Rapture in Death (11 page)

And could that code kick in, at any given moment, and make her a reflection of the monster who had been her father?

She knew nothing of her other blood kin. Her mother was a blank. If she had siblings, aunts, uncles, or grandparents, they were all lost in that dark void in her memory. She had no one to base her genetic code on but the man who had beaten and raped her throughout childhood until in terror and pain she had struck back.

And killed.

Blood on her hands at eight years of age. Is that why she’d become a cop? Was she constantly trying to wash away that blood with rules and law and what some still called justice?

“Sir? Dallas?” Peabody laid a hand on Eve’s shoulder and jumped when Eve jolted. “Sorry. Are you all right?”

“No.” Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes. The discussion over dessert had troubled her more than she’d realized. “Just a headache.”

“I’ve got some departmental-issue painkillers.”

“No.” Eve was afraid of drugs, even officially sanctioned doses. “It’ll back off. I’m running out of ideas on the Fitzhugh case. Feeney fed me all known data on the kid on Olympus. I can’t find any correlation between him and Fitzhugh or the senator. I’ve got nothing but piddly shit to hang on Leanore and Arthur. I can request truth detection, but I won’t get it. I’m not going to be able to keep it open more than another twenty-four hours.”

“You still think they’re connected?”

“I want them to be connected, and that’s a different thing. I haven’t exactly given you an impressive lift off with your first assignment as my permanent aide.”

“Being your permanent aide is the best thing that ever happened to me.” Peabody flushed a little. “I’d be grateful if we got stuck shoveling through inactives for the next six months. You’d still be training me.”

Eve leaned back in her chair. “You’re easily satisfied, Peabody.”

Peabody shifted her gaze until her eyes met Eve’s. “No, sir, I’m not. When I don’t get the best, I get real cranky.”

Eve laughed, dragged a hand through her hair. “You sucking up, Officer?”

“No, sir. If I was sucking up, I’d make some personal observation, such as marriage obviously agrees with you, Lieutenant. You’ve never looked lovelier.” Peabody smiled a little when Eve snorted. “That’s how you’d know I was sucking up.”

“So noted.” Eve considered a moment, then cocked her head. “Didn’t you tell me your family are Free-Agers?”

Peabody didn’t roll her eyes, but she wanted to. “Yes, sir.”

“Cops don’t usually spring from Free-Agers. Artists, farmers, the occasional scientist, lots of craft workers.”

“I didn’t like weaving mats.”

“Can you?”

“If held at laser point.”

“So, what? Your family pissed you off and you decided to break the mold, go into a field dramatically removed from pacifism?”

“No, sir.” Puzzled at the line of questioning, Peabody shrugged. “My family’s great. We’re still pretty tight. They’re not going to understand what I do or want to do, but they never tried to block me. I just wanted to be a cop, the same way my brother wanted to be a carpenter and my sister a farmer. One of the strongest tenets of Free-Ageism is self-expression.”

“But you don’t fit the genetic code,” Eve muttered and drummed her fingers on her desk. “You don’t fit. Heredity and environment, gene patterns — they all should have influenced you differently.”

“The bad guys wished I had been,” Peabody said soberly. “But I’m here, keeping our city safe.”

“If you get an urge to weave a mat — “

“You’ll be the first to know.”

Eve’s unit beeped twice, signaling incoming data. “Additional autopsy report on the kid.” Eve gestured for Peabody to come closer. “List any abnormal brain pattern,” she ordered.

Microscopic abnormality, right cerebral hemisphere, frontal lobe, left quadrant. Unexplained. Further research and testing under way.

“Well, well, I think we just caught a break. Display visual of frontal lobe and abnormality.” The cross section of the brain popped on screen. “There.” A quick surge of excitement churned in her belly as Eve tapped the screen. “That shadow — pinprick. See it?”

“Barely.” Peabody leaned closer until she was all but cheek to cheek with Eve. “Looks like a flaw on the display.”

“No, a flaw in the brain. Increase quadrant six, twenty percent.”

The picture shifted, and the section with the shadow filled the screen. “More of a burn than a hole, isn’t it?” Eve said half to herself. “Hardly there, but what kind of damage, what kind of influence would it have on behavior, personality, decision making?”

“I pretty well dumped my required Abnormal Physiology at the Academy.” Peabody moved her sturdy shoulders. “I did better in Psych, better yet in Tactics. This is over my head.”

“Mine, too,” Eve admitted. “But it’s a link, our first one. Computer, cross section of brain abnormality, Fitzhugh, file one two eight seven one. Split screen with current display.”

The screen jittered, went to fuzzy gray. Eve swore, smacked it with the heel of her hand, and bumped out a shaky image blurred across the center.

“Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch. This cheap shit we have to use around here. It’s a wonder we can close a case on jaywalking. Download all data, you bastard, on disc.”

“Maybe if you sent this unit into Maintenance,” Peabody suggested and received a snarl.

“It was supposed to be overhauled while I was away. The fuckers in Maintenance have their fingers up their butts. I’m going to run this through one of Roarke’s units.” She caught Peabody’s lifted brow and tapped her foot as she waited for the wheezy machine to download. “You got a problem with that, Officer?”

“No, sir.” Peabody tucked her tongue in her cheek and decided against mentioning the series of codes Eve was about to break. “No problem here.”

“Fine. Get to work on the red tape and get me the brain scan of the senator for comparison.”

Peabody’s smug little smile fell away. “You want me to bump heads with East Washington?”

“Your head’s hard enough to handle it.” Eve ejected the disc and pocketed it. “Call me when you get it. The minute you get it.”

“Yes, sir. If we get a link there, we’re going to need an expert analyst.”

“Yeah.” Eve thought of Reeanna. “I might just have one. Get moving, Peabody.”

“Moving, Lieutenant.”

CHAPTER NINE

Eve wasn’t one for breaking rules, yet she found herself standing outside the locked door of Roarke’s private room. It was disconcerting to realize that after a decade of going by the book, she could find it so easy to circumvent procedure.

Do the ends justify the means? she wondered. And are the means really so out of line? Maybe the equipment in the room beyond was unregistered and undetectable to Compuguard and therefore illegal, but it was also top of the line. The pathetic electronics budgeted to the Police and Security Department had been antiquated nearly before it was installed, and Homicide’s slice of the budget pie was stingy and stale.

She tapped her fingers on her pocket where the disc rested and shifted her feet. The hell with it, she decided. She could be a law-abiding cop and walk away or she could be a smart one.

She placed her hand on the security screen. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”

The locks disengaged with a quiet snick and opened into Roarke’s huge data center. The long curve of windows, which were shielded against sun and flybys, kept the room in shadows. She ordered lights, secured the door, and walked over to face the wide, U-shaped console.

Roarke had programmed her palm and voice print into the system months before, but she’d never used the equipment alone. Even now that they were married, she felt like an intruder.

She made herself sit, snugged the chair into the console. “Unit one, engage.” She heard the silky hum of high-level equipment responding and nearly sighed. Her disc slid in smoothly, and within seconds had been decoded and read by the civilian unit. “And so much for our elaborate security at NYPSD,” she muttered. “Wall screen on full. Display data, Fitzhugh File H-one two eight seven one. Split screen with Mathias File S-three oh nine one two.”

Data flowed like water onto the huge wall screen facing the console. In her admiration, Eve forgot to feel guilty. She leaned forward, scanning birth dates, credit ratings, purchasing habits, political affiliations.

“Strangers,” she said to herself. “You couldn’t have had less in common.” Then her lips pursed as she noted correlations on a section of purchasing habits. “Well, you both liked games. Lots of on-line time, lots of entertainment and interactive programs.” Then she sighed. “Along with about seventy percent of the population. Computer, split screen display, brain scan both loaded files.”

With an almost seamless segue, Eve was studying the images. “Increase and highlight unexplained abnormalities.”

The same, she mused, eyes narrowed. Here the two men were the same, like brothers, twins in the womb. The burn shadow was precisely the same size and shape, in precisely the same location.

“Computer, analyze abnormality and identify.”

Working… Incomplete data… Searching medical files. Please wait for analysis.

“That’s what they all say.” She pushed away from the console to pace while the computer juggled its brain. When the door opened, she spun around on her heel and very nearly flushed when Roarke walked in.

“Hello, Lieutenant.”

“Hi.” She dipped her hands in her pockets. “I — ah — had some trouble with my unit at Cop Central. I needed this analysis, so I… I can put a hold on it if you need the room.”

“No need for that.” Her obvious discomfort amused him. He strolled to her, leaned down, and kissed her lightly. “And no need for you to fumble through an explanation as to why you’re using the equipment. Digging for secrets?”

“No. Not the way you mean.” The fact that he was grinning at her increased the embarrassment level. “I needed something a little more competent than the tin cans we have at Cop Central, and I figured you’d be gone for a couple more hours.”

“I got an early transport back. Need some help with this?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe. Stop grinning at me.”

“Was I?” His grin only widened as he slid his arms around her and tucked his hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “How was your lunch with Dr. Mira?”

She scowled. “Do you know everything?”

“I try. Actually, I had a quick meeting with William, and he mentioned that Reeanna had run into you and the doctor. Business or pleasure?”

“Both, I guess.” Her brows lifted as his hands got busy on her butt. “I’m on duty, Roarke. Your hands are currently rubbing the ass of a working cop.”

“That only makes it more exciting.” He shifted to nibble her neck. “Want to break a few laws?”

“I already am.” But she turned her head instinctively to give him better access.

“Then what are a few more?” he murmured and slid his hand out of her pocket and around her body to cup her breast. “I love the feel of you.” His mouth was trailing along her jawline toward her mouth when the computer beeped.

Analysis complete. Display or audio?

“Display,” Eve ordered and wiggled free.

“Damn,” Roarke sighed. “I was so close.”

“What the hell is this?” Hands fisted on her hips, Eve scanned the display on the view screen. “It’s gibberish. Fucking gibberish.”

Resigned, Roarke sat on the edge of the console and studied the display himself. “It’s technical; medical terms, primarily. A bit out of my realm. A burn, electronic in origin. Does that make sense?”

“I don’t know.” Thoughtfully, she tugged on her ear. “Does it make sense for a couple of dead guys to have an electric burn hole in the frontal lobe of their brains?”

“Some fumbling with the equipment during autopsy?” Roarke suggested.

“No.” Slowly, she shook her head. “Not on two of them, examined by different MEs in different morgues. And they’re not surface flaws. They’re inside the brain. Microscopic pinpricks.”

“What’s the relationship between the two men?”

“None. Absolutely none.” She hesitated, then shrugged. He was already involved in a peripheral manner, why not drag him into the center? “One of the men is yours,” she told him. “The autotronics engineer from the Olympus Resort.”

“Mathias?” Roarke pushed off the console, his half-amused, half-intrigued expression going dark. “Why are you investigating a suicide on Olympus?”

“I’m not, officially. It’s a hunch, that’s all. The other brain your fancy equipment’s analyzing is Fitzhugh’s. And if Peabody can untangle the red tape, I’ll plug in Senator Pearly’s.”

“And you expect to find this microscopic burn in the senator’s brain?”

“You’re a quick study, Roarke. I’ve always admired that about you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s annoying to have to explain everything step by step.”

His eyes narrowed. “Eve.”

“All right.” She held up her hands, let them fall. “Fitzhugh just didn’t strike me as the type to do himself. I couldn’t close the case until I’d explored all the options. I’ve been running out of options. I might have put it to bed anyway, but I kept thinking about that kid hanging himself.”

She began to pace restlessly. “No predisposition there, either. No obvious motive, no known enemies. He just has himself a snack and makes a noose. Then I heard about the senator. That makes three suicides without logical explanations. Now, for people like Fitzhugh and the senator, with their kind of financial base, there’s counseling at the snap of a finger. Or in cases of terminal illness — physical or emotional — voluntary self-termination facilities. But they took themselves out in bloody and painful ways. Doesn’t fit.”

Roarke nodded. “Go on.”

“And the ME on Fitzhugh came up with this unexplained abnormality. I wanted to see if, on the off chance, the kid had anything like it.” She gestured to the screen. “He does. Now I need to know what put it there.”

Roarke shifted his eyes back to the screen. “Genetic flaw?”

“Possibly, but the computer says unlikely. At least it’s never come across anything like it before — through heredity, mutation, or outside causes.” She moved behind the console, scrolled the screen. “See there, in the projection of possible mental affects? Behavioral alterations. Pattern unknown. A lot of help that is.”

She rubbed her eyes, thought it through. “But that says to me that the subject could, and likely would, behave out of pattern. Suicide would be out of pattern for these two men.”

“True enough,” Roarke agreed. Leaning back against the console, he crossed his legs at the ankles. “But so would dancing naked in church or kicking elderly matrons off a sky walk. Why did they both choose self-termination?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? But this gives me enough, once I figure out how to spin it to Whitney, to keep both cases open. Download data to disc, print hard copy,” she ordered, then turned to Roarke. “I’ve got a few minutes now.”

His brow quirked, a habitual gesture she secretly adored. “Do you?”

“Which laws did you have in mind to break?”

“Several, actually.” He glanced at his watch as she stepped forward to unbutton his elegant linen shirt. “We have a premiere in California tonight.”

Her fingers stopped, her face fell. “Tonight.”

“But I think we have time for a few misdemeanors first.” With a laugh, he scooped her off her feet and laid her back on the console.

Eve was tugging on a floor-length, siren-red sheath and complaining bitterly about the impossibility of wearing so much as a scrap of underwear under the clinging material when her communicator beeped. Naked to the waist, with the flimsy bodice hanging to her knees, she pounced.

“Peabody?”

“Sir.” Several expressions passed over Peabody’s face before it went carefully blank. “That’s a lovely dress, Lieutenant. Are you premiering a new style?”

Baffled, Eve looked down, then rolled her eyes. “Shit. You’ve seen my tits before.” But she set the communicator down and struggled the bodice into place.

“And may I say, sir, they’re quite lovely.”

“Sucking up, Peabody?”

“You bet.”

Eve stifled a chuckle and sat on the edge of the sofa in the dressing room. “Report?”

“Yes, sir. I… ah…”

Noting that Peabody’s eyes had shifted and glazed over, Eve glanced over her shoulder. Roarke had just walked into the room, damp from his shower, tiny beads of water glistening on his bare chest, a white towel barely hitched at his hips.

“Stay out of view, will you, Roarke, before my aide goes brain dead.”

He looked toward the communicator screen, grinned. “Peabody, hello.”

“Hi.” Even over the unit, her swallow was audible. “Nice to see you — I mean, how are you?”

“Very well, and you?”

“What?”

“Roarke.” Eve heaved a sigh. “Give Peabody a break, will you, or I’ll have to block video.”

“You don’t have to do that, Lieutenant.” Voice rusty, Peabody deflated as Roarke slipped out of view. “Jesus,” she said under her breath and grinned foolishly at Eve.

“Settle your hormones, Peabody, and report.”

“Settling, sir.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve untangled most of the bureaucratic tape, Lieutenant. Just a couple more snags. At this juncture, we should have the requested data by oh nine hundred. But we have to go to East Washington to view it.”

“I was afraid of that. All right, Peabody. We’ll catch the shuttle at oh eight hundred.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Roarke said from behind her while he critically studied the lines of the dinner jacket he held. “Take my transport.”

“It’s police business.”

“No reason to squeeze yourselves into a tuna can. Traveling in comfort doesn’t make it less official. In any case, I’ve some business I can see to in East Washington myself. I’ll take you.” He leaned over Eve’s shoulder, smiled at Peabody. “I’ll have a car sent for you. Seventy forty-five? Is that convenient?”

“Sure.” She wasn’t even disappointed that he was now wearing a shirt. “Great.”

“Listen, Roarke — “

“Sorry, Peabody.” He cut Eve off smoothly. “We’re running a bit late here. See you in the morning.” Reaching over, he manually disengaged the communicator.

“You know, it really pisses me off when you do that kind of thing.”

“I know,” Roarke said equably. “That’s why it’s irresistible.”

“I’ve spent half my life on one sort of transport or another since I met you,” Eve grumbled as she settled into her seat in Roarke’s private Jet Star.

“Still cranky,” he observed, and signaled the flight attendant. “My wife needs another dose of coffee, and I’ll join her.”

“Right away, sir.” She slipped into the galley with silent efficiency.

“You really get a bang out of saying that, don’t you? My wife.”

“I do, yes.” Roarke tipped her face up with a fingertip and kissed the shallow dent in her chin. “You didn’t sleep enough,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb under her eye. “You so rarely turn off that busy brain of yours.” He flicked a glance up at the flight attendant as she set steaming coffee on the table in front of them. “Thank you, Karen. We’ll take off as soon as Officer Peabody arrives.”

“I’ll inform the pilot, sir. Enjoy your flight.”

“You don’t really have to go to East Washington, do you?”

“I could have handled it from New York.” He shrugged, lifted his coffee. “Personal attention always has more impact. And I have the added benefit of watching you work.”

“I don’t want you involved in this.”

“You never do.” He lifted her cup, handed it to her with an easy smile. “However, Lieutenant, I’m involved with you, and therefore you can’t shut me out.”

“You mean you won’t be shut out.”

“Precisely. Ah, here’s the redoubtable Peabody now.”

She came aboard pressed and polished, but spoiling the effect with her jaw hanging open as she swiveled her head right and left in an attempt to see everything at once.

The cabin was as plush and sumptuous as a five-star hotel, with deep, cushy seats and gleaming tables, the glint of crystal holding flowers so fresh they gleamed with dew.

“Stop gaping, Peabody, you look like a trout.”

“Nearly finished, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t mind her, Peabody, she woke up surly.” Roarke rose, disconcerting Peabody until she realized he was offering her a seat. “Would you care for coffee?”

“Well, ah, sure. Thanks.”

“I’ll fetch it and leave you two to discuss your work.”

“Dallas, this is… ultra.”

“It’s just Roarke,” Eve muttered into her coffee.