Betrayal in Death (23 page)

"Why don't I meet you?" Obviously anxious to placate, Vince moved to her, ran his hands up her arms. "Let's say twelve-thirty at Rendezvous. We'll have lunch."

"Maybe." The corners of her mouth turned up, and she trailed a finger down the middle of his chest. "You know how I love to be with you, baby doll. Don't be late."

"I won't."

She picked up a handbag from the table by the door, blew Lane kisses, and strolled out.

"All the business and security and publicity work over the past few days has been boring for her," Lane said. "She's been awfully patient."

"Yeah, a real trooper." Eve wandered to one of the three antique sofas, sat on an arm of silk. "You're very involved with the auction, and your mother's foundation. Takes up a lot of your time."

"That it does. But it's worth it."

"No problem seeing her chuck a billion dollars out the window?"

"All for a good cause," he said cheerfully. "I couldn't be more proud of her."

"Really? Even when you're flat broke and siphoning off loans for debts from her friends?" She waited a beat while his body jerked. "Wow, Vince, you're a hell of a sport."

"I don't know what you're talking about, and I find your comments in very bad taste."

"I find plots to steal from family and charity in very bad taste. I find little skunks who're too lazy to work for a living in very bad taste. But most of all, I find murder in very bad taste. Your guy missed his target this morning, by the way. You want to make sure he doesn't collect the rest of his fee on that portion of the contract."

"I want you to leave." He pointed a finger at the door in what would have been a dramatic gesture if his arm hadn't trembled. "I want you to get out. I intend to report this behavior to your superiors. I intend to consult my attorney. I intend -- "

"Why don't you shut up, you miserable excuse for a humanoid. Peabody, record on."

"Yes, sir."

"Vincent Lane," Eve began, "you have the right to remain silent."

"You're arresting me?" The color that had drained from his cheeks bloomed back violently. "You think you can arrest me? You have no cause, you have no case, you have nothing on me whatsoever. Do you know who I am?"

"Yeah, I know who you are. You're scum. Now, you're going to sit down while I read you the rest of your rights and obligations. Then you're going to sit there and answer my questions. Because if you don't, I'm going to haul you downtown, into Interview. And somehow along the way, the media's going to get wind of it. By the time you're supposed to be meeting your girlfriend for lunch, it'll be all over the screen how Vince Lane has been arrested for suspicion of conspiracy to commit grand larceny, conspiracy to transfer stolen goods, and a whole bunch of other fun little conspiracies, too -- topped off with the whopper. Conspiracy to commit murder."

"Murder! You're crazy. You've lost your mind. I never killed anyone. I'm calling my lawyer."

"You do that." Eve spoke mildly and stretched out her legs. "You go right on and do that. Wonder how long it'll take your friends Gerade and Naples to find out you're hiring a rep to defend you in a murder case. Wonder how long after that they'll sic Yost on you to cover their own hides. Or maybe they won't have to hire him."

She paused, studying her nails as Lane stood frozen by his 'link. "Yeah, I'm thinking he'll do this one for free. He's got his own hide to protect. You know what he does to his victims, Vinnie?" She lifted her eyes then, locked on his without an ounce of pity. "He breaks them to pieces, then he makes sure they're conscious when he rapes them. I've got a video I can show you of how he'd take on a man like you. Snap your arm like a twig, pound your face into mush so even your mother wouldn't know you. Then when you think it can't get worse, he'd butt-fuck you. And the pain of all of that is so huge, so impossible, you can't believe it's real. It's like some horrible nightmare, some personal hell that opened up and swallowed you whole. And you won't be able to get out of it, get away from it. Not until he slips that wire around your neck and pulls it tighter. And your feet hammer on the floor. You die pissing yourself."

She got up. "Come to think of it, that's just about the perfect end for you. Go ahead and call your lawyer. Let's get it started."

"No one was supposed to get hurt." Tears spurted from his eyes, spilled down his face. "It's not my fault."

"It never is with people like you." She pointed to the sofa. "Sit down, and tell me why you're not to blame."

"I needed money." He rubbed his eyes, then glugged the water Peabody had brought to him. "Mother got this insane idea to auction off her things, so many of her things, and just give it away. This damn foundation idea of hers. I'm her son." He shot her a glance that begged for pity. "Why should she give all that money to strangers when I need it?"

"So you needed to figure a way to keep it in the family."

"We argued. She said she was cutting me off. She'd said that before, but I thought this time she might have meant it. I was so angry. She's my mother," he said, looking to Eve for understanding.

"You went to see your friends."

"Needed to blow off steam. I went to see Dom. You wouldn't catch his father shoveling money to strangers like this. Dom never has to worry how he's going to pay a fucking bill. We were just talking, having a few drinks. I said something like, I should just take the stuff, sell it myself, and see how she liked it. We were just talking about how it could be done. Just talk. Then it started looking like maybe it could be done. Hundreds of millions of dollars. I'd never have to worry again. I could live the way I chose, with no one to answer to.

"I guess I got pretty drunk. I passed out, and the next thing I know it's morning and Dom's talked to his old man. It just started rolling. We got Michel, went down to see him, and talk about it. It still seemed unreal, you know. Just like a game. But Dom's old man, he said we could do it. He knew how to set it up. We'd each take a percentage after expenses. It was business, that's all. Nobody said anything about murder. Just business."

"When did Yost come into the mix?"

"I don't know. I swear to God. We had it planned out. I was to go back, make it up with my mother, and ask to help out. Get involved in the setup so I could pass on information. That's when I found out she'd hooked up with Roarke. I didn't like that part of it. You hear things about Roarke. But Naples, he liked it a lot. Said it added spice. He brought in another partner, the German guy, and because Dom and I were tied up with other business, they met with Michel in Paris."

He licked his lips, searching Eve's face for support, for understanding. For mercy. And saw nothing but the cold, clear eyes of cop. "I think, they must... I don't know. They must have cooked up bringing Yost in during those meetings. All I knew then was that the German had pulled out. Naples called him a fish belly. But it left more for us, and Naples was going to arrange the transpo personally. He hired on a couple more guys. It was starting to make me nervous, all those expenses. But when I complained, it got nasty. Dom said how it was best for me to let him deal with his father direct from then on. He'd pass instructions to me. All I had to do was give them the details, the timing, pass along the security scheme, and keep my mother happy. They said they had a way to keep Roarke occupied and off my back."

He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. "You can see, can't you, you can see that I was in too deep to back out. You can see how it wasn't my fault. And now I'm cooperating, right? That makes a big difference."

"Oh yeah. You want to keep cooperating, Vince. You want to keep going."

"Yeah, I'll tell you everything I know. See, just a few weeks ago, Dom gets in touch. He says I have to come up with a million for a consult fee, that's my share of it. It's to go into Naples Communications, and they'll fix the books so it'll look like I've bought some swank new system. I went nuts. A fucking million. I don't have that kind to outlay. I wasn't looking at that kind of an expense. What the hell kind of consult runs a million for just my share?"

He buried his head in his hands. "And he told me. He told me about Yost, he told me about the contract, the murders. And he said there was no backing out now. We were in it all the way, so I should beg, borrow, or steal my part of the fee because once the contract was complete, Yost was going to want his money. I didn't know what to do. What was I supposed to do? She started it, cutting me out of what was mine. It's not my fault."

"Yeah, I can see how your mother's to blame for all this. You want to live, Vince? You want me to make sure Yost doesn't come hunting you? Start filling in details. Give me names."

"I don't have much." He lifted his head again. "I figured out they were leaving me out of the loop. Using me. They're the ones who should pay for all this. They're the ones you should go after."

"Oh, don't worry about that. They're going to pay."

While Eve was working to draw a more concise and thorough statement from Lane, Roarke walked into his home. He checked the security panel, noted that Mick was enjoying a dip in the pool.

He took the long way around to give himself time.

The pool house smelled of hot flowers and cool water. There was the musical sound of a fountain, spraying and tumbling, playing under the blast of the Irish rebel songs Mick had chosen to keep him company while he did laps.

Roarke walked over, chose one of the thick blue towels from the stack, and went to wait by the side of the pool.

Mick slapped a hand on the edge, shook his hair out of his eyes, and peered up at Roarke. "Ya coming in?"

"No. You're coming out."

"That I am." Mick stood up, let the water stream off him for a moment, then walked up the steps. "Christ, that's the kind of small pleasure a man could grow used to. Thanks," he added, taking the towel Roarke handed him and rubbing it briskly over his face.

There were guest robes hanging nearby. Mick selected one, bundled in. "Don't expect a man of your means and responsibilities to pop home middle of the day."

"I had an interruption this morning. You know, Mick, in all the times we've had, good and bad, all we've done together and apart, you were the last I'd have expected to come at a friend from the back."

Slowly, Mick lowered the towel. "What's your meaning?"

"Does friendship come so much cheaper these days than it did when we were lads?"

"Nothing comes cheaper these days, God knows." He looked baffled. "Come out straight with it, Roarke. You've put me in the dark."

"You want it straight?"

"Aye."

"Then here it is." He rammed his fist into Mick's face and watched his childhood friend topple backward into the pool.

Weighed down by the sopping robe, blood streaming from his mouth, Mick surfaced. There was blood in his eye as well as he lunged for the side of the pool.

But it had faded, nearly turned into a glint of humor as he hauled himself out again.

"Fuck it, you've still got a fist like a brick." He wiggled his jaw, stripped off the wet robe. "How'd you figure it out?" he began, then lifted a hand. "No, if you don't mind, I'd rather have some pants on and a whiskey in my hand when you tell me."

"All right." Roarke nodded coolly. "We'll go upstairs together." He strode toward the elevator. "Summerset's fine, by the way."

"Why wouldn't he be?" Mick asked easily, and stepped in with Roarke.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Roarke waited, standing by the south window while Mick put on trousers. He kept his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the trees, and the high stone wall beyond them.

He'd used the trees, the lavish roll of lawn, the flowers, and that stone, to build a place. His place. A spot of beauty and comfort in a world that held too much pain. He'd used it, he knew, to prove to himself that the slums and miseries of Dublin were far behind him, too far behind to pant hot breath on his neck.

And so he had invited into that place, that home, a reminder of what had never really stopped chasing him. He'd invited in a friend of his childhood who had become a betrayer of his present.

"Was it only for the money, Mick? Was it only for the profit?"

"Sure it's easy for you to say that in a deriding voice, Your Highness, when you're rolling in the stuff. Of course it was for the money. Jesus, my take will top twenty-five million at a coast. And it was for the fun. Have you really forgotten how much bloody fun it is?"

"Have you forgotten, Mick, that however shaky the code might be, it sticks when it comes to betraying a friend?"

"Well, for God's sake, Roarke, it's not like it was your money I'm after putting in my pocket." Mick sighed, and buttoning his shirt walked over to fetch the decanter of whiskey. He poured two glasses, and when Roarke still didn't turn at the sound of striking glass, shrugged and sipped his own.

"All right, I admit it was a fine line, and maybe I've stomped over to the other side of it. I've a bit of envy in me for what you've managed to accumulate over the years since we parted ways."

"A fine line?" Thinking of brutal and senseless murder, Roarke did turn. "Is that what it is to you?"

"Listen." Impatient now, and a little embarrassed by it all, Mick gestured with his glass. "I was approached about the job. The actress's son started the ball rolling, and it gathered some steam. By the time it got to me, it was well-formed., The truth is, I didn't think you'd mind so much. Over the past few days I've come to see I miscalculated that end of it considerably. But I was too far into the matter to back out. Now, of course..." He shrugged again, casting off millions as he might a missed meal. "How the devil do you figure it? How'd you know a heist was in the works, and pin it down to me?"

"Connections, Mick." Studying his friend's face, Roarke began to do fresh calculations. "Magda's son to Naples's son, to Hinrick, to Gerade. I found it odd you never mentioned Naples as a possible when Eve asked you about the Hagues in Cornwall."

"Name sort of stuck in my throat, seeing the position I was in. As for Hinrick, he stepped out even before I was in it," Mick told him. "Pissed Naples off royal, I'm told. So you knew about the boy. Pitiful little weasel that gorgeous example of female managed to birth if you're asking me. Had every advantage all of his useless life and still whines for more. Didn't make his own, like you and me."

Mick glanced around the room. He'd enjoyed his stay, on a great many levels. But it looked like he'd be packing his bags sooner than later. "So, what do we do now? You aren't going to turn me over to your lovely wife, the cop, are you? After all, I've not done anything as yet, in actuality."

"I want Naples."

"Ah, now, Roarke, you're putting my ass in a sling there."

"And Yost."

"What in God's green earth have I to do with the likes of Sylvester Yost?"

"You're Naples's man and so is he. And he's killed two of my people so that the lot of you can get closer to the money."

"You're talking gibberish. Yost's not in this. True enough Naples might've put him on Britt and Joe, God rest them. But that's nothing to do with my dealings with the man. I've never met Yost, thank the saints. Never had truck with him. You know that's not my style."

"It hasn't been, but it's been a long time between for us, Mick. Naples set me up, and he's used two of my people like pawns. Today, Yost went for Summerset."

"Summerset?" The liquor left in Mick's glass sloshed. "You're trying to tell me Naples set Yost on Summerset? You've got to be mistaken. What purpose would there be in..."

His eyes never left Roarke's, but they went wide. As his color drained, he reached out blindly for the back of a chair. Levering himself around it, he sat.

"Oh Jesus. Oh Christ Jesus." Because his hands shook, he vised them around the glass, downed the rest of the whiskey. "Are you sure of this? Are you without a doubt sure of this?"

"I am." After a moment, Roarke crossed over, picked up the bottle. He brought it back and filled Mick's glass again. "He's killed two people who work for me, the second being a friend as well. It scatters the focus, draws the police -- in the name of my lovely wife -- off any scent there might be around the auction."

"No, no, that's why I'm here. To keep you occupied, to get close. That, and me being one of the few around who could set a workable scheme for a job like this. I was to whet your interest in a deal or two. If your cop wasn't busy on her own, I was to keep the two of you bustling around me on a personal level. Charm her, so to speak. And being right inside the house, I'd know, you see, of any changes you'd be making for the security. In addition to that, I could keep the arm on Magda's boy if he waffled. Liza has him under control, but -- "

"Ah, I wondered about her. My cop has been busy on her own, hasn't she, Mick? And myself as well. If they'd succeeded with Summerset today, just how much of my attention do you think I'd have left to give to the auction?"

"I didn't know of this." Mick squared his shoulders, looked Roarke dead in the eye. "I swear that to you on my life. I would never have done this. It was a big job, an exciting one, and it gave me the added boost of finally being able to best you in something. I never could, and always wanted to. You were never like the rest of us, you know. You always had something extra. I wanted that. I'd have stolen from you, Roarke, and enjoyed it. I'd have laughed about it, bragged on it, the rest of my days. But not this. I'd never have taken part in murder."

"That was the part I couldn't get to fit."

"Naples took out Britt and Joe? There's no question of that?"

"None."

"And tried for Summerset as well." Mick nodded. "I see how it is then." He drew a long breath. "There are two men inside. One in your special security, one in the hotel. Monroe and Billick. The job's set for tomorrow. Two in the morning, precisely. At that time a maxibus and a car will have an accident at the east corner near the hotel. The bus will turn over, slide into the jewelry shop. They've hired a hell of a driver. Do you remember Kilcher?"

"I do."

"This is his son, and he's even better than his old man. There'll be a small fire, and an enormous mess. The cops, the security, even the fire department will be out there, dealing with it, handling the looters, and so forth. At the same moment, a delivery van will pull into the proper entrance of the hotel. We'll be six, and armed with tranqs. We'll take out those of your staff we must. I'll be handling your security. I've worked it to jam to give us a twelve-minute window. Couldn't widen it more than that, and that alone took me six months of hideous work.

"Your security's a marvel, and that's a fact. I'd never have made a crack in it without the men on the inside."

"That's little satisfaction at the moment."

"I suppose that's true. Still, I'm likely the only one live and kicking who could have widened that crack on you. So. Each team member has assigned goods to pluck. Every one of them must get it done and be out of the room within ten minutes. Gives them two to get back to the exit point. Anyone not there gets left behind."

He rose, set his glass aside. "I'll get my equipment and discs, so you can see how it's meant to be." He hesitated. "I should have known better than to tie myself up with the likes of Naples. I've no excuses for that mistake, and you've my word I'll do what I can to make up for it. Will you give me over to the cops then?"

Roarke met his eyes, held them. And saw all the miseries. "No."

Eve burst into the house, all but choking on her own rage.

She swung toward the stairs even as Summerset slid into the hall. "Where are they?" she demanded.

"Roarke is in his private office. Lieutenant -- "

"Later. Goddamn it." She pounded up the stairs, streaked down the hall. She had a hand on her weapon when she coded herself into Roarke's private room.

He wasn't behind the console, but leaning back against it, his eyes tracking the data and diagrams on his wall screens. His unregistered equipment hummed softly.

"Where's Connelly?"

Roarke continued to study, to access. He'd nearly come to the conclusion they'd have managed to pull it off. Son of a bitch. "He isn't here."

"I need to find him, now. The bastard's part of this."

"Yes, I know."

His comment was so mild, she was two beats behind before it sank in. "You know? How long have you known?" She marched up to him, blocking his view of the screens. "What the hell kind of game are you playing here?"

"No game at all."

No, she saw that now. His voice might have been calm, but his eyes weren't. "When did you clue into him?"

"I suspected when we realized the auction items were the target. I told you there are only a few who could handle a job of this nature. He's one of them."

"And you didn't bother to tell me that."

"No, I didn't tell you because I had to be sure. Now I am."

"And you're sure because?"

"I asked him," Roarke said simply. "And he told me. I have his notes and job plans here. They might have done it," he added with a glimmer of admiration leaking through. "If everything had gone perfectly, if there'd been absolutely no mistakes, no unknowns, they might have done it."

"You asked him," Eve repeated. "Fine. Great. Where is he?"

"I don't know. I let him go."

"You -- " Now she did choke. It wasn't just fury, but shock and outrage and not a little betrayal. "You just let him walk! He's a key player in my investigation, he's a fucking thief who was about to stab you in the back, and you let him go?"

"Yes. I have everything he knows about your investigation, about what was done and what's planned. It won't be much help to you regarding Yost. Mick didn't know Yost had been brought in."

"There's a lot of I-didn't-know going around. You had no right to let him go. No right to interfere in police business. And no goddamn sense to toss him back out on the street."

"Eve -- "

"Goddamn it, Roarke, goddamn it. Two people are dead. Summerset might have been. I've just finished sweating Vincent Lane for two hours to get details, to get closer, and to scare him into keeping his mouth shut so the rest of the players aren't alerted. I had to get the PA to deal him down to a single charge and offer witness protection to get him to agree to fake a medical emergency. The asshole's in a posh room at the hospital, zoned out on drugs so he can't talk to anyone."

"That was clever of you. He certainly wouldn't have managed to maintain his role unless he was drugged. And since Liza is part of this, it's best he's out of her bed."

She lifted her hands, felt them clench, then whirled away before she could do something violent. "Yeah, real clever. And now you set Connelly loose. He'll spring to Naples, and they'll abort the job. Your reputation will be safe and sound. And I've lost another link to Yost."

"He won't go to Naples."

"Bullshit. He'll -- "

"He won't," Roarke repeated. "If I believed that, or if I had any doubt he was out of the loop on Yost, I'd have done worse than turn him over to you. But I have none. I couldn't give him to you, Eve. I don't expect you to understand."

"Oh, that's real considerate of you. Let's hope you understand the next time we find a silver wire on a body that your skewed sense of loyalty cost someone their life."

He didn't speak, but his eyes, hot and blue, held hers for a long moment. In them she saw her lance had found its mark.

Oh yeah, she thought miserably, I got some great aim.

He turned back to the console. "I have all the data on the plans. I've made copies for you. Forewarned, my security will be able to handle it, but I assume you'll want to be there with your team. You'll have Naples and the rest within thirty-six hours."

And if someone died before then? he thought. If I've cost a friend's life to save a friend?

"If you have any questions," he began, then simply stopped. "I can't be other than what I am," he said quietly. "Whatever I've done to distance myself, I can't be other than what I am. Computer, copy all data on disc."

She waited while the computer completed the task, then took the discs from Roarke when he offered them.

"I hope to God he was worth it," she said, and left him alone.

She called her team first, requested they convene at her home office, then headed to Mick's room to toss it in hopes she'd find some clue where he'd gone.

She was ripping through the bureau when Summerset came in and froze in absolute horror.

"Lieutenant! That is a Chippendale, a valuable antique that must be treated with respect."

"A lot of things need to be treated with respect, and don't get it."

She dumped the empty drawer aside, and turned to drag the bedspread and sheets off the bed.

"Stop it! Stop it at once." He snagged the duvet, tugged. "This is antique Irish lace over silk."

"Look, ace, I'm in the mood to bash someone's face in, and yours is looking pretty good to me." She yanked, he yanked, and they snarled at each other over the tug-of-war.

She let go abruptly and had the satisfaction of watching him stumble back three steps before coming up hard against the wall.

"When did he leave? Connelly? What did he take with him? What was his transpo?"

Summerset merely sucked air through his nose.

"Look, you know what he did, what he planned to do. Roarke would have filled you in by now." You, she thought with some bitterness, but not me. "You want him to get away with it?"

"It's not my decision."