by J. D. Robb
They'd settled into the main parlor in front of the fire Summerset had built in anticipation of her arrival. And when Summerset had brought in the tea and cakes, Zeke had taken a cup out of politeness.
By the time Mavis had charmed, nagged, and bullied the full story out of him, Zeke had gone through two cups of tea and three cakes.
He felt better. Then felt guilty because of it. When he'd been detained at Cop Central, it had seemed he was paying for his crimes, for not completing his ride to Clarissa's rescue. But here in the beautiful house, with the fire crackling and his body warm from fragrant tea, it was like being rewarded for his sins.
Mavis curled her legs under her and felt as comfortable as the cat who stretched out on the top of the sofa above her. "Dallas said you killed a droid."
Zeke jolted, set down his tea. "I know, but I don't see how that's possible."
"What did Peabody say?"
"She said—she said it was a mechanical they pulled out of the river, but—"
"Maybe she's saying that to make you feel better." Mavis turned her body toward him, nodded with her eyes wide and guileless. "Maybe she's covering up for you. Oh, and I know! She's blackmailing Dallas to go along with it so you get away with the whole thing."
The idea was so absurd, he would have laughed. But he was too shocked to do more than goggle. "Dee would never do that. She couldn't."
"Oh." Mavis pursed her lips into a pout, then moved her shoulders. "Well, I guess she must have told you straight then, huh? I guess it must be like they said, and you knocked over a droid that looked like this Branson guy. Otherwise, Peabody'd be lying and breaking the law."
He hadn't put one and one together in quite that way before. Now that Mavis had, he stared down at his hands. Thoughts whirled inside his head. "But if it was a droid…Clarissa. Dallas thinks Clarissa did all this. She has to be wrong."
"Maybe. She's hardly ever wrong about this sort of thing though." Mavis stretched luxuriously, but her eyes stayed sharp on Zeke's. It was getting through, she thought. Poor guy. "Let's say Clarissa didn't know it was a droid. She really thought you'd offed her husband, and then…oh that won't work." She furrowed her brow. "I mean, gee, unless they ditched the body, the cops would've tagged it as a droid right off. She's the one who got rid of the body, right?"
"Yes." It was indeed getting through, and his heart cracked like an egg. "She was…scared."
"Yeah, well, who wouldn't be, but if she hadn't lost the body, it would've been all over that same night. Nobody would've thought Branson was dead. The cops wouldn't have wasted all that time and given Branson the lead to get clear and stuff. I guess, hmmm." She tilted her head. "I guess if Dallas hadn't figured a droid, they'd never have found the body anyway. Then everybody would think the guy was fish food, and Clarissa had run off because she was so weirded by the whole scene. Wow!"
She sat up as if the idea had just occurred to her. "That means if Dallas hadn't clicked to it and pushed until she had the proof, they'd have gotten away with it, and you'd still believe you'd killed a guy."
"Oh God." It didn't just get through now. It burst through, ripping out his guts. "What have I done?"
"You didn't do anything, honey." Mavis swung her legs off the sofa, leaned forward to lay a hand over his. "They did it all. Danced a number over you. All you did was be who you are. A nice guy who believes the best of people."
"I have to think." He got shakily to his feet.
"Sure you do. You want to lie down? They've got amazing guest rooms in this place."
"No, I…I said I'd work on Dallas's car. That's what I'll do. I think better when I'm using my hands."
"Okay."
She made him put on his coat, bundled him up, and added a motherly peck on the cheek. Closing the door behind him, she turned, and let out a squeak of surprise when she saw Roarke on the steps.
"You're a good friend, Mavis."
"Roarke!" This time she squealed and bounded up the steps. "I got something for you. Dallas said I could." With this, she threw her arms around him and gave him a hard, noisy kiss.
For a little thing, Roarke mused, she packed a punch. "Thank you."
"I'm going to tell you about the tour, every second of it. But not now, because Dallas said you'd be busy."
"Unfortunately, I am."
"So I thought Leonardo and I could take you guys out to dinner—maybe next week? Sort of celebrate and fill you in and thank you. Thank you, Roarke. You gave me the chance for everything I wanted."
"You did the job." He tugged on one of her curls, watched it, with some fascination, spring out and back. "I'd hoped to take Eve to your final show in Memphis. But things got complicated."
"So I hear. She looked ragged out big time. I figure when she wraps this up, you can help me kidnap her. We'll get Trina to give her the full treatment—relaxation and beauty session. The works."
"It'll be a pleasure."
"You look a little tired yourself." And she couldn't remember ever seeing real fatigue in his eyes before.
"It was a filthy night."
"Maybe Trina should have a go at you, too." His only answer was a vague "Hmmm," and she grinned. "I'll let you get back to what you're doing. Okay if I take a swim?"
"Enjoy yourself."
"Always do." She danced down the stairs, grabbed her oversized bag, and headed for the elevator to the pool house. She was going to give Trina a call and make those appointments—including erotic therapy.
Since she'd tried it out with Leonardo, she knew it was mag.
*** CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE ***
Eve scanned every file and disk in Branson's office. He'd covered his tracks well. Even his private 'link had been wiped clean. She'd send it to Feeney, but she doubted he'd find any overlooked data on the logs.
She pigeonholed his assistant, then his brother's assistant, but got nothing out of them other than shock and confusion.
He'd kept his area clean, she decided.
She did a run through the labs, examined the droids in development. She nailed another piece into place when the lab foreman, in the spirit of cooperation, told her they had produced replica droids of both Branson brothers. As a surprise, he explained, ordered by Clarissa Branson. A personal request, kept off the books and logs.
They'd been completed and delivered to the Branson townhouse only three weeks before.
Very slick timing, Eve thought as she wandered through production with its orderly shelves loaded with minidroids, tyke-bykes, and space toys.
She picked up an excellent reproduction of a police issue stunner, shook her head. "This sort of thing should be outlawed. You know how many 24/7s are knocked over with these every month?"
"I had one when I was a kid." Peabody grinned with nostalgia. "Bought it on the sly and hid it from my parents. No toys of violence allowed in our house."
"Free-Agers got that one right." Eve set it down, walked farther down the line and into the maze of souveniers. Her energy was flagging. It felt as though she were walking through a wall of water. "Shit, who buys this stuff?"
"Tourists love them. Zeke's already loaded with key chains and globes and friggie magnets."
The New York section was filled with replicas—the key chains, the pens, the dash figures, the magnets and trinket boxes that crowded the stores and stands for eager tourists.
The Empire State Building, the Pleasure Dome, the UN building, the Statue of Liberty. Madison Square, the Plaza Hotel, she noted, frowning at the detailed reproduction of the hotel inside a water globe. Lift it, shake it, and glitter rained like confetti on New Year's Eve.
Good business, she wondered, or irony?
"I bet that kind of thing is going to sell like crazy now." Peabody scowled at the globe when Eve replaced it. "Hot ticket item."
"People are sick," Eve decided. "Let's do the house." Her eyes were feeling gritty now from lack of sleep. "Got any Alert-All in your bag?"
"Yeah, I've got the official limit."
"Give me o
ne, will you? I hate that stuff, makes me edgy. But I'm losing focus."
She swallowed the pill Peabody handed her, knowing the false energy would annoy her.
"When's the last time you caught some shut-eye?"
"I forget. You drive," Eve ordered. God, she hated to give up the control, but it was Peabody or auto. "Until this crap kicks in."
She slid into the passenger seat, let her head fall back, her body relax. Within five minutes, her system was on the gallop. "Man." Her eyes popped open. "I'm awake now."
"It'll give you a good four hours—maybe six—then, if you don't get horizontal, you'll crash hard. Go down like a tree after 'timber.'"
"If we don't close up some of these holes in four to six, I might as well crash." Revved now, she contacted McNab at EDD. "Did you get the 'link from Maine?"
"Working on it now. She had a class-A jammer on it, but we're getting there."
"Bring everything you get to my home office. Bring the whole 'link if you don't have clear data by five. Save me a call and tell Feeney I've sent him Branson's personal. It's been wiped, but he might jiggle something."
"If there's anything, we'll jiggle it."
She put the next call through to Whitney. "Commander, I've finished at Branson T and T and am en route to his residence."
"Progress?"
"Nothing solid at this point. However, I suggest steps be taken to scan and secure the UN building." She thought of the pretty, pricey souveniers. "Apollo's next hit was the Pentagon. If Cassandra continues to follow the theme, that location is the logical choice. Time-wise there would be a lag of several weeks, but we can't risk them sticking to the schedule set by Apollo."
"Agreed. We'll take all necessary steps."
"Do you think they'll make contact again?" Peabody asked when Eve broke transmission.
"I'm not counting on it." She made one last call, to Mira.
"Question," she began as soon as Mira's face came on-screen. "Given the tone of the demands, the fact that those demands have not been met. Adding on that the targets were not destroyed and loss of life was kept minimal, will Cassandra contact me again to play guess what's next?"
"Doubtful. You haven't won the battles, but neither have you lost. Their goals have not been accomplished, while yours have come closer to the mark in each instance. According to your report, which I've just finished reading, you believe they are now aware of your line of investigation. Aware that you know their identities and their pattern."
"And their response to that would be…?"
"Anger, a need to win. A desire to thumb a total victory under your nose. I don't believe they'll feel compelled to issue any sort of warning or jeer the next time. The rules of war, Eve, are, there are no rules."
"Agreed. I have a favor to ask."
Mira tried to hide her surprise. Eve rarely asked for anything. "Of course."
"Zeke's been informed of the setup, Clarissa's part in it."
"I see. This will be difficult for him."
"Yeah, he's not taking it well. I've got him at my place. Mavis is with him, but I think he could use some counseling. If you've got time for a house call."
"I'll make time."
"Thanks."
"Are unnecessary," Mira said. "Good-bye, Eve."
Satisfied, Eve ended the call, and glanced over to see that they'd arrived at the Branson townhouse. Peabody had already parked. "Let's get started." Then she saw that Peabody was clutching the wheel, and tears were swimming in her eyes. "Don't even think about doing that," Eve snapped. "Dry it up."
"I don't know how to thank you. For thinking of him. After he acted that way, with all that's going on, for thinking of him."
"I'm thinking of me." Eve shoved her door open. "I can't afford to have my aide's concentration split because she's worried about a family member."
"Right." Knowing better, Peabody sniffled as she got out of the car. But she'd blinked her eyes clear. "You have my full attention, sir."
"Let's keep it that way." Eve disarmed the police seal and entered the house. "The droids have been deactivated and taken into holding." But she hitched back her jacket so her weapon was in easy reach. "The place should be empty, but we're dealing with people with solid tech and electronic skills. They could have gotten through the seal. I want you on alert while we're in here, Peabody."
"Full alert, sir."
"We'll start with the offices."
Branson's was masculine, distinguished, in burgundy and green with dark wood, leather chairs, heavy crystal. Eve stopped in the doorway, shook her head.
"No, she's the force, she's the one who's driving this train." Her mind was clear again, achingly so. "I shouldn't have wasted time at his plant. She's the button here."
She strode across the hall and into the feminine grace of Clarissa's office. Sitting room, Eve decided it would have been called, with its rose and ivory tones, its dainty chairs with pastel cushions. There were pretty little vases lining the marble mantel, each with tiny flowers tucked in. The flowers were faded and dying and added a sick scent over the fragile fragrance of the air.
There was a day bed with a white swan painted on the cushions, lamps with tinted shades, curtains of lace.
Eve walked to the small desk with long curved legs and studied the small-scale communication and data unit.
The disc collection proved to be filled with fashion and shopping programs, a smatter of novels—heavy on romance—and a daily journal that spoke of household matters, more shopping, lunch dates, and social events.
"Got to be more." Eve stepped back. "Roll up your sleeves, Peabody. Let's take this creepy little room apart."
"I think it's kind of pretty."
"Anybody who lives with this much pink has to be insane."
They went through drawers, searched under and behind them. The small closet held more office supplies and a filmy robe. Again pink.
They found nothing behind the watercolor paintings of formal gardens, not even dust.
Then Peabody struck gold. "A disc." Triumphant, she held it up. "It was in this swan cushion."
"Let's run it." Eve slipped it into the slot, then looked less than pleased when it immediately engaged. "She hides it, but doesn't bother to passcode it. Oh, I don't think so."
It was a diary, written in the first person, and detailing beatings, rapes, abuse.
"I heard him come in. I thought—he'll think I'm asleep, he'll leave me alone. I've been so careful to do everything right today. But when I heard him coming up the stairs, I knew he was drunk. Then I could smell it as he came to the bed.
"It's worse when he's drunk, when he's just drunk enough.
"I kept my eyes closed. I think I stopped breathing. I prayed he was too drunk to hurt me. But no one listens when you pray."
"Playing possum, little girl." The words, the voice, the memory snapped out at Eve like fangs. The smell of liquor and candy, the hands pulling, bruising.
"I begged him to stop, but it was already too late. His hands were on my throat, squeezing so I wouldn't scream, and he was pushing himself into me, hurting me, his breath hot on my face."
"Don't. Please, don't." It hadn't done Eve any good to beg. Hands on her throat, yes. Squeezing until red dots danced in front of her eyes, and the burning, tearing pain of another rape. With that sick-sweet breath on her face.
"Lieutenant. Dallas." Peabody took her arm and shook. "You okay? You're really pale."
"I'm all right." Damn it, goddamn it. She needed air. "It's a plant," she managed. "She knew someone would find it during the investigation. Scan through to the end, Peabody. She wants us to finish it."
Eve walked to the window, unlocked it, threw it open. She leaned out, had to lean out and breathe. The frigid air stung her cheeks, scraped her throat like little bits of ice.
She wouldn't go back there, she promised herself. Couldn't afford to go back there. She would stay in the now. In control.
"She talks about Zeke," Peabody called out. "It goes on—pr
etty flowery love language here—about meeting him, how she felt when she knew he was coming."
She looked over, relieved to see color in Eve's face again, though she suspected it was mostly from the slap of cold wind. "She talks about going down to the workshop; it runs with what they'd told us before. Then she's saying that she found her strength because of him, and was leaving her husband at last. It stops with her writing that she was packed and about to call Zeke and begin her real life."
"She covered her ass. If she decided not to run straight off, she'd have the disc, dated and logged, as verification of the story. I guess she figured Testing was too big a risk."
"Doesn't help us any. Everything here's just as you'd expect it to be if her story was on the up."
"But it's not, so there's more. This is a front." Eve closed the window, turned to wander the room. "This is image—what do you call it—veneer. Under this we've got a tough, determined, bloodthirsty woman who wants to be treated like a goddess. With awe and fear. She's not pink." Eve lifted a satin pillow, tossed it. "She's red; rich, powerful red. She's no delicate flower. She's poison—exotic, sensual, but poison. She wouldn't have spent any more time in this room than it would have taken to set it up."
Eve stopped, waiting for her racing mind to slow. Damn chemicals, she thought. She deliberately closed her eyes. "She'd come in here, probably sneer at all the little trinkets. False front. Society's trappings. She hates it. Uses it. She goes for the bold, but this is part of the stage. She's been acting for years. This room is to show people how soft and female she is, but it isn't where she works."
"The rest of the house is guest rooms, baths, living and kitchen area." Peabody sat where she was, watching Eve, watching her work. Watching her mind. "If she didn't work here, then where?"
"Close." Eve opened her eyes, studied the little closet. "Master bedroom's on the other side of that wall, right?"
"Yeah. Big he and she walk-in closet takes up the facing wall."
"All the closets are big. Except this one. Why would she settle for this little corner here?" She squeezed herself in, started running fingers over the wall. "Go around the other side, into the closet. Knock on the wall. Give it three good raps, and come back."