Judgment in Death (5 page)

She climbed into her car, waited for a break in the mild traffic, and swung into a U-turn.

He watched her cover the distance, then turn into the high gates of the world she lived in now. He took three deep breaths, and when that didn't work, kicked viciously at his own rear tire.

He hated what he'd done. And more, he hated knowing he'd never really gotten over her.

CHAPTER THREE

She was steaming when she barreled down the drive to the great stone house Roarke had made his home. And hers.

So much, she thought, for checking your work at the door. What the hell were you supposed to do when it followed you to the damn threshold? Webster was up to something, which meant there was an agenda here, and the agenda was IAB's.

Now she had to calm herself down so she could filter out her annoyance at being waylaid by him. It was more important to puzzle out what he'd been trying to tell her. And more important yet, to calculate what he'd been so damn careful not to tell her.

She left the car at the end of the drive because she liked it there and because it annoyed Roarke's majordomo, the consistently irritating Summerset.

She grabbed her bag that held the files and was halfway up the steps when she stopped. Deliberately, she blew out a long, cleansing breath, turned, and simply sat down.

It was time to try something new, she decided. Time to sit and enjoy the pleasant spring evening, enjoy the gorgeous simplicity of the flowering trees and shrubs that spread over the lawn, speared into the sky. She'd lived here for more than a year now and rarely, very rarely took time to see. Time to appreciate what Roarke had built or the style with which he'd built it

The house itself with its sweeps and turrets and dazzling expanses of glass was a monument to taste, wealth, and elegant comfort. There were too many rooms to count filled with art, antiques, and every pleasure and convenience a man could make for himself.

But the grounds, she thought, were another level. This was a man who needed room, who demanded it. And commanded it. At the same time, he was a man who could appreciate the simple appeal of a flower that would bloom and fade with its season.

He'd decorated his grounds with those flowers, with trees that would outlive both of them, with shrubs that spread and fountained. And closed it all away with the high stone walls, the iron gates, and the rigid security that kept the city outside.

But it was still there, the city, sniffing around the edges like a hungry, restless dog.

That was part of it. Part of the duality of Roarke. And, she supposed, of her.

He'd grown up in the alleys and tenements of Dublin and had done whatever was necessary to survive. She'd lost her childhood, and the flickers of memory, the images of what had been, of what she'd done to escape, haunted the woman she'd become.

His buffer against yesterday was money, power, control. Hers was a badge. There was little either of them wouldn't do, hadn't done, to keep that buffer in place. But somehow, together, they were... normal, she decided. They'd made a marriage and a home.

That was why she could sit on the steps of that home, with the ugliness of her day smearing her heart, look at blossoms dancing in the breeze. And wait for him.

She watched the long, black car slide quietly toward the house. Waited while Roarke climbed out the back, had a word with his driver. As the car drove off, he walked to her in that way he had, with his eyes on her face. She'd never had anyone look at her as he did. As if nothing else and no one else existed.

No matter how many times he did so, just that long, focused look made her heart flutter.

He sat beside her, set his briefcase aside, leaned back as she was.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi. Lovely evening."

"Yeah. The flowers look good."

"They do, yes. The renewal of spring. A cliche, but true enough, as most cliches are." He ran a hand over her hair. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Exactly. That's out of character for you, darling Eve."

"It's an experiment." She crossed her scarred boots at the ankles. "I'm seeing if I can leave work at Central."

"And how are you doing?"

"I've pretty much failed." Still with her head back, she closed her eyes and tried to recapture some of it. "I was doing okay with it on the drive home. I saw Mavis's billboard."

"Ah yes. Fairly spectacular."

"You didn't tell me about it."

"It just went up today. I figured you'd see it on your way home and thought it would be a nice surprise."

"It was." And remembering brought her smile back. "I nearly clipped a glide-cart, and I was sitting there, grinning at it, about to call her, but I had a transmission come through."

"So work intruded."

"More or less. It was Webster." Because the smile was gone again, and she was scowling at the trees, she didn't notice the slight tension in Roarke's body. "Don Webster from Internal Affairs."

"Yes, I remember who he is. What did he want?"

"I'm trying to figure that out. He called on my personal and asked for a private meet."

"Did he?" Roarke murmured, his voice deceptively mild.

"He went out of his way for it, tailed me from Central. I met up with him just down the block from here, and after he got finished trying to make nice, he started a song and dance on the Kohli case."

Just thinking about it again got her blood boiling. "Tells me how IAB wants it put away quiet, doesn't like the idea that I'm going to look into Kohli's financials. But he won't confirm or deny anything. Claims it's just a friendly, unofficial heads-up."

"And do you believe him?"

"No, but I don't know what he's feeding me. And I don't like IAB's sticky fingers poking into my case files."

"The man has a personal interest in you."

"Webster?" She looked over now, surprised. "No, he doesn't. We blew off some steam one night years back. That's the beginning and end of it."

For you, perhaps, Roarke thought, but let it go.

"Anyway, I can't figure if the meet was really about Kohli or if it's more about the Ricker connection."

"Max Ricker?"

"Yeah." Her eyes sharpened. "You know him. I should've figured that."

"We've met. What's the connection?"

"Kohli worked on the task force that busted Ricker about six months back. He wasn't a key player, and Ricker slithered through, but it had to cost him a lot of time and money. Could be Ricker put out contracts and is getting some of his own back by whacking cops."

"What I saw in Purgatory today didn't seem like Ricker's style."

"I don't figure he'd want his fingerprints on it."

"There's that." Roarke was silent for a moment. "You want to know if I ever did business with him."

"I'm not asking you that."

"Yes, you are." He took her hand, kissed it lightly, then got to his feet. "Let's have a walk."

"I brought work home with me." She let him pull her up, smiled. "So much for the experiment. I should get to it."

"You'll work better if we clear this up." He kept her hand in his, started across the lawn.

The breeze had shaken some of the petals from the trees so they lay like pink and white snowdrops on the green. Flowers, banks of them she couldn't name, flowed out of beds in soft, blurry blues and shimmering whites. The light was beginning to go, softening the air. She caught drifts of fragile perfumes, country sweet.

He bent, snapped off a tulip, its cup as perfect as something sculpted from white wax, handed it to her.

"I haven't seen or dealt with Max Ricker in a number of years. But there was a time we had business of sorts."

She held the tulip and heard the city sniffing at the gates. "What kind of business?"

He stopped, tipped her head back so their eyes met. Then saw, with regret, that hers were troubled. "First, let me say that even one with my... let's call it eclectic palate... hasn't the taste for certain activities. Murder for hire being one of those. I never killed for him, Eve, nor for that matter, for anyone but myself."

She nodded again. "Let's not go there, not now."

"All right."

But they'd come too far to shy away now. She walked with him. "Illegals?"

"There was a time in the beginning of my career, I couldn't... No," he corrected, knowing that honesty was vital. "When I wasn't particularly selective in the products I handled. Yes, I dealt in illegals from time to time, and some of those dealings involved Ricker and his organization. The last time we associated was... Christ, more than ten years back. I didn't care for his business practices, and I'd reached a point where I wasn't obliged to negotiate with those who didn't appeal to me."

"Okay."

"Eve." He kept his hand on her face, his eyes on hers. "When I met you, most of my business was legitimate. I made that choice long ago because it suited me. After you, I dispensed with or reconstructed those interests left that were questionable. I did that because I knew it would suit you."

"You don't have to tell me what I already know."

"I think I do, just now. There's little I wouldn't do for you. But I can't, and I wouldn't, change my past, or what brought me here."

She looked down at the tulip, perfect and pure. Then back up at him. Not pure, God knew, but for her, perfect. "I wouldn't want you to change anything." She put her hands on his shoulders. "We're okay."

Later, after they'd shared dinner where they were both careful not to discuss his business or hers, Eve settled down in her home office and began to study the data on Taj and Patsy Kohli's financials.

She came at them from several different angles, drank three cups of coffee, reached certain conclusions, then rose. She knocked briefly on the door that adjoined her work space to Roarke's, then stepped inside.

He was at his console, and from what she could gather, he was talking to someone in Tokyo. He held up a hand, out of the range of his screen, in a signal for her to wait.

"I regret that projection will not meet my needs at this time, Fumi-san."

"The projection is, of course, preliminary and negotiable." The voice through his desk-link was precise and cool, but no cooler, Eve thought, than her husband's mild and polite expression.

"Then perhaps we should discuss it further when the figures are no longer preliminary."

"I would be honored to discuss the matter with you, Roarke-san, in person. It is the feeling of my associates that such a delicate negotiation would be better served in this way. Tokyo is lovely in the spring. Perhaps you will visit my city, at our expense, of course, some time in the near future."

"I regret that such a trip, as appealing as it may be, is impossible, given my current schedule. However, I would be happy to meet with you, and any of your associates, in New York. If this is possible for you, you have only to contact my administrator. She will be delighted to assist you in any travel arrangements."

There was a slight pause. "Thank you for your gracious invitation. I will consult with my associates and contact you through your administrator as soon as possible."

"I look forward to it. Domo, Fumi-san."

"What are you buying now?" Eve asked.

"That remains to be seen, but how do you feel about owning a Japanese baseball team?"

"I like baseball," Eve said after a moment.

"Well then. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"If you're busy buying sports teams, it can wait."

"I'm not buying anything, at least not until negotiations are completed." The wolf came into his eyes. "And on my turf."

"Okay, first a question. If I were to refuse to discuss any part of my work with you, or my professional business, what would you do?"

"Slap you around, of course." He rose, amused, when she laughed. "But, I imagine we can both be spared that unhappy event as the question doesn't apply. So, why do you ask it?"

"Let me put it another way, since I'm so terrified of being slapped around. Can two people be married, live in the same house, have a solid marriage, and one of them have no clue about the other's outside business?"

When he merely lifted his eyebrows, she swore. "You don't apply. Nobody could keep up with your outside business. Besides, I know stuff you do. You buy everything you can get your hands on and manufacture and sell almost every product known to humankind. And right now, you're considering buying a Japanese ball team. See?"

"My God, my life's an open book." He came around the desk. "But to go back to your question, yes, I suppose it's possible for people to live together and not know the thrust, or at least the intricacies of the other's work or outside interests. What if I liked to fish?"

"To fish?"

"As an example. We'll hypothesize that fishing is a passion of mine, and I often toddle off for a wild weekend of dry fly fishing in Montana. Would you pay attention to my recitation of every cast and catch upon my return?"

"To fish?" she repeated and made him laugh.

"And there you have my point. So, yes to your question. Now, why do you ask?"

"Just tying to get a picture. Anyway, since you might be tempted to belt me -- and then I'd have to take you down -- I'm willing to share some of my professional business with you. How about taking a look at something?"

"All right. But you couldn't take me down."

"Can and have."

"Only when you cheat," he said and walked by her into her office.

She'd left the financials on the wall screen. Roarke eased a hip onto her desk, angled his head, and scanned them.

Figures, they both knew, were like breath to him. He simply drew them in.

"Standard outlays for a typical middle-class lifestyle," he commented. "Reasonable rent payments, made in a timely fashion. Vehicle payments and maintenance costs, garage fees are a little on the high side. They ought to shop around a bit. Taxes, clothing, food, entertainment are a bit light. They don't get out much. Deposits are regular bimonthly, which would coincide with salaries. You certainly couldn't accuse this family of living over their incomes."

"No, you couldn't. Interesting though about the vehicle expenses. Seeing as Kohli had a city unit and neither he nor his wife own a personal vehicle."

"Is that so?" Frowning, he re-focused. "So, there's some skimming or padding going on, but at just under four thousand a month, it's hardly big time."

"Every little bit," Eve murmured. "Now take a look at this. Investment account. College funds, retirement, savings." She flipped the screens and heard Roarke's quiet "Ah."