The In Death Collection, Books 1-5
Page 58
“Do I come charging into one of your board rooms when you’re having trouble with a business deal?”
His eyes flicked to hers. Some of the fierceness died out of them into what was almost a smile. “No, Eve, you don’t. I don’t know what got into me.”
“It’s okay.” Since there was nowhere else to put it, she jabbed her weapon onto her lower back where she’d fixed it with adhesive. “This once,” she murmured and caught his face in her hands, “it’s okay. It’s okay. I was scared when I couldn’t get past you for a shot. I thought he would kill you before I could stop him.”
“Then you should understand the feeling.” Giving her a supporting arm around the waist, they began to limp off. After a moment, Eve realized she was limping primarily because she’d lost a shoe. Hardly breaking stride, she stepped out of the other. Then she spotted lights up ahead.
“Cops?”
“I imagine. I ran into Nadine as she was stumbling along the path toward the main gate. He’d given her a pretty rough time, but she’d pulled it together enough to tell me which direction you’d gone off in.”
“I could probably have dealt with the bastard on my own,” Eve murmured, recovered enough to worry about it. “But you sure handled yourself, Roarke. You got a real knack for hand to hand.”
Neither of them mentioned how the knife had come to be planted in Morse’s throat.
She saw Feeney in the circle of light, near the camera, with a dozen other cops. He merely shook his head and signaled for the medteam. Nadine was already on a stretcher, pale as wax.
“Dallas.” She lifted a hand, let it fall. “I blew it.”
Eve leaned over as one of the medics dispensed with Roarke’s first aid on her arm and began his own. “He pumped you full of chemicals.”
“I blew it,” Nadine repeated, as the stretcher lifted toward a medunit. “Thanks for the rest of my life.”
“Yeah.” She turned away, sat heavily on the cushioned support in the triage area. “You got something for my eye?” she asked. “It’s throbbing bad.”
“Going to be black,” she was told cheerfully as an ice gel was laid over it.
“There’s good news. No hospitals,” she said, firm. The medic just clucked his tongue and began work on cleaning and closing her wounds.
“Sorry about the dress.” She smiled up at Roarke and fingered a tattered sleeve. “It didn’t hold up very well.” Getting to her feet, she brushed the fussing medic aside. “I’m going to need to go back and change, then go in to file my report.” She looked steadily into his eyes. “It’s too bad Morse rolled on his knife. The PA’s office would have loved to bring him to trial.” She held out a hand, then examined the raw knuckles of Roarke’s and shook her head. “Did you howl?”
“I beg your pardon?”
She chuckled, leaned on him as they headed out of the park. “All in all, it was a hell of a party.”
“Hmm. We’ll have others. But there’s one thing.”
“Hmm?” She flexed her fingers, relieved that they seemed to be back in full working order. The MTs knew their stuff.
“I want you to marry me.”
“Uh-huh. Well, we’ll—” She stopped, nearly stumbled, then gaped at him with her good eye. “You want what?”
“I want you to marry me.”
He had a bruise on his jaw, blood on his coat, and a gleam in his eye. She wondered if he’d lost his mind. “We’re standing here, beat to shit, walking away from a crime scene where either or both of us could have bought it, and you’re asking me to marry you?”
He tucked his arm around her waist again, nudged her forward. “Perfect timing.”
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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IMMORTAL IN DEATH
She was one of the most sought after women in the world. A top model who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted—even another woman’s man. And now she was dead, the victim of a brutal murder. Lieutenant Eve Dallas put her life on the line to take the case when suspicion fell on her best friend, the other woman in the fatal love triangle. Beneath the façade of glamour, Eve found that the world of high fashion thrived on an all-consuming obsession for youth and fame. One that led from the runway to the dark underworld of New York City where drugs could be found to fulfill any desire—for a price . . .
“This series gets better with each book.”
—Publishers Weekly
Titles written as J. D. Robb
NAKED IN DEATH
GLORY IN DEATH
IMMORTAL IN DEATH
RAPTURE IN DEATH
CEREMONY IN DEATH
VENGEANCE IN DEATH
HOLIDAY IN DEATH
CONSPIRACY IN DEATH
LOYALTY IN DEATH
WITNESS IN DEATH
JUDGMENT IN DEATH
BETRAYAL IN DEATH
SEDUCTION IN DEATH
REUNION IN DEATH
PURITY IN DEATH
PORTRAIT IN DEATH
IMITATION IN DEATH
DIVIDED IN DEATH
VISIONS IN DEATH
SURVIVOR IN DEATH
ORIGIN IN DEATH
MEMORY IN DEATH
BORN IN DEATH
INNOCENT IN DEATH
Nora Roberts
HOT ICE
SACRED SINS
BRAZEN VIRTUE
SWEET REVENGE
PUBLIC SECRETS
GENUINE LIES
CARNAL INNOCENCE
DIVINE EVIL
HONEST ILLUSIONS
PRIVATE SCANDALS
HIDDEN RICHES
TRUE BETRAYALS
MONTANA SKY
SANCTUARY
HOMEPORT
THE REEF
RIVER’S END
CAROLINA MOON
THE VILLA
MIDNIGHT BAYOU
THREE FATES
BIRTHRIGHT
NORTHERN LIGHTS
BLUE SMOKE
ANGELS FALL
HIGH NOON
Series
Born In Trilogy
BORN IN FIRE
BORN IN ICE
BORN IN SHAME
Dream Trilogy
DARING TO DREAM
HOLDING THE DREAM
FINDING THE DREAM
Chesapeake Bay Saga
SEA SWEPT
RISING TIDES
INNER HARBOR
CHESAPEAKE BLUE
Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy
JEWELS OF THE SUN
TEARS OF THE MOON
HEART OF THE SEA
Three Sisters Island Trilogy
DANCE UPON THE AIR
HEAVEN AND EARTH
FACE THE FIRE
Key Trilogy
KEY OF LIGHT
KEY OF KNOWLEDGE
KEY OF VALOR
In the Garden Trilogy
BLUE DAHLIA
BLACK ROSE
RED LILY
Circle Trilogy
MORRIGAN’S CROSS
DANCE OF THE GODS
VALLEY OF SILENCE
Sign of Seven Trilogy
BLOOD BROTHERS
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IMMORTAL IN DEATH
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Berkley edition / July 1996
Copyright © 1996 by Nora Roberts.
Excerpt for Rapture in Death by J. D. Robb copyright © 1996 by Nora Roberts.
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The fatal gift of beauty
—Byron
Make me immortal with a kiss.
—Christopher Marlowe
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
chapter thirteen
chapter fourteen
chapter fifteen
chapter sixteen
chapter seventeen
chapter eighteen
chapter nineteen
chapter twenty
chapter one
Getting married was murder. Eve wasn’t sure how it had happened in the first place. She was a cop, for God’s sake. Throughout her ten years on the force, she’d firmly believed cops should stay single, unencumbered, and focused utterly on the job. It was insane to believe one person could split time, energy, and emotion between law, with all its rights and wrongs, and family, with all its demands and personalities.
Both careers—and from what she’d observed, marriage was a job—had impossible demands and hellish hours. It might have been 2058, an enlightened time of technological advancement, but marriage was still marriage. To Eve it translated to terror.
Yet here she was on a fine day in high summer—one of her rare and precious days off—preparing to go shopping. She couldn’t stop the shudder.
Not just shopping, she reminded herself as her stomach clutched, shopping for a wedding dress.
Obviously she’d lost her mind.
It was Roarke’s doing, of course. He’d caught her at a weak moment. Both of them bleeding and bruised and lucky to be alive. When a man is clever enough and knows his quarry well enough to choose such a time and place to propose marriage, well, a woman was a goner.
At least a woman like Eve Dallas.
“You look like you’re about to take on a gang of chemi-thugs bare-handed.”
Eve tugged on a shoe, flicked her gaze up and over. He was entirely too attractive, she thought. Criminally so. The strong face, poet’s mouth, killer blue eyes. The wizard’s mane of thick black hair. If you managed to get past the face to the body, it was equally impressive. Then you added that faint wisp of Ireland in the voice, and, well, you had one hell of a package.
“What I’m about to take on is worse than any chemi-head.” Hearing the whine in her own voice, Eve scowled. She never whined. But the truth was, she’d have preferred fighting hand to hand with a souped-up addict than discussing hemlines.
Hemlines, for sweet Christ’s sake.
She bit back an oath, watching him narrowly as he crossed the spacious bedroom. He had a way of making her feel foolish at odd times. Like now as he sat beside her on the high, wide bed they shared.
He caught her chin in his hand. “I’m hopelessly in love with you.”
There he was. This man with the sinfully blue eyes, the strong, gorgeous, somehow Raphaelite looks of a doomed angel, loved her.
“Roarke.” She struggled to hold back a sigh. She could and had faced an armed laser in the hands of a mad mutant mercenary with less fear than she faced such unswerving emotion. “I’m going through with it. I said I would.”
His brow quirked, dark and wry. He wondered how she remained so unaware of her own appeal as she sat there, fretting, her poorly cut fawn-colored hair standing up in tufts and spikes, aroused by her restless hands, thin lines of annoyance and doubt running between her big, whiskey-colored eyes.
“Darling Eve.” He kissed her, lightly, once on the frowning lips, then again in the gentle dip in her chin. “I never doubted it.” Though he had, constantly. “I’ve several things I have to see to today. You were late last night. I never had a chance to ask if you had plans.”
“The stakeout on the Bines case went to after oh three hundred.”
“Did you get him?”
“Walked right into my arms—blissed on dreamers and a marathon VR session.” She smiled, but it was the hunter’s smile, dark and feral. “Murdering little bastard came along like my personal droid.”
“Well, then.” He patted her shoulder before rising. He stepped down from the platform into the dressing area where he pondered a selection of jackets. “And today? Reports to file?”
“I’m off today.”
“Oh?” Distracted, he turned back, a gorgeous silk jacket in deep charcoal in his hand. “I can reschedule some of my afternoon, if you like.”
Which would be, Eve mused, a bit like a general rescheduling battles. In Roarke’s world, business was a complicated and profitable war. “I’m already booked.” The scowl snuck back on her before she could stop it. “Shopping,” she muttered. “Wedding dress.”
Now he smiled, quickly, easily. From her, such plans were a declaration of love. “No wonder you’re so cranky. I told you I’d see to it.”
“I’ll pick out my own wedding dress. And I’ll buy it myself. I’m not marrying you for your damn money.”
Smooth and elegant as the jacket he slipped on, he continued to smile. “Why are you marrying me, Lieutenant?” Her scowl deepened, but he was, above all, a patient man. “Want a multiple choice?”
“Because you never take no for an answer.” She stood, shoving her hands into the front pockets of her jeans.
“You only get a half point for that. Try again.”
“Because I’ve lost my mind.”
“That won’t win you the trip for two to Tropic World on Star 50.”
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Maybe I love you.”
“Maybe you do.” Content with that, he crossed back to her and laid his hands on her strong shoulders. “How bad can it be? You can pop a few shopping programs into t
he computer, look at dozens of suitable dresses, order in what appeals to you.”
“That was my idea.” She rolled her eyes. “Mavis ditched it.”
“Mavis.” He paled a bit. “Eve, tell me you’re not going shopping with Mavis.”
His reaction brightened her mood a little. “She has this friend. He’s a designer.”
“Dear Christ.”
“She says he’s mag. Just needs a break to make a name for himself. He has a little workshop in Soho.”
“Let’s elope. Now. You look fine.”
Her grin flashed. “Scared?”
“Terrified.”
“Good. Now we’re even.” Delighted to be on level footing, she leaned in and kissed him. “Now you can worry about what I’ll be wearing on the big day for the next few weeks. Gotta go.” She patted his cheek. “I’m meeting her in twenty minutes.”
“Eve.” Roarke grabbed for her hand. “You wouldn’t do something ridiculous?”
She tugged her way free. “I’m getting married, aren’t I? What could be more ridiculous?”
She hoped he stewed over it all day. The idea of marriage was daunting enough, but a wedding—clothes, flowers, music, people. It was horrifying.
She zipped downtown on Lex, braking hard and muttering curses at a sidewalk vendor who encroached on the lane with his smoking glide cart. The traffic violation was bad enough, but the scent of overcooked soydogs hit her nervous stomach like lead.
The Rapid cab behind her broke the intercity noise pollution code by blasting his horn and shouting curses through his speaker. A group, obviously tourists, loaded down with palm cams, compumaps, and binoks gaped stupidly at the whizzing traffic. Eve shook her head as a quick-fingered street thief elbowed through them.