The In Death Collection, Books 11-15

by J. D. Robb

  “And as your commander, I have the right to overrule your refusal, to order you to employ those tactics or remove you as primary.”

  This time it was Feeney who grabbed Eve’s arm. But Roarke was already getting to his feet. “Jack.” His voice wasn’t quite as soft now when he addressed Whitney. Deliberately, he stepped between him and Eve, turned so she had no choice but to look him in the face.

  “You’ll have control. She’s had the upper hand till this. You’ll draw her in where and how you choose. That’s the first point. The second being I won’t sit back and wait until she picks the time and place to have at me. I’m asking you for help, and offering you mine.”

  It was easy to see why he was so good at what he did. At winning whatever he wanted. Bending wills to his own with reason—at first anyway. Then by whatever method worked best.

  But she wasn’t a company to be absorbed, or a suit to be intimidated. “You’re not asking or offering anything. And you’re not giving me control, you’re taking it.”

  “That would depend on how you look at it.”

  “I see just fine. Step back, Roarke, you’re not in charge here yet.”

  Something flashed in his eyes, something deadly. It only served to add punch to a temper that was already fuming to peak. When she moved toward Roarke, Feeney grabbed her arm a second time, and Whitney came to his feet.

  “Ease down, kid,” Feeney muttered.

  “Lieutenant Dallas.” Whitney’s voice cracked like a whip. “This office is not the place for your marital disagreements.”

  “You made it the place. This is an ambush, and one that circumvents my authority, that puts that authority on the block in front of my team.”

  Whitney opened his mouth, then closed it again in a tight line. “Point taken. Your team is dismissed.”

  “I’d prefer they remain at this point, sir. Completing this meeting privately now is a useless gesture.”

  “You’re a hardass, Lieutenant, and you’re skirting very close to the line.”

  “Yes, sir, I am. But you already crossed over it. I respect both your authority and your office, Commander.”

  He had to take a calming breath. “And you imply I show none for yours.”

  “That would depend . . .” She glared at Roarke. “On how you look at it.”

  “And if you were looking at this situation objectively rather than through what is arguably justified anger at the way this particular avenue was presented to you?”

  “I strongly believe Julianna Dunne may be out of the country, or that she has plans to leave New York for a short period of time. If I’m allowed to pursue that avenue, I believe I can confirm her location, or planned destination in a few hours.”

  “And this belief is based on?”

  “My instincts and my considerable understanding of the subject.” Pitch it now, Eve ordered herself, and pitch it hard.

  “She’s a girl. She has a deep-seated need to indulge her femininity, in the most luxurious and exclusive manner available. She’s been hard at work for some time now, planning and executing her agenda. She’ll want a break. In the past, she took a short vacation between every hit. Resorts primarily, with top-flight treatment centers. It’s pattern. She’s moved on her victims in rapid succession this time out, and this after being incarcerated for a number of years. She’ll need to renew herself, recharge, and her most likely method would be a spa facility where she can be pampered and can relax before she . . .”

  She trailed off, then dug back in. “. . . before she moves on what I believe is and has been the central target. She’ll want to groom, prepare, relax, before she comes at him. I’ve run a probability on this theory and got just over ninety percent. She doesn’t change, Commander. At the core, she doesn’t change.”

  “Assuming your theory is correct, there are countless facilities of this nature—numerous in this city alone.”

  “It wouldn’t be here. She’d want to get away, that’s indulgence, and she wouldn’t risk having a consultant who might have seen her on the media, get up close and personal with her face. That’s brains. It’s most likely she’d go out of the country where the media attention on murders in New York City isn’t as intense.”

  She watched his expression, saw him consider that. Agree with that. “I’ve already narrowed down the field, and intend to start checking with the most likely locations and working my way down the list.”

  “Then do so. However, that angle doesn’t preclude preparing for another option. If you tag her, are successful in tracking and apprehension, then this is put to rest. If you don’t, we’ll have a trap in place. Settle yourself down, Lieutenant. And listen.”

  Whitney turned to Roarke, and nodded.

  Chapter 19

  “In three day’s time,” Roarke began, “there’s a charity function, a dinner dance to raise funds for medical transports and equipment needed by the Canal Street Clinic. I believe Dr. Dimatto mentioned this to you, Lieutenant.”

  “I know about it.”

  “I accepted the invitation to attend some weeks ago, so that’s public knowledge if anyone was wondering when I might be socializing at some public function in the city. The event is being held at one of the ballrooms at the Grand Regency Hotel. Happens that’s one of mine.”

  “Shock,” Eve said in a voice that dripped sarcasm like poisoned honey. “Amazement.”

  “It also happens that the ownership is held by one of my subsidiaries, and isn’t so easily traced to me. Not that all appropriate business fees and taxes aren’t promptly paid,” he added with a cool amusement, “but a casual glance, even a more curious one wouldn’t necessarily shake my name out of it—which cancels out any reluctance Julianna might have about coming for me on my own turf. So to speak. And also gives the advantage of knowing the security bottom to top, and being able to adjust that security to the particular situation.”

  Though he paused he got no response from Eve, nor had he expected any. “Just to ice the cake, it’s just been leaked to the media by my public relations people that not only will I attend the function, but will be making a sizable donation. The donation will be hefty enough to ensure strong media attention for the next little while.”

  He’d taken over the room, Eve realized. Not just the discussion but the goddamn room. He was in command now, and it infuriated.

  “By now, if she wasn’t already aware of it, she’ll know I’ll be attending a public event where there’ll be a great deal of people, a great deal of food and drink, and a large staff serving them. She’ll know my wife will be attending with me. It’s a tailor-made opportunity for her. She’ll take it. Odds are, she’d already planned to do so.”

  “We can’t be certain of that,” Eve corrected. Though she’d already thought of it, had been planning on finding a way to wiggle out of the event. “If she’s just learning of it, it’s a narrow window of time for her to confidently blend herself into the staff or guests, and for us,” Eve added, “to confidentially assess and adjust security to ensure the protection of civilians. You won’t be the only rich bastard there. This proposal puts others at risk.”

  He brushed off her concerns, her objections, with an elegant shrug. One he knew would madden her. “The function takes place whether or not I attend. If she’s targeted someone else ahead of me, they’re already at risk. And if she has targeted someone else, the temptation to shift to me while you’re there would be very great. It’s you she wants to hurt, Lieutenant. I’m just her weapon against you. Do you think I’ll be used for that? For anything?”

  “In your opinion,” Whitney said into the thrumming silence, “does the suspect have any reason to believe you’re aware of her intention to hit Roarke?”

  “I can’t know what she’s—”

  “Lieutenant.” Whitney’s tone bit. “Your opinion.”

  Training warred with temper, and won. “No, sir. This subject doesn’t fit her pattern, and she specifically informed me of the type she’d targeted. She would have n
o reason to suspect or believe that I would have concern in this area, that I would look outside the box. She respects me, but is confident I’m running behind her chasing only the trail she’s left me.”

  “Run the play, Dallas.” Whitney got to his feet again. “Work the angles, plug the holes, close the box. Whatever equipment and manpower you need, you’ll get. We’ll discuss this further tomorrow. Tomorrow,” he repeated, anticipating her protest. “When tempers aren’t so close to the surface. I respect your temper, Lieutenant, as I do your rank and your abilities. Dismissed.”

  Not trusting herself to speak, Eve gave him a curt nod and walked out.

  When Peabody trotted out after her Eve’s snarl was enough to hold her off.

  “Keep out of the line of fire.” Roarke laid a hand on Peabody’s shoulder. “It’s me she wants to blast into small, bleeding pieces, but you could get caught in the stream and you’ve had a good day till now.”

  “From where I’m standing you deserve a blast. Don’t you think she took enough of a pounding yesterday?”

  To Roarke’s considerable surprise, Peabody turned on her heel and marched in the opposite direction. With his temper notching up from slow burn to fast simmer, he strode after his wife. He caught up with her just as she stalked into her office and managed to slap a hand on the door an instant before it slammed in his face.

  “Get out. Get the hell out.” She grabbed discs, shoved them into a file. “This is still my area.”

  “We’ll discuss this.”

  “I’ve got nothing to discuss with you.” She slung the file bag over her shoulder, then shoved him when he blocked her path to the door.

  “You want to fight then? Well, isn’t it handy I’m in just the mood for it. But we’ll take this to neutral territory.”

  “Neutral territory, my ass. There is no neutral territory with you. You own the goddamn city.”

  “We’ll take this out of here, Lieutenant, unless you want to have a bloody, shouting fight with your husband for a couple dozen cops to hear. Doesn’t matter a damn to me, but you’ll be sorry for it when you’ve come to your senses.”

  “I’ve got all my senses.” And because she did, she managed to keep her voice low. “Let’s take it outside, pal.”

  “Outside it is.”

  They didn’t speak again, but the volume of their silence had several cops easing back when they pushed into the elevator. She stalked onto the garage level ahead of him, then knocked his hand away when he reached for the driver’s side door.

  “I’m driving,” he told her, “as you’ve too much blood in your eye to do the job.”

  Deciding to pick her battles, Eve strode around the car and dropped into the passenger’s seat.

  He didn’t tear out of the garage, though he wanted to. She’d just try to have him arrested for some traffic violation, he thought nastily. He, too, was picking his battles. Still he wove through traffic with a kind of controlled violence that had other vehicles giving way. Another time, she would have admired it, but at the moment his skill simply reinforced her resentment.

  He pulled over at the west edge of Central Park, slammed out of the car while she did the same on the opposite side.

  “I don’t own this.”

  “I bet that sticks in your craw.”

  “What I own, don’t own, acquire, don’t acquire, is irrelevant.”

  “You don’t own my badge.”

  “I don’t want your goddamn badge.” He crossed the sidewalk and kept walking across the green summer grass.

  “Controlling something’s the same as ownership.”

  “I’ve no desire to control your badge, or you for that matter.”

  “That comes off pretty lame from somebody who’s just managed to do both.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Eve, that wasn’t what that was about. Use your head for a minute. Stop being so prideful, so flaming stubborn that you see everything as a bloody attack. Do you think Whitney would have agreed to consider this angle if he didn’t believe it was a viable method of stopping this woman? Isn’t that your primary goal?”

  “Don’t stand there and tell me what my goal is.” She jammed a finger into his chest. “Don’t you stand there and tell me what my job is. I’ve been doing this job since you were still running smuggled contraband. I know what it is.”

  She stormed away from him. Prideful? Stubborn? Son of a bitch. Then whirled back. “You went over my head, you went behind my back, and you had no right, no right to go to my superior and shove your way into this investigation in a way that undermines my authority, that negates that authority in front of my team. And if anyone had pulled that on you, you’d have had their head on a fucking platter and their blood for sauce.”

  He started to speak, then took a good swallow of his own pride. “That’s very annoying.”

  “Annoying? You call it—”

  “It’s annoying,” he interrupted, “when you’re right. When you’re completely right, and I’m wrong. I apologize for it. Sincerely.”

  “Would you like a suggestion as to where you can shove your sincerity?”

  “No need.” Irritated with himself, with her, he dropped down on a bench. “I’m sorry for the method. That’s the truth. I didn’t consider the reflection on you carefully enough, and I should have.”

  “No, you just get a brainstorm and drop in on your good friend Jack.”

  “And if I’d come to you with it, you’d have given it all the proper consideration? Don’t bother to come up with some clever line, Lieutenant, as we both know you’d have pushed it aside. I’d’ve pushed back, and we’d have had a row about that.”

  “Until you got your way.”

  “Until you cleared the bugs out of your head that make you think I’m stupid enough to let some mad tart do for me. I didn’t come down in the last shower of rain, Eve.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  He sat back, laughed a little. “Jesus, you make me Irish. Why is that, do you suppose? Come sit down. You don’t look as well as you should.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  He thought about it for about three seconds. “Ah, bollocks to this.” And rising, he stepped to her, evaded the leading edge of the elbow jab, and scooped her off her feet. “There, now stay down.” He dumped her on the bench. “We both know I’d not have taken you that easily if you were feeling yourself. I need you to listen to me.”

  He kept her hands gripped under his, felt the anger and insult vibrating through her. “After you do, if you feel you need to take a punch at me, well, you can have one for free. What I said in Whitney’s office was the truth. I’d’ve done better to come to you so that we could have fought it out between us, but I didn’t and I’m sorry. Still, what I said was the truth, Eve.”

  He squeezed down on her hands until she stopped trying to yank them away. “I’m asking for your help and offering mine to you. She wants to take you apart, little pieces of you sheared off each time she drops a body at your feet. Trying to make you think that you’re responsible for putting them there.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “No, you know better, in your head. But she made you bleed in that cursed video of hers. In your heart. And she wants to finish you off with me. She doesn’t know you. She doesn’t understand what’s in you, or what it is to love someone. If she managed, through some miracle, to take me out, you wouldn’t fall apart. You’d hound her and hunt her. You’d run her to ground. And then, well, darling, you’d eat her alive.”

  He brought her clenched fists to his lips. “And I’d do exactly the same for you, if you’re wondering.”

  “That’s real comforting, Roarke.”

  “Isn’t it?” He said it with such cheer she felt a smile trying to tug at her mouth.

  “Let go. I’m not going to hit you. Just let go, and don’t talk to me for a minute.”

  He released her hands, then brushed his fingers over her bruised cheek. Rising, he wandered off to leave her al
one.

  She sat where she was. The fury had sapped her, left even her bones feeling weak. More than that, she realized, it was the fear that made her weak. The image of seeing Roarke pitch to the floor at her feet, choking, gasping, dying. And Julianna standing there, out of her reach. Just out of her reach. Smiling.

  She’d let that happen, Eve admitted. She’d let Julianna plant those weeds of fear, of guilt, of self-doubt. And she’d let them bloom instead of hacking them out by the roots.

  That made her ineffective, and it made her slow.

  So Roarke had gone for the roots first.

  He infuriated her. What else was new? They’d rammed heads countless times in the past, and would ram them countless times in the future. It was part of what they were. There had to be something sick about that, but there it was.

  They just weren’t peaceful people.

  He’d been wrong, but so had she. As a cop, she should have examined and explored the option of using him as bait long before this.

  Love messed you up, she thought. No doubt about it.

  He came back with two tubes of Pepsi and a greasy scoop of oil fries. And in silence sat beside her again.

  “I want to say first that I’m entitled to be prideful when it comes to my work.” She dug into the scoop, felt the grit of salt over the grease. And knowing he’d drenched them for her, had to choke back a sentimental sigh. “And second, sometime when you least expect it, I’m going to generate a memo to the top staff of your midtown offices stating that you wear women’s underwear under those manly designer suits.”

  “Why, that’s just cold.”

  “Yeah, then you’ll have to strip down at a general meeting to prove it’s a filthy lie and my vengeance will be complete.” She looked at him then. “She’s not just a—what did you call her—a mad tart. She’s smart and she’s driven. Don’t underestimate her.”

  “I don’t. I don’t underestimate you, Eve. But I think, for just a bit of time here with one thing and then the other, you’ve been underestimating yourself.”