up this apprehension and I'm frying your balls for breakfast." She cut him off, kicked the base of the nearest seat.
"We're halfway there," Roarke told her. "You've done all you can do and terrified a number of minor bureaucrats. You should sit down and get some sleep."
"I don't want to sleep."
"Sit down anyway." He managed to snag her hand, tug her into the seat beside him. "Shut down, Lieutenant. Even you can't alter the laws of physics and get us there any faster." He draped an arm around her, drew her head firmly down to his shoulder.
"I need to update the commander."
"When we land. Just rest and imagine Julianna's face when you walk into her suite. And think of all the Italian ass you get to kick."
"Yeah." She yawned. "There's that." On that pleasant thought, she slid into a shallow sleep.
* * *
"Jet-copter?" Eve stood staring at the small, sleek, four-person transpo with blurry vision. "You didn't say anything about having to do the last leg in a jet-copter."
"And you slept easier for
it." Roarke boosted himself in behind the controls. "Eight minutes from port to port. A great deal less time than ground transpo on Italian roads, in Italian traffic, through the hillsides, around the lake—"
"All right, all right." She sucked in a breath. "Everybody has to die of something."
"I'll try not to take that as an insult to my piloting skills. Strap in, Lieutenant."
"Believe me." She snapped on her safety harness, checked its tension twice. "I hate going up in these things."
"I can't think why." The instant he got clearance, Roarke shot the copter up in a vertical, slicing up two hundred feet in the time it took Eve's stomach to execute the first of a serious of stylish somersaults.
"Cut it out!"
"Sorry, did you say something?" On a rollicking laugh, he punched the jets and arrowed into the pink-streaked sky.
"Why do you think that's funny?" She gripped the sides of her seat with fingers that dug in like steel claws. "You sadistic son of a bitch."
"It's a guy thing. We really can't help ourselves. Christ, look at that sky."
"What's wrong with it?" Images of some horrendous natural disaster layered over a visceral fear of heights.
"Not a bloody thing. It's quite gorgeous, don't you think? It isn't every day you watch the dawn break over the Italian Alps. Next time we have a little time we should spend a few days out here."
"Fine, great. Terrific. As long as it's on the ground. I will not look down, I will not look down, I will not look down."
And of course she did, felt her head spin in the opposite direction of her belly. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Are we there yet?"
"Nearly. You can see the lake, and the first sunlight just sliding over the water."
That only made her think of the horrors of an emergency water landing. "That's the place?"
"That's it."
She saw the pink and white stone of the old estate, the spread of grass and gardens, the blue gems that were pools and fountains. Instead of seeing beauty, she saw the finish line.
"At least that putz Captain Giamanno's on his way. I'm looking forward to biting out his throat once the formalities are over."
"This is not America," Roarke said in a dead-on mimic.
Eve grinned at him. "You're all right, Roarke."
"Remember you said that." And he sent the copter into a steep drop, chuckled over his wife's thin scream as he touched down onto the helipad. "That got the blood moving."
"I so completely hate you right now."
"I know, but you'll get over it." He shut down the engines. "Smell that air. Lovely. You can still smell the night-blooming jasmine on it."
She managed to jump out, with some semblance of dignity, then gave up, bent from the waist, and waited to get her breath back.
"Lieutenant Dallas?" Eve stayed down as the footsteps approached, then stared at the sharp black shoes as she felt her system settle.
"Yeah? You Signorina Vincenti?"
"Yes, I am. Are you all right, Lieutenant?"
"Yeah." She straightened. "Just getting my wind back. Captain Giamanno?"
"Has not yet arrived. Your instructions were followed. Immediately after we ended our conversation, I contacted security. A man was sent up to guard Signorina Dunne's door. He remains there, as you directed. No one has come out or gone in."
"Good. I'm not going to wait for the local badge. I'll take her as quickly and quietly as I can."
"That would be appreciated. Our guests, well..." She spread her hands. "We wouldn't wish to upset anyone. Signore." She offered a hand to Roarke. "I welcome you back to the villa, despite the circumstances. I hope you and the lieutenant will let me know of any way I can assist you."
"You did very well, signorina. I won't forget it."
"Okay," said Eve. "Tell your security I'm coming in. I want men on that floor, keeping other guests out of the way. No other staff is to go up to that level until I've apprehended the suspect and removed her to a secured location from which Giamanno and I can finalize the paperwork and extradition."
"I have cleared an office on the main level for that purpose. Will I escort you to the suite?"
Eve didn't know if it was guts or courtesy, but she had to give the woman credit. She made the offer as if Eve were a visiting celeb come for a weekend vacation. "No, the elevator's far enough. I'll need a code card for the door."
"I have them." She gestured, explaining as they walked toward the gracious lakeside entrance, "When a guest has retired to his or her room, it is recommended that they activate the night lock and alarm, for their own security. These can only be opened from the inside, or by a second code card in case the staff must enter. An emergency of some nature."
She drew two thin cards from the pocket of her smart jacket. "The white, with the villa's logo, works the standard locks. The red is for the night system."
"Got it." They walked under a kind of portico, smothered with vines that scented the air with vanilla. Double glass doors etched with a portrait of the villa whisked open at their approach.
They moved through a cool sitting area, stylishly plush with color, where the sunlight dribbled in like spilled gold through arched windows. It caught and glinted on the teardrop-shaped crystals on the many tiers of a chandelier. Outside on a stone terrace, a couple in white robes strolled by, arm in arm.
"Some digs you got here," Eve complimented Signorina Vincenti.
"We are very proud. Perhaps one day when you are not on official business, you will come visit us. Life has so much stress, does it not, that one needs the small islands of tranquility. Ah, this is Signore Bartelli, our head of security."
"Lieutenant." He bent slightly from the waist. "Sir," he said with another slight bow to Roarke. "I will accompany you?"
She measured him. He was big, fit, and looked tough. "Sure, that'd be good."
"My man is on post," he began as they moved into a wide area and into the two-level lobby with its rose marble floors and columns. A wide staircase curved up, split, then wound gracefully in opposite directions. "I have also had the corridor on that floor monitored since we received your transmission."
"Anyway she can get out without using the hallway?"
"Only if she leaps from the terrace. It is four floors up, and not recommended."
"Put a man outside, on the ground. Just in case."
"As you wish." He took out a small communicator, relayed the order as they stepped into an elevator.
"I want all civilians kept in their rooms up there. She'll resist if she can, run if she can, take a hostage if she can."
"The safety of our guests is paramount. We will see to their protection."
When the elevator doors opened, Eve laid a hand on the butt of her weapon. She saw the guard outside a set of wide double doors. He sat, blocking them, sipping coffee.
One sharp command in Italian from his superior had him springing to his feet, rattling back a response.
"She has made no attempt to leave the room by this door,"Bartelli told Eve. "No one has tried to enter. Two guests, one from the next room, one from the end of this hallway, left their rooms. There are morning activities," he explained. "And the health club and pools are open twenty-four hours for the convenience of our guests."
"Handy. All right, move aside and stand by."
She shoved the chair out of the way, slid in the first code. "Which way is the bedroom?"
"It is to the left, through an archway. Perhaps twelve feet from this door."
"And to the right?"
"A smaller sitting room."
She slid in the second code. "Go right," she said to Roarke.
She nudged the door open, soundlessly, and with her weapon out did a first, fast sweep. The living area of the suite was deep in shadow with the privacy drapes snug over the windows. There wasn't a sound.
"On the door," she murmured to Bartelli and slipped inside.
Her boots sank into the soft pile of an ancient carpet, clicked quietly over polished tile. She moved fas
t and silent through the archway and into the darkened bedroom. She smelled flowers, female. And heard nothing.
"Lights," she ordered. "On full."
Her weapon was trained toward the bed when they flashed on, and she found what her instincts had already told her. It was empty. There was a sheer black evening dress draped over a chair, a pair of carelessly discarded black heels beside it. And on the dresser was a silver-backed brush, a frosted bottle of scent. On the mirror above it, elegantly written in murderous red lip dye were two words.
CIAO, EVE
"She didn't just rabbit because she felt like a brisk pre-dawn run. She knew I was coming." Eve stared at the reservations manager with enough heat to melt stone. "Someone told her she'd been made."
"Lieutenant Dallas, I assure you, I spoke to no one but you, and those you authorized me to speak to." She glanced at the message on the mirror over Eve's shoulder. "I have no explanation for this."
"Obviously the woman had anticipated your movements."
Captain Giamanno, who'd arrived at last with a trio of men, spread his hands. "There was a guard at the door after you requested one. There are security cameras in the hallway. She did not simply poof past these like a ghost."
"No, she didn't poof past them like a ghost. She walked." Eve turned back to the bedroom computer, gestured as she ordered it to run the section of the disc she'd already viewed. "Right there."
The screen showed the guard, sitting sleepily in his chair outside the suite's doors. The time stamp read oh-four-fifty-six hours. A door opened from the next room and a woman wearing one of the hotel's white robes, a wide straw hat with trailing scarf, and carrying a large straw purse came out. Her face was shielded by the brim as she mumbled a quiet buon giorno to the guard and strolled toward the elevator.
"This is not her room," Giamanno pointed out. "There is no access to that suite from this one, Lieutenant, and as you can see, no adjoining doors."
She stared at him for a full ten seconds. Could he be that dim? she wondered, and riding on fury, stormed into the parlor and flung open the terrace doors.