The In Death Collection 06-10

by J. D. Robb

  “McNab,” Eve said mildly.

  “The hell with it, Dallas. The bastard got what he deserved. We should—”

  “Detective McNab.” Eve snapped off the words and moved forward until they were toe to toe. “I don’t believe your opinion in this matter was requested. You’re now off duty. Go home and cool off. I’ll see you in my office at Central at oh nine hundred.”

  She waited while he fought the war between training and instinct. In the end he turned on his heel and stormed out without another word. “Roarke, Feeney, would you give me a moment with my aide?”

  “Glad to,” Feeney said under his breath, more than happy to desert the field. “Got any Irish, Roarke? It’s been a long day.”

  “I think we can find you a glass.” He sent Eve one quiet look before guiding Feeney out of the room.

  “Sit down, Peabody.”

  “Sir.” Peabody shook her head. “I let you down. I promised you I would handle myself and the responsibilities you gave me. Then I broke at the first turn. I realize you have every right and reason to take me off the investigation, at least the undercover op, but I’d like to respectfully request another chance.”

  Eve said nothing, let Peabody wind down. Her aide was still sheet-pale, but her hands were steady, her shoulders straight. “I don’t believe I mentioned any plans to remove you from the undercover op, Officer. But I did tell you to sit down. Sit down, Peabody,” she said more gently, then turned away to dig up a bottle of wine.

  “I understand that when you’re under you have to keep to your cover, to handle any curves without breaking.”

  “I didn’t see you break your cover, just that asshole’s nose.”

  “I didn’t think, I just reacted. I understand during that kind of op you have to think at all times.”

  “Peabody, even an LC has the right to protest if some jerk grabs her crotch in a public place. Here, have a drink.”

  “He stuck his fingers in me.” Her hand did shake now as Eve pressed the glass into it. “We were just sitting there talking and all of a sudden I feel him jam his fingers in me. I know I was flirting, and I let him get a good look at my boobs so maybe I deserved—”

  “Stop it.” Eve’s control wavered enough for her to put her hands on Peabody’s shoulders and shove her into a chair. “You didn’t deserve it, and it pisses me off to hear you think it. The son of a bitch didn’t have any right to touch you that way. Nobody has a right to push themselves on you that way.”

  To hold you down, to tie your hands, to hammer himself into you when you’re begging him to stop. And it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

  The sickness rose up, all but gagging her, until she turned, laid her hands on her desk, and ordered herself to breathe.

  “Not now,” she murmured. “For Christ’s sake.”

  “Dallas?”

  “It’s nothing.” But she had to stay as she was, hands braced, for another moment. “I’m sorry you were put in that kind of position. I knew something was off about him.”

  Peabody lifted her glass with both hands. She could still feel the sudden sharp shock of Holloway’s fingers digging into her. “He passed their screening.”

  “And now we know their screening isn’t as good as they claim.” She drew a deep breath and, steadier, turned back. “I want you to hit Piper with this in the morning, in person. Go in, demand to see her. A little hysteria wouldn’t hurt; you can threaten to sue or go to the press. I want her to get it full in the face. Let’s see what shakes. Can you do it?”

  “Yeah.” Appalled that tears were perilously close, Peabody sniffed. “Yeah, the way I’m feeling, it’ll be easy.”

  “Keep your communicator open. We can’t use anything you get on the inside, but I want you in constant contact. You can delay your report on tonight until tomorrow afternoon. I’m going to have Feeney take you home, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Eve waited a beat. “Peabody?”

  “Sir?”

  “Damn good punch. Next time, though, follow it through with a groin shot. You want to completely disable, not just annoy.”

  Peabody let out a long sigh, then managed a half smile. “Yes, sir.”

  • • •

  Because she wanted the position of command, Eve sat behind her desk and waited for Roarke. She knew he’d walk Feeney and Peabody out, probably add a few comfort strokes for Peabody. Which would set the poor woman up for sweaty, erotic dreams if Eve knew her aide.

  Better, she thought, than ugly nightmares about groping hands and helplessness.

  And that, she realized, was part of her problem with this case. Sexual homicides, bondage, the gleeful cruelty in the name of love. Too close to home. Too close to the past she’d spent most of her life running from.

  Now it was hitting her in the face. Each time she looked at a victim, she saw herself.

  And she hated it.

  “Get past it,” she ordered herself. “And find him.”

  She looked over as Roarke walked in, kept her eyes on him as he crossed the room. He poured two glasses of the wine she’d gotten out for Peabody, set one on her desk, then took the other with him and sat in the chair facing her.

  He sipped, took out one of his increasingly rare cigarettes, lighted it. “Well,” he said and left it at that.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

  He drew in smoke, blew it out in a thin, fragrant stream. “At which point?”

  “Don’t get cute with me, Roarke.”

  “But I do it so well. Easy, Lieutenant.” He lifted his glass in salute as she growled low in her throat. “I didn’t infringe on your operation.”

  “The point is you had no business being near the scene.”

  “Pardon me, but I own the scene.” There was arrogance in his tone now, and a dare. “I often drop in on my properties. Keeps the employees on their toes.”

  “Roarke—”

  “Eve, this case is choking you. Do you think I can’t see it?” His composure cracked just enough to have him rising to pace.

  Feeney was right, she thought fleetingly, the Irish came out when he was pissed.

  “It disturbs your sleep—what little you allow yourself. It haunts your eyes. I know what you go through.” He turned back, temper alive in those wonderfully blue eyes. “Christ, I admire you. But you can’t expect me to stand back and pretend I don’t see, don’t understand, and not do whatever it is I can do to ease what’s inside you.”

  “It isn’t about me. It can’t be about me. It’s about three dead people.”

  “They haunt you, too.” He crossed to the desk and sat on the edge close to her. “That’s why you’re the best cop I’ve ever run up against. They’re not names and numbers to you. They’re people. And you have the gift—or curse—of being able to imagine too well what they saw and felt and prayed for in those last minutes of life. I won’t back away.”

  He leaned forward, a quick move that caught her unguarded, and gripped her chin. “Damn it. I won’t back away from what you are or what you do. You’ll take me, Eve, every bit as fully as I take you.”

  She sat very still, absorbing his words, searching his eyes. She could never resist the things she found in his eyes. “Last winter,” she began slowly, “you pushed yourself into my life. I didn’t ask for you. I didn’t want you.”

  His brow cocked, an irritated challenge. “Thank God you didn’t give a damn what I asked for or what I thought I wanted,” she murmured and watched the dare slide into a smile.

  “I didn’t ask for you either. A ghra.”

  My love. She knew what it meant, in the tongue of his birth, and couldn’t stop her heart from opening to it. To him. “Since then I’ve rarely had a case that hasn’t tangled you into it. I didn’t want it to be that way. I’ve used you when it was expedient. That bothers me.”

  “It pleases me.”

  “I know it.” She sighed and, lifting a hand, curled her fingers briefly around his wrist. His pulse beat there, stro
ng and steady. “You get too close to pieces of me I don’t like to look at, then I don’t have any choice but to look at them.”

  “You look at them with or without me, Eve. But maybe with me they won’t hurt you so much. I look back,” he said and surprised her enough to have her eyes flicking up to his, holding there. “And it’s easier, those moments are easier to stand since you. You can’t ask me, can’t expect me not to stand with you when your moments close in.”

  She stood now, taking her wine and moving away from him. He was right, she thought. What she too often saw as dependence should have been accepted as unity.

  And she could tell him.

  “I know what they felt. I know what went through them—the fear, the pain, the humiliation. Each one of them when they were helpless and naked and he was raping them. I know what their bodies felt, what their minds felt. I don’t want to remember what it’s like to be torn into that way. Ripped, invaded. But I do. Then you touch me.”

  She turned back, realizing she’d never really given him this. “Then you touch me, Roarke, and I don’t. I don’t feel that. I don’t remember that. It’s that simple. It’s just . . . you.”

  “I love you,” he murmured. “Outrageously.”

  “So you’re here when you should be off planet seeing to your business.” She shook her head before he could speak, could slide some smooth excuse by her when she knew better. “You were there tonight, knowing I’d be pissed off, because you thought there might be a chance I’d need you. You’re here right now ready to argue with me just to take my mind off what’s ripping at it. I know you, damn it. I’m a cop. I’m good at knowing people.”

  He only smiled. “Busted. So what?”

  “So . . . thanks. But I’ve been on the job eleven years now and I can handle myself. On the other hand . . .” She studied her wine, then took a long swallow. “It sure gave me a nice feeling to watch you beat the puss out of that creep who jumped Peabody. I had to sit there in the fucking van. Couldn’t risk getting out to smear him onto the pavement myself and blow cover. So it felt pretty good to watch you do it for me.”

  “Oh, it was absolutely my pleasure. Is she all right?”

  “She will be. He shook her—that’s the human part. She’ll take a hot shower, a tranq if she’s smart, and sleep it off. The cop part will maintain. She’s a good cop.”

  “She’s a better one because of you.”

  “No, don’t put that on me. She’s what she is.” Uncomfortable with that topic, she shot him a cool stare. “I bet you hugged her, stroked her hair, and gave her a kiss good night.”

  That gorgeous eyebrow lifted again. “And if I did?”

  “Her little heart’s still pitty-patting over it, which is just fine. She’s got a thing for you.”

  “Really?” He grinned widely. “How . . . interesting.”

  “Don’t play with my aide. I need her focused.”

  “How about you unfocus for just a little while, and I see if I can make your heart pitty-pat?”

  She ran her tongue around her teeth. “I don’t know. I’ve got a lot on my mind. It’d be a lot of work.”

  “I enjoy my work.” With his eyes on hers, he stubbed out his cigarette, set down his glass. “And I’m damned good at it.”

  She was facedown on the bed, naked and still vibrating, when the call came in. She grunted, blocked video, and answered. Thirty seconds later, she was rolling over and looking for her clothes. The call had been for her response to an anonymous tip on a domestic dispute. The address was all too familiar.

  “That’s Holloway’s place. It’s not a 1222. He’s dead. It followed pattern.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Roarke was already out of bed and reaching for his trousers.

  She started to protest, then shrugged. “Okay. I have to tag Peabody for this, and she might not handle it well. I’m counting on you to give her the strokes because I’m going to have to be hard on her to keep her in line.”

  “I don’t envy your job, Lieutenant,” Roarke said as he dressed in the dark.

  “Right now, neither do I.” She dug out her communicator and called Peabody.

  chapter twelve

  Brent Holloway had lived well, and died badly. The furnishing of his town house spoke of a man who was ruled by both trends and comfort. A lake-sized sofa dominated the living area and was pooled with triangular black pillows that appeared wet to the touch. A view screen was recessed in the ceiling above. In a cabinet, shaped like a well-endowed female from neck to knee, was an expansive collection of porn discs, some legal, some bootlegged.

  A silver serving bar stretched across one wall and was stocked with expensive liquor and cheap illegal drugs.

  The kitchen was fully automated, soulless, and appeared to have been used rarely. There was an office with a high-end computer system and holophone and a playroom equipped with VR and a mood tube. A servant droid stood in the corner, shut down and blank-eyed.

  Holloway was in the master suite, stretched over a water-to-air mattress, trussed in sparkly silver garland and staring blindly at his own reflection in the mirrored canopy. The tattoo had been painted low on his belly, and four plump birds flew on the silver choke chain around his neck.

  “Looks like he’d been to a health center,” Eve commented. His nose was only slightly swollen. Whatever bruising there might have been was expertly concealed with cosmetics.

  Roarke stood back, knowing he wasn’t permitted in the room. He’d seen her work before. Competent, thorough, with a gentleness under the professional moves as she tended the dead.

  He watched her run the standard field test to establish time of death, recording it herself until Peabody and the Crime Scene techs arrived.

  “Ligature marks, both wrists, both ankles indicate victim was restrained prior to death. Death occurred twenty-three fifteen. Bruising on throat indicates cause of death to be strangulation.”

  She glanced up as the buzzer sounded.

  “I’ll let her in,” Roarke said.

  “Okay. Roarke?” She hesitated only a moment. He was here, after all, and he was able. “Can you reactivate the droid? Bypass the programmed commands?”

  “I think I could handle that.”

  “Yeah.” There was very little he couldn’t do to bypass security systems. She tossed him a can of Seal-It. “Coat your hands. I can’t have your prints on it.”

  He gave the can a mild look of distaste, but carried it with him.

  She turned back to the body, continuing her work. She could hear the muted conversation in the other room as Roarke spoke to Peabody. Moving to the doorway, she waited.

  Peabody was back in uniform, her recorder pinned to her lapel, her hair ruthlessly slicked down in its usual straight bowl around her face. And her face was pale, her eyes horrified.

  “Oh shit, Dallas.”

  “Tell me if you can’t deal with it. I have to know now before you go in.”

  She’d asked herself the same question over and over since she’d received the call. Because she still wasn’t sure of the answer, she kept her eyes on Eve’s. “It’s my job to handle it. I know that.”

  “I tell you what your job is. There’s a droid. You can work that. You can check the ’links, the security discs. You can start the door-to-doors.”

  It was an out. She hated herself for wanting to take it. Wanting to do anything but step inside the room. “I prefer to work the scene. Sir.”

  Eve studied her another moment, then nodded. “Engage your recorder.” She turned and walked back to the side of the bed. “The victim is Holloway, Brent, ID established by investigating officer. Preliminary on body recorded by Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Subsequent record by Peabody, Officer Delia. Time and apparent cause of death established.”

  Peabody’s stomach jittered when she forced herself to study the body. “It’s just like the others.”

  “Apparently. Sexual molestation has not yet been established, nor has the victim been tested for drugs. The exposed skin sho
ws signs of disinfectant. I can still smell it.”

  She took a visor out of her field kit, fit it over her head, adjusted the power on the eyepieces. “Crime Scene techs are late,” she muttered. “Lights out,” she commanded, and the spotlight beams trained on the bed went dark.

  “Yeah, he’s been sprayed down. The brushstrokes on the tattoo coincide with those on previous victims. It’s damn good freehand,” she added, with her nose all but pressing on Holloway’s belly. “What have we got here? Give me the tweezers, Peabody. I got hair or fiber here.”

  Without looking back, Eve held out a hand, felt the small metal tool when Peabody passed it. “It’s white, doesn’t look man-made.” Holding up the thin strand, she studied it through the magnified visor. “He’s got several of these on him. I need a bag.” Even as she said it, Peabody was holding one out. “I’d guess Santa’s beard is shedding, and he wasn’t as careful cleaning up after himself this time.”

  Carefully Eve plucked white strands from the body, bagged them. “He just made his first mistake. Take the visor.” Eve pulled it off. “Check the bathroom, every corner. Pull the drains and bag the contents. I want everything. Lights on,” she added. “Missing Cissy last night shook him, Peabody. He’s getting sloppy.”

  By the time Eve turned the room over to the Crime Scene team, she’d found more than a dozen hairs, and minute traces of fiber. Her eyes were dark with purpose when she found Roarke with the droid in the playroom.

  “Did you get it on?”

  “Of course.” Staying comfortably in the body-mold chair, he gestured toward the droid. “Rodney, this is Lieutenant Dallas.”

  “Lieutenant.” The droid was short and squat, with a homely face and a clipped voice. Obviously Holloway hadn’t wanted any competition, even in his electronics.

  “What time were you disengaged tonight?”

  “At ten oh three, shortly after Mr. Holloway returned for the evening. He prefers that I remain off unless he requires my services.”

  “He didn’t require them tonight.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Did he have any visitors from the time he returned and you were disengaged?”