The In Death Collection 06-10 (12 page)

“Do you think you’re the only one who’s made adjustments?” Enraged, he gave her a quick shake, then let her go so he could prowl the room. “For Christ’s sake, I married a cop. Fuck me, a cop. It has to be fate’s biggest joke.”

“Nobody held a knife to your throat.” Insulted, she fisted her hands on her hips. “You’re the one who pushed for it.”

“And you’re the one who pulled back, and still does. I’m sick of it, sick to death of it. It’s always you, isn’t it, Eve, who has to make the changes and give way?” Fury shimmered around him in all but visible waves, and when those waves crashed over her, she’d have sworn they had weight. “Well, I’ve made changes of my own, and given way more times than I can count. You can have your privacy when you need it, and your neurotic little snits, but I won’t put up with my wife closing doors between us.”

The
neurotic little snits
left her speechless, but the
my wife
freed her tongue again. “Your wife, your wife. Don’t you dare say
my wife
in that tone. Don’t you dare make me sound like one of your fancy suits.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Now I’m ridiculous.” She threw up her hands. “I’m neurotic and ridiculous.”

“Yes, often.”

Her breath began to hitch. She could actually see red around the edges of her vision. “You’re arrogant, domineering, egotistical, and disdainful of the law.”

He lifted one amused brow. “And your point would be?”

She couldn’t form a word. What came out was something between a growl and a scream. The sound of it had Galahad leaping from the top of the desk and curling under it.

“Well said,” Roarke commented and decided to have another whiskey. “I’ve given up a number of businesses in the past months that you would have found questionable.” He studied the color of the whiskey in the glass. “True, they were more like hobbies, habits, I suppose, but I found them entertaining. And profitable.”

“I never asked you to give up anything.”

“Darling Eve.” He sighed, found most of his temper had slipped away. “You ask just by being. I married a cop,” he said half to himself and drank. “Because I loved her, wanted her, needed her. And to my surprise, I admired her. She fascinates me.”

“Don’t turn this around.”

“It’s just come full circle. I can’t change what I am, and what I’ve done. And wouldn’t even for you.” He lifted his gaze to hers, held it there. “I’m telling you not to lock the door.”

She gave a bad-tempered shrug. “I knew it would piss you off.”

“Mission accomplished.”

She found herself sighing, a weak sound she didn’t have the energy to detest. “It’s hard—seeing what had been done to those men, and knowing . . .”

“That I was capable of doing the same.” He set his glass down again. “It was justice.”

She felt the weight of her badge, tangibly. Not in her pocket but on her heart. “That wasn’t for you to decide.”

“There we part ways. The law doesn’t always stand for the innocent and the used. The law doesn’t always care enough. I won’t apologize for what I did, Eve, but I will for putting you in the position of choosing between me and your duty.”

She picked up her cold coffee and drank it to clear her throat. “I had to tell Peabody. I had to bring her in.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “She’ll stand with me. She didn’t even hesitate.”

“She’s a good cop. You’ve taught me the phrase isn’t a contradiction in terms.”

“I need her. I need all the help I can get on this one because I’m afraid.” She closed her eyes, fought to steady herself. “I’m afraid if I’m not careful enough, not quick or smart enough, I’ll walk onto a scene and I’ll find you. I’ll be too late, and you’ll be dead, because it’s you he wants. The others are just practice.”

She felt his arms come around her, and moved in. There was the warmth of his body, the lines of it all so familiar now, so necessary now. The scent of him as she gripped him close, the steady beat of his heart, the soft brush of his lips over her hair.

“I couldn’t stand it.” She tightened her hold. “I couldn’t. I know I can’t even think about it because it’ll mess me up, but I can’t get it out of my head. I can’t stop—”

Then his mouth was on hers and the kiss was rough and hot. He would know that was the tone she needed, that she needed his hands on her, hard, impatient. And the promises he murmured as he tugged her shirt aside were for both of them.

Her weapon thudded to the floor. His beautifully cut jacket followed. She tipped her head back so that his lips could race thrills over her throat as she dragged at his belt.

No words now as they hurried to touch. With greedy little nips and bites they tormented each other. She was panting when he pushed her onto the desk. Paper crinkled under her back.

She reached for him.

“I’m not neurotic,” she managed to say.

He laughed first, delighted with her, delirious for her.
“Of course not.” He closed his hands over hers and drove into her.

He watched her come at the first thrust, those golden brown irises blurring, that slim torso arching up. The shocked pleasure strangled in her throat then shuddered out on his name.

“Take more.” His hands were less gentle than he intended as he lifted her hips, went deeper. “Take all of me.”

Through the stunning waves of sensation she understood he wanted acceptance, finally and fully, for both of them.

She took all of him.

Later they shared soup in her office. By the second bowl, her head was clear enough to deal with the business at hand.

“I’m going to be working here for the most part for a while.”

“I’ll lighten my schedule so I’ll be available for you.”

She broke open a roll, buttered it thoughtfully. “We’re going to have to contact the Dublin police. Your name’s bound to come up.” She ignored the quick grin he flashed her and bit into the roll. “Should I expect any surprises?”

“They don’t have any more hard data on me than your records show.”

“Which is next to nothing.”

“Exactly. There’s bound to be a few members of the guarda with long memories, but there shouldn’t be anything too embarrassing. I’ve always been careful.”

“Who investigated Marlena’s murder?”

The amusement died out of Roarke’s eyes. “It was an Inspector Maguire, but I wouldn’t say he investigated. He went through the motions, took the bribes offered, and called it death by misadventure.”

“Still, his records might be of some use.”

“I doubt you’ll find much, if any. Maguire was one of the many cops in the pocket of the cartel whose territory I
trespassed on.” He took the other half of Eve’s roll. “The Urban Wars started later and lasted longer in that part of the world. Even when I was a boy there were pockets of it still being waged, and certainly the results of the worst of it were still in evidence.”

He remembered the bodies, the sound of gunfire screaming through the night, the wails of the wounded, and the sunken eyes of the survivors.

“Those who had,” he continued, “had in abundance. Those who didn’t, suffered and starved and scavenged. Most cops who’d been through the hell of it went one of two ways. Some dedicated themselves to maintaining order. Most took advantage of the chaos and profited.”

“Maguire decided to profit.”

“He was hardly alone. I took plenty of kicks from a beat cop if I didn’t have the payoff in my pocket. When you’re down to your last punt, you’d as soon have the kick and keep the pound.”

“Did you take any from Maquire?”

“Not personally. By the time I was working the grift and the games, he was riding a desk. He used uniforms as his runners and muscle and collected in comfort.” Roarke sat back with his coffee. “For the most part I outmaneuvered him. I paid my shot when I couldn’t get around it, but I usually stole it back. Cops are easy marks. They don’t expect to have their pockets picked.”

“Hmm” was all Eve could say to that. “Why was Maguire brought in on Marlena?”

“When she was killed, Summerset insisted on calling in the police. He wanted to see the men who had . . . he wanted to see them punished. He wanted a public trial. He wanted justice. Instead he got Maguire. The bastard came sniffing around, shaking his head, clucking his tongue. ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘seems to me a father should keep a closer eye on a pretty young girl. Letting her run wild like that.” ’

As the old fury crawled back, Roarke shoved away from the table to rise and pace. “I could have killed him on the spot. He knew it. He wanted me to try it, then and there while he had six cops around him who’d have broken me to pieces at the first move. His conclusions were that she was an incorrigible, that there were illegals in her system and she’d fallen in with a bad lot who’d panicked and killed her when they’d done with her. Two weeks later he was driving a new car around Dublin Town and his wife had a new haircut to show off her diamond earrings.”

He turned back. “And six months later, they hooked him out of the River Liffey with enough holes in him for the fish to swim through.”

Her throat had gone dust dry, but she kept her gaze steady. “Did you kill him?”

“No, but only because someone beat me to it. He was low on my list of priorities.” Roarke came back, sat again. “Eve, Summerset had no part in what I did. He wasn’t even aware of what I planned to do. It wasn’t his way—isn’t his way. He ran cons, bilked marks, lifted wallets.”

“You don’t need to defend him to me. I’ll do my best for him.” She let out a breath. “Starting now by ignoring regulations, again, and using your unregistered equipment to run names. Let’s start on those lists.”

He got to his feet, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “It’s always a pleasure working with you, Lieutenant.”

“Just remember who’s in charge.”

“I’ve no doubt you’ll remind me. Regularly.” He slipped an arm around her waist when she stood. “Next time we make love, you can wear your badge. In case I forget who’s in charge.”

She eyed him narrowly. “Nobody likes a smart-ass.”

“I do.” He planted a kiss between her scowling eyes. “I love one.”

Eve stared at the list of names on the wall screen in Roarke’s private room. The equipment installed there was every hacker’s wet dream. He’d indulged himself in aesthetics in the rest of the house, but this room was all business.

Illegal business, she thought, since all its information, research, and communications devices were unregistered with CompuGuard. Nothing that went in or came out of that room could be tracked.

Roarke sat at the
U
-shaped console, like a pirate, she thought, at the helm of a very snazzy ship. He hadn’t engaged the auxiliary station with its jazzy laser fax and hologram unit. She imagined he didn’t think he required the extra zip, just yet.

She stuck her hands in her pockets, tapped her boot on the glazed tile floor and read off the names of the dead.

“Charles O’Malley. Murder by disembowelment, August 5, 2042. Unsolved. Matthew Riley. Murder by evisceration, November, 12, 2042. Donald Cagney. Murder by hanging, April 22, 2043. Michael Rowan. Murder by suffocation, December 2, 2043. Rory McNee, murder by drowning, March 18, 2044. John Calhoun, murder by poisoning, July 31, 2044.”

She let out a long breath. “You averaged two a year.”

“I wasn’t in a hurry. Would you like to read their bios?” He didn’t call them up, simply continued to sit, staring at the viewing screen across the room. “Charles O’Malley, age thirty-three, small-time thug and sexual deviant. Suspected of raping his sister and his mother. Charges dismissed through lack of evidence. Suspected of torture-murder of an eighteen-year-old licensed companion whose name no one bothered to remember. Charges dismissed through lack of interest. A known free-lance spine cracker and debt collector who enjoyed his work. His trademark was shattering kneecaps. Marlena’s knees were broken.”

“All right, Roarke.” She held up a hand. “It’s enough. I need you to run their families, friends, lovers. With luck we can find a computer jock or communications freak among them.”

Because he didn’t want to say their names again, he typed in the request manually. “It’ll take a few minutes. We’ll bring up the list of contacts I had on viewing screen three.”

“Who else knew what you were doing?” she asked as she watched names begin to scroll on screen.

“I didn’t pop into the pub after and brag about it over a pint.” He moved his shoulders dismissively. “But word and rumor travel. I wanted it known in any case. I wanted to give them time to sweat.”

“You’re a scary guy, Roarke,” she murmured, then turned to him. “At a guess, then, most anyone in Dublin—hell, in the known universe—could have gotten wind of it.”

“I found Cagney in Paris, Rowan on Tarus Three, and Calhoun here in New York. The wind blows, Eve.”

“Jesus.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Okay, this won’t help. We need to cull it down to interested
parties, people with a connection with one or more of . . . your list. People with a grudge against you.”

“A number of people harbor grudges. If it was about me personally, why is Summerset being set up instead of me?”

“He’s the bridge. They’re walking over him to get to you.” She began to pace while she thought it through. “I’m going to consult with Mira, hopefully tomorrow, but my take is if this goes back to Marlena, whoever is behind it sees Summerset as the cause. Without him, no Marlena, without Marlena you wouldn’t have played vigilante. So you both have to pay. He wants you to sweat. Coming at you direct isn’t going to make that happen. He has to know you well enough to understand that. But going after someone who matters to you, that’s different.”

“And if Summerset was taken out of the equation?”

“Well, then, it would—” She broke off, heart jumping as she whirled. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Don’t even think about it.” She slapped her hands on the console. “You promise me, you have to give me your word you won’t help him disappear. That’s not the way to play this out.”

He was silent for a long moment. “I’ll give you my word to play this out your way as long as I possibly can. But he’s not going in a cage, Eve, not for something I’m responsible for.”

“You have to trust me not to let that happen. If you go that far outside the law, Roarke, I’ll have to go after him. I won’t have a choice.”

“Then we’ll have to combine our skill and our efforts to make sure neither of us has to make a choice. And we’re wasting what time we have debating it.”

Seething with frustration, she spun away. “Damn it, you make the line I have to walk thin and shaky.”

“I’m aware of that.” His voice was tight and warned
her she’d see that cold, controlled temper on his face when she turned back.

“I can’t change what I am either.”

“And you’re a cop first. Well, Lieutenant, give me your professional take on this.” He swung around in his chair, engaging the auxiliary station. “Display hologram file image, Marlena.”

It formed between them, a lovely laughing image of a young girl just blossoming into womanhood. Her hair was long and wavy and the color of sun-washed wheat, her eyes a clear summer blue. There was the flush of life and joy in her cheeks.

She was tiny
was all Eve could think, a perfect picture in her pretty white dress with its scallop of lace at the hem. She carried a single tulip in her china-doll hand, candy-pink and damp with dew.

“There’s innocence,” Roarke said quietly. “Display hologram image, police file. Marlena.”

The horror spilled onto the floor, almost at Eve’s feet. The doll was broken now, bloodied and battered and torn. The skin was gray paste with death, and cold from the police camera’s passionless eye. They’d left her naked and exposed, and every cruelty that had been done to her was pitifully clear.

“And there,” Roarke said, “is the ruin of innocence.”

Eve’s heart shuddered and ripped, but she looked as she had looked on death before. In the eyes—where even now dregs of terror and shock remained.

A child, she thought, swamped with pity. Why was it so often a child?

“You’ve made your point, Roarke. End hologram program,” she ordered, and her voice was steady. The images winked away and left her staring into his eyes.

“I would do it again,” he told her. “Without hesitation
or regret. And I would do more if it would spare her what she suffered.”

“If you think I don’t understand, you’re wrong. I’ve seen more of this than you. I live with it, day and night. The aftermath of what one person does to another. And after I wade through the blood and the waste, all I can do is my best.”

He closed his eyes and, in a rare show of fatigue, rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sorry for that. This has brought too much of it back. The guilt, the helplessness.”

“It’s stupid to blame yourself, and you’re not a stupid man.”

He let his hands drop. “Who else?”

She stepped around the console until she stood directly in front of him. “O’Malley, Riley, Cagney, Rowan, McNee, and Calhoun.” She would comfort now, because now she understood how. Eve put her hands on his shoulders. “I’ll only say this once. I may only mean it once, now, while I’ve still got her image in my head. You were right. What you did was necessary. It was justice.”

Unspeakably moved, he put his hands on hers, sliding them down so their fingers could link. “I needed to hear you say it, and mean it. Even if only once.”

She squeezed his hands then turned to the screen. “Let’s get back to work and beat this son of a bitch at his own game.”

It was after midnight when they shut it down. Eve tumbled into sleep the instant her head hit the pillow. But somewhere just before dawn, the dreams began.

When her restless movements woke him, Roarke reached for her. She struggled away, her breath coming in quick little gasps. He knew she was trapped in a nightmare where he couldn’t go, couldn’t stop the past from cycling back.

“It’s all right, Eve.” He gathered her close even as she
fought to twist free with her body shuddering, jerking, shuddering.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t.” There was a plea in her voice and the voice was thin and helpless, a child’s voice that broke his heart.

“You’re safe. I promise.” He stroked her back, in slow and soothing motions, when at last she turned to him. Turned into him. “He can’t hurt you here,” Roarke murmured as he stared into the dark. “He can’t touch you here.”

There was a long, catchy sigh, then he felt the tension drain out of her body. He lay awake, holding her, guarding against dreams until the light began to slip through the windows.

He was gone when Eve awoke, which was usual. But he wasn’t in the sitting area as he was most mornings, drinking coffee and scanning the stock reports on the bedroom monitor. Still groggy, she rolled out of bed and hit the shower. Her mind cleared slowly. It wasn’t until she stepped out of the drying tube that the dream came back to her.

She stood, one hand reaching for a robe, as it flashed into her mind.

The cold, horrible little room with the red light blinking into the dirty window. Hunger clawing at her belly. The door opening and her father stumbling in. Drunk, but not drunk enough. The knife she’d held to cut the mold off a pitiful hunk of cheese clattering to the floor.

The pain of that big hand smashing over her face. Then worse, so much worse, his body pressing hers into the floor. His fingers tearing, probing. But it wasn’t her struggling. It was Marlena. Marlena with her white dress ripped, her delicate features locked in fear and pain. Marlena’s broken body sprawled in fresh blood.

Eve looking down at that wasted young girl. Lieutenant
Eve Dallas, with her badge displayed on her pocket, studying death one more time. Reaching for a blanket, a thin, stained blanket from the bed to cover the girl. Against procedure, disturbing the crime scene, but she couldn’t help herself.

But when she turned, looked down again with the blanket in her hand, it was no longer Marlena. Eve stared down at herself, in death, and let the blanket fall over her own face.

Now she shuddered and bundled quickly into the robe to help chase away the chill. She had to put it away, ordered herself to shut it away. She had a maniac to catch, lives that depended on her doing so quickly. The past, her past, couldn’t be allowed to surface and interfere.

She dressed quickly, snagged a single cup of coffee and took it with her to her office.

The door between it and Roarke’s was open. She heard his voice, only his, and stepped to the doorway.

He was at his desk, using a headset ’link while he manually keyed data into his computer. His laser fax shot off a transmission, immediately signaled an incoming. Eve sipped her coffee, imagined him buying and selling small galaxies while he carried on a conversation.

“It’s good to hear you, Jack. Yes, it’s been awhile.” Roarke turned to his fax, skimmed it, then quickly logged and sent a reply. “Married Sheila, did you? How many kids did you say? Six. Christ.” He let out a rolling laugh and, turning back to his computer, made arrangements to buy the lion’s share of a small, floundering publishing company. “Heard that, did you? Yes, it’s true, last summer. Aye, she’s a cop.” A lightning grin flashed across his face. “What black past, Jack? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m as law-abiding as the parish priest. Yes, she is lovely. Quite lovely and quite remarkable.”

Roarke swiveled away from his monitor, ignored the low beep of an incoming call. “I need to talk to you, Jack.
You’ve heard about Tommy Brennen and Shawn? Aye, it’s a hard thing. My cop’s connected them, and the connection goes back to me—to O’Malley and the rest and what happened to Marlena.”

He listened for a time, then rose and walked to the window, leaving his communication center humming and beeping. “That’s exactly so. Any ideas on it? If any occur to you, if you can dig up anything, you can contact me here. Meanwhile, I can make arrangements for you and your family to get away for a time. Take your kids to the beach for a couple weeks. I’ve a place they’d enjoy. No, Jack, this is my doing, and I don’t want another widow or fatherless child on my conscience.”

He laughed again, but his eyes stayed sober. “I’m sure you could, right enough, but why don’t we leave that part to my cop and you and your family get out of Dublin awhile. I’ll send you what you need today. We’ll talk again. My best to Sheila.”

Eve waited until he’d pulled the headset off before she spoke. “Is that what you’re going to do, ship off everyone you think might be a target?”

He set the headset aside, vaguely uncomfortable that she’d heard his conversation. “Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No.” She crossed to him, set her coffee down so that she could take his face in both hands. “I love you, Roarke.”

It was still a rare thing for her to use the words. His heart tripped once, then steadied. “I love you, Eve.”

Her lips curved, brushed his lightly. “Is that what I am now, ‘your cop’?”

“You’ve always been my cop—ever since you wanted to arrest me.”

She tilted her head. “Did you know that when you were talking to your Dublin friend your accent got thicker, the
rhythm of your speech changed. And you said aye instead of yes at least twice.”

“Did I?” He’d been totally unaware of it, and wasn’t sure how that sat with him. “Odd.”