by J. D. Robb
“Fits with the adult female’s career choice,” Eve murmured. “No defensives, no struggle, no missing valuables.”
“No trace,” she added. “Sweepers got zip. You dump your currents?”
“With pleasure.” Baxter stabbed his fork into another bite of steak. “Carmichael now hates me like a case of genital warts. Made my day.”
“The two of you are relieved here. Report back at oh eight hundred. Double duty. You babysit, and start running the names I pulled out of the Swishers’ client lists. Anybody with so much as a parking violation gets a deeper look. We look at them, their family, their friends and associates, their next-door neighbors, and their little pets. We look until we find.”
“The housekeeper?” Baxter asked.
“I’ll do her tonight. We look at them all, kids included. School, activities, neighbors, where they shopped, where they ate, where they worked, where they played. Before we’re done, we’ll know these people better than they knew themselves.”
“A lot of names,” Baxter commented.
“It’s only going to take one.”
Though she now had steak and murder on her mind, Eve ate roasted chicken and tried to keep her conversation away from the investigation. But what the hell were you supposed to talk to a kid about over dinner?
They didn’t use the dining room often—well, she didn’t, she admitted. So much easier to grab something upstairs. But she couldn’t call it a hardship to sit at the big, gleaming table, with a fire simmering in the grate, the scent of food and candles in the air.
“How come you eat so fancy?” Nixie wanted to know.
“Don’t ask me.” Eve jabbed a fork toward Roarke. “It’s his house.”
“Do I have to go to school tomorrow?”
Eve blinked twice, then realized the question was directed at her, and Roarke wasn’t stepping in to field the ball.
“No.”
“When do I go back to school?”
Eve felt the back of her neck begin to ache. “I don’t know.”
“But if I don’t do my work, I’ll get behind. If you get behind, you can’t be in the band or the plays.” Tears started to shimmer.
“Oh. Well.” Shit.
“We can arrange for you to do your school work here, for now.” Roarke spoke matter-of-factly. As if, Eve thought, he’d been born answering thorny questions. “You enjoy school?”
“Mostly. Who’ll help me with my work? Dad always did.”
No, Eve thought. Absolutely not. She wasn’t moving into that area if somebody planted a boomer under her ass.
“The lieutenant and I weren’t the best of students. But Summerset could help you, for the time being.”
“I’ll never get to go home again. Or see my mom and dad, or Coyle or Linnie. I don’t want them to be dead.”
Okay, Eve decided. Maybe she was a kid, but she was still the eyewit. The case was back on the table along with the chicken.
Thank God.
“Tell me what everybody was doing. The whole day before it happened.” When Roarke started to object, Eve only shook her head. “Everything you remember.”
“Dad had to yell at Coyle because he got up late. He’s always getting up late, then everybody has to rush. Mom gets mad if you rush your breakfast because it’s important you eat right.”
“What did you eat?”
“We had fruit and cereal in the kitchen.” Nixie cut a spear of asparagus neatly, and ate without complaint. “Inga fixes it. And juice. Dad had coffee, ’cause he gets to have one cup. And Coyle wanted new airskids, and Mom said no, and he said that sucked, and she gave him the look because you’re not supposed to say ‘suck,’ especially at the table. Then we got our things and went to school.”
“Did anyone use the ’link?”
“No.”
“Did anyone come to the door?”
She ate a bite of chicken in the same tidy way. Chewed and swallowed before she answered. “No.”
“How did you get to school?”
“Dad walked us, because it wasn’t too cold. If it’s too cold, we can take a cab. Then he goes to work. Mom goes downstairs to work. And Inga was going shopping because Linnie was coming after school and Mom wanted more fresh fruit.”
“Did either your mother or father seem upset by anything?”
“Coyle said ‘suck’ and didn’t finish his juice, so Mom was down on him. Can I see them even though they’re dead?” Her lips trembled. “Can I?”
It was a human need, Eve knew. Why should it be different for a child? “I’ll arrange it. It may take a little while. You do okay today with Baxter and Trueheart?”
“Baxter’s funny, and Trueheart’s nice. He knows how to play a lot of games. When you catch the bad guys, can I see them, too?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Nixie looked back down at her plate, nodded slowly. “Okay.”
I feel like I’ve been in the Interview box, getting sweated by a pro. Eve rolled her shoulders when she walked into her office.
“You handled it, and very well. I thought you’d overstepped when you asked her to go over the day before the murders, but you were right. She’ll need to talk about this. All of this.”
“She’ll think about it anyway. She talks, maybe she’ll remember something.” She sat at her desk, brooded a minute. “Now here’s something I never thought would come out of my mouth—and if you ever repeat it, I’ll twist your tongue into a square knot, but thank God Summerset’s around.”
He grinned as he eased a hip onto the corner of her desk. “Sorry, I don’t think I quite heard that.”
Her look, her voice, went dark. “I meant it about the square knot. I’m just saying the kid’s easy with him, and he seems to know what to do with her.”
“Well, he raised one of his own, then took me on besides. He has a soft spot for troubled children.”
“He has no soft spots whatsoever, but he’s good with the kid. So yay.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “I’ll be talking with the Dysons again tomorrow. Depending on how things go, we could be moving her into a safe house with them in a day or two. Tonight, I’m going to focus on the housekeeper, see where that takes me. Need to send a memo to Peabody,” she remembered. “She’s already hit the school, so she can swing by there in the morning, get the kid’s work and whatever. Listen, let me ask you, why would you want, I mean, actually want to do the school thing if you had an escape hatch?”
“On that, I have absolutely no idea. Maybe it’s like your work is to you, mine is to me. Somehow essential.”
“It’s school. It’s like prison.”
“So I always thought, too. Maybe we’re wrong.” He leaned over, traced his finger down the dent in her chin. “Want some help with this?”
“Don’t you have work?”
“A bit of this, a bit of that, but nothing I can’t do while assisting New York’s best cop.”
“Yeah, that was a good one. You know the security at the scene. Maybe you could tag Feeney at home, exchange data. See if you can figure out what kind of equipment these bastards needed to bypass. And where they might’ve come by it.”
“All right.” This time he brushed her cheek. “You’ve put in a long day already.”
“I’ve got another couple hours in me.”
“Save some for me,” he said, and walked into his own office.
Alone, she set up a second murder board, programmed a short pot of coffee, then ordered Inga’s data on-screen.
She studied the ID photo. Attractive, but in a nonthreatening, homey sort of way. She wondered if Swisher had specified nonthreatening, nothing too young and pretty to tempt her husband.
Whatever the requirements, the match seemed to have worked. Inga had put plenty of years in with the Swishers. Enough, Eve noted, to see the kids grow up.
None of her own, Eve saw. One marriage, one divorce, full-time domestic since she was in her twenties. Though Eve couldn’t understand why anyone would volunteer to clean up
for someone else, she supposed it took all kinds.
Her financials were steady, reasonable considering her occupation, and her outlays within the normal range.
Normal, normal, normal, Eve thought. Well, Inga, let’s go deeper.
An hour later she was circling her board.
Nothing, she thought. If there were hidden pockets, they were expertly concealed. Inga’s life had been so utterly normal it was bordering on boring. She worked, she shopped, she took two vacations a year—one with the family she worked for, and the other, at least for the last five years, with a couple of other women to the same relaxation spa in upstate New York.
She’d check with, and on, the other women, but nothing had popped out on them when she’d run their data.
The ex lived in Chicago, had remarried, and had one offspring, male. He was a drone for a restaurant supply company, and had made no on-record trips to New York in over seven years.
The idea that the housekeeper had heard or seen something dire while buying plums or cleaning supplies just seemed ludicrous.
But life was full of the ludicrous that ended in bloody murder.
She acknowledged Roarke when he came in. “Nothing jingles my bell on this one.” She nodded toward the screen. “Still a lot of legwork to do to cover the bases, but I think she’s going down as innocent bystander.”
“Feeney and I are of the same opinion regarding the bypass equipment. It could have been homemade by someone expert in the field, with access to prime materials. If it was purchased, it had to come from military, police, or security sources. Or black market. It’s not something you’d find in your local electronics store.”
“Doesn’t narrow the field much, but it jibes.”
“Let’s shut it down for the night.”
“Nothing much more I can do.” She ordered her machine to save, file, close. “I’m going to start here tomorrow, then leave Baxter and Trueheart on wit duty.”
“I’ll take it to some of my R&D people tomorrow, see if anybody in my brain trust comes up with something more specific on the security system.”
“None of the vics had any military or security training—or as far as I’ve found, any connections thereto.” She pushed it around in her head as they walked toward their bedroom. “I can’t find any link with organized crime, with paramilitary. As far as my data shows, they didn’t gamble, fool around, were not overly political. The closest to an obsession I can get is the woman’s devotion to nutrition.”
“Maybe something had come into their possession, even by accident, that had to be reclaimed.”
“Then if you’re so damn good at B&E, you go in when the house is empty and you take it. You don’t go in, kill everybody. The only thing taken from the house was lives. The Swishers are dead because someone wanted them dead.”
“Agreed. What do you say we have a glass of wine and relax for a bit?”
She nearly refused. She could just think, let it all wind around in her head awhile. Pace and let it play until something jiggled loose, or she was too damn fried to do anything but pass out for a few hours.
Their lives would never be like the Swishers’. She didn’t want them to be, didn’t think she could handle trying to navigate something quite that straightforward. But they did have a life. And lives deserved attention.
“I’d say you’ve got a pretty good idea. I’ve got to let it simmer.” She tapped the back of her head. “Since boiling it up front isn’t doing the job.”
“How about this for a better idea?” He shifted so they faced each other and a dip of his head had his teeth closing lightly over her jaw.
“Getting me naked is your usual idea.”
“But with variation, and that’s the key.”
It made her laugh. “Sooner or later even you have to run out of variations.”
“Now there’s a challenge. Why don’t we take that wine down to the pool, have a little water sport?”
“I’d say your ideas get better and—” She broke off, and sprinted when she heard Nixie scream.
6
SHE DIDN’T KNOW WHICH ROOM, SO COULD ONLY race toward the sounds of a child screaming. At a turn in the corridor, Roarke passed her. She kicked in so together they shot through an open door.
The bedroom was washed by soft light. The bed was a four-poster with a mountain of pillows and a lacy white spread. Someone—Summerset, she imagined—had placed yellow flowers, cheerful and bright, on a table by the window. As she bolted in, Eve nearly tripped over the cat, who was either in retreat or on guard.
In the middle of the sumptuous bed, the little girl sat, her arms lifted and crossed over her face as she shrieked as if someone was waling on her with a hammer.
Roarke reached Nixie first. Later Eve would think it was because he was used to dealing with a female in the grip of nightmares, while she was simply used to having them.
He plucked Nixie straight up and into his arms, holding her, stroking her, and saying her name even when she struggled and slapped at him.
Eve had yet to speak or decide what best to do, when the elevator on the far wall whizzed open, and Summerset strode out.
“Natural,” he said. “Expected.”
“Mommy.” Exhausted from the fight, Nixie let her head drop on Roarke’s shoulder. “I want my mommy.”
“I know, yes, I know. I’m sorry.”
Eve saw him turn his head to brush his lips over Nixie’s hair. That, too, seemed natural. Expected.
“They’re coming to get me. They’re coming to kill me.”
“They’re not. It was a dream.” Roarke sat, Nixie curled in his lap. “A very bad dream. But you’re safe here, as you can see. With me, and the lieutenant and Summerset.”
He patted the bed, and the cat gathered his porky self and leaped up nimbly. “And here, here’s Galahad as well.”
“I saw the blood. Is it on me?”
“No.”
“We’ll get a soother in her.” Opening a wall panel, Summerset pressed buttons on a mini AutoChef. “She’ll be the better for it. Here now, Nixie, you’ll drink this for me, won’t you?”
She turned her face into Roarke’s shoulder. “I’m afraid in the dark.”
“It’s not very dark, and we’ll have more lights if you like.” Roarke ordered them up another ten percent. “Is that better, then?”
“I think they’re in the closet,” she whispered, and her fingers dug into his shirt. “I think they’re hiding in the closet.”
That, Eve thought, was something she could do. She went directly to the closet, opened it, did a complete search while Nixie watched her.
“Nobody can get into this place,” she spoke flatly. “Nobody can get past us. That’s the way it is. It’s my job to protect you. That’s what I’ll do.”
“What if they kill you?”
“A lot of people have tried. I don’t let them.”
“Because you’re a major butt-kicker.”
“You bet your ass. Drink the soother.”
She waited, watched, while Nixie drank, while Summerset took over. He sat on the bed, talking to the child in a quiet voice until her eyes began to droop.
And waiting, watching, Eve felt raw and scraped inside. She knew what it was to be chained in nightmares where something unspeakable came for you. The pain and the blood, the fear and the agony.
Even after it was over, the dregs of it stained the edges of your mind.
Summerset rose, stepped away from the bed. “That should help her. I have her room on monitor, should she wake again. For the moment, sleep is the best thing for her.”
“The best thing is me finding who did this,” Eve stated. “Yeah, her parents will still be dead, but she’ll know why, and she’ll know the people who did it are in a cage. That happens, it’ll be better than a soother.”
She walked out, straight to her own bedroom. Cursing, she sat on the arm of the sofa in the sitting area to drag off her boots. It relieved a little tension to heave them across the roo
m.
Still, she was glaring at them when Roarke came in.
“Will she have them all of her life?” Eve pushed off the sofa. “Will she relive that in her dreams all her life? Can you ever get rid of the images? Can you cut them out of your head like a fucking tumor?”
“I don’t know.”
“I didn’t want to touch her. What does that say about me? For Christ’s sake, Roarke, a little kid, screaming, and I didn’t want to touch her, so I hesitated. Just for a minute, but I hesitated, because I knew what was in her head, and knowing it, put him in mine.” She yanked off her weapon harness, tossed it aside. “So I’m standing there, looking at her and seeing my father, and the blood. All over me.”
“I touched her, and you showed her there were no monsters in the closet. We each do what we do, Eve. Why ask yourself for more than you can do?”
“Goddamn it, Roarke.” She whirled around, spun by her own demons. “I can stand over a body and not blink. I can grill witnesses, suspects, and not break stride. I can wade through blood to get where I need to go. But I couldn’t cross the room to deal with that kid.” It sat in her belly like lead. “Am I cold? God, am I that cold?”
“Cold? Sweet Jesus, Eve, you’re nothing of the kind.” He went to her, laying his hands on her shoulders. Firming his grip when she started to shrug him away. “You feel too much, so much I wonder how you stand it. And if you have to close off certain things at certain times, it’s not coldness. It’s not a flaw. It’s survival.”
“Mira said . . . she said to me not long ago that once—before I met you—she’d figured I had maybe three years left before I burned out. Before I couldn’t do the job anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because the job was it. It . . .” She lifted her hands, dropped them. “It was all I had at the center of it. I didn’t—maybe couldn’t—let anything else in. And maybe, no matter how much I felt, there was too much cold with it. If things had gone on that way—I think I’d have been more than cold . . . I’d’ve been brittle by now. I’ve got to do what I do, Roarke, or I couldn’t survive. I’ve got to have you, or I wouldn’t want to survive.”
“It’s no different for me.” He pressed his lips to her brow. “Winning was my god, before you. Winning, whatever it took. And no matter how much gain you stuff in your pocket, there are still empty spaces. You filled them for me. Two lost souls. Now we’re found.”