by J. D. Robb
“Yeah, okay. We’ll catch some sleep.”
She walked with him, but couldn’t stop the ball he’d launched from bouncing around in her mind. “It was shuffling around in my head,” she began. “The idea of me being a target. A lot of information and supposition was shuffling around in my head.”
“As I’ve marched along with you on this one for the past two days and three nights, I have a good understanding of how much is crowded in your head on this.”
“Yeah, but see—God, I’m becoming a woman even before the words come out of my mouth.”
“Please, you must be stopped.”
“I’m serious.” Mildly embarrassed by it, she shoved her hands in her pockets. “The way women just nibble and gnaw at something, just can’t let it alone. Any minute I’m going to start wondering which color lip dye works best with my complexion. Or my shoes.”
He laughed, shook his head. “I think we’re safe from that.”
“If I ever start going that way, put me down. Okay?”
“My pleasure.”
“But what I have to say, which is annoying, is that I don’t even know if it’s a viable angle. I’m not going to drop over to some guy’s house to plan a party for him or teach him the samba.”
“You often go to strangers’ houses to interview them or take statements.”
“Okay, yeah.” She pushed at her hair as they entered the bedroom. “But I’m rarely solo, and I’m logged, and Jesus, Roarke, I’m a cop. It wouldn’t be a snap for some old guy to get the drop on me.”
“Which makes you quite the challenge. That would be an added appeal.”
“And that’s shuffling around, too. But—”
“He might have targeted you instead of Ariel Greenfeld. If you’ve been in his sights the last few days—weeks, come to that—it could’ve been you he took today.”
“No, it couldn’t.” And this, she realized as she undressed, was why she was gnawing at this. He had to see, accept, and relax. “Think about it. I’ve barely had an hour alone in my own office since Friday night. Outside this house or Central, I’ve been with you or Peabody. Maybe you think he can get the drop on me, but is he going to get the drop on both of us, or on two cops?”
He stopped, studied her. The clenched fist in his gut relaxed fractionally. “You have a point. But you’re considering changing that.”
“Considering. If we go that route, and that’s still a major if, I’ll be wired, I’ll be protected. I’ll be armed.”
“I want a homing beacon on your vehicle.”
“There will be.”
“No, I want one on before we leave the grounds in the morning. I’ll see to it.”
Give and take, she reminded herself. Even when—maybe especially when—give and take was a pain in the ass. “Okay. But there go my plans to slip off and meet Pablo the pool boy for an hour of hot, sticky sex.”
“We all have to make sacrifices. Myself, I’ve had to reschedule my liaison with Vivien the French maid three times in the last couple of days.”
“Blows,” Eve said as they slipped into bed.
“She certainly does.”
She snorted, jabbed her elbow back lightly as he drew her back against him. “Perv.”
“There you go, stirring me up when we need our sleep.” His fingers brushed lightly over her breast, trailed down her torso, teased, trailed lightly up again.
On a sigh, she laid her hand over his, encouraging the caress. This was better, she thought, this was the way to end a long, hard day. Body to body, sliding away in the dark.
When his lips found the nape of her neck, she stretched like a lazy cat. “Sleep’s only one way to recharge.”
“So it seems. Just as it seems I can’t keep my hands off you.”
She felt him harden against her, and heat. “Funny place for a hand. You ought to see a doctor about that. It could…Oh.” She shuddered, seemed to shimmer when he slipped into her.
“There’s a better place.” Now his hand glided down, pressed against her as he pleasured them both with long, slow strokes.
She went soft, breath catching, body fluid as wine. His hands were free to touch, to take, to tease. Breasts, torso, belly, that glorious heat where they joined.
He could feel every quiver and quake that passed through her even as she surrounded him.
She breathed out his name as she rolled up and over, rolled through the climax. In the utter dark he knew all of her: body, heart, mind. Steeped in the moment, he murmured to her in the language of his shattered childhood. With her, he was complete.
So easy, so exquisite and simple, this merging, this melding. No empty spaces when he was with her, no haunting images of blood and death. Just peace, she knew only peace and pleasure. Those hands, so skilled, so patient. The whispers she knew were love dipped from a deep and turbulent well.
Here she could be pliant, here she could yield. So she rose up, and up, trembling as she clung, one moment, just one moment more to that breathless peak. Holding as she felt him climb with her, hold with her.
And so she slid down again, wrapped with him.
In the dark, she smiled, clutched his hand to bring it between her breasts. “Buenas noches, Pablo.”
“Bonne nuit, Vivien.”
She dropped, grinning, into sleep.
It was a shame. A true shame. But he could do nothing more with Gia. Nothing in his research of her had indicated she would have a mind so easily broken. Honestly, he felt as if they’d barely begun, and now he had to end it.
He’d risen early, hoping against hope that she’d revived sometime in the night. He’d given her dopamine, tried lorazepam—which weren’t easy to come by, but he felt the trouble he’d gone to was necessary.
He’d tried electric shock, and that he could admit had been very interesting. But nothing—not music, not pain, not drugs, not the systemic jolts—had been able to reach in and find the lock to the door her mind had hidden behind.
After the truly rousing success with Sarifina, this was a crushing disappointment. But still, he reminded himself, it took two to make a partnership.
“I don’t want you to blame yourself, Gia.” He laid her arms in the channels that ran the length of the table so the blood would drain. “Perhaps I rushed things with you, approached the process poorly. After all, we each have our own unique tolerance for pain, for stress, for fear. Our minds and bodies are built to withstand only so much. Now, it’s true,” he continued as he made the first cut on her wrist, “that training, exercise, diet, education can and do increase those levels. But I want you to know I understand you did your very best.”
When he’d opened the veins on her right wrist, he walked around the table, took her left. “I’ve enjoyed our time together, even though it was brief. It’s simply your time, that’s all. As my grandfather taught me, every living thing is merely a clock that begins winding down with the very first breath. It’s how we use that time that counts, isn’t it?”
When he was done, he moved away to wash and sterilize the scalpel, to scrub the blood off his hands. He dried them thoroughly under the warm air of his blower.
“Well now,” he said cheerfully, “we’ll have some music. I often play ‘Celeste Aida’ for my girls when it’s time for them to go. It’s exquisite. I know you’ll enjoy it.”
He ordered the aria and, as the music filled the room, sat, eyes dreamy, his memory stretching back decades, to her.
And watched the last moments of Gia Rossi’s life drain away.
13
EVE SHUFFLED INTO THE SHOWER AS ROARKE was drying off from his. Her voice was rusty when she ordered the jets on, and her eyes felt as if someone had coated a thin adhesive inside her lids during the night.
The hot blast helped, but she knew it was going to take considerably more to get all engines firing. She considered the departmentally approved energy pill, then opted to hold that in reserve. It would boost her, no question, and it would leave her feeling overwired and jumpy all day
.
She’d stick with caffeine. Lots and lots of caffeine.
When she came out, Roarke was wearing trousers. Just trousers, she noted—all bare-chested, bare-footed, with all that gorgeous black hair still a little damp from the shower.
There were other things that gave the system a good jolt, and he was certainly top of her personal list.
And when he crossed to her, offering a mug of black coffee, her love knew no bounds.
The sound she made was as much in appreciation of him as that first life-giving gulp.
“Thanks.”
“Food’s next. We didn’t quite make it through dinner, and you’re not going through the day on coffee and attitude.”
“I like my attitude.” But she went to the closet, pulled out what looked warm and comfortable. “How come you can look sexy and rested after a couple hours’ sleep, and I feel like my brain’s been used for Arena Ball practice?”
“Enormous strength of will and lucky metabolism.” He selected a shirt, slipped it on, but didn’t bother to button it. He studied her as she pulled on stone gray trousers. “I could order up an energy drink.”
“No. They always have a crappy aftertaste and make me feel like my eyes are crossing and uncrossing. Weirds me.” She pulled on a long-sleeved white tee, dragged a black sweater over it. “I’m just going to—”
She stopped, frowned at the knock on the bedroom door. “Who else in their right mind would be up at this hour?”
“Let’s find out.” Roarke walked to the door, and opened it to Mavis and Belle.
“I saw the light under the door.”
“Is something wrong with the baby?” Roarke asked. “Is she sick?”
“Bella? No, she’s trip T’s—Totally Tip-Top. Just needed her morning change and snuggle. But I peeked out, saw the light. Okay if we come in a minute?”
“Of course. I was just about to deal with breakfast. Would you like something?”
“No, just too early for me to fuel up. Well, maybe some juice. Papaya maybe?”
“Have a seat.”
“Everything okay?” Eve asked her.
“Yeah, well, you know. When Belle sent out the morning call, I just didn’t want to cuddle in. Restless.”
Mavis stood, in red-and-white–striped pajamas Summerset must have unearthed from somewhere. They were too big for her, and way too conservative.
They made her look, to Eve’s eyes, tiny and fragile.
“Everything’s fine, going to be fine. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“I guess I just wanted to see if you were okay, and if there was something I could do.”
“It’s under control.” Since Mavis was standing, swaying gently side to side in a way that was making Eve vaguely seasick, Eve gestured to a chair in the sitting area. “Sit down.”
“I was thinking Trina and I could look over the appointment books, and maybe we could try to find the hair enhancement.” Mavis shrugged. “And Trina was telling me she thinks the guy was using one of a couple of product lines—face and body creams and lotions. I could maybe track down where they’re available, and—I don’t know. Maybe it would help.”
“Maybe it would.”
Roarke set down a tall glass of juice, some fresh fruit, and a basket of muffins. Mavis glanced at them, then up at Roarke. “If I wasn’t gone squared over my huggie bear, I’d fight Dallas for you.”
“I’d squash you like a bug,” Eve told her.
“Yeah, but you’d limp awhile after. Would it be all right if we stayed here—Belle and me—until…Leonardo’s going to be back this afternoon. I thought—”
“You can stay as long as you like,” Roarke told her as he brought over two plates from the AutoChef.
“Thanks. He’s just worried. He started thinking what if Belle and I had been with Trina, and this guy had made a move on her. I know it’s fetched, but you have a kid and you start winding through the crazed meadow.”
“All meadows are crazed,” Eve commented. “You and Belle relax and hang.”
On cue, Belle began to fuss and whimper. Mavis shifted, smoothly unbuttoning the pajama top. “I thought maybe if Trina was finished before—”
“Sure, sure.” Instinctively Eve averted her eyes, grabbed her coffee. “I’ll have her brought back here when she’s done. No problem.”
“Mag. Big relief. So—”
“Oh, well then.” Roarke pushed to his feet as Mavis’s breast popped out and Belle’s eager mouth popped on. “I’ll just…” Go anywhere else.
His reaction had Mavis’s face clearing, and her laughter bubbling. “She wants her breakfast, too. Mostly everyone’s seen my boobies before.”
“And, as I believe I’ve said, they’re absolutely charming. I wonder if I shouldn’t—”
“No, sit.” Giggling now, Mavis picked up the juice, rose, easily balancing the glass and the baby at her breast. “You’ll get used to it before long, but right now, we’ll go on back. Usually we both want a little nap after breakfast. If I find anything on the hair enhancement, the products, I’ll tag you.”
“Do that.”
When they were alone again, Roarke stared down at his plate. “Why do you suppose I chose this morning to want my eggs sunny-side up?”
“They do look like a pair of nice, shiny yellow breasts.” Grinning, Eve plucked up a piece of bacon. “And Mavis has been known to paint hers yellow on occasion.”
“Every time she feeds the baby, I feel so…rude.”
“I thought it was freaked.”
“A bit of that, but more intrusive. It seems so intimate.”
“I’d say we’re both going to have to get over it. We’ve got to get moving. Eat your boobies.”
They separated at Central, Eve leading Trina through to where Yancy would work on the composite.
“You know, if cops put more thought and creativity into fashion and grooming, it might improve public relations.”
Eve hopped on an up glide and watched a trio she recognized from Illegals troop onto a down. Stubbled faces, scarred shoes, and a sag at the side of each jacket where the sidearm rested.
They looked fine to her.
“Yeah, we’re putting together a seminar on that. Defensive Fashion.”
“That’s not out there,” Trina insisted. “Clothes can be like a defense, or an offense—”
“Tell me.”
“Or a statement or a reflection. Yours say you’re not only in charge but more than willing to kick ass.”
“My pants say I’m in charge?” Eve didn’t need Mira’s various degrees to recognize babbling nerves.
“The whole deal. Dark colors, but not somber. Good fabrics, clean lines. Could power things up now and again, strong reds or greens, sharp blues.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You should wear sunshades.”
“I lose them.”
“Well, stop. What are you, twelve? Sunshades would totally complete the package. Is this going to take long? Do you think this is going to take long? What if I can’t do it? What if I get it wrong? What if—”
“Stop. What are you, twelve?” At Trina’s nervous laugh, Eve stepped off the glide. “It takes as long as it takes. You need to stop, you stop. Yancy’s the best I’ve got, best I’ve worked with. And if you get it wrong we’ll just toss you in a cage for a few hours, until you get it right.”
“You’re rocking on this.”
“Some.” She pushed through doors.
Yancy was already there, setting up at his workstation. He rose, shot out his quick, easy smile. “Lieutenant.”
“Detective. Appreciate you coming in early for this.”
“No big. Trina?” He offered a hand. “How you doing?”
“A little tipped, I guess. I never did this before.”
“Just relax. I’ll steer you through it. How about something to drink? Something cold?”
“Uh, maybe. Maybe like a lemon fizz? Diet.”
“I’ll get that for
you. Just have a seat.”
Trina watched him walk out. “Whoa, daddy. He’s a yummy one.”
“You’re not here to nibble on him.”
“He’s got to go off-duty sometime.” Trina craned her neck to get a better view of Yancy’s ass before he rounded the corner. “Did you ever bump with that?”
“No. Jesus, Trina.”
“Bet that was your loss. Build like that, I bet he can hammer it all night.”
“Thank you. Thanks so much for putting that into my head. It’ll certainly enhance my working relationship with Detective Yancy.”
“I’d like to enhance his working relationship.” Trina blew out a breath. “Hey, thinking about sex makes me feel not so nervous. Good to know. Plus, it won’t be a hardship to work with Detective Hot Ass.”
“Don’t screw around.” Eve raked a hand through her hair as Yancy came back with Trina’s drink and one for himself. “You know how to reach me,” she told him.
“Yep. Trina and I…” He sent Trina a wink. “We’ll get this guy’s face for you. So, Trina, how long have you been in the business of beauty?”
Eve knew that was the way he worked, getting the witness to relax, talking small, easing them in. She fought back the need to tell him to push it, and simply stepped back. Walked away.
She had enough time to get to her office, organize the data—and her own thoughts—for the briefing. Pull in Peabody, Eve mused, as she aimed for Homicide. Get said data set up.
Do the briefing, then move out for the stupid, annoying morning media briefing. She needed to run the probabilities on herself as a target, work in some time during the day to discuss that with Mira. But she needed to get out in the field, needed to be out on the streets.
If this bastard was watching her, she might spot the tag.
She beelined for her office, then pulled up short when she saw Feeney sitting in her visitor’s chair, brooding over a mug of her coffee.
He got to his feet. Worse for wear, she thought. That’s how he looked, a hell of a lot worse for wear. Her back went up even as her stomach churned.
His eyes, baggy and shadowed, stayed on hers. “Got a minute?”