by J. D. Robb
"Why don't you save up your lame insults until you have a better selection? They don't work. I've had you under me."
And over him, she thought. Around and through. "Had's the operative word. Past tense."
"Why?"
"Because that's how it is."
He stepped closer, pulled the cup out of her hand, slammed it down. "Why?"
Her heart began to pound. Damn it, she wasn't supposed to feel anything. "Because that's the way I want it."
"Why?"
"Because if I hadn't been rolling around with you, I'd have been with Zeke. If I'd been with him, I wouldn't have just told my parents my lieutenant is trying to clear him on murder charges."
"That's not your fault. It's not mine." Her breath had begun to hitch, unnerving him. He was mortally afraid she might cry. "It's on the Bransons. And Dallas isn't going to let him take the heat from it. Get a hold here, Dee."
"I should've been with him! I should've been with him, not you."
"You were with me." He took her arms, gave her a quick, surprising shake. "You can't change that. And I want you with me again. Damn it, Dee, I'm not done."
He was kissing her, with all the helpless rage and lust and confusion that roared through him. She made some little sound, a sound caught between despair and relief. And was kissing him with all the vivid fury and need and bafflement that pumped inside her.
Eve walked in, stopped dead in her tracks. "Oh, jeez."
They were too busy trying to swallow each other to hear her.
"Man." She pressed her fingers to her eyes, half hoping they'd disappear before she lowered them. No such luck. "Break it up." She jammed her hands in her pockets and tried to ignore the inarguable fact that McNab's hands were clamped on her aide's ass. "I said break it up!"
The shout got through. They leaped apart as if someone had snapped a spring between them. McNab hit a chair, knocked it over, then stared at Eve as if he'd never seen her before.
"Oh. Whoa."
"Clamp it shut," Eve warned him. "Not a word out of you. Sit down, shut up. Peabody, damn it to hell and back again. Why don't I have my coffee?"
"Coffee." Eyes dazed, blood screaming, Peabody blinked. "Coffee?"
"Now." Eve pointed to the AutoChef, then made a show of looking at her wrist unit. "You are now on duty. Anything that happened here before this mark was on your own time. Is that clear?"
"Uh-huh, you bet. Listen, Lieutenant—"
"Zip it, McNab," she ordered him. "I don't want any discussion, any explanations, any verbal pictures drawn of activities pursued on your own time."
"Your coffee, sir." Peabody set it down, shot McNab a look of dire warning.
"Lab reports?"
"I'll check on them now." Relieved, Peabody hurried to a chair.
Feeney came in. The bags under his eyes were in danger of drooping past his nose. Seeing him, Peabody got up again, ordered more coffee.
He sat, nodded absently in thanks. "The emergency teams managed to clear down to the site of the last explosion, Malloy's last known location." He cleared his throat, lifted his cup, drank. "The shield appeared to be in place, but the blast took it out. They said it would have been over quick."
No one spoke for a moment; then Eve got to her feet. "Lieutenant Malloy was a good cop. That's the best I can say about anybody. She died doing her job and trying to give her men time to reach safety. It's our job to find the people responsible for her death and take them down."
She opened the file she'd brought in, took out two photos, and moved to the boards to fix them in place.
"Clarissa Branson, aka Charlotte Rowan. B. Donald Branson. We don't stop," Eve said, turning, with eyes bright and cold. "We don't rest until these two people are in a cage or dead. Labs, Peabody. McNab, I want the report on Monica Rowan's 'link. Feeney, I need Zeke in interview one more time. Maybe if you take him, you'll push a button I missed. He might have heard something, seen something, that can give us a line on where to look."
"I'll take care of it."
"And I want another round with Lisbeth Cooke, too. Same deal. If you can spare the time, you'd probably get more out of her by going to her place and playing the sympathetic ear."
"She a weeper?" Feeney wanted to know.
"Could be."
He sighed. "I'll take extra hankies."
"There'll be a trail," Eve continued, scanning the faces of her team. "Where they went under, where they're going next, where and when they've targeted the next one. They'll know we're following the Apollo line now and probably know we've made—or will make—Clarissa as James Rowan's daughter."
She moved back to the board, pinning up another photo. "This was Charlotte Rowan's mother. I believe her daughter gave the order for her execution. If this is true, understand we're dealing with an individual with a cool and focused mind. A skilled actor who doesn't mind getting blood on her hands. She has, with her husband, arranged or carried out the murder of four people we are aware of, one tied to her by blood, one by marriage, and is responsible for the deaths of hundreds through terrorist acts that are no more than disguised blackmail for gain.
"She won't hesitate to kill again. She has no conscience, no morals, and no loyalty to anyone but herself and a man who's been dead for over three decades. This is not a creature of impulse but of calculation. She's had thirty years to plan what she's now setting out to accomplish. And so far, she's kicking the shit out of us."
"You took out two of her droids," McNab pointed out. "And she didn't get the bonds."
"That's why she's going to hit again and hit hard. Money's part of the motive, but it's not all. Mira's analysis indicated a large ego, a mission, and a sense of pride. Pulling from that, she is Cassandra." Eve tapped a finger on the photo. "Not just the woman, but the whole. And her ego and pride took a hit last night—and she hasn't yet accomplished her mission. She can't be dealt or bargained with because she's a liar, and she's enjoying playing the goddess, high on power and blood. She believes what she's saying. Even when what she's saying is a lie."
"We've still got the scanners," McNab pointed out.
"And we'll use them. E and B's going to be shaken up, and they're also going to want payback for Anne. They'll work their asses off on this one."
"Labs, Lieutenant." Peabody held out the copy. "Blood, skin, and hair samples from the Branson hearth match B. Donald Branson's DNA."
Eve took them, noted the fresh worry in Peabody's eyes. "They'd have been clever enough to think of that. They stored the blood, and she had plenty of time to plant the other samples while she was pretending to clean up the mess."
"They haven't come up with a body yet." When McNab spoke, Peabody turned her head to watch him. "They've got divers down now." He moved his shoulders. "I'll keep in touch."
Her mouth wanted to tremble, but she firmed it, nodded briskly. "Appreciate it."
"Maine's shooting me down the 'link unit from Monica Rowan's place," he continued. "They found a slew of jammers and code-spanners in the kitchen. Her 'link log's been blocked. I'll unblock it."
"Get it down. I'll take the Branson house and the offices. Anything develops, I want a tag, pronto." She yanked out her communicator when it signaled. "Dallas."
"Sergeant Howard, Search and Rescue. My divers found something. I think you'll want to see this."
"Send through your location. I'm on my way." She glanced toward McNab. As he rose, Peabody stepped forward.
"Sir, I know you have reason to keep me off this part of the investigation. I don't believe those reasons are valid at this time. I request, respectfully, to accompany you as your aide."
Eve considered, tapped her fingers on her thigh. "Are you going to keep talking to me that way? All tight-assed and formal, using long, polite sentences?"
"If I don't get what I want, yes, sir."
"I admire a good threat," Eve decided. "You're with me, Peabody."
• • •
The wind whipped like a nest of angry snakes and had the
ugly water of the river churning. Eve stood on the scarred and littered dock, cold to the bone, as one of the search team uncovered the body.
"We probably wouldn't have come on it for days if you hadn't told us to start looking for a mechanical. Even with that, we got lucky. You wouldn't fucking believe what people dump in this river."
He crouched down with her. "Looks a hell of a lot better than a floater would by this time. No bloat, no decay. Fish gave him a try, but they don't get off on synthetics."
"Yeah." She could see the nicks and dents where fish had taken nibbling samples. One had apparently given the left eye a hell of a go before giving up. But the diver was right; he looked a hell of a lot better than a floater.
He looked like B. Donald Branson—handsome and fit, if considerably bedraggled. She used a fingertip on the chin to turn the head, then studied the massive damage to the back of the skull.
"When I saw it down there, I thought the sensors were whacked. Never seen a droid this good before. Wouldn't have known for sure it wasn't a fresh dead guy if it wasn't for the hand."
Somewhere along the line, the wrist had been injured enough to split the skin casing. The structure, riddled with sensors and chips, showed clearly.
"Of course, when we got him out and gave him a good look-see in the light—"
"Yeah, doesn't quite fit the bill. You get pictures?"
"Oh, you bet."
"We'll just get some to back up the record. Then I'll need it bagged and sealed and shipped to the lab. Get all angles, Peabody."
Eve rose, moved to the side, and called Feeney. "I'm sending this droid into the lab. I need someone from EDD to go in and work with Dickhead's team. I want to run his programming back. Can we interface with our system? Get a playback of the night Zeke was there?"
"Might."
"And can we dig in enough to get a time frame for the programming and the programmer?"
"It's not impossible. Much damage?"
She glanced back as Peabody got the crater in the skull on record. "Considerable."
"We'll do what we can. Does this put Zeke out of it?"
"No law against killing a droid. He could get it on destruction of property, but I don't think the Bransons will pursue that angle."
Feeney smiled. "Good work. Want me to tell him?"
"No." She looked back at Peabody. "Let him hear it from his sister." She pocketed her communicator and signaled to Peabody. "We're done here. Let's move."
"Dallas." She walked over, laid a hand on Eve's arm. "I was afraid when we came down here. Afraid you'd been wrong. I knew, in my head, that even if it was Branson, it would go down as an accident, just the way Zeke said. He wouldn't have gone to jail, but he'd have paid for it. All his life."
"Now you can tell him he doesn't have to."
"He should hear it from you. You weren't wrong," she said before Eve could speak. "And it'll matter more."
• • •
Zeke's hands dangled between his knees. Slumped over, he stared at them as if they belonged to a stranger. "I don't understand this." He spoke slowly, again as if the voice were someone else's and just happened to come out of his mouth. "You say it was a droid that just looked like Mr. Branson."
"You didn't kill anyone, Zeke." Eve leaned toward him. "Get that in your head first."
"But he fell. He hit his head. There was blood."
"It fell, as it was directed to fall. There was blood because blood had been injected under its skin shield. Branson's blood. It was put there to make you think you'd killed him."
"But why? I'm sorry, Dallas, but that's just crazy."
"Part of a game. He's dead—his body conveniently disposed of by his terrified and abused wife who's now run away. They can be anyone they want to be, anywhere they want to be, and with a big pile of money to hide in. They thought they'd have a lot more by the time we figured this out. If we ever did."
"He hit her." Zeke's head snapped up. "I heard it—I saw it."
"A show, an act. A few bruises were a small price to pay for winning the whole match. They'd already arranged for his brother's death. They had to be able to access all the fluid cash from the company. Once B. D.'s gone—branded, they'd hoped, as a wife beater, marital rapist, they pick up their new lives. He's cleaned out the cash flow from all accounts. We'd probably have looked at that as just one more vicious act on his part. But they left holes."
He shook his head, and fighting impatience, she tried to explain quickly. "Why does a man like that let his wife go off to a spa out west, spend time on her own? He doesn't even trust her out of the front door from what she told me in interview. But he lets her bring you into the house. He's insanely jealous, but it's fine and dandy to have a young, good-looking guy in the same house with his wife all day. And she can barely decide to get out of bed in the morning, but she gets in gear, orders a droid to ditch her dead husband's body, and gets it done in the time it takes you to get her a glass of water. All while she's in shock."
"She can't have been involved," Zeke whispered.
"It's the only way it can play. She's lived with a man she claims beats her for nearly ten years, but she's ready to leave him to go with you, someone she barely knows—and this after two conversations about her situation."
"We fell in love."
"She loves no one. She used you. I'm sorry."
"You don't know." His voice lowered and went fierce. "You can't know what we felt for each other. What she felt for me."
"Zeke—"
Eve simply lifted her fingers from her knee to stop Peabody's protest. "You're right, I can't know what you felt. But I can know that you killed no one. I can know that the woman who said she loved you set you up to take the fall. I can know that that same woman was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people this last week. One of them was a friend of mine. That I can know."
She rose, started to walk out of the room, when Mavis burst in.
"Hey, Dallas!" Smile brilliant, hair a purple explosion of curls, eyes the disconcerting shade of copper, Mavis threw open her arms and sent the twelve-inch emerald fringe running from armpit to wrist flying. "I'm back."
"Mavis." Eve struggled to switch gears from the miserable to the absurd. "I thought you were back next week."
"That was last week, now it is next week. Dallas, man, I was seismic! Hey, Peabody." Her laughing eyes landed on Zeke and sobered even as she winced. Even someone dancing on Mavis's level of happy could sense the anger and grief. "Oops, bad timing, huh?"
"No. It's great. Come outside a minute." Eve jerked her head at Peabody, signaling her to deal with Zeke, and moved outside the office with Mavis. "It's good to see you." And suddenly it was more than good. Mavis, with her stupendously ridiculous wardrobe, her ever-changing hair, her sheer delight with herself, was the perfect antidote for misery.
"It's great to see you." Eve caught her in a fierce embrace that had Mavis giggling even as she gave Eve's back soothing pats.
"Wow. You missed me."
"I did. I really did." Eve stepped back and grinned at her. "You kicked ass, didn't you?"
"I did. I really did." The narrow corridor didn't stop Mavis from turning three fast circles on her platform airpumps. "It was orbital, it was mag, it was beyond the ult. I came to see you, but my next stop is Roarke, and I figure I should warn you I'm going to kiss him hard right on the mouth."
"No tongues."
"Spoilsport." Mavis shook back her curls, angled her head. "You look beat, wasted, absolutely dead."
"Thanks, just what I needed to perk up my day."
"No, I mean it. I caught some of what's been going on—didn't have much time for screen, but what I didn't catch, people were talking about. I don't buy this Urban Wars revival crap. I mean who wants to run around blasting people in the streets all the damn time? It's so, you know, last century. So what's up?"
Eve smiled and felt wonderful doing it. "Oh, nothing much. Just a whacked terrorist group blowing up landmark property and blackmailing
the city for millions of dollars. Some droids tried to kill me, but I took them out. Peabody's brother's here from Arizona and got pulled into the mix because he fell for some lying slut bomber and thought he killed her husband by accident. But he only took out another droid."
"Gee, is that all? I've been gone for a while. I figured you'd be busy."
"Roarke and I had kind of a fight, then terrific makeup sex."
Mavis's face brightened. "That's more like it. Why don't you take a break and tell me all about it?"
"Can't. I'm busy saving the city from destruction, but you can do me a favor."
"Since you put it that way. What?"
"Zeke, Peabody's brother. I need to keep him under wraps. No media, no outside contacts. I'm sending him to my place, but I know Roarke's busy, and I don't want to stick the poor guy with Summerset. Can you take him over, hang awhile?"
"Sure, Leonardo's busy on some designs. I've got plenty of swing time. I can keep him happy at your place."
"Thanks. Just call Summerset. He'll send a car for you."
"I bet he'll send the limo if I ask nice." Delighted with the prospect, she turned for the door. "Well, intro me so Zeke knows who he's going to be playing with today."
"No. Peabody'll do it. He doesn't want to see me right now. He needs to be mad at someone—I'm it. Just tell her to meet me in the garage. We've got places to go."
• • •
"You've had a rough time, Zeke." Mavis licked pink frosting from her fingers and contemplated eating another of the pretty little cakes Summerset had served them. Control, greed, she mused. Control. Greed. Let's hear it for greed, she decided and plucked up another.
"I'm so worried about Clarissa." He sat, steeped in his unhappiness.
"Mmm-hmm."
He'd started out shy with her so that she'd had to pry every second word out of him. So she'd chattered away for the first hour, about her tour, about Leonardo, adding little anecdotes about Peabody that had wormed through his defenses.
When she'd seen him smile for the first time, Mavis had sensed victory. She'd drawn him into talking about his work. She didn't understand a damn thing, but she'd made interested noises and kept her glowing, copper-colored eyes on his face.