The In Death Collection, Books 11-15

by J. D. Robb

  “I need to update the commander.”

  “When we land. Just rest and imagine Julianna’s face when you walk into her suite. And think of all the Italian ass you get to kick.”

  “Yeah.” She yawned. “There’s that.” On that pleasant thought, she slid into a shallow sleep.

  “Jet-copter?” Eve stood staring at the small, sleek, four-person transpo with blurry vision. “You didn’t say anything about having to do the last leg in a jet-copter.”

  “And you slept easier for it.” Roarke boosted himself in behind the controls. “Eight minutes from port to port. A great deal less time than ground transpo on Italian roads, in Italian traffic, through the hillsides, around the lake—”

  “All right, all right.” She sucked in a breath. “Everybody has to die of something.”

  “I’ll try not to take that as an insult to my piloting skills. Strap in, Lieutenant.”

  “Believe me.” She snapped on her safety harness, checked its tension twice. “I hate going up in these things.”

  “I can’t think why.” The instant he got clearance, Roarke shot the copter up in a vertical, slicing up two hundred feet in the time it took Eve’s stomach to execute the first of a serious of stylish somersaults.

  “Cut it out!”

  “Sorry, did you say something?” On a rollicking laugh, he punched the jets and arrowed into the pink-streaked sky.

  “Why do you think that’s funny?” She gripped the sides of her seat with fingers that dug in like steel claws. “You sadistic son of a bitch.”

  “It’s a guy thing. We really can’t help ourselves. Christ, look at that sky.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Images of some horrendous natural disaster layered over a visceral fear of heights.

  “Not a bloody thing. It’s quite gorgeous, don’t you think? It isn’t every day you watch the dawn break over the Italian Alps. Next time we have a little time we should spend a few days out here.”

  “Fine, great. Terrific. As long as it’s on the ground. I will not look down, I will not look down, I will not look down.”

  And of course she did, felt her head spin in the opposite direction of her belly. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Are we there yet?”

  “Nearly. You can see the lake, and the first sunlight just sliding over the water.”

  That only made her think of the horrors of an emergency water landing. “That’s the place?”

  “That’s it.”

  She saw the pink and white stone of the old estate, the spread of grass and gardens, the blue gems that were pools and fountains. Instead of seeing beauty, she saw the finish line.

  “At least that putz Captain Giamanno’s on his way. I’m looking forward to biting out his throat once the formalities are over.”

  “This is not America,” Roarke said in a dead-on mimic.

  Eve grinned at him. “You’re all right, Roarke.”

  “Remember you said that.” And he sent the copter into a steep drop, chuckled over his wife’s thin scream as he touched down onto the helipad. “That got the blood moving.”

  “I so completely hate you right now.”

  “I know, but you’ll get over it.” He shut down the engines. “Smell that air. Lovely. You can still smell the night-blooming jasmine on it.”

  She managed to jump out, with some semblance of dignity, then gave up, bent from the waist, and waited to get her breath back.

  “Lieutenant Dallas?” Eve stayed down as the footsteps approached, then stared at the sharp black shoes as she felt her system settle.

  “Yeah? You Signorina Vincenti?”

  “Yes, I am. Are you all right, Lieutenant?”

  “Yeah.” She straightened. “Just getting my wind back. Captain Giamanno?”

  “Has not yet arrived. Your instructions were followed. Immediately after we ended our conversation, I contacted security. A man was sent up to guard Signorina Dunne’s door. He remains there, as you directed. No one has come out or gone in.”

  “Good. I’m not going to wait for the local badge. I’ll take her as quickly and quietly as I can.”

  “That would be appreciated. Our guests, well . . .” She spread her hands. “We wouldn’t wish to upset anyone. Signore.” She offered a hand to Roarke. “I welcome you back to the villa, despite the circumstances. I hope you and the lieutenant will let me know of any way I can assist you.”

  “You did very well, signorina. I won’t forget it.”

  “Okay,” said Eve. “Tell your security I’m coming in. I want men on that floor, keeping other guests out of the way. No other staff is to go up to that level until I’ve apprehended the suspect and removed her to a secured location from which Giamanno and I can finalize the paperwork and extradition.”

  “I have cleared an office on the main level for that purpose. Will I escort you to the suite?”

  Eve didn’t know if it was guts or courtesy, but she had to give the woman credit. She made the offer as if Eve were a visiting celeb come for a weekend vacation. “No, the elevator’s far enough. I’ll need a code card for the door.”

  “I have them.” She gestured, explaining as they walked toward the gracious lakeside entrance, “When a guest has retired to his or her room, it is recommended that they activate the night lock and alarm, for their own security. These can only be opened from the inside, or by a second code card in case the staff must enter. An emergency of some nature.”

  She drew two thin cards from the pocket of her smart jacket. “The white, with the villa’s logo, works the standard locks. The red is for the night system.”

  “Got it.” They walked under a kind of portico, smothered with vines that scented the air with vanilla. Double glass doors etched with a portrait of the villa whisked open at their approach.

  They moved through a cool sitting area, stylishly plush with color, where the sunlight dribbled in like spilled gold through arched windows. It caught and glinted on the teardrop-shaped crystals on the many tiers of a chandelier. Outside on a stone terrace, a couple in white robes strolled by, arm in arm.

  “Some digs you got here,” Eve complimented Signorina Vincenti.

  “We are very proud. Perhaps one day when you are not on official business, you will come visit us. Life has so much stress, does it not, that one needs the small islands of tranquility. Ah, this is Signore Bartelli, our head of security.”

  “Lieutenant.” He bent slightly from the waist. “Sir,” he said with another slight bow to Roarke. “I will accompany you?”

  She measured him. He was big, fit, and looked tough. “Sure, that’d be good.”

  “My man is on post,” he began as they moved into a wide area and into the two-level lobby with its rose marble floors and columns. A wide staircase curved up, split, then wound gracefully in opposite directions. “I have also had the corridor on that floor monitored since we received your transmission.”

  “Anyway she can get out without using the hallway?”

  “Only if she leaps from the terrace. It is four floors up, and not recommended.”

  “Put a man outside, on the ground. Just in case.”

  “As you wish.” He took out a small communicator, relayed the order as they stepped into an elevator.

  “I want all civilians kept in their rooms up there. She’ll resist if she can, run if she can, take a hostage if she can.”

  “The safety of our guests is paramount. We will see to their protection.”

  When the elevator doors opened, Eve laid a hand on the butt of her weapon. She saw the guard outside a set of wide double doors. He sat, blocking them, sipping coffee.

  One sharp command in Italian from his superior had him springing to his feet, rattling back a response.

  “She has made no attempt to leave the room by this door,” Bartelli told Eve. “No one has tried to enter. Two guests, one from the next room, one from the end of this hallway, left their rooms. There are morning activities,” he explained. “And the health club and pools are open twenty-four h
ours for the convenience of our guests.”

  “Handy. All right, move aside and stand by.”

  She shoved the chair out of the way, slid in the first code. “Which way is the bedroom?”

  “It is to the left, through an archway. Perhaps twelve feet from this door.”

  “And to the right?”

  “A smaller sitting room.”

  She slid in the second code. “Go right,” she said to Roarke.

  She nudged the door open, soundlessly, and with her weapon out did a first, fast sweep. The living area of the suite was deep in shadow with the privacy drapes snug over the windows. There wasn’t a sound.

  “On the door,” she murmured to Bartelli and slipped inside.

  Her boots sank into the soft pile of an ancient carpet, clicked quietly over polished tile. She moved fast and silent through the archway and into the darkened bedroom. She smelled flowers, female. And heard nothing.

  “Lights,” she ordered. “On full.”

  Her weapon was trained toward the bed when they flashed on, and she found what her instincts had already told her. It was empty. There was a sheer black evening dress draped over a chair, a pair of carelessly discarded black heels beside it. And on the dresser was a silver-backed brush, a frosted bottle of scent. On the mirror above it, elegantly written in murderous red lip dye were two words.

  CIAO, EVE

  “She didn’t just rabbit because she felt like a brisk pre-dawn run. She knew I was coming.” Eve stared at the reservations manager with enough heat to melt stone. “Someone told her she’d been made.”

  “Lieutenant Dallas, I assure you, I spoke to no one but you, and those you authorized me to speak to.” She glanced at the message on the mirror over Eve’s shoulder. “I have no explanation for this.”

  “Obviously the woman had anticipated your movements.”

  Captain Giamanno, who’d arrived at last with a trio of men, spread his hands. “There was a guard at the door after you requested one. There are security cameras in the hallway. She did not simply poof past these like a ghost.”

  “No, she didn’t poof past them like a ghost. She walked.” Eve turned back to the bedroom computer, gestured as she ordered it to run the section of the disc she’d already viewed. “Right there.”

  The screen showed the guard, sitting sleepily in his chair outside the suite’s doors. The time stamp read oh-four-fifty-six hours. A door opened from the next room and a woman wearing one of the hotel’s white robes, a wide straw hat with trailing scarf, and carrying a large straw purse came out. Her face was shielded by the brim as she mumbled a quiet buon giorno to the guard and strolled toward the elevator.

  “This is not her room,” Giamanno pointed out. “There is no access to that suite from this one, Lieutenant, and as you can see, no adjoining doors.”

  She stared at him for a full ten seconds. Could he be that dim? she wondered, and riding on fury, stormed into the parlor and flung open the terrace doors.

  As the others trailed after her, Eve rose up on her toes, bent to flex her knees once, twice, then sprinted across the terrace, sprang off the stone banister, and leaped to the neighboring terrace.

  Her ankles sang on impact, but she ignored the pain, stepped to the doors. “I wonder if it’ll come as a big surprise to you, Giamanno, that these doors are unlocked.”

  She opened them, peered inside, stepped back. Closed them again. “And that there are two people in bed inside here, still sawing wood.”

  “Sawing—”

  “Sleeping, you—”

  “Lieutenant.” Roarke interrupted what would no doubt have been a tirade harsh enough to destroy all friendly relationships between Italy and the United States for the next decade. “I believe what Lieutenant Dallas has deduced is that, forewarned in some manner, the suspect fled the premises by the manner just demonstrated, and left the building, in all probability the country, before our arrival.”

  “You know what’s saving your tiny, wrinkled balls, Giamanno?” Eve leaned on the banister. “She’d rabbitted before you could have gotten here to hold her, even if you’d moved your fat ass when requested to do so by a fellow officer. Now we find out how and why. Your office,” she said, pointing at Signorina Vincenti. “Now.”

  And strode into the suite, past the sleeping couple, and out the door.

  She refused the offer of coffee, which indicated to Roarke her temper was well beyond flash point. His reservations manager was showing some of her own. The two women butted wills while the Italian cop huffed and puffed and the security head continued to review the discs.

  “She goes to the pool.” His face was grim as he followed Julianna’s movements from suite to elevator, from elevator to the Garden Room off the main lobby, and from there outside toward the swimming pool.

  The outside cameras kept her in view as she increased her pace to a light jog, turned away from the pool onto a garden path. And disappeared out of range.

  “My apologies, Lieutenant Dallas. I should have anticipated.”

  “Well, someone anticipated or she wouldn’t have bolted, leaving most of her things behind.”

  “I spoke with you,” Vincenti said again. “With Capitano Giamanno, with Signore Bartelli. And no one else.”

  As she folded her arms, as prepared for battle as Eve, the door opened. A young woman slipped in with a tray of coffee and small breakfast cakes.

  “Hold it.” Eve gripped her arm and had the tray rattling. “You took my initial transmission.”

  “This is my assistant, Elena, who referred you to me.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” And one look at her face told Eve most of the story. “Do you know the penalty for obstructing justice, Elena?”

  “Mi scusi? I don’t understand.”

  “You speak English just fine. Sit.”

  “Lieutenant, I won’t have you browbeating my staff. Elena would hardly have aided a criminal. She is. . .” Vincenti trailed off. She, too, saw the story on her assistant’s face.

  “Maledizione!” From that one oath, she launched into a furious stream of Italian as Elena sank into a chair and began to cry.

  The security head joined in, then the Italian cop, until Eve’s ears were ringing. Hands were flying, tears were falling. She opened her mouth to shout them down, considered blasting a couple streams at the ceiling, when Roarke shut everyone down.

  “Basta!” His voice rang with command, and had Eve gaping at him as he, too, launched into Italian.

  “I beg your pardon.” With obvious effort, Vincenti composed herself. “Please excuse my outburst, Lieutenant Dallas. Elena, you will tell the lieutenant, in English, what you have done.”

  “She said, the signora said she needed my help.” Tears plopped on her clenched hands. “Her husband, he beat her. He is a terrible, terrible man of great power in the United States. She told me this, in confidence. Signorina Vincenti—”

  “Uh!”

  Her head dipped lower. “She came here to escape, to find some peace, but she knew he would try to find her and bring her back. He would send, she told me, a police woman from New York City. The police in this place are corrupt and would do whatever he said.”

  “Is that so?” Eve said, very quietly. Quietly enough Roarke laid a restraining hand on her shoulder.

  “She says this, signora.” Elena pleaded. “I believe her. I feel great pity for her. She is so kind to me. She says I am like the little sister she loved who died when only a child. And she looks so sad and brave.”

  Oh yeah, Eve thought in disgust, she had your number from the first look.

  “She asks only that if this police woman Dallas—if you—contact the villa to inquire, I tell her of this.” Elena blinked out more tears. “I give her time to get away before you come to take her back to this very bad man. She does not ask me to lie, only to give her this small chance. So when you speak to Signorina Vincenti, I ring madam’s suite and tell her she must run away very fast. I don’t believe she is what you tell me until t
oo late. I believe her. Will I be arrested?” Fresh tears spurted. “Will I go to prison?”

  “Jesus Christ.” Eve had to turn away. The kid was pitiful, and just the sort of gullible mark Julianna used most skillfully. “Get her out, send her home. I’m done with her.”

  “She can be charged with—”

  “What’s the point?” Eve interrupted Giamanno, scoured him with a brittle stare. “She’s a dupe. Slapping her behind bars doesn’t fix any of this.”

  “Her employment will be terminated.” Vincenti poured coffee when Elena ran tearfully from the room.

  “That’s not my area,” Eve responded.

  “I believe she’s learned a valuable lesson. I would prefer you kept her on, Signorina. In a probationary capacity.” Roarke accepted the first cup of coffee. “Employees who learn hard and valuable lessons early often become exceptional at their work.”

  “As you wish, sir. Lieutenant Dallas, I cannot hope to apologize sufficiently for the . . .”—she seemed to gather all her disgust into one word—“. . . stupidity of my assistant and what that has cost you. She is young and naive, but this does not excuse her, nor does it excuse me. I take full responsibility for the failure to do all that was necessary to help you in this matter. Elena was under my charge, therefore . . .”

  Composed again, she turned to Roarke. “I will tender my resignation immediately. If you wish it, I will stay on to train a replacement.”

  “Your resignation is neither desired nor warranted, Signorina Vincenti, and will not be accepted. I trust you to handle any disciplinary action regarding your assistant.”

  “Former assistant,” Vincenti said coolly. “She will now be re-assigned to a lesser position where she will have no contact with guests.”

  “Ah, well. As I said, I leave it in your thoroughly capable hands.” He took those hands in his, spoke to her quietly in Italian, and made her smile again.

  “You’re very kind. Lieutenant, if there is anything that can be done, you have only to ask.”