Reunion in Death

by J. D. Robb

  As the others trailed after her, Eve rose up on her toes, bent to flex her knees once, twice, then sprinted across the terrace, sprang off the stone banister, and leaped to the neighboring terrace.

  Her ankles sang on impact, but she ignored the pain, stepped to the doors. "I wonder if it'll come as a big surprise to you, Giamanno, that these doors are unlocked."

  She opened them, peered inside, stepped back. Closed them again. "And that there are two people in bed inside here, still sawing wood."

  "Sawing—"

  "Sleeping, you—"

  "Lieutenant." Roarke interrupted what would no doubt have been a tirade harsh enough to destroy all friendly relationships between Italy and the United States for the next decade. "I believe what Lieutenant Dallas has deduced is that, forewarned in some manner, the suspect fled the premises by the manner just demonstrated, and left the building, in all probability the country, before our arrival."

  "You know what's saving your tiny, wrinkled balls, Giamanno?" Eve leaned on the banister. "She'd rabbitted before you could have gotten here to hold her, even if you'd moved your fat ass when requested to do so by a fellow officer. Now we find out how and why. Your office," she said, pointing at Signorina Vincenti. "Now."

  And strode into the suite, past the sleeping couple, and out the door.

  * * *

  She refused the offer of coffee, which indicated to Roarke her temper was well beyond flash point. His reservations manager was showing some of her own. The two women butted wills while the Italian cop huffed and puffed and the security head continued to review the discs.

  "She goes to the pool." His face was grim as he followed Julianna's movements from suite to elevator, from elevator to the Garden Room off the main lobby, and from there outside toward the swimming pool.

  The outside cameras kept her in view as she increased her pace to a light jog, turned away from the pool onto a garden path. And disappeared out of range.

  "My apologies, Lieutenant Dallas. I should have anticipated."

  "Well, someone anticipated or she wouldn't have bolted, leaving most of her things behind."

  "I spoke with you," Vincenti said again. "With Capitano Giamanno, with Signore Bartelli. And no one else."

  As she folded her arms, as prepared for battle as Eve, the door opened. A young woman slipped in with a tray of coffee and small breakfast cakes.

  "Hold it." Eve gripped her arm and had the tray rattling. "You took my initial transmission."

  "This is my assistant, Elena, who referred you to me."

  "Yeah, I remember." And one look at her face told Eve most of the story. "Do you know the penalty for obstructing justice, Elena?"

  "Mi scusi? I don't understand."

  "You speak English just fine. Sit."

  "Lieutenant, I won't have you browbeating my staff. Elena would hardly have aided a criminal. She is ..." Vincenti trailed off. She, too, saw the story on her assistant's face.

  "Maledizione!" From that one oath, she launched into a furious stream of Italian as Elena sank into a chair and began to cry.

  The security head joined in, then the Italian cop, until Eve's ears were ringing. Hands were flying, tears were falling. She opened her mouth to shout them down, considered blasting a couple streams at the ceiling, when Roarke shut everyone down.

  "Basta!" His voice rang with command, and had Eve gaping at him as he, too, launched into Italian.

  "I beg your pardon." With obvious effort, Vincenti composed herself. "Please excuse my outburst, Lieutenant Dallas. Elena, you will tell the lieutenant, in English, what you have done."

  "She said, the signora said she needed my help." Tears plopped on her clenched hands. "Her husband, he beat her. He is a terrible, terrible man of great power in the United States. She told me this, in confidence. Signorina Vincenti—" .

  "Uh!"

  Her head dipped lower. "She came here to escape, to find some peace, but she knew he would try to find her and bring her back. He would send, she told me, a police woman from New York City. The police in this place are corrupt and would do whatever he said."

  "Is that so?" Eve said, very quietly. Quietly enough Roarke laid a restraining hand on her shoulder.

  "She says this, signora." Elena pleaded. "I believe her. I feel great pity for her. She is so kind to me. She says I am like the little sister she loved who died when only a child. And she looks so sad and brave."

  Oh yeah, Eve thought in disgust, she had your number from the first look.

  "She asks only that if this police woman Dallas—if you—contact the villa to inquire, I tell her of this." Elena blinked out more tears. "I give her time to get away before you come to take her back to this very bad man. She does not ask me to lie, only to give her this small chance. So when you speak to Signorina Vincenti, I ring madam's suite and tell her she must run away very fast. I don't believe she is what you tell me until too late. I believe her. Will I be arrested?" Fresh tears spurted. "Will I go to prison?"

  "Jesus Christ." Eve had to turn away. The kid was pitiful, and just the sort of gullible mark Julianna used most skillfully. "Get her out, send her home. I'm done with her."

  "She can be charged with—"

  "What's the point?" Eve interrupted Giamanno, scoured him with a brittle stare. "She's a dupe. Slapping her behind bars doesn't fix any of this."

  "Her employment will be terminated." Vincenti poured coffee when Elena ran tearfully from the room.

  "That's not my area," Eve responded.

  "I believe she's learned a valuable lesson. I would prefer you kept her on, Signorina. In a probationary capacity." Roarke accepted the first cup of coffee. "Employees who learn hard and valuable lessons early often become exceptional at their work."

  "As you wish, sir. Lieutenant Dallas, I cannot hope to apologize sufficiently for the ..."—she seemed to gather all her disgust into one word—"... stupidity of my assistant and what that has cost you. She is young and naive, but this does not excuse her, nor does it excuse me. I take full responsibility for the failure to do all that was necessary to help you in this matter. Elena was under my charge, therefore ..."

  Composed again, she turned to Roarke. "I will tender my resignation immediately. If you wish it, I will stay on to train a replacement."

  "Your resignation is neither desired nor warranted, Signorina Vincenti, and will not be accepted. I trust you to handle any disciplinary action regarding your assistant."

  "Former assistant," Vincenti said coolly. "She will now be re-assigned to a lesser position where she will have no contact with guests."

  "Ah, well. As I said, I leave it in your thoroughly capable hands." He took those hands in his, spoke to her quietly in Italian, and made her smile again.

  "You're very kind. Lieutenant, if there is anything that can be done, you have only to ask."

  "She didn't walk out of the country, so I'll need to check on transportation services. She's gone, but we'll stick with procedure and do what we can to track her moves. If I can use your office."

  "As long as you like."

  "I came down hard on you."

  "Yes, you did."

  "Sorry." She offered a hand. "And that was really good ass-kicking with the assistant. I admire that."

  "Thank you." Vincenti accepted the hand. "Believe me, I have not yet finished that particular task."

  * * *

  She'd gone over the Swiss border, using a private car service she'd arranged, probably on her pocket-link. The car had picked her up at the end of the shady lane that led to the villa's gates. She'd been wearing a blue sundress, one she'd probably been wearing under the long, white robe.

  From there it became sketchier. Public and private shuttle companies, airports, and ground transportation were being studied for any passengers meeting her description.

  "She's probably already back in New York." Harnessed for takeoff, Eve shut her eyes as Roarke's private shuttle began its taxi.

  "I imagine so."

  "One step b
ehind. After she gets over being pissed at having her little holiday interrupted, she's going to feel really good about it. She took another battle, riding off unscathed while I eat her dust."

  "You were right about her, what she would do. What she would need. What she had here, Lieutenant, was sheer luck. Not to discount the value of luck, but I'll wager on the side of brains and grit any day of the week."

  "I wouldn't mind a little of that luck to go with them. I'm going to zone out for a while here."

  "That's fine." He tapped the release on the table in front of him and brought the data center into position.

  "How come I didn't know you could speak Italian?"

  "Hmm? I don't, at least not fluently. Enough to handle basic business and employee relations. And, of course, I have a working knowledge of all the more colorful obscenities and sexual come-ons."

  She could hear the faint click of him working the computer manually. "Everything in Italian sounds like a sexual come-on or colorful obscenity. Say something."

  "Silenzio."

  "Nuh-uh, I can figure that one out. Say something in the sexual come-on division."

  He glanced over. Her eyes were still closed, but her lips were curved upward. Apparently she'd run out of her mad, he thought, and was ready to recharge. One way or the other.

  He shut the computer down, pressed the lever to have the table swing away. Leaning close, he whispered a silky stream of Italian in her ear, while his fingers roamed possessively up her thigh.

  "Yeah, that sounds pretty hot." She opened one eye. "What does it mean?"

  "I believe it loses something in the translation. Why don't I demonstrate?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Julianna stormed into her townhouse, heaved her travel bag aside. The hours on the run hadn't chilled her anger, but instead had bottled it up under the rigid cork of control. Now that she was back, alone, unobserved, that cork popped.

  She grabbed the first thing in range, a tall vase of delicate English bone china, threw it and its contents of white roses against the wall. The crash echoed in the empty house and set her on a rampage of temper and destruction. She batted lamps to the floor, pitched a large crystal egg into an antique mirror, stomped the already bruised roses into dust.

  She upended chairs, tables, spilling precious crockery onto rug and wood until her foyer and living area resembled a war zone.

  Then she threw herself down on the sofa and, pounding her fists onto the pillows, wept like a baby.

  She'd wanted those few lovely days at the villa. She'd needed it. She was tired, tired, tired of fixing her own hair, of going without the simple necessities of facials and manicures.

  And that bitch had ruined it all.

  She'd had to leave a brand-new gown and shoes behind, as well as several other lovely outfits. And she'd missed her seaweed plunge and mud wrap.

  Well, there would be payment made.

  Sniffling, she rolled onto her back. If that little Italian twit in reservations hadn't come through, she might have found herself hauled out of bed by the police. Infuriating. Humiliating.

  But that hadn't happened. To calm herself, Julianna breathed deeply and quietly as she'd taught herself in prison. It hadn't happened because she was always prepared, always ahead. And it had been Eve Dallas who'd lost this battle, as she'd lost the others in this newly waged war.

  That was enough comfort to give Julianna a slight lift. Imagine, racing all the way to Italy only to find an empty suite. And that clever little message. Yes, that had been a stylish touch.

  In any case, she'd come back to New York to work specifically to pit herself against Eve Dallas. So it was foolish to become so upset and overwrought when the woman proved herself to be a skilled foe.

  So skilled, Julianna mused, that it might be best to back off a bit. At least temporarily. This last skirmish had unnerved her. And yet...

  It was all so exciting. She'd missed this blood rush, this adrenaline spike when she'd been inside. The only way to bring it all to peak was to finish what she'd planned to do.

  Destroy Eve Dallas, once and for all.

  What better way to do that than by killing the man she was weak enough to love? With the added bonus of going down in history as the woman who murdered the invulnerable Roarke.

  It was really all so perfect. Julianna lifted her hands, turned them, and pouted a bit when she noticed she'd chipped a nail.

  * * *

  Eve ran short, unpainted nails over the heel of a black evening shoe. "The Italian police were persuaded to turn over all personal items from Dunne's suite. This shoe is new. There's barely any marks on the sole. It's Italian, but with American sizing. My shoe authority..."—she glanced toward Roarke as she briefed her team—"tells me this means she most likely purchased it here in New York before leaving for Italy."

  She tossed the shoe to McNab. "Run it, see if you can find out where she bought it, for what it's worth." '

  "She's got little feet."

  "Yeah, she's a real dainty man killer. As you're aware, we focus now on the upcoming event at the Regency. Feeney, you're in charge of electronics—surveillance, security, and so on. We have the commander's go to put as many men on this as we need. Do. You'll have to keep to background as the subject knows you. She's going to think twice if she shows up and sees a known cop at some snazzy charity deal."

  "They usually have good food at those things."

  "You'll get fed. Peabody, there's a strong likelihood she'd recognize you. She researches and would have studied my aide. You'll remain in the on-site Control."

  "Get your own plate," Feeney told her.

  "McNab, we can risk you. You'll dude yourself up appropriately and work the ballroom."

  "Hey, frigid."

  "If she uses this opportunity to attempt a hit on the target, it's most likely she'll do it as server or staff. Easier to blend, to go unnoticed, to get in close enough to do the job. She'll know the target very well."

  "The target has a name."

  She met Roarke's eyes. "We know your name. So does she. She'll know you have superior security and superior instincts. She'll know you'll be cautious. But she'll also believe that you are unaware you're a target, that you'll feel reasonably comfortable at this sort of event, at your ease with the small talk and the mingling."

  And he would, she thought, while her nerves would be balled up into slippery wires. "She doesn't know, or can't be sure, if I've copped to her moving on you. Her other New York targets have all been similar to her previous choices. You don't fit pattern. She'll consider that one of her advantages. The hit will take form in a drink or possibly some finger food. That means you eat and drink nothing. Nothing whatsoever."

  "It promises to be a very long evening. I have a stipulation here, if you don't mind, Lieutenant."

  "What?"

  "The possibility remains you are her target, or that she hopes to take a two-for-one with us." He inclined his head as he saw this had occurred to her already. "Therefore, you eat or drink nothing right along with me."

  "Fine. The media's already picked up the bone about the large contribution Roarke is presenting to Louise Dimatto that evening. This is an open door for her, and she will go through it." Eve had thought long and hard about it. "She will. I nipped at her heels in Italy this morning, put the skids on her nice little holiday. She doesn't care to be crossed. She'll be pissed, but she'll also be determined. So am I. So am I pissed and determined to slam that door shut on her."

  She paused, read the faces in the room to see if they understood her meaning. Julianna Dunne was hers. "Feeney, I'll want your input on selecting what remains of the operation team. We'll go over that once we've done a walk-through on-site. We'll meet there, main security office, in thirty. Questions?"

  "Not now." Feeney got to his feet. "Imagine there'll be plenty when we start the walk-through."

  "Then let's save it. Peabody, you're with Feeney and McNab. I'll transport the civilian."

  "And the civil
ian has a name as well." Mildly irked, Roarke got to his feet. "If you've a moment or two, Lieutenant, the Peabodys would like to say good-bye before they leave."

  "Fine. In thirty," she said to her team as she walked out with Roarke.

  "You're trying to depersonalize this by referring to me as an object." He paused at the top of the stairs, took her arm. "I don't appreciate it."

  "That's too bad. When this is done and she's on ice, I'll say your name five hundred times as punishment." She could see his temper stir. "Give me a break on this, for God's sake. Give me a fucking break. I'm handling this the only way I know how."

  "Understood. But you might understand that it's the both of us doing the handling. And I won't be relegated to a thing, Eve, not even for you." He took her hand firmly in his. "You've had a year to learn how it works."

  A year? she thought as they walked down. As far as she could tell she wouldn't figure out all the angles of marriage in a hundred years.

  The Peabodys were in the front parlor, cozied together on one of the sofas and laughing. Sam got to his feet the minute Eve stepped into the room.

  "There you are. We were afraid you wouldn't have time to say good-bye, and give us the chance to say how glad we are we were able to get to know you this way. Both of you."

  "It's been a pleasure having you here." Roarke held out a hand. "And spending time with Delia's family. I hope you'll come back, and know you're welcome here whenever you do."

  "We'll look forward to that." Phoebe's gaze rested on Eve, long enough, deep enough to bring on the jitters. "And you, Eve? Will we be welcome?"

  "Sure. Um, door's always open."

  Phoebe laughed, then swept forward to catch Eve's face in her hands and kiss both her cheeks. "Still don't quite know what to make of us, do you?"

  "I don't know much about roots, but I recognize when somebody's got good ones. Peabody does."

  Phoebe's humor changed to baffled delight. "Why, thank you. That's a lovely gift to take away with us. Be careful, as careful as you can manage," she added and stepped back. "We'll think of you often."