Immortal in Death (39 page)

She lowered her head to her hands a moment, fingers rubbing hard over her brow. “I know she could have done it. I know she could have seen a window of opportunity and gotten into the drug hold. She might have decided to end it her way, it suits her personality. But it just doesn’t feel right.”

“You can’t blame yourself for her death,” Roarke said quietly. “For the obvious reason that you aren’t to blame, and also a reason you’ll accept, guilt clouds logic.”

“Yeah. I know.” She rose again, restless. “I’ve been off my stride with this one. Mavis, remembering about my father. I’ve missed details, overlapped where it wasn’t necessary. All these distractions.”

“Including the wedding?” he suggested.

She managed a weak smile. “I’ve tried not to think too much about that. Nothing personal.”

“Consider it a formality. A contract, if you like, with a few trimmings.”

“Have you considered that a year ago we didn’t even know each other? That we’re living in the same house, but for a good deal of the time we’re on two different steps? That all this… stuff we feel for each other might not really be the sort of thing that holds up in the long stretch?”

He looked at her steadily. “Are you going to piss me off the night before we’re married?”

“I’m not trying to piss you off, Roarke, You brought it up, and since it has been one of the distractions, I’d like to clear it up. These are reasonable questions and deserve reasonable answers.”

His eyes went dark. She recognized the warning and braced herself for the storm. Instead, he rose, spoke with such icy calm she nearly shuddered. “Are you backing out, Lieutenant?”

“No. I said I’d do it. I just think we should… think,” she said lamely, and hated herself.

“Well, you think then, find your reasonable answers. I have mine.” He glanced at his watch. “And I’m running late. Mavis is waiting downstairs for you.”

“For what?”

“Ask her,” he said with the slightest edge to his voice as he walked out.

“Damn it.” She kicked the desk with enough force to have Galahad eyeing her maliciously. She kicked it again because pain had some rewards, then limped out to go find Mavis.

An hour later, she found herself being dragged into the Down and Dirty Club. She’d suffered through Mavis’s orders to change her clothes, to do something about her hair, her face. Even her attitude. But when the music and noise hit her like a roundhouse punch, she balked.

“Jesus, Mavis. Why here?”

“Because it’s nasty, that’s why. Bachelor parties are supposed to be nasty. Christ, look at that guy onstage. His cock’s big enough to drill spikes. Good thing I asked Crack to save us an A table. The place is sardine city, and it’s barely midnight.”

“I have to get married tomorrow,” Eve began, finding it a handy excuse for the first time.

“That’s the point. Jesus, Dallas, loosen up. Hey, there’s our party.”

Eve was used to shocks. But this was a doozy. It was a bit more than credulity could bear to see a table directly under a cock swinger crowded by Nadine Furst, Peabody, a woman who she thought was probably Trina, and, dear God Almighty, Dr. Mira.

Before she could close her mouth, Crack swooped up behind her and hoisted her off her feet. “Hey there, skinny white girl. Gonna party tonight. Got you a bottle of champagne on the house.”

“You’ve got any champagne in this joint, pal, I’ll chew the cork.”

“Hell, it sparkles. What you want?” He gave her a quick spin, to the vocal appreciation of the crowd, caught her midair, and thumped her down in a seat at the table. “Ladies, y’all enjoy yourselves now, or I’m gonna hear about it.”

“You have such interesting friends, Dallas.” Nadine puffed on a cigarette. No one was going to worry about tobacco restrictions in there. “Have a drink.” She lifted a bottle of unknown substance, poured some into what looked like a fairly clean glass. “We’re way ahead of you.”

“I had to get her to change.” Mavis hipped her way into a seat. “She bitched all the way.” Then Mavis’s eyes filled. “She only did it for me.” She took Eve’s drink, swilled it down. “We wanted to surprise you.”

“You did. Dr. Mira. It is Dr. Mira, isn’t it?”

Mira smiled brilliantly. “It was when I walked in. I’m afraid I’m a little fuzzy on details at this point.”

“We gotta have a toast.” Rocky on her pins, Peabody used the table for balance. She managed to raise her glass without spilling more than half its contents on Eve’s head. “To the best fucking cop in the whole stinking city, who’s gonna marry the sexiest sumbitch I, personally, have ever laid eyes on, and who, because she’s so goddamn smart, has seen to it that I’m perman’ly attached to Homicide. Which is where any half-blind asshole could tell you I belong. So there.” She downed the rest of her drink, fell backward into her chair, and grinned foolishly.

“Peabody,” Eve said and flicked a finger under her eyes. “I’ve never been more touched.”

“I’m shit faced, Dallas.”

“The evidence points to it. Can we get any food in here that doesn’t promise ptomaine? I’m starved.”

“The bride to be wants to eat.” Still sober as a nun, Mavis bolted to her feet. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t get up.”

“Oh, and Mavis.” Eve jerked her down, murmured in her ear. “Get me something nonlethal to drink.”

“But, Dallas, it’s a party.”

“And I’m going to enjoy it. I really am, but I want to be clear-headed tomorrow. It’s important to me.”

“That’s so sweet.” Weeping again, Mavis lowered her face to Eve’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m a regular sugar substitute.” On impulse she jerked Mavis around and kissed her square on the mouth. “Thanks. Nobody else would have thought of this.”

“Roarke did.” Mavis mopped at her eyes with the glittering fringe swinging from her sleeve. “We worked it out together.”

“He would, wouldn’t he?” Smiling a little, Eve took another dubious look at the naked bodies gyrating on stage. “Hey, Nadine.” She topped off the reporter’s glass. “The guy up there with the red tail feathers has his eye on you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Nadine looked blearily around.

“Dare you.”

“Dare me what? To get up there? Shit, that’s nothing.”

“Then do it.” Eve leaned over, grinned in her face. “Let’s see some action.”

“You think I won’t.” Rising, Nadine teetered, righted herself. “Hey, hot stuff,” she shouted to the closest dancer. “Give me a hand up.”

The crowd loved her, Eve decided. Especially when Nadine got into the spirit and stripped down to purple underwear. Eve sighed into her mineral water. She sure knew how to pick her friends. “How’s it going, Trina?”

“I’m having an out of body experience. I think I’m in Tibet.”

“Uh-huh.” Eve cast a look at Dr. Mira. The way the woman was cheering, Eve was afraid she’d leap up onstage herself. She didn’t think either one of them wanted that vision in their memory logs. “Peabody.” She had to jab her fingers into Peabody’s arm to get even a vague reaction. “Let’s get some more food here.”

Peabody grunted. “I could do that.”

Following her gaze, Eve watched Nadine in a crotch grind with a seven-foot black in body paint. “Sure you could, pal. You’d bring the house down.”

“It’s just that I’ve got this little pouch.” She staggered, and Eve caught her neatly by the arm. “Jake called it my jelly belly. I’m saving up to have it sucked.”

“Just do some more abs. Don’t go for the vacuum.”

“It’s hereditary.”

“Hereditary.”

“Right.” She swayed and hobbled as Eve steered her through the crowd. “Everybody in my family’s got one. Jake likes ‘em skinny. Like you.”

“Screw him, then.”

“Did.” Peabody giggled, then leaned heavily on a serving bar. “Screwed our brains out. That’s not what does it, though, you know that, Evie.”

Eve sighed. “Peabody, I don’t want to punch a fellow officer when she’s impaired. So don’t call me Evie.”

“Right. Know what does it?”

“Food,” she ordered from the server droid. “Any kind and lots of it. Table three. What does what, Peabody?”

“What does it. It. What you and Roarke got, that’s what does it. Connection. Inside connections. Sex is just the extra.”

“Sure. You and Casto having problems?”

“Nope. Just don’t have much connection now that the case is closed.” Peabody shook her head and lights exploded in front of her eyes. “Jesus, I’m plowed. Gotta use the John.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“I can do it myself.” With some dignity, Peabody nudged Eve’s hand from her arm. “I don’t care to vomit in front of a superior officer, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Suit yourself.”

But Eve watched her like a hawk as she toddled across the floor. They’d been at it nearly three hours, she judged. And though fun was fun, she was going to get some food into her little playmates and see that they all got transport home.

Smiling, she leaned on the bar herself, watching Nadine, still wearing purple briefs, sitting at the table having an earnest discussion with Dr. Mira. Trina had her head on the table now and was probably communing with the Dhali Lama.

Mavis, eyes shining, was onstage, screeching out an impromptu number that had the dance floor rocking.

Damn it, she thought as she felt her throat burn. She loved the whole snockered lot of them. Peabody included, she decided, and opted to take a short peek into the toilet to make sure her aide hadn’t passed out or drowned.

She made it nearly halfway across the club before she was grabbed. As it had been happening on and off all evening as hopeful club goers trolled for partners, she started to shake off good-naturedly.

“Try again, ace. Not interested. Hey!” The quick pinch on her arm annoyed more than hurt. But her vision was already wavering as she was muscled through the hooting crowd and shoved into a privacy room.

“Goddamn it, I said I wasn’t interested.” She started to reach for her badge, missed her pocket completely. At a gentle nudge, she spilled backward onto a narrow bed.

“Take a rest, Eve. We have to talk.” Casto dropped down next to her and crossed his feet at the ankles.

Roarke wasn’t in a party going mood, but as Feeney had gone to some trouble to create a monstrously hedonistic atmosphere, he played his part. It was a hall of sorts, crowded with men, many of whom were surprised to find themselves participating in such a pagan ritual. Still, Feeney, with his electronic expertise, had ferreted out some of Roarke’s closer business associates, and none had wanted to risk offending someone of Roarke’s stature with a refusal.

So there they were, the rich, the famous, and the scrambling, pressed into a badly lit room with life-size screens flickering with naked bodies in various, imaginative acts of sexual frenzy, a trio of live strippers already entertainingly naked, and enough beer and whiskey to sink the Seventh Fleet and all its crew.

Roarke had to admit it had been a nice gesture and was doing his best to live up to Feeney’s expectations as a man on his final night of freedom.

“There you are, boy-o, another whiskey for you.” After several of the Irish himself, Feeney had slipped comfortably into the brogue of the country he’d never seen — that indeed his great-great-grandparents had never set foot on. “Up the rebels, eh?”

Roarke cocked a brow. He himself had been born in Dublin and had spent most of his youth wandering its streets and alleys. Yet he couldn’t claim the sentimental attachment Feeney did for a land and its rebellions. “Slainte,” he said to please his friend, and sipped.

“There’s a lad. Now you see here, Roarke, the ladies among us are for looking purposes only. No touching for you now.”

“I’ll do my best to restrain myself.”

Feeney grinned and slapped Roarke on the back hard enough to stagger him. “She’s a prize, isn’t she? Our Dallas.”

“She’s…” Roarke scowled into his whiskey. “Something,” he decided.

“Keep you on your toes, she will. Keeps them all on their toes. Got a mind like a fucking shark. You know, focused on one thing till the thing’s done. Tell you straight, this last case had her bug-shit.”

“She hasn’t let it go,” Roarke murmured, and smiled coolly when a naked blonde sidled up to rub her hands up his chest. “You’ll have better luck with that one,” he told her, gesturing to a glaze-eyed man in charcoal gray pinstripes. “He owns Stoner Dynamics.”

When she looked blank, Roarke gently disengaged the hands that were gliding cheerfully toward his crotch. “He’s loaded.”

She shimmied off, leaving Feeney gazing wistfully after her. “I’m a happily married man, Roarke.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“It’s lowering to admit I’m not but a little tempted to give a pretty young thing like that a quick ride in a dark room.”

“You’re a better man for it, Feeney.”

“That’s the truth.” He sighed, low and long, then veered back to the former topic. “Dallas goes off for a few weeks, she’ll put this aside, get on with the next.”

“She doesn’t like losing, and she thinks she has.” He tried to dismiss it. Damn if he wanted to spend the night before his wedding picking apart a homicide. With a muttered curse, he steered Feeney to a quiet corner. “What do you know about that dealer who got hit in the East End?”