by J. D. Robb
The door to the steam room opened, and Peabody, her face covered in blue gunk, stuck her head in. “You’re up, Dallas.”
“No, I’m not. I have to brief Nadine.”
“I’ll go now.” With what Eve considered sick enthusiasm, Louise sprang up.
“Send Nadine into my office,” Eve ordered Peabody.
“Can’t. She’s in stage one of detoxification. Wrapped up like a mummy,” Peabody explained. “In a seaweed deal.”
“That’s revolting.”
Eve pulled on a robe. The pool area, always lush with plants and tropical trees, had become a horrifying treatment center. Padded tables with bodies stretched on them. Weird smells, weirder music. Trina had decked herself out in a lab coat. The splatters on it were a rainbow. Eve might have preferred blood. At least she understood blood.
Mavis lay, her colorful hair covered with a clear, protective cap, the rest of her coated with various hues of substances Eve didn’t want to identify.
The belly was . . . prodigious.
“Check out the tits.” Mavis lifted her arms, waggled her fingers toward her breasts. “They’re, like, mongo now. It’s a total side benny of being pregs.”
“Great.” She patted Mavis on the head and moved on toward Nadine.
“I’m in heaven,” Nadine murmured.
“No, you’re naked in a bunch of seaweed. Pay attention.”
“The toxins are oozing out of my pores, even as we speak. Which means, yay, more wine for me when I’m done.”
“Pay attention,” Eve repeated. “Off the record until I give you the go-ahead.”
“Off the record,” Nadine mimicked, eyes still closed. “I’m going to pay Trina a thousand bucks to tattoo that on your ass.”
“I believe the Icoves headed, or at least actively participated in, a project with its roots in gene manipulation, and a good portion of the funding for said project may have come from selling females who had been engineered and then trained to suit the needs of prospective clients.”
Nadine’s eyes popped open, sharp green against skin painted pale yellow. “You are shitting me.”
“No, and you look like a fish. Smell like one, too. It’s bad. I believe Avril Icove might have been part of this experimentation, and that she was an accessory in the deaths of her father-in-law and husband.”
“Get me out of this thing.” Nadine tried to sit up, but the thin warming blanket was strapped around the table.
“I don’t know how, and I’m not touching it anyway. Just listen. I’m hitting this from a lot of angles. I may be off on some of it, but I know I’ve got the gist. I want you on Avril Icove.”
“Try to keep me off her.”
“Wheedle an interview, you’re good at it. Get her to talk about the work both these guys are known for. Circle around the genetic stuff. You found the connection to Jonah Wilson, so you can touch on that. But you’ve got to keep it sympathetic, play up what they did for humanity and all that crap.”
“I know how to do my job.”
“You know how to get the story,” Eve agreed. “I want you to get data. And if I’m right, and she’s been part of two murders, if she thinks you’re digging close to that mine, why would she hesitate to eliminate you? You’re research, Nadine. I don’t have anything on her, nothing I can use to pull her into Interview.”
“But she may say something to a sympathetic female reporter that could point you.”
“You’re smart. That’s why I’m asking you to do this, even though you’re lying there looking like some sort of mutant trout.”
“I’ll get you something. And when I break this story, the fucking sky’s the limit for me.”
“It doesn’t break until the case is closed. The Icoves couldn’t have been the only ones involved in this. I don’t know if she’s going to be satisfied with taking only them out. So you’re looking for the human angle. Her father figure and her husband, father of her kids, both lost to inexplicable violence. Ask her about her education, her art. You want the woman, the daughter, the widow, the mother.”
Nadine pursed her yellow lips. “The many facets of her, appealing to her individuality. So she leads me into her relationships with the men, rather than them leading me into her. She’s the spotlight. That’s good. And it’ll keep my producer very happy in the meantime.”
There was a soft triple ding. “I’m done,” Nadine announced.
“I’ll get the tarter sauce.”
There was no getting around it. With Mavis sitting beside her, hands and feet in frothy blue water, and Peabody snoring lightly nearby under relaxation VR, Eve stoically endured a facial. The cum-like substance Trina swore by was already slicked through her hair.
“What we’re gonna do is a full-body facial while your hair soaks up the joy juice.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. The body is not the face.”
“Some people’d be better off if their ass was their face.”
Eve snorted out a laugh before she could stop herself.
“Everybody but Mavis is getting hair. Did hers this morning. You want something different with yours?”
“No.” Defensively, Eve reached for her hair, and got her hand covered in slime. “Oh man.”
“Could give you a temp tint, or try extensions. Just for fun.”
“My world can’t take any more fun. I don’t want different.”
“Can’t blame you.”
Eve opened one eye, suspiciously. “For?”
“Keeping it as is. It’s working for you. But you don’t take care of it, or your skin, like you should. Doesn’t take that long for basic maintenance, you know.”
“I maintain,” Eve said, but under her breath.
“Your body, yeah. You got a prime one. Mag muscle tone. Some of my clients? They got shit under the sculpting.”
Eve’s eyes blinked open. Fear, she thought in disgust, had blinded her to an excellent source.
“You work on anybody who’s used the Icove Center?”
“Shit.” Trina sniffed as she worked. “Probably fifty percent of my base. You don’t need them, take my word.”
“Ever worked on Icove’s wife? Avril?”
“She uses Utopia. I worked there about three years ago. She had Lolette, but I filled in on her body care one appointment ’cause Lolette was out with a black eye. Boyfriend was an asshole, which I told her, but would she listen. No, not until he—”
“Avril Icove,” Eve interrupted. “Could you tell if she’d had any work done? Sculpting, reconstruction, surgical enhancements.”
“You get a body naked under the scanners, you know all the dish. Sure, she had some. Little face work, little boob job. Top work, but you’d expect that.”
Her husband had claimed she was just blessed, Eve remembered. “You’re sure about that?”
“Hey, you know your job, I know mine. Why?”
“Just curious.” Eve closed her eyes again. Thinking about murder made a facial almost bearable.
13
AFTER AN ENDLESS EVENING, AND MORE WINE than was probably wise—but extremely necessary—Eve trudged up to her office. Maybe a couple hits of strong coffee would counteract the alcohol, and she could squeeze in an hour of work.
First on the list was a check of Avril’s standard medicals. She’d be interested to see just what sort of elective surgery she’d find.
Then she wanted a closer look at Brookhollow Academy.
She was taking the first slug of coffee when Roarke walked in from his office.
“Yellow belly,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“Your belly’s as yellow as Nadine’s was a couple hours ago.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means.”
“You skipped out, left me alone.”
He gave her a look that would have passed for innocence on anyone else. “It seemed obvious that tonight’s festivities were for women only. Respecting female ritual, I discreetly got lost.”
“To
quote you, Yellow Belly, ‘Bollocks.’ You slithered out as soon as Mavis started yapping about coaching classes.”
“Guilty as charged, and I’m not ashamed. Lot of good it did me, for all that.” He took her coffee, drank. “She hunted me down.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh aye, look smug—for you’re in it, my friend, as deep as me. Sometime between the body scrub and polish, she scouted me out and gave me the contact information and schedule for the instruction we’re going to be forced to take in order to participate in the birthing. There’s no escape for us.”
“I know. We’re doomed.”
“Doomed,” he repeated. “Eve, there are vids.”
“Oh God.”
“And simulations.”
“Stop. Stop now.” She grabbed her coffee mug and chugged. “It’s still months away.”
“Weeks,” he corrected.
“That’s like months. It takes weeks to make a month. It’s not now, that’s the important thing. I have to think of something else. I have to work. And you know,” she added as she walked to her desk, “things could happen. Like . . . we could get abducted by terrorists right before she goes into labor.”
“Oh, if only.”
She had to grin as she called up the Icoves’ client and patient lists. “It turns out Trina slopped cream on Avril Icove once, and claims she found sculpting when she was under the scan. Now, it’s most likely that one of the Icoves would’ve done the work, or at least consulted.”
“Consulted, most likely. I’d think working on a family member might be tricky, ethically.”
“If one or both of them consulted, she’d be listed. That’s legal standard. Computer, search for Avril Icove, medical consult and/or procedures.”
Working . . . Avril Icove is not listed in selected files.
“You see, that just doesn’t jibe for me. You’re in a medical family—top of the line—and you don’t use them for any of your elective work? You don’t have your beloved husband consult on a procedure, one in which he’s a leading expert?” She drummed her fingertips. “If I had a cargo ship of money I wanted to invest, I’d go to you, not to some stranger. If I wanted to break into the National Treasury—”
“Now, wouldn’t that be fun?”
“I’d go to you.”
“Thank you, darling. They might have examined and consulted off record.”
“Why? See that’s the thing. I can get Dr. Will claiming his wife’s perfect face and body is God-given—privacy. And hey, nosy cop, none of your business. But I don’t get this kind of secrecy for some fine-tuning or whatever. If she had the procedures, on record, and used the Icove Center—which is logical—why not document the consult? It’s covering your legal ass, for one thing.”
“So she might have had the procedures off record, at another of their facilities.”
“That’s my thought, which leads to another why. I need images of her. Old images, for comparison. Then there’s Brookhollow. The most logical place for Avril and Dolores to have met—if they’ve worked together on the murders—is the school. But there’s no Dolores listed on their registry, not as a graduate anyway. So I’m going to generate ID images of everyone who attended during Avril’s time there, then do a match search with the image I have of Dolores.”
“Which is again logical. It’ll take a bit, and you smell delicious.”
“It’s the stuff.”
“I’m a helpless victim of cosmetic merchandising.” To prove it he slipped behind her and nipped the nape of her neck.
She gave him an elbow nudge back. “I need to get started on this.”
“Me, too. Computer. Access registry for Brookhollow Academy and College—”
“Hey, this is my machine.”
Ignoring her, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Search and mark ID photos of students, staff—”
“Female spouses and offspring of staff and any female employees, female spouses, and offspring of employees.”
“Very thorough,” Roarke commented.
“Let’s keep being thorough.”
“Doing my best,” he said and slid his hands under her sweatshirt.
“Not that way. I’m going to let it run for the whole time. Maybe she met Dolores at some alumni function. Computer, search for a match with—Jeez, Roarke, hold on a minute.”
His hands were very busy. “What did Trina put on you this time? Let’s buy a vat of it.”
“I don’t know. I’m losing my track. Match the generated images with the ID photo and security image on file for Nocho-Alverez, Dolores.”
Multiple commands acknowledged. Working . . .
“Or she met her off-site, at the center, at the fricking salon. Hired her. Dozens of options.”
“Have to start with one.” Roarke turned Eve around to face him. “Your hair smells like autumn leaves.”
“Dead?”
“Burnished. And you taste like . . . let me see.” He nibbled his way down her temple, over her cheekbone, to her mouth. “Sugar and cinnamon, warmed together.” He flipped open the button of her pants as he deepened the kiss.
“Now I have to do a search of my own, see if Trina’s left any surprises for me.”
“I told her I’d twist her arms into knots if she put any temp tattoos on me this time.”
He cruised his hands up, over her breasts, and her heart began to shudder.
“You know that only challenges her. Nothing here,” he said as he drew her sweatshirt up, off. “Just my wife’s lovely, unadorned breasts.”
“Mavis’s are mongo.” Eve let her head fall back as his lips skimmed over her.
“Yes, I noticed.”
“She had Trina paint one nipple blue and the other pink.”
He lifted his head slightly. “That may be just a bit too much information. Why don’t I just say I prefer yours.”
Her stomach tightened, pleasurably, as he closed his mouth over hers. “You could say that. I had too much wine. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be making this so easy for you.”
He flipped open the next button, and her pants slid down her hips. “Step out,” he murmured.
“You’re still dressed.” And her head was spinning.
“Step out,” he repeated, sliding those hands over her as she did. “You’re all naked and soft, and I like the idea of riding my tongue over you, top to bottom, bottom to top until you . . . Well, well. What have we?”
Her brain had gone dull on her, so she only blinked at first when she followed Roarke’s gaze down her own body.
There, low on either side of her belly, were three small, sparkling red hearts, with a long silver arrow piercing through each trio. Pointing, she realized, at the goal.
“For crap’s sake. What if somebody sees them?”
“If someone other than me sees them, you’re in serious trouble.” He traced a finger down one trio, made her shudder. “And they’re very pretty.”
“They’re sparkly hearts pointing at my crotch.”
“They are, yes. And while I appreciate the directional assistance, I believe I could find my way all on my own.” To prove it, he slid his fingers down her. Into her.
Her breath gasped out as she gripped his shoulders for balance.
God, the heat of her. The quick, wet heat. That alone seduced him. “I love to watch your face when it goes through you. When I go through you. Love to watch when it takes you over. Eve.”
Her knees had dissolved, and everything above them throbbed with sensation. Liquid excitement, pouring through her as his hands, his lips, tongue, teeth explored. To hear him say her name as he took her over, the music of his voice enticed her even as his hands teased, tormented.
She let herself ride the wave, then let herself melt into it.
Her pliancy, such a contrast to her strength and will, was arousing. Outrageously. Her absolute involvement in him, in them, while everything else around them washed away in pleasure and passion, in love and lust. When he pulled her with him to the floor,
she slid down, slid under him like silk. There he had her mouth, warm and generous. Her skin, smooth and fragrant.
Then he was inside her, where there was nothing else. And he let her yielding take him with her.
She could have curled up to sleep on the floor without a word of complaint. Every cell in her body was relaxed and satisfied. But when she felt herself starting to drift off, she shook it off, sat up. And let out a startled yelp when she saw the cat perched on her desk, staring unblinkingly with different-colored eyes.
Roarke studied the cat while he ran a hand lightly down Eve’s back. “Does he approve or disapprove, do you think? He never lets on.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass, but I don’t think he should be watching us while we’re having sex. It can’t be right.”
“Maybe we should get him a girlfriend.”
“He’s been fixed.”
“He still might enjoy the companionship.”
“Not enough to share his salmon fixes.” Because it was just weird to have the cat staring, especially when she was wearing little sparkly red hearts, she grabbed her pants, pulled them on.
As she raked her fingers through her hair, her computer beeped. Galahad jumped a little, then immediately shot up a leg and began to lick his backside.
Tasks complete . . .
“Hey, there’s timing.” She leaped up now, grabbing her sweatshirt. “Plus I think the sex burned the alcohol out of my system.”
“You’re welcome.”
He said it with a laugh, but she’d learned a few things in over a year of marriage. “The way you touched me? It counteracted the trauma that is Trina. This is great power.”
His eyes warmed for her as he got to his feet.
“But the hearts have got to go. Computer, display matches, on wall screen.”
Singular match displayed . . .
“Score,” Eve bellowed when the images flashed on, side by side. “Hello, Deena.”
Flavia, Deena, DOB June 8, 2027, Rome, Italy. Father, Dimitri, doctor, specializing in pediatrics. Mother, Anna Trevani, doctor, psychiatry. No siblings. No marriage, cohabitation on record. No offspring on record. No criminal on record. Last known address, Brookhollow College. No data on record after May 19–20, 2047. Image displayed is of official ID taken June 2046.