The In Death Collection, Books 6-10

by J. D. Robb

  He seemed to shake himself, then tapped a finger on Roarke’s glass. “Well now, you’re barely drinking. Have you lost your head for good Irish whiskey living among the Yanks?”

  “My head was always better than yours, wherever I was living.”

  “You had a good one,” Brian admitted. “But I remember a night. Oh, it was after you’d sold off a shipment of a fine French bordeaux you’d smuggled in from Calais—begging your pardon, Lieutenant darling. Are you remembering that, Roarke?”

  Roarke’s lips moved into a smirk, and his hand brushed its way down Eve’s hair. “I smuggled more than one shipment of French wine in my career.”

  “Oh, no doubt, no doubt, but this night in particular, you kept a half dozen bottles out, and were in a light and sharing frame of mind. You pulled together a game—a friendly one for a change—and we sat and drank every drop. You and me and Jack Bodine and that bloody fool Mick Connelly who got himself killed in a knife fight in Liverpool a few years back. Let me tell you, Lieutenant darling, this man of yours got drunk as six sailors in port and still won all our money.”

  Roarke picked up his glass now and savored a sip. “I recall being a bit light in the pocket the next morning when I woke up.”

  “Well.” Brian grinned hugely. “Get drunk with thieves and what does it get you? But it was good wine, Roarke. It was damn good wine. I’ll have them play one of the old tunes. ‘Black Velvet Band.’ You’ll sing?”

  “No.”

  “Sing?” Eve sat up. “He sings?”

  “No,” Roarke said again, definitely, while Brian laughed.

  “Prod him enough, and keep his glass full, and you’d get a tune out of him.”

  “He hardly even sings in the shower.” She stared thoughtfully at Roarke. “You sing?”

  Struggling between amusement and embarrassment, he shook his head and lifted his glass. “No,” he said again. “And I don’t plan to get drunk enough to prove myself a liar.”

  “Well, we’ll work on that some.” Brian winked and rose. “For now then I’m going to have them play a reel. Will you dance with me, Eve?”

  “I might.” She watched him walk off to liven up the music. “Getting drunk, singing in pubs, and tickling barmaids in the back room. Hmmm.” She shot a long, speculative look at the man she married. “This is very interesting.”

  “You do the first, the others come easy.”

  “I might like to see you drunk.” She put a hand on his cheek, glad to see the sadness had faded from his eyes. Wherever he had gone that afternoon was his secret, and she was satisfied that it had done him good.

  He leaned forward to touch his lips to hers. “So I could tickle you in the back room? There’s your reel,” he added when the music brightened.

  Eve glanced over, saw Brian coming back her way with neat, bouncing little steps. “I like him.”

  “So do I. I’d forgotten how much.”

  Sunshine and rain fell together and turned the light into a pearl. In the churchyard stood ancient stone crosses, pitted from age and wind. The dead rested close to each other, intimates of fate. The sound of the sea rose up from beyond rocky cliffs in a constant muted roar that proved time continued, even here.

  There wasn’t a single airbike or tram to spoil the sky where clouds layered over the blue like folded gray blankets. And the grass that covered the hills that rose up toward that sky was the deep emerald of hopes and dreams.

  It made Eve think of an old video, or a hologram program.

  The priest wore long traditional robes and spoke in Gaelic. The burying of the dead was a ritual only the rich could afford. It was a rare sight, and a crowd gathered outside the gates, respectively silent as the casket was lowered into its fresh pit.

  Roarke rested his cheek on the top of Eve’s head, gathering comfort as the mourners made the sign of the cross. He was putting more than a friend into the ground, and knew it. He was putting part of himself, a part he’d already thought long buried.

  “I need to speak with the priest a moment.”

  She lifted a hand to the one he’d laid on her shoulder. “I’ll wait here.”

  As he moved off, Brian stepped up to her. “He’s done well by Jennie. She’ll rest here—have the shade of the ash in the summer.” With his hands comfortably at his sides, he looked out over the churchyard. “And they still ring the bells in the belfry of a Sunday morning. Not a recording, but the bells themselves. It’s a fine sound.”

  “He loved her.”

  “There’s nothing quite so sweet as the first love of the young and the lonely. You remember your childhood sweetheart?”

  “I didn’t have one. But I understand it.”

  Brian laid a hand on her shoulder, gave it a quick squeeze. “He couldn’t have done better than you, even if you did make the unfortunate mistake of becoming a cop. Are you a good one, Lieutenant darling?”

  “Yeah.” Something in the way he’d asked had her looking over, into his face. “It’s what I’m best at.”

  He nodded, and his thoughts seemed to drift as he shifted his gaze. “Christ knows how much money Roarke’s passing the priest in that envelope.”

  “Do you resent that? His money?”

  “No indeed.” And he laughed a little. “Not that I don’t wish I had it as well. He earned it. Always was the next game, the next deal with our lad Roarke. All I wanted was the pub, and since I have my heart’s desire, I suppose I’m rich as well.”

  Brian looked down at the simple black skirt of her suit, the unadorned black pumps Eve wore. “You’re not dressed for cliff walking, but would you take my arm and stroll along that way with me?”

  “All right.” There was something on his mind, she thought, and decided he wanted privacy to share it.

  “Do you know, I’ve never been across that sea to England,” Brian began as he walked slowly over the uneven ground. “Never had the wanting to. A man can go anywhere, on- or off-planet, and in less time than it takes to think of it, but I’ve never been off this island. Do you see those boats down there?”

  Eve looked over the cliffs, down into the restless sea. Hydro-jetties streamed back and forth, skimming the waves like pretty stones. “Commuters and tourists?”

  “Aye, rushing over to England, rushing over here. Day after day, year after year. Ireland’s still poor compared to its neighbors, so an ambitious laborer might take a job over there, ride the jetties, or the airbus if he’s plumper in pocket. It’ll cost him ten percent of his wages for the privilege of living in one country and working in another, as governments always find an angle, don’t they, for nipping into a man’s pocket. At night, back he comes. And where does it get him, this rushing over and back, over and back for the most of his life?” He shrugged. “Me, I’d as soon stay in one spot and watch the parade.”

  “What’s on your mind, Brian?”

  “Many things, Lieutenant darling. A host of things.”

  As Roarke walked toward them he remembered that the first time he’d seen Eve they’d been at a funeral. Another woman whose life had been stolen. It had been cold, and Eve had forgotten her gloves. She’d worn a hideous gray suit with a loose button on the jacket. He slipped a hand into his pocket now, idly fingering the button that had fallen off that baggy gray jacket.

  “Are you flirting with my wife, Brian?”

  “I would if I thought I stood a chance with her. The fact is I’ve something that will interest you both. I had a call early this morning, from Summerset.”

  “Why would he call you?” Roarke demanded.

  “To tell me you wanted me in New York, urgently, and at your expense.”

  “When did it come in?” Eve was already pulling out her palm ’link to contact Peabody.

  “Eight o’clock. It’s a matter of dire importance that can’t be divulged except face-to-face. I’m to fly over this very day, and check in to the Central Park Arms, where I’ll have a suite, and wait to be contacted.”

  “How do you know it was Summers
et?” Roarke asked.

  “By God, Roarke, it looked like him, sounded like him. Stiffer, older, but I wouldn’t have questioned it. Though he wouldn’t make conversation, and ended the call abruptly when I pressed him.”

  “Peabody. Slap yourself awake there.”

  “What?” Peabody, puffy-eyed and disheveled, yawned. “Sorry, sir. Yes, sir. Awake.”

  “Kick McNab out of whatever bed he’s in and have him check the mainframe on the ’links. I need to know if there’s been a transmission to Ireland—it would have been at, shit, what’s the time difference here?—like three A.M.”

  “Kicking him out of bed immediately, Lieutenant.”

  “And contact me the minute you have the answer. I need to take your ’link log into evidence,” she told Brian as she stuffed the palm ’link back in her pocket. “We’ll dupe it for Inspector Farrell, but I need the original.”

  “Well, I thought you might.” Brian took out a disc. “Anticipating that, I brought it with me.”

  “Good thinking. What did you tell the man who called you?”

  “Oh, that I had a business to run, that I couldn’t just be traipsing off across the Atlantic on a whim. I tried to draw him out, asked after Roarke here. He only insisted that I come, straight off, and Roarke would make it worth my while.” He smiled thinly. “A tempting offer. First-class transpo and accomodations, and twenty thousand pounds a day while I’m away from home. A man would have to be mad to say no to that.”

  “You’ll stay in Dublin.” Roarke’s voice was sharp, edged with fury, and put Brian’s back up.

  “Maybe I’ve a mind to go to New York City and give this murdering bastard a taste of Brian Kelly.”

  “You’ll stay in Dublin,” Roarke repeated, eyes narrowed and cold, fists clenched and ready. “If I have to beat you unconscious first, then that’s fine.”

  “You think you can take me down, do you?” Primed for a fight, Brian started to strip off his topcoat. “Let’s have a go.”

  “Stop it, you idiots.” Eve stepped between them, prepared to deck both if necessary. “You’re staying in Dublin, Brian, because the only thing this bastard’s getting a taste of is me. I’ll have your travel visa blocked, and if you try to leave the country you’ll spend some quality time in lockup.”

  “Travel visa be damned—”

  “Shut up. And you,” she continued, swinging to Roarke. “Step back. Nobody’s beating anyone unconscious unless it’s me. A couple days in Ireland and all you can think of is punching somebody. Must be the air.”

  Her ’link beeped. “That’s Peabody. Now, the two of you remember: People who act like assholes get treated like assholes.”

  She stalked away to take the call. Brian’s face broke out in a wide grin as he slapped Roarke on the back. “That’s a woman, isn’t it?”

  “Delicate as a rose, my Eve. Fragile and quiet natured.” He grinned himself when he heard her curse, loud and vicious. “A voice like a flute.”

  “And you’re sloppy in love with her.”

  “Pitifully.” He remained silent a moment, then spoke quietly. “Stay in Dublin, Brian. I know you can get around a blocked visa as easily as crossing High Street, but I’m asking you to do this. It’s too soon after burying Jennie for me to risk losing another friend.”

  Brian heaved out a breath. “I wasn’t thinking of going until you ordered me not to.”

  “The son of a bitch sent me flowers,” Eve fumed as she stalked back. “Hey.” When Roarke grabbed her lapels, she slapped at his hands and scowled.

  “Explain.”

  “A couple dozen roses just arrived—with a note that hopes I’ll be back on my feet and ready for the next match soon. Something about a novena—whatever that is—being said in my name for my full and speedy recovery, too. Peabody’s called a bomb unit, just in case, and she’s holding the delivery boy, but he looks genuine. No direct transmission from our ’links this morning. McNab needs Brian’s disc to run it for bounces.” When his hands relaxed slightly, she put hers over them. “I’ve got to go back. . . . Now.”

  “Yes, we’ll go straight back. Do you need a lift back to Dublin, Brian?”

  “No, go on. I’ve my own ride. Take a care, Roarke,” he said and wrapped his arms around him. “And come back.”

  “I will.”

  “And bring your lovely wife.” While Eve blinked in surprise, Brian gathered her up in a bear hug, then kissed her long and lavishly. “Godspeed, Lieutenant darling, and you keep our lad here on the narrow if not the straight.”

  “Watch your back, Brian,” Roarke called out as they walked away.

  “And the rest of me as well,” Brian promised, then turned to watch the fast boats streak across the water.

  It was barely eight A.M. on the East Coast when Eve settled in to her office. She eyed the young, gawky delivery boy coolly while he sat fidgeting in the chair across from her desk.

  “You get a call to deliver roses before six A.M. and that doesn’t seem weird to you, Bobby?”

  “Well, ma’am—sir—Lieutenant, we get that sometimes. We got this twenty-four-hour delivery service because people want the convenience. This one time I delivered a fern to the East Side at three A.M. This guy, see, he’d forgotten his lady’s birthday, and she’d given him grief, and so he—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Eve brushed it off. “Tell me again about the order.”

  “Okay, sure. No problem.” His voice bobbed up and down like a cork on a restless sea. “I’m on call, see, for the midnight-to-eight shift. What happens is anybody who calls in to the shop, the transmission gets bounced to my beeper. I read the order on the screen, then I gotta go in, put the order together, and get it where it’s going. I got a master for the flower shop so I can get in when it’s closed. My aunt owns the joint, so she, like, trusts me, and I’m going to school on the three-day-week thing, so it gives me some pocket credit.”

  “Officer Peabody has your beeper.”

  “Yeah, I handed it over. No perspiration, no debate. You want it, you got it.”

  “And you, personally, put the flowers in the box.”

  “Oh yeah. It’s no whoop. You just dump in some greenery, coupla sprigs of those little white flowers, then lay on the roses. My aunt keeps the boxes and tissues and ribbons all together so we can slap the orders together fast. The officer, she, like, called my aunt and verified. Do I need a lawyer?”

  “No, Bobby, you don’t need a lawyer. I appreciate you waiting until I could talk to you.”

  “So, like, I could go.”

  “Yeah, you can go.”

  He got up, grinning shakily. “I never really, like, talked to a cop before. It’s not so bad.”

  “We hardly ever torture our witnesses these days.”

  He paled, then laughed. “That’s, like, a joke, right?”

  “You bet. Beat it, Bobby.”

  Eve shook her head, then signaled for Peabody to come in. “McNab get anything off the beeper?”

  “The order was shot in on a public ’link, from Grand Central. It was keyed in, no voiceprint—and the order was paid for via electronic transfer of cash, point of order scrambled. We couldn’t trace it with a fleet of bloodhound droids.”

  “I didn’t figure he’d slip up again, not so soon. The van?”

  “Nothing solid yet. I’m working on the shoes, too. Computer estimates a size eight. That’s small for a man’s shoe. That style hit the market only six months ago—high-end price range. It’s the epitome of air tread for the stylish jock. So far, I’m down to six hundred pair of size eights sold in the city.”

  “Keep running it. And the coat?”

  “I’ve only got about thirty purchases for the same three-month period. No matches yet. And none on the statue.”

  “McNab?”

  Seconds later, he stuck his head in the doorway. “Yo.”

  “Full progress and status report.”

  “Let’s start with the wand.” He made himself at home by sitting on Eve’s d
esk. “I like our chances there. That e-jock of Roarke’s knows his shit. Down at Trident Security and Communications—that’s Roarke’s gig—they’ve been working on a jammer of this style and power for over a year. A. A. says they’ve nearly worked out the bugs.”

  “A. A.?”

  “That’s the jock. Plenty of brain cells there. Anyway, he projects they’ll have a model under wraps within six months—four if they get lucky. Rumor is that several other e-firms are working on the same deal. One of those firms is Brennen’s. The take from the industrial espionage people is that Brennen’s is the closest competition.”

  “Does anyone have a prototype?”

  “A. A. showed me one. It’s fairly icy, but only hits the mark as of now at extreme close range. The remote capability’s giving them some grief. It’s still got some major power fluctuation.”

  “So how did our man get his hands on one that doesn’t give him grief?”

  “Good question. I’m thinking he’s put some time in at R and D himself.”

  “Yeah, I’d agree with that. We’ll run the six most likely from Inspector Farrell’s shakedown and see if any of them pop.”

  “And I wonder if the unit he used is a one-shot.”

  Eve narrowed her eyes. “Only good for one jam at a time? What would you do, recharge it? Toss it? Reconfi-gure?”

  “Recharge or recon, I’d say. I’m working with A. A. on it.”

  “Good, keep at it. Any luck with the echo?”

  “I can’t lock it. Driving me bat-shit. But I did scrape the layers off the disc you brought back from the Emerald Isle. Projected image. Hologram.”

  “A holo? You’re sure?”

  “Don’t I look sure?” He let his cocky smile go when Eve only stared coolly at him. “Yeah, it was a holo. Damn good one, but I enhanced, did heat and light testing. The image was projected.”

  “Good.” It was one more stone to weigh on Summerset’s side. “Any hits yet on the analysis of the security discs on the Luxury Towers?”

  “They’re whining in EDD. Backlog. I used your name and got them to promise we’d have results within the next forty-eight.”