by J. D. Robb
For a moment he only stared, then blinked. “You’ve said it came from an indigent. It was bound to be flawed. Excuse me. My wife and I should mingle.”
He took the still-simpering Fawn firmly by the elbow and drew her away.
“You owe me.” Roarke grabbed a flute of champagne off a tray and took one long sip. “I’m going to hear that irritating giggle in my sleep.”
“She had a lot of expensive hardware.” Eve considered, angling her head as she studied the glint and glitter of Fawn from across the room. “Is all that stuff she’s wearing real?”
“I don’t have my jeweler’s loupe on me,” he said dryly, “but it appears to be. And I’d estimate she’s draped in, oh, roughly a quarter million or so of first-rate diamonds and sapphires. Nothing a top-flight surgeon couldn’t afford,” he went on, and handed her the flute. “Though he must feel a bit of a pinch having the ex-wives and various children draining some of his fees.”
“Interesting. He was right up front about the case, and pretty steamed about my angle of investigation.” She sipped the champagne, passed the flute back to Roarke. “It sounds to me as if he and Cagney have had a consult about it.”
“That’s understandable. They’re friends as well as colleagues.”
“Maybe Mira can give me some personal data on this group.”
Roarke caught the change in rhythm of the music. “The fashion show’s about to start. We’ll have to mingle with Mira later. She seems to be having a very intense conversation at the moment.”
Eve had seen that for herself. Cagney bent down close, kept one hand on Mira’s arm. He was, Eve noted, doing most of the talking, with a hard, focused look in his eyes that indicated what he said was both vital and unpleasant.
Mira merely shook her head, said little, then, laying a hand on his, patted it once before stepping away.
“He’s upset her.” The almost fierce sense of protection surprised her. “Maybe I should see what’s wrong.”
But then the music flashed, the crowd swirled to insure good views for the fashion display. Eve lost sight of Mira and found herself face to face with Louise.
“Dallas.” Louise nodded coolly. Her hair was styled and sleek, her siren-red dress simply and beautifully cut. The diamonds in her ears didn’t look like simulations. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Same goes.” Or to see you, Eve thought, looking polished, perfumed, and prosperous. “You’re a long way from the clinic, Dr. Dimatto.”
“You’re a long way from Cop Central, Lieutenant.”
“I live to socialize,” Eve said so dryly that Louise’s lips twitched.
“About as much as I do, I imagine. I’m Louise Dimatto.” She held out a hand to Roarke. “I’m going to be consulting on a case for your wife. I believe we’ll either be fast friends or hate each other before we’re done.”
Roarke grinned. “Should I lay bets?”
“Haven’t quite figured the odds yet.” She glanced over to watch the first models parade down the runway. “They always make me think of giraffes.”
“Giraffes are more fun to watch,” Eve commented. “Seems to me if Drake took all the bucks they sank into putting this fund-raiser together, they wouldn’t need a damn fund-raiser.”
“Darling, you’re much too logical to understand the purpose of show and beg. The more expensive the event, the higher the donation ticket, and the heartier those involved pat each other on the back after counting the till.”
“And then you add the social connection,” Louise put in, favoring Roarke with a quick smile. “Those prominent in medicine making their entrance, bringing their spouses or lovers, mingling with each other, and various pillars of the community such as Roarke.”
Eve snorted. “Some pillar.”
“I think Louise understands that anyone over a certain financial position automatically becomes a pillar.”
“And his wife attains the same status.”
“Cops make lousy pillars.” Eve shifted her gaze from the display of the hot look for upcoming spring and studied Louise. “So we’ve established why Roarke and I are here, but what about you? How does a doctor doing time at a free clinic rate a ticket to a major event for Drake?”
“By being the niece of the chief of staff.” Louise managed to reach through bodies and snag a flute of champagne. She used it to toast.
“You’re Cagney’s niece?”
“That’s right.”
Friends, colleagues, relatives, Eve thought. An incestuous little group—and such groups tended to band together like mud balls to block outsiders. “And what are you doing working in an armpit instead of uptown?”
“Because, Lieutenant, I do what I want. I’ll see you in the morning.” She nodded to Roarke, then slipped through the crowd.
Eve turned to her husband. “I’ve just taken on a consultant who’s the niece of one of my suspects.”
“Will you keep her?”
“For the time being,” Eve murmured. “We’ll see how it shakes out.”
After the last long-legged model had glided down the silver ramp and the music had subdued to a shimmer to lure couples onto the glossy tiles of the dance floor, Eve tried to identify what form of nutrition was disguised in the arty structure of shape and color on her dinner plate.
Beside her, too excited to eat, Mavis bounced on her seat. “Leonardo’s designs were the aces, weren’t they? None of the others were in the same orbit. Roarke, you’ve got to buy that backless-to-the-butt red number for Dallas.”
“That color wouldn’t suit her.” Leonardo, his huge hand covering both of Mavis’s, looked down at her. His gold-toned eyes shone with love and relief. He was built like a redwood and had the heart, and often the nerves, of a six-year-old approaching the first day of school.
He had indeed, as Mavis had so elegantly put it, woofed before the show.
“Now the green satin . . .” He smiled shyly over at Roarke. “I admit I had her in mind when I designed it. The color and cut are perfect for her.”
“Then she’ll have to have it. Won’t you, Eve?”
Preoccupied with finding out if there was anything resembling meat or one of its substitutes on her plate, she merely grunted. “Is this chicken buried in here or what?”
“It’s Cuisine Artiste,” Roarke told her, and offered her a roll the size of a credit chip. “Where aesthetics often take priority over taste.” Leaning over, he kissed her. “We’ll get a pizza on the way home.”
“Good idea. I should cruise around, see if I can find Mira, and if I can stir anything else up.”
“I’ll cruise with you.” Roarke rose, pulled out her chair.
“Fine. It was a great show, Leonardo. I especially liked that green thing.”
He beamed at her, then tugged her down to kiss her cheek. When she walked away, Eve heard Mavis giggle and tell Leonardo she needed a tornado to celebrate.
Tables with snowy cloths and silver candles were scattered throughout the ballroom. Six enormous chandeliers dripped out of the lofty ceiling to sprinkle muted and silver light. The wait staff moved around and through, pouring wine, removing dishes with an elegant choreography.
Generous drinks had loosened a few tongues, Eve observed. The level of sound was higher now, and the laughter louder.
Table hopping was a popular sport, and Eve noted as they wandered that most of the diners admired their food but didn’t eat it.
“What was this thing, five, ten thousand a plate?” she asked Roarke.
“A bit more, actually.”
“What a scam. There’s Mira, heading out. Must be a pit stop because her husband’s not with her. I’ll go after her.” She cocked her head at Roarke. “Why don’t you play the crowd for me since they’re loosening up some?”
“Love to. Then I want one dance, darling Eve, and pepperoni on my pizza.”
She grinned and didn’t worry about all the eyes watching when he kissed her. “I could go for both of those. I won’t be long.”
She headed directly to the bank of doors Mira had used, turned through the sumptuous foyer, and searched out the women’s lounge.
Chandeliers twinkled light in the dressing area where a attendant droid in snappy black and white waited to assist or provide. The long rose-toned counter held more than a dozen individual lighted mirrors, a tidy and expansive array of decorative bottles filled with scents and creams. There were disposable brushes and combs, hair gels, sprays, and shines.
If madam had lost or forgotten her lip dye or any other enhancement, the droid would be more than happy to open the wall cabinet to provide the guest with a wide choice of the best brands in all the popular shades.
Mira sat at the end of the counter on a skirted chair. She’d switched on her mirror so the lights ringing it glowed, but she had yet to freshen her makeup.
She looked pale, Eve thought. Pale and unhappy. Feeling abruptly awkward and intrusive, she nearly backed out of the room again, but Mira caught the motion, turned, and smiled.
“Eve. I heard you were here.”
“I saw you earlier.” Eve walked down behind the row of chairs. “But then the fashion show started, and we got swallowed up.”
“It was entertaining. There were some lovely pieces, though I must admit Leonardo’s remain unique. Is that one of his you’re wearing?”
Eve glanced down at her skirts. “Yeah. He keeps it pretty simple for me.”
“He understands you.”
“You’re upset,” Eve blurted out and had Mira’s eyes widening in surprise. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine. A slight headache, that’s all. I wanted to get out of the crowd for a bit.” Deliberately, she shifted to the mirror and began to touch up her lips.
“I saw you earlier,” Eve reminded her, “talking to Cagney. Or he was talking to you. He upset you. Why?”
“This isn’t interview room A,” Mira responded, then closed her eyes in annoyance when Eve jerked back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, that was uncalled for. I’m not upset, but I am . . . disturbed. And I thought I was disguising it so well.”
“I’m a trained observer.” Eve tried a smile. “You never look ruffled,” she continued. “You just always look perfect.”
“Really?” With a low laugh, Mira stared at her own face in the glass. She saw flaws. A woman’s vanity would always pick out flaws, she mused. But how flattering and unnerving to know a woman like Eve thought her perfect. “And I was just thinking I could use a salon treatment.”
“I wasn’t talking only about how you look but your manner. It’s your manner that’s ruffled tonight. If it’s personal, I’ll butt out, but if it has anything to do with Cagney and the case, I want to know.”
“It’s both. Colin is an old friend.” Her gaze lifted, met Eve’s. “We were once more than friends.”
“Oh.” Ridiculously embarrassed, Eve opened her bag, then realized she hadn’t put anything in it but her badge and gun. She closed it again and picked up the complimentary brush.
“It was a very long time ago, before I met my husband. We remained friends, not particularly close, as years passed. People do tend to drift,” Mira said wistfully. “But we have a history, Eve. I didn’t believe it was relevant to bring it up when you asked me to consult on the case. I still don’t, professionally. But this is difficult for me on a personal level.”
“Look, if you want to back out—”
“No, I don’t. And that’s what I told Colin earlier. He’s understandably upset by your investigation, at knowing that he and many of the surgeons he knows will be suspects until you close the case. He hoped that I would keep him informed of my findings and yours, or failing that, resign from this case.”
“He asked you to pass him confidential data?”
“Not in so many words,” Mira said hastily and shifted to face Eve directly. “You have to understand, he feels responsible for the people who work for him, with him. He’s in a position of authority, and that carries a weight.”
“A friend wouldn’t have asked you to compromise your ethics.”
“Perhaps not, but he’s under a great deal of stress. This matter will put a strain on our friendship, if not a hole through it. I’m sorry for that, I’ll grieve for that. But I carry a weight as well.” Then she drew a deep breath. “As primary, you have—with the information I’ve just given you—the right to ask me to assign another profiler on this case. I’ll understand if that’s what you want to do.”
Eve set the brush down, met Mira’s troubled eyes levelly. “I’m going to have more data for you tomorrow. I’m hoping you can give me a profile by early next week.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I want the best, and that’s you.” She rose quickly, unnerved when she saw tears swim into Mira’s quiet eyes. “Ah, what do you know about the niece? Louise Dimatto?”
“Not a great deal.” Struggling for composure, Mira recapped her lip tube. “She’s always gone her own way. She’s very bright, very dedicated, and very independent.”
“Can I trust her?”
Mira nearly said yes out of pure reflex, then pushed her personal feelings aside. “I would believe so, but as I said, I don’t know her very well.”
“Okay. Ah, do you want me to . . . do anything here?”
The sound Mira made was between a chuckle and a sigh. Eve sounded nearly terrified the answer would be yes. “No. I think I’ll just sit here for a little while, in the quiet.”
“Then I better get back.” Eve started out, then turned. “Mira, if it starts to turn toward him, will you be able to handle it?”
“If it turns toward him, he wouldn’t be the man I thought I knew. The man I once loved. Yes, I will handle it, Eve.”
But when Eve nodded and left her alone, Mira closed her eyes and let herself weep a little.
chapter ten
Instincts, Eve decided the next morning, were one thing. Facts another. A family connection between Colin Cagney and her upcoming consultant was just a little too close for comfort. So, with her hands in her pockets and her back to the window where the thick fall of snow obscured the view, she ordered her computer to run data on Louise Dimatto.
Dimatto, Louise Anne, ID# 3452-100-34FW. Born March 1, 2030, Westchester, New York, Marital status, single. No children. Parents Alicia Cagney Dimatto and Mark Robert Dimatto. No siblings. Current residence, 28 Houston, unit C, New York City. Current position, general practitioner of medicine, Canal Street Clinic. Held position for two years.
Graduate of Harvard Medical School, all honors.
Residency completed at Roosevelt Hospital. . . .
“Financial data,” Eve ordered, and glanced over absently as Roarke walked in.
Working. . . . Salary from Canal Street Clinic, thirty thousand annual . . .
Eve snorted. “She didn’t buy those rocks she was wearing on her ears with a pitiful thirty thousand a year. That’s less than I make, for Christ’s sake.”
Income from trust fund, stock dividends, and interest, approximately $268,000 annual . . .
“That’s more like it. So, with that kind of income, why isn’t she living in some fancy digs uptown?”
“A quarter million doesn’t buy what it used to,” Roarke said easily and moved over to glance at her monitor. “Who are you running, the young doctor?”
“Yeah. She’ll be here in a few minutes. I have to decide whether to kick her or bring her in.” Eve frowned. “A trust fund baby with high connections at Drake, but she puts in miserable time at a free clinic where she treats street people for peanuts. Why?”
Cocking his head, Roarke sat on the edge of her desk. “I know a certain cop who now has what some would call a substantial personal income and high connections at nearly every level of business in any area on or off planet, yet she continues to work the streets, often putting herself at personal risk. For peanuts.” He paused a moment. “Why?”
“The money stuff, that’s your deal,” Eve muttered.
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“No, darling, it’s yours. And maybe this is hers. Maybe, like you, this is who she is.”
She considered a moment, shuffling his money and her part of it aside—where she preferred it. “You liked her.”
“On brief first impression, yes. More to the point, you do.”
“Maybe I do.” She paused a moment. “Yeah, I do, but I don’t know what she’ll do if the arrow points at her uncle.” She rolled her shoulders once. “I guess we’ll just have to find out. Computer, file and save all data and disengage.”
“I have the information you asked me for yesterday.” Roarke slipped a disc out of his pocket, slid it into hers. “I don’t know how helpful it’s going to be. “I didn’t see any connection between your case and NewLife. And as for Westley Friend, he didn’t appear to have much of an underbelly. He comes off as a man dedicated to his family and his work.”
“The more you know, the more you can cross off. I appreciate it.”
“Any time, Lieutenant.” Roarke took her hands, slid his up to her wrists, and tugged her closer. It gratified him to feel her pulse trip just a little faster at the contact. “Do I assume you’ll be at this most of the day?”
“That’s the plan. Aren’t you going in to your office?”
“No, I’ll be working here today. It’s Saturday.”
“Oh, right.” The little trickle of guilt had her struggling not to squirm. “We didn’t have, like plans for the weekend, did we?”
“No.” His lips curved, and taking advantage of her momentary distraction, he shifted his hands to her hips. “But I could make some, for after hours.”
“Yeah?” Her body bumped his, and her muscles loosened and throbbed. “What kind of plans?”
“Intimate plans.” He lowered his head to catch and tease her lower lip with his teeth. “Darling Eve, where would you like to go? Or should I surprise you?”
“Your surprises are usually pretty good.” Her eyes wanted to close, her bones wanted to melt. “Roarke, you’re clouding my mind here.”
“Why, thank you.” With a low laugh, he changed angles to rub his lips over hers. “Why don’t I just finish the job,” he suggested and turned up the power and heat of the kiss.