The In Death Collection, Books 11-15

by J. D. Robb

  “Yeah, I have, and I don’t like it thrown in my face. Okay. I’ve got to get home. There’s a lot to do in a short amount of time.”

  She worked with him first, studying all the data on hotel security and on the event itself that he’d already had at the ready. She pitched questions, and he batted back the answers with the skill of a man who knew he owned the plate.

  The Regency wasn’t an urban castle as his Palace Hotel was. It was bigger, sleeker, and geared more for the upper-end business clientele than the fashionable rich.

  It had sixty-eight floors, fifty-six of which were guest room levels. Others held offices, shops, restaurants, clubs, and the conference centers, the ballrooms.

  On the seventh floor was a casual bar/restaurant and swimming pool, which was open-air during good weather. The top two levels held eight penthouse suites, and were only accessible by private elevator. The health club, level four, was open to all hotel guests and to registered members. Entry, from inside the hotel or its exterior glide door, required a keycard.

  Ballrooms were on floors nine and ten, with exterior and interior entries. The event would take place in the Terrace Room, named after its wide, tiled terrace.

  “Lots of ways in, lots of ways out,” Eve stated.

  “That’s a hotel for you. All exits will be secured. There are security cameras throughout the public areas. Full sweep.”

  “But not the guest rooms.”

  “Well, people are fussy about their privacy. You’ll have views in all elevators, in hallways. We can add monitors if you feel it’s necessary. She’d be more likely to blend in as staff or an event attendee than a hotel guest, I’d say. She’d want to get out of the building after her job’s done, not find a bolt-hole inside it.”

  “Agreed, but we keep a man monitoring all check-ins. I want that set up, along with field offices, ready rooms in a secured area as close to the ballroom as possible.”

  “You’ll have it.”

  “Hotel security will be fully briefed. I don’t want to alert the rest of the staff, or the outside event people. The less chance she gets wind of trouble, the better.”

  “You don’t intend to tell Louise then?”

  She’d considered, debated, weighed the pros and cons. “No, I don’t. We’ll plant cops alongside the attendees, the servers, within your security. You’ll arrange with your catering or whatever it is for the extra servers. Nobody will question you about it.”

  “I should think not,” he mused.

  “We’ll need to go over the other functions in the hotel that evening. You’ve got two conventions in, and a wedding deal. She may slip in through one of those.”

  “We’ll nail it down. I’m sorry, I have a holo-conference in a few minutes. I have to take it; I’ve already re-scheduled twice.”

  “It’s all right, I’ve got plenty to do.”

  “Eve.”

  “Yeah, what?”

  He bent over her, pressed his lips to the top of her head. “There are a number of things we need to talk about.”

  “I’m only half-pissed at you now.”

  His lips curved against her hair. “That’s just one of several. For now I’ll just say I was half-pissed at you when Mira dropped by my office this afternoon.”

  She didn’t look up, but she went very still. “I didn’t ask her to. Exactly.”

  “But it occurred to me, very shortly, that you’d wanted her to talk to me because you were worried. You knew the trip to Dallas was eating at me, perhaps more than I knew it myself. So thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “And it would be small of me to qualify that gratitude by pointing out that by sending her along without mentioning it to me, you’d gone over my head and behind my back.”

  Now she looked up, just a shift of the eyes. “Good thing you’re too big a man to do that.”

  “Isn’t it?” He bent lower, gave her one hard kiss, then left her alone.

  “Managed to get the last word on that one,” she commented, then scooped her hair back and shifted focus to the spa and transpo data. She might still win this little battle by snapping Julianna up before she got her chance at Roarke.

  An hour later, she was back to being annoyed and frustrated. She’d managed to intimidate and browbeat reservation lists out of two of the resort spas on her list. The others were sticking firm to the protection-of-guests’ privacy line. And so were the private transportation companies.

  Pushing through an international warrant to free up the data was problematic and time-consuming. The case was a hot enough button that the judge she’d tapped for it was sympathetic rather than annoyed. But it was taking time.

  Another advantage for Julianna, Eve thought. She didn’t have to jump through the hoops of the law.

  She paced, checked her wrist unit, and willed the warrant to spill out of her data slot.

  “Problem, Lieutenant?”

  She glanced back to where he leaned against the doorjamb separating their offices. He looked very alert, and very pleased with himself.

  “I guess somebody’s time was well spent.”

  “It was. The meeting went very well. And yours?”

  “Bureaucratic snags.” She glared at her computer. “Waiting for paperwork.”

  “Of what sort?”

  “Of the legal sort. Privacy codes. Nobody blabs to a badge anymore, especially a foreign badge. And those fancy spa places are damned tight-lipped about who’s coming in to have their hips sheered or their chins lifted.”

  “Ah, well, if that’s all.”

  “No. I thought about it—thought about it a little too easy and a little too fast. This is just a hunch, and I’m not having you slide under the law to access data on a hunch.”

  “When you spend this much time and energy on an angle, it’s more than a hunch.”

  “I know this is something she’ll do. Maybe not now, but soon. She needs that kind of thing and New York’s too risky. She needs to pump herself up, reward herself, before she hits at you. She didn’t take the time in Denver, and she could have. She wants something more prestigious, more exclusive. With more . . . what do you call it? Cache. So it’s France or Italy or something Old World. She doesn’t do off planet. It’s too nouveau for her.”

  “Will you get your warrant?”

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s coming. Eventually. Protocol, politics, bullshit.”

  “Then what difference does it make, in the grand scheme, if you begin to accumulate data now, or when a document’s in your hand?”

  “It’s the law.”

  And in less than three days, Eve thought, it was highly probable that the woman she hunted would try to kill Roarke. Not because she knew him. Not because she hated him. But because she dismissed the law and all it stood for.

  Because she wanted payback.

  “It’s hard for you, being so conflicted over something you want to be black and white. But even the law has shades, Lieutenant, and we both know them all very well.”

  She gave up, and stepped into the gray. “She’d use her own initials. She doesn’t like to give up her identity. The list, in order of probability percentage is already loaded on my machine.”

  “All right then. Let’s find her.” He sat down at her desk, rolled up the sleeves of his pristine white shirt. “It’s really just a head start on a technicality.”

  She told herself to think about that later.

  “I’m looking for reservations starting from yesterday through the next four weeks. I could be pushing her into relaxation mode too fast. Maybe she’s going for it after she’s won the war.”

  “We’ll scan for the next month then. L’Indulgence first? Over-priced with a coolly efficient staff. Its ratings have stagnated over the last two years. It’s falling out of fashion.”

  “Which is why you don’t own it.”

  “Darling, if I did, I’d make certain it remained in fashion. This’ll just take a minute or two. Wouldn’t you like coffee?”

  “Yeah,
I guess.”

  “Good. So would I.”

  She could recognize a cue when she heard one, so trooped off to the kitchen AutoChef to order up a full pot. When she came back with it and two large mugs, he was already scanning a list of names.

  “I see a couple on here with the right initials, but they’re reserved with companions.”

  “She’d travel alone. She has no known associates, doesn’t make friends. She makes tools.”

  “All right, we’ll move on to the next.”

  They found two possibles in the next location, allowing Eve to run standard background checks for elimination. She leaned over Roarke’s shoulder, reading data on-screen even as the computer voiced it.

  “No, these are clear. All their documents check out. Just a couple of rich marks paying too much money to get rubbed and scrubbed. Next?”

  He hacked into the guest records at two more facilities before the ’link signaled incoming documents. She snatched out the hard copy of the warrant, rolled her shoulders. “Now we do it my way.”

  “My way’s much more fun.”

  “Out of my chair, pal. And this time you get the coffee.”

  Her way offered a different kind of fun by allowing her to irritate reservation managers in several countries. They stalled, complained, cited the insult of invading guests’ privacy. And really perked up her mood.

  “I don’t care if you’ve got people coming there who get off on turkey baster enemas. Transmit the list, as ordered in the duly authorized warrant or the next sound you hear will be your own ass plopping into the sling of international incident.”

  “Turkey baster enemas?” Roarke said a few moments later as the transmission hummed through.

  “I don’t know what they do in those places, but if somebody hadn’t thought of that one, they would eventually. She’s not here. She’s just not here. Goddamn it.” She pushed away from the desk to pace. “I’m wasting time when I should be nitpicking the setup at the ballroom.”

  “You’ve several more locations on your list.”

  “They’re all low probability. Maybe I’m just projecting what I’d like her to do, to make it easy for myself.”

  “You wouldn’t know how to make it easy for yourself if you took classes on it. My name also comes in low probability, but you’ve dismissed the computer’s brain on that, haven’t you? You know her, Eve. Don’t second-guess yourself now.”

  “I’m playing a hunch instead of dealing with established data.”

  “Then play it out. Which one appeals to you?”

  She went back to the desk, scanned the remaining locations on her list. “This is the one I liked from the get-go, but the computer tossed it. Doesn’t fit her usual pattern.”

  “That’s nice. Why do you like it?”

  “Because it’s the most expensive, has the most history—some count guy owned the estate way back when.” She looked at him. “Yours?”

  “Fifty-one percent of it. Would you like to have the rest?”

  “That just lowers the probability. She doesn’t want to get that close to you yet. Then again . . .” Eve considered. “She might get a real charge out of it. Pop in, get buffed up, pop out, all the while imagining that in a little while she’ll be eliminating the guy who owns the majority share. Yeah, let’s run this one.”

  She slammed into the same reluctance, Italian-style, with the assistant reservations clerk. “Are you having trouble reading the warrant?” Eve demanded. “It comes in a variety of languages, and one of them must be yours.”

  The clerk was young, gorgeous and more than a little frazzled. “No, signorina.”

  “Lieutenant. Lieutenant Dallas, New York City Police and Security. I am investigating multiple homicides. You may, at this moment, be harboring a murderer in your facility. How do you figure your other guests are going to feel about that?”

  “Villa de Lago has very strict policies regarding guest privacy.”

  “You know what, I have very strict policies, too.” She shot a hand out, caught Roarke in the belly as he stepped forward. She wasn’t having him smooth the way. “And so does international law. Would you like me to list what the penalties are for interfering with an international warrant?”

  “No, Signorina Lieutenant. I do not feel I am authorized to proceed. I would prefer you speak with the reservations manager.”

  “Fine. Dandy. Make it snappy.”

  “It would’ve been snappier,” Roarke pointed out, “if you’d let me speak to her.”

  “My way, Coffee Boy.”

  Obliging, he poured the last of the second pot into her cup.

  “Lieutenant Dallas.” Another woman came on-screen. She was older, and equally gorgeous. “I am Sophia Vincenti, the reservations manager. I apologize for keeping you waiting. I have your warrant here. Please understand my assistant was only following our policy in protecting our guests from any privacy violation.”

  “I’d think it would be just as important to protect your guests from the possibility of dipping into the hot tub with a murderer.”

  “Yes. We will, of course, fulfill the demands of the warrant. You have our full cooperation. Perhaps in the interest of sparing innocent guests you could tell me the name of the party you’re seeking.”

  “I can’t be sure what name she’d be using. It’s likely whatever it is, the initials are J and D.”

  “Just one moment. . .Lieutenant, we have three guests with reservations in the stated time period with those initials. Justina D’Angelo is expected next week. I know Senora D’Angelo personally. She has been a guest here many times.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Lieutenant, this is a delicate area.”

  “Come on.”

  “She admits to fifty, and has so admitted for ten years.”

  “She’s clear. Number two.”

  “Jann Drew, expected at the end of this month. She is a new guest. Let me pull up her file for you.”

  “This is more like it,” Eve stated and sat back sipping coffee.

  “Lieutenant, Ms. Drew lists her address in Copenhagen. She is booked for ten days, and will be joined by a companion for the last three.”

  “I’m going to have my assistant run her while you give me the data on the third.”

  “This is a Josephine Dorchester, and is also a new guest. She arrived only last night and is booked through tomorrow.”

  The back of Eve’s neck prickled, and she leaned forward. “Where did she come in from?”

  “She lists her U.S. address as Texas. She has our premiere accommodations. I was on duty last night when Ms. Dorchester arrived. She is very charming.”

  “Thirtyish, athletic build, about five foot, four inches.”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Hold on.” Eve snapped the ’link to wait mode. “Josephine Dorchester,” she called to Roarke. “Texas. Run her fast, get me her passport ID. It’s her. I know it’s her.”

  “On your wall screen,” Roarke responded as he came back in from his office. “You’ve locked her, Lieutenant.”

  Eve watched as Julianna’s image, still blonde, still blue-eyed, flashed on-screen.

  “Hello, Julianna.” Eve switched the ’link back. “Okay, Signorina Vincenti, listen carefully.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Eve’s teeth were bared as she snarled threats at the Italian police. “I don’t care what time it is, I don’t care how long it takes you to get there, I don’t give a damn if you’re short-staffed.”

  “Lieutenant, I cannot make a move without a proper warrant, and even then, it will take some time. Such matters are very delicate. The woman you seek is a U.S. citizen. We cannot arrest and hold a citizen of the United States simply on the request of an American police officer via a ’link transmission.”

  “You’ll have your paperwork within the hour. You could be there within the hour and pick her up as soon as it’s in your hand.”

  “This is not proper procedure. This is not America.”

  “Yo
u’re telling me. Stand by. I’ll get back to you.” She broke transmission, surged to her feet. “How fast can we get there?”

  “Knowing the meanderings of red tape, faster than your Italian counterpart will.”

  “Then let’s move. I’ll get clearance on the way.”

  Chapter 20

  She was a pleasure to watch, Roarke thought, while he relaxed with a brandy as they raced through the sky above the Atlantic. Raw energy in motion, he decided.

  She used a headset, keeping her hands free for a coffee cup or a notebook or a second ’link if she had two transmissions going at once. She paced, up and down, up and down the short, narrow aisle in the cabin of his fastest transport, snapping out orders, chewing out data, vocally flogging anyone who tossed up an obstacle to her goal.

  She spoke to Feeney, to her commander, to someone in the United States consulate—whose ears would probably leak blood for the rest of his natural life—to the Italian police captain who continued to hold up his hands, still empty of the proper paperwork. She contacted a lawyer who specialized in international law, waking him without regret or mercy and shoving him into the fray.

  “Data port’s down?” She raged at the Italian cop on the next transmission. “What the hell do you mean your data ports are down?”

  “Such things happen, Lieutenant. We should have them back in an hour or two.”

  “You’ll waste an hour or two. You can get oral or e-authorization now.”

  “I must have the proper documentation, in hard copy, with the authorization stamp and seal. This is the law.”

  “Let me tell you my law, amigo. You screw up this apprehension and I’m frying your balls for breakfast.” She cut him off, kicked the base of the nearest seat.

  “We’re halfway there,” Roarke told her. “You’ve done all you can do and terrified a number of minor bureaucrats. You should sit down and get some sleep.”

  “I don’t want to sleep.”

  “Sit down anyway.” He managed to snag her hand, tug her into the seat beside him. “Shut down, Lieutenant. Even you can’t alter the laws of physics and get us there any faster.” He draped an arm around her, drew her head firmly down to his shoulder.